Sunday, August 2, 2015

Into the woods...

Well, all...I'm out for the the blogging...I'm heading into the woods with the family. So until next week, this will have to tide you over:

Saturday, August 1, 2015


So all the images for this week's Sinful Sunday are "old"...not only in their treatment, but also in time. I think I took these a few years ago, all in the same night, the same little nightie. But, I've added some vintage touches with the photo editing. 

Click on the image to see
other Sinful Sunday images.

Friday, July 31, 2015

Happy National Orgasm Day

I didn't even know...until I read this great post by Cara Sutra. And then I had to do some quick research to see that this wasn't just a U.K. Brits sure have your priorities in the right place and put your sexuality right out there, now don't ya? Love that. A bit jealous, actually.

Anyhow...we should probably change the name to "International," because I can see it's celebrated...or at least several countries.

Hell...I say it should be International Orgasm Day every day. But that's just me. it isn't. Because I know YOU would agree. Why else would you be here?

The more of us that write about sex in positive ways, the more conversations will be had, the more books will be published...and sex writing...hell, let's be honest -- SEX -- will no longer be relegated to the dark alleys of society. That thing we don't talk about in polite company. That thing we hide from the world (well...some people do -- WE don't, now do we? We say what we feel, write what we want, and share with each other on a regular basis). Actually...I shouldn't say that. I only put it out there anonymously. I hide behind a pen name and never show my face. Because I can't. Ugh. And I so envy those of you who can. Those of you who've made sex and sex writing a part of your public world - I wish I could do that sometimes. But, I have judgmental parents who'd likely disown me - or at least be terribly embarrassed. And I'd lose my job. And I'd have to move, because small towns don't take kindly to telling the truth about socially uncomfortable topics.

But, I can write from behind a mask. And I can sustain my needs by feeding my urges a little at a time. I can live vicariously through writers who show themselves to the world. And I can hope for a time when sex writing isn't so "scandalous." Like...when I retire...and my parents die...and my son graduates from college...and I move. There is still hope in my life for that sort of freedom. For now...other things are more important. But, I will nurture this little seed of hope. And I will keep my secrets, filing them away, using them as inspiration.

Thursday, July 30, 2015

"At Your Service" (EFF)

It's that time again...Erotic Flash Fiction! And I'm finding my own rules to be simply too constricting. So...since I'm in charge...of my writing at least...I'm simplifying. A photo prompt...and 500 words or less. Every time. Period. Easy-peasy.

"At Your Service"

She kneeled at his feet, wrists crossed and bound at the small of her back, just above the perfect, crisp bow of her apron. Her gingham dress floated at least four inches above the hand-polished linoleum floor. She'd done such a good job, he could see the reflection of her bare pussy.

"Don't mess it up, doll."

"Yes, sir." She said it confidently, but her lip quivered.

He pulled out his cock, close enough that she caught his scent. Splashing a bit of olive oil from the counter into his palm, he began to jerk himself off.

"Don't look down; watch me."

With his free hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a remote. Pressing a button, he grinned, as her eyes widened and her lips parted, a quiet gasp escaping as she bit her lip to help keep her composure.

She could feel the vibration intensify between her legs, and a tiny drip of wetness began to dribble its way down the inside of her thigh. 

Oh, god, she thought. I'm fucked.

He revved the the point she could feel it in her lower abdomen, the echoes of it crawling up her spine, to her nipples, now completely erect and pressing against the fabric of her bra. She blinked, trying to concentrate on controlling her pussy lips, contracting and pressing closed as best she could.

But then he began to pulse the vibration. She sighed; tears began to invade her flushed cheeks as she started to shake. He turned off the vibrator.

"I failed," she said softly, looking down at the floor, a small puddle of her own making glistening on the floor beneath her.

"Yes, you did."

He grabbed a dish towel and placed it between her teeth. 

"You'd better clean that up."

She turned her back toward him and bent forward, the towel the only thing keeping her lips from kissing the floor, her dress barely covering her behind. 

She could feel the warmth nearing her skin before it touched. His oiled cock pushed against her asshole and slowly entered her. He grabbed hold of her tied wrists and used them to pull her toward him again and again, his speed increasing, and his intensity building.

Her face pressed into the linoleum floor, and for once, she praised the heavens above that she'd cleaned it to such a shiny slickness, as her cheek slid smoothly against it.

The vibration returned between her legs and within seconds, she felt her second orgasm spiral out of her to meet his. 

He pulled out slowly and watched the mingled liquids of their spent desire drip between her legs and fall to the floor.

"Such as worked so hard on that floor." He shook his head and "tsk'd" his disappointment.

"Let's go and check how well you made the bed today, shall we?"

He grinned at her, pulled her to her feet, and pushed the button once again.