tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26499253423054455862024-03-14T03:46:03.815-07:00The Lustful LiterateAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.comBlogger168125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-32726713893455220352016-05-15T19:53:00.002-07:002018-01-04T21:47:09.385-08:00Mutual MasturbationIt's Masturbation Month...and the Masturbation Monday prompt this week is all about mutual masturbation.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://masturbationmonday.kaylalords.com/masturbation-monday-week-89/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="http://masturbationmonday.kaylalords.com/masturbation-monday-week-89/" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0XpRzEWazMS43e3Z6U512TUwI9zkjSS8db9fBDQt3C-cfj7C4CizZfnPHonkU4WrRGKgjgUzRTpohhVe21ZSzHCB91HMs0ZrLJeRxRoHnlQ4rJ9ut4-8SXQKg4_zcIk-G0uXwW5P55Erm/s1600/Masturbation-Monday-badge-small.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaasL98C7i9cQKgVCta39bHquzlIpoUkS_jtWszYqoF3mnVEf1nkhYcr0u_ITtniRowYMd_-vfLsg3ai3nZhb2XXuTf7hlJ0Y2YwzkSS6PIcxYpF_zXBCWmtsBf9addCYgGVKkskqamZOh/s1600/BJT2ImeCAAIedie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaasL98C7i9cQKgVCta39bHquzlIpoUkS_jtWszYqoF3mnVEf1nkhYcr0u_ITtniRowYMd_-vfLsg3ai3nZhb2XXuTf7hlJ0Y2YwzkSS6PIcxYpF_zXBCWmtsBf9addCYgGVKkskqamZOh/s400/BJT2ImeCAAIedie.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
This particular art form has always sort of eluded me. Having a bit of the ADD, I have a hard time focusing on either what I'm trying to do or what I'm trying to feel. I don't think I've ever gotten off with this method of sexual stimulation...not to say that it's a bad addition to the foreplay toolbox. But, I'd prefer to either take care of my partner completely, focusing on his (or her) pleasure...or...be the center of someone else's sexual attentions.<br />
<br />
Actual intercourse is different. For some reason, I guess because I don't have several balls in the air at once (yes...I said that), I can focus on pleasing myself and the other person at the same time.<br />
<br />
Mutual masturbation, for me, is more about the beginning. It's the place you start when you can't keep your hands off each other, fumbling with clothes, digging to find a way to simply touch each other. It's an initial release, sort of like an appetizer. But it's not enough. For me. It's not satisfying enough on it's own.<br />
<br />
I'm not saying I can't get off that way. I can. I did just the other night...several times. J slipped his fingers in my wet and very expectant pussy. He pushed them deep inside and worked my clit with his thumb. I told him not to be gentle, and he held me down with his body, reaching his fingers in as deep as he could. And I could feel myself tighten around him, pulsing.<br />
<br />
It was satisfying. But there's something to be said for feeling...or knowing...that a man is cumming inside of me. Those orgasms are what I live for. And I'm damn good at timing my own orgasms to match my partner's. Something about feeling that buildup in the him...the tensing of muscles...the holding of breath...the way his body starts to sort of twitch and lurch. That's when my own body let's go.<br />
<br />
This doesn't happen with mutual masturbation.<br />
<br />
That doesn't mean it can't happen in a story though...so - here ya go...a super short tale of cumming in the car (and yes...I've done this - not easy, but possible).<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>*********</i> </div>
<br />
<br />
Jamie reached over and placed her hand on Chris's thigh. He took his eyes off the road momentarily to look at her and then placed his own hand on top of hers.<br />
<br />
In the dark, street lights lit up the inside of the car in intermittent flashes of light, and with each flash, Chris could see the sparkles in Jamie's eye make-up -- the soft pink blush darkening her cheekbones, creating a shadow that made her look dramatic.<br />
<br />
Jamie squeezed his thigh absently, looking ahead at the traffic. She wet her lips and closed her eyes, tired after the concert and ready for bed.<br />
<br />
Chris reached over and rubbed her bare knee, sliding his hand up her thigh, under her short sequined dress. She didn't turn her head toward him, but he could see the corners of her mouth turn up in a dreamy smile. She squeezed his thigh a bit harder as he moved his hand up further, and she spread her legs to allow him easier and fuller access.<br />
<br />
"I love it when you go sans panties," Chris smirked, "I could smell you all night."<br />
<br />
Jamie smiled a little wider, and he could hear the softest laugh briefly escape her lips, the deep red lipstick long worn away.<br />
<br />
He reached further up her thigh and let his fingers gently graze the outsides of her labia. Her sharp intake of breathe and almost imperceptible shudder encouraged him to continue. He ran his finger up her slit, parting her lips to access her clit and began to slowly circle and tease.<br />
<br />
Jamie reacted by squeezing the inside of his thigh. She traced the inner seam of his jeans with her fingers, upward, across each button, and back down, where she could feel the bulge beneath pressing against the denim. She loved 501's for just this reason...easy access. One-handed, she opened his jeans, and squirmed her hand into place, as he shifted in his seat to help her.<br />
<br />
"Oh, good god, Jamie..."<br />
<br />
"Don't wreck the car, Chris..."<br />
<br />
"Oh, I won't, just don't take your hand of the stick, Jamie...drive me all the way home, girl..."<br />
<br />
He leaned further toward her, pushing two fingers as deep inside her as he could. And Jamie tried her best to rub him off. Both of them were constricted by position.<br />
<br />
Chris turned left on their street, moaning softly under his breath, and accelerated. Jamie reached up and hit the garage door button. The car pulled into its spot, and the door slid closed behind them.<br />
<br />
Jamie undid her seatbelt, "Pull your pants down to your knees Chris..." She was breathless and wild-eyed, climbing over the console, straddling him, and then sliding herself down his expectant cock. There were no formalities, just fucking...her ass pounding against the steering wheels, his hands on her hips.<br />
<br />
It was only minutes, and both of them, in their hunger, came.<br />
<br />
Jamie slumped against him, breathing hard.<br />
<br />
"I love you, Jamie..."<br />
<br />
"I love you, too, Chris..."<br />
<br />
"Let's go inside and do this right..."<br />
<br />
"Oh, this <i>was</i> right...it was <i>just</i> right..."<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiXkpJyEHamQok6FvstYdDKhB2u0RNe5eRpYrd7i2i4_fwA_eDfkUYz5TvsIDSKM2C67v97Wtryk8vkKs9mlGo-Wosfg4jETDpoDQ4IyaH0EGEHLeFVlZ9ke_De0LLBaeYa_Yyi5Uwgvtp/s1600/main-qimg-820ea69668bd5c7f68c5fdf5c42245b4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiXkpJyEHamQok6FvstYdDKhB2u0RNe5eRpYrd7i2i4_fwA_eDfkUYz5TvsIDSKM2C67v97Wtryk8vkKs9mlGo-Wosfg4jETDpoDQ4IyaH0EGEHLeFVlZ9ke_De0LLBaeYa_Yyi5Uwgvtp/s320/main-qimg-820ea69668bd5c7f68c5fdf5c42245b4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.complex.com/sports/2011/10/12-practical-tips-for-having-sex-in-a-car/" target="_blank">12 Practical Tips for Having Sex in the Car</a><br />
<a href="http://www.car-sex-positions.com/front-seat.html" target="_blank">Car Sex Positions</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-135770896832949162016-05-09T21:02:00.000-07:002016-05-09T21:04:56.764-07:00A Living Canvas<div>
<div>
It's Masturbation Monday...but rather than self-manipulation this fine evening, I've opted for a little help in this story. Even though THEY aren't masturbating...perhaps the characters will inspire YOU to?<br />
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<a href="http://masturbationmonday.kaylalords.com/masturbation-monday-week-88/" target="_blank"><img alt="http://masturbationmonday.kaylalords.com/masturbation-monday-week-88/" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmmKgQFO3bECSmS8HFkd2CtIESk2hLOiBNHwfSjOQTcg-loGD9tDKKd0Nmz7XaCgsyfU6xfKzi8cnp2mMAx9Ol0gW1P0UuqUQZzyS9WoDZQX_uPNMJr4PbAN0WwWA7FwpfyOrcQ5F6Dtr-/s1600/Masturbation-Monday-badge-small.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4>
<span style="font-size: small;">A Living Canvas</span> </h4>
</div>
</div>
<div>
Jenna became highly aware of her own skin, as the warm breeze hit
places usually covered in public. She and Michael had the backyard to
themselves. The kids were gone for the weekend, and, generously, Mother
Nature had graced them with a sunny afternoon. Michael took the
opportunity to pull Jenna, by the hand, away from her chores and
responsibilities. Sometimes he had no choice but to make it a directive.
She had a tendency to wind herself up and lose focus on what mattered.
And Michael had to cook up something out of the ordinary to really reset
her. This afternoon, he had just such a plan in store. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Standing
on the soft green grass, Michael spread a blanket. He
walked behind her, surprising her by picking her clean up off her feet.
She giggled and squealed a bit with the shift of balance from her own
feet to his arms. The shift in power was more than symbolic. It was
obvious the role she was being asked to assume. And gladly, she began to leave her
To Do list behind.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
"Close your eyes, Jen. No talking. No moving. I'll move you as necessary."<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Jenna
nodded and sank down into the blanket and the softness of the earth below it, eyes closed, a smile relaxing her
features. She could hear Michael moving around her, setting things
down, and preparing, for whatever it was he was planning to do.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
And
then he was above her, unbuttoning her well-loved plaid, cotton shirt,
which was rolled up at the sleeves as to keep them out of the
dish-water...and then her jeans: unbuttoned and unzipped, slowly being
pulled off of her body. He turned her just enough to each side to remove
her arms from the sleeves of her shirt and then undid her front-clasped bra,
peeling it back like wrapping paper, revealing her breasts, nipples
already signaling her growing dedication to the moment. Slipping the bra out
from under her back, he left her in the sun with the directive <i>to keep her eyes closed</i>.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Within
minutes, he returned, setting more things down around her. Jenna could
feel him kneel beside her, could feel his warm breath above her left
nipple...her right...and then her neck. In her ear, he whispered,
"You're a perfect canvas...that porcelain skin<i>, </i>crying out for the images in my head. These ideas...they'll find a home <i>here...and here....and here..."</i><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
With
each "here", he kissed her, on the side of her breast, on her
stomach, and just below the edge of her white cotton panties, which he'd
left on her.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
And then she felt the cold touch of the
paint-dipped brush on her collar bone, as it made a trail between her
breasts, to her naval. She sucked in her breath when the brush moved
softly back up to circle each of her breasts.</div>
<div>
<br data-mce-bogus="1" /></div>
<div>
She
sighed, and released every other last thought, letting her brain be
submerged in the smell (one of her favorites) of freshly cut grass and
the sound of the erotic musical strains of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oSvaRuKhZJk" target="_blank">Enigma's MCMXC a.D</a>. The swirls and dips of
the brush, into and out of the valleys of her torso, took the rest of
her bodily concentration, and everything else was pushed outward, into
the space around her, and set free. </div>
<div>
<br data-mce-bogus="1" /></div>
<div>
Jenna
had no idea how much time had passed, as she drifted in and out of a
light sleep. The warmth of the sun on her skin lulled her back and forth
along the edge of a dream that vaguely resembled the scent of a distant memory.
But when the brush stopped moving, Jenna was softly roused from herself
by Michael's voice.</div>
<div>
<br data-mce-bogus="1" /></div>
<div>
"Imagine what he could have done with a canvas such as this..." </div>
<div>
<br data-mce-bogus="1" /></div>
<div>
She began to open her eyes, but Michael told her to stop.</div>
<div>
<br data-mce-bogus="1" /></div>
<div>
"I'm not done, Jen. It has to dry. And while it does..."</div>
<div>
<br data-mce-bogus="1" /></div>
<div>
Michael
began to slide Jenna's panties over her sun-kissed hips and down her
thighs. He spread her legs, just a bit, his hands, on either side of
her, steadying him as he lowered his face to kiss her softest, sweetest
parts. He licked the creases where her inner thighs met her outer
labia...and then grazed his tongue from the base of her inner labia, all
the way to her clitoris, where he stayed for a moment, collecting
himself, as she slowly began to lose herself.</div>
<div>
<br data-mce-bogus="1" /></div>
<div>
"Jenna, you have to hold still...to let the paint dry. You can't touch it. You can't move...unless I move you."</div>
<div>
<br data-mce-bogus="1" /></div>
<div>
"Okay, Michael. I promise not to move." But she wasn't so sure she could keep her promise.</div>
<div>
<br data-mce-bogus="1" /></div>
<div>
He
licked her, and tasted her, and slipped first one and then two fingers
inside of her, knowing just where to touch, with just the right
pressure, to bring her complete release. He worked his fingers and
tongue in tandem, bringing her just to the edge, every muscle in her
lower body taut and her breath held. That is when he stopped. He pulled
away, and he watched the swirls of paint move across her flesh, the yellow
and blue patterns turning from static to rhythm, like animation...the
wind - alive and dancing, just as the artist had intended.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-3354443739829459242016-05-08T21:51:00.002-07:002016-05-08T21:51:40.195-07:00Pink Deux<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKxxeIcu2YHKqJmJThyphenhyphenfZJ2hWYmxn9cv7j8r-FT0VKOer8zXia_6KhXyA-1UjyYVj-IRAChM71X0Z-exDkhfO5SL1e07FZJ2V067gh_vRp6IDuXSwl2K0p2GDrT0RvZLnMokopaOPm3tCg/s1600/DSC_0325.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKxxeIcu2YHKqJmJThyphenhyphenfZJ2hWYmxn9cv7j8r-FT0VKOer8zXia_6KhXyA-1UjyYVj-IRAChM71X0Z-exDkhfO5SL1e07FZJ2V067gh_vRp6IDuXSwl2K0p2GDrT0RvZLnMokopaOPm3tCg/s400/DSC_0325.JPG" width="265" /></a></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-5105595277451069532016-05-03T21:36:00.000-07:002016-05-03T21:40:49.496-07:00Thirteen<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGqiutzrXkjZ-bLbI3piPeiWNbFS4-VNI9YTEylGGJQoMCQNTQjlC2yVdQ0u4aIojbvgfxTcqywgkxbEWcQPiW5O15_5b38i_3kdMHDkrMM9ucVed9wNL0XKQ3CHsKKcyRAgcEtv5j4u6s/s1600/first+kiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGqiutzrXkjZ-bLbI3piPeiWNbFS4-VNI9YTEylGGJQoMCQNTQjlC2yVdQ0u4aIojbvgfxTcqywgkxbEWcQPiW5O15_5b38i_3kdMHDkrMM9ucVed9wNL0XKQ3CHsKKcyRAgcEtv5j4u6s/s320/first+kiss.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I flashed him an awkward metal smile</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
before leaning in to touch his lips </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and salt his tongue with mine.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I hadn't expected his lips to be cold.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Snowflakes caught in his black curls,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
turning him old before his time.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We were losing minutes, hours, days,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
standing there in the winter chill.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But that kiss was important enough </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to brave the possibility of frostbite and</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
my father's anger when I came home late,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
pink-cheeked and trembling.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Such a tender age, thirteen, when we open,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
like the hungry mouths of baby starlings</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
in spring, unable to feed ourselves or fly,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
but just desperate enough to try.</div>
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-8040154560973929792016-04-27T21:44:00.000-07:002016-05-18T20:42:16.667-07:00Shifting Limits, Seeking BalanceSo when I showed my husband this week's Wicked Wednesday prompt:<br />
<br />
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<br />
...he laughed and said something like, "You put up that sign all the time...and then... you get drunk...."<br />
<br />
Somehow, at that point, the "off" becomes a bit blurry and starts to look more like "no". Funny how that happens - a little liquid courage...or better yet, a little liquid <b>freedom</b>.<br />
<br />
So, that led me to consider: <b>freedom </b>from <i>what</i>, exactly? Where does my inner censor come from? Because quite honestly, even sober, sometimes a particular thing sounds good - and then at another time, it totally turns my stomach and freaks me out, making me question my own desires.<br />
<br />
And then, of course, there are limits that stop being limits through experience. A good example would be anal sex, for me. I can remember, all the way back to college when I had anal sex for the first time. It was awful. Just sad, really. He sort of just shoved (or tried to shove) his dick in there, sans lube (ouch!), and I spent the remainder of the night curled up in the fetal position feeling embarrassed disappointment. I was so traumatized, I didn't even attempt it again until I met my husband, in my late 20s. It still makes me blush to talk about it, but I must admit, I enjoy it, and while it is no longer off limits, talking about it in any sort of depth is still uncomfortable. Why? I have no idea. My inner prude seems to think I'm a total slut sometimes and that having anal sex - <i>and liking it</i> - is proof. Why I'm worried about what my inner prude thinks is beyond me, because my inner slut thinks she's a fucking bore.<br />
<br />
What else has been off limits? Non-monogamy comes to mind. But that one goes up and down for me. Sometimes it sounds like a ton of fun. Other times, it just sounds like work and eventual, unavoidable disappointment. In connection, non-monogamous exploits in our town of residence is another "off limits" turned "aw, what the fuck...might as well." Non-monogamous interactions with co-workers? Bosses? Friends? Yah...been there, done all of it...and lived to tell about it...reputations and relationships all happily in-tact.<br />
<br />
Pretty much nothing that I would once have deemed "off limits" has come back to bite me in the ass once I've tried it. My emotions about and reactions to some of those events have done me some damage, but the actual events have caused no lasting harm to my life.<br />
<br />
In fact, I have to say, with my track record, it's a wonder I say no to anything. Because, aside from so many disappointing male swingers, trying new things has never led me to ruin. And yet...I still dig in my heels and freak out any time my husband wants to try something new.<br />
<br />
Nobody puts baby in a corner...but baby sure as hell puts herself there on a regular basis... <br />
<br />
Tie me up? Okay. Awesome. No. I changed my mind. Okay. Yes, please. <br />
<br />
Wartenberg wheel? Ow. I don't know. Maybe. Tonight it works. No...no! I can't take it! Let's try it again.<br />
<br />
Discipline? Spanking? Makes me feel subjugated. Makes me feel impish. Makes me feel like disobeying more. Makes me feel indignant. Makes me feel horny. Spank me please! Fuck, that hurts. No more of that, please. I can't handle it any more.<br />
<br />
Violet wand? Fuck no. Fuck no. Fuck no. ??? I don't know...maybe I could consider...maybe...if...<br />
<br />
(Am I the only one with these weird bi-polar, shifting limits?) <br />
<br />
Pretty much everything that I've tried, at one point in my life...it was off limits. Can't have sex...turned into...Can't have sex until I'm 16 (I self-imposed that rule...like most of my limitations). Can't have sex with someone I don't love...turned into...Can't have sex with someone I don't know. Can't have oral sex...but it's okay with ____________. Can't have unprotected sex...unless you really trust him. Can't have anal sex...became...Won't have anal sex...became...Okay, I'll try again...became...Awesome. Can't have sex with married people...morphed into...Can't have sex with married people who are cheating. Can't have sex with more than one person at a time. Can't have sex with a woman. Can't have sex in public. Can't have group sex. Can't have sex with an audience. Can't be filmed having sex. Can't talk about sex publicly. Can't publish naked photos of myself.<br />
<br />
Every sex-related "can't" or "won't" has, over time, turned into a possibility or a reality...even a preference. At this point in my life, I don't think I could honestly say" never" to anything sexual that was consensual. My only worry is the idea of having <b>no limits</b>. For some people, that might sound like a whole lot of fun and completely freeing. But it terrifies me. Where does it end? Where does the experimentation end? When does it go too far? Because it can. It can always go <i>too far</i>. I think I have a whole lot in common with my dog...who needs to have a small, enclosed space to feel safe while she sleeps. That's how I am with my sexploration.<br />
<br />
I suppose it's all about finding balance, which can be tricky when you only have to deal with yourself. It can be near impossible when you have to consider the needs and wants of two.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://wickedwednesday.rebelsnotes.com/2016/04/prompt-204-off-limits/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="http://wickedwednesday.rebelsnotes.com/2016/04/prompt-204-off-limits/" border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCWgvxVNKduqqlsDZKTZeW3IMQ0n2JbzUpQuNxivknIxzSldARZoikuhpG-u4yBJNtI12k8fM3Nh_MbKxt-NyowlwOJfUIe1xZSOPuVqpj2H1xOsxXTbMVGxUtrvWllKbQRfsevi4qvIFI/s200/rainbowcircle111.png" width="200" /></a>That's where Mr. LL and I are now - figuring out our limits, knowing those limits will shift with time, learning to be open to the changes. Well, I'll be honest...<b>I'm </b>learning to be open to the changes...or at least close my eyes, take his hands, wince, hold my breath, and trust him to lead me.<br />
<br />
Now-a-days...the only things off limits in our sex life are sexual stagnation and avoidance of tough conversations about limits.<br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-45078927460785259692016-04-25T21:17:00.000-07:002016-04-25T21:22:54.979-07:00Under SurveillanceMisty gave her directive, "Call. Dave. Home," and the car's bluetooth obliged..."Calling Dave. Home."<br />
<br />
"Yell-o...'sup, hon?"<br />
<br />
"Drivin'."<br />
<br />
"And?"<br />
<br />
"Just stuck in traffic, bored outta my mind."<br />
<br />
"Ahhh...lookin' for some action, eh?"<br />
<br />
"Yep."<br />
<br />
"I could probably swing somethin'."<br />
<br />
"Oh, yeah?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah."<br />
<br />
"Like what?"<br />
<br />
"Like...where are you?"<br />
<br />
"Near exit 277. But, we're at a crawl...and I'm wearing a skirt."<br />
<br />
"Good girl...makes things easy. Panties?"<br />
<br />
"Could lose them quick and easy."<br />
<br />
"Do it."<br />
<br />
He waited a moment as he heard her rustling around a bit.<br />
<br />
"Done."<br />
<br />
"Lick your fingers. Really suck on them...leave 'em wet..."<br />
<br />
She did.<br />
<br />
"Now rub them around your clit until it swells...but don't touch it directly. I want that sucker throbbing before you give in."<br />
<br />
She was quiet, but obeying his every word.<br />
<br />
"What's it look like?"<br />
<br />
She slid her skirt to her waist, spread her legs, lifting one knee against the gear-shift and the other against the driver's side door.<br />
<br />
"Wet...and very, very pink."<br />
<br />
"Good. Are you still at a stand still?"<br />
<br />
"Yep. Must be a wreck ahead."<br />
<br />
"Too bad...their misfortune has led to our benefit..lick the first two fingers on your other hand and slip them in your cunt."<br />
<br />
She followed his direction.<br />
<br />
"Now, with your other hand, begin massaging your clit."<br />
<br />
"This isn't easy in this space, Dave."<br />
<br />
"Didn't promise easy, did I?"<br />
<br />
"No."<br />
<br />
"Didn't really ask, either..."<br />
<br />
"Correct, as always, my love."<br />
<br />
She stroked herself into a flurry of wetness.<br />
<br />
"Is that your wet pussy I hear, serenading me?"<br />
<br />
"Yes...I'm very, very wet. I'm likely to make a damn mess of the car seat."<br />
<br />
"That's why we splurged on the leather, babe. Never question."<br />
<br />
She gasped a bit as her breathing sped up. She could feel the tell-tale signs of her oncoming orgasm...the heat rising up her belly, across her chest, encircling her throat, like the ghost of his hand pressing her head against the headrest. Even from miles away, he could restrain her every move - play her like a theremin.<br />
<br />
"You aren't allowed, Misty."<br />
<br />
"Ah, Jesus, Dave...you've gotta be kidding me...I'm so close..."<br />
<br />
"Nope. Only me. So stop. Now."<br />
<br />
"Okay..." she whined.<br />
<br />
"I mean it." His voice was stern. <br />
<br />
She begrudgingly removed her hands, pulling her skirt back down around her thighs, wiping her wet fingers on the soft fabric.<br />
<br />
"How do you always know?"<br />
<br />
"Because I know you...and I'm always watching."<br />
<br />
She furrowed her brow into a questioning expression of playful annoyance.<br />
<br />
"Well...are you at least home now...can we fuck the minute I walk in the door? Seriously...I'm fucking horny, Dave..."<br />
<br />
"Not yet. Almost."<br />
<br />
"Where are you?"<br />
<br />
"Near exit 277."<br />
<br />
"Wha--"<br />
<br />
Misty looked to her right...a blue Honda. She looked to the left...<br />
<br />
"Ah...fuck you, Dave...did you record that whole fucking thing?"<br />
<br />
"You betcha, sweet heart..."<br />
<br />
He winked at her from the cab of his shiny, white Dodge Ram pick-up. And he left her with the same lecherous smile that had drawn her in all those years ago.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://masturbationmonday.kaylalords.com/masturbation-monday-week-86/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="http://masturbationmonday.kaylalords.com/masturbation-monday-week-86/" border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuuYD_IjaT3Y1CSqWxvZkV7fdB34_XzVB8mW-V9Z3XFNUvqErvtHr3L_reWUoruEQZNVGEyY7PjHspqgIbxVsbuCnOEzmHYimtsNHGZwAMD7HUOhHqvWsh-QwMUKlpEWjcigIav8nDD8-F/s200/Masturbation-Monday-badge-small.jpg" width="200" /></a>(I had to write this one...as I gave masturbating in the car another go recently. It's not easy. In fact...it can only really happen when stuck in traffic...like our girl, Misty, here...or when on a nice, straight highway with the cruise control on. No...it's not the safest thing to be doing. But, there are times when a girl just has to try to get her rocks off. I was on a short expanse of highway, so there really wasn't much time. I knew I'd never get off, but there are moments when simply touching myself can release a bit of pent up tension. I even tried parking at Wal-mart...way out away from everyone else's cars...to finish the job. But, it didn't happen. Frustrated...I did my errands and managed to get my mind off of it. Nothing like shopping in Wal-mart to cool your desire right off.)<br />
<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-40150140036245282152016-03-14T21:31:00.000-07:002016-04-24T11:29:28.622-07:00Breaching the SurfaceThere are those moments when nothing can satiate my desire besides penetration. The blessed insertion of something, preferably fleshy, and warm, and connected to something I want and love, into my hungriest places, all of which seem to be so conveniently created to invite him in. The tantalizing build up of his hand on my thigh, especially in a a public place, or somewhere nothing can be done about it, just serve to make the release that much more sweet.<br />
<br />
I can feel him, across the room, naked. His heat. His eyes following my curves. And my body tenses. I keep breathing in and forgetting to breathe out, my chest expanding, my lungs filling, releasing just enough to keep me from passing out. Those shallow, expectant gulps of air...my whole body reaching out for his offering.<br />
<br />
It's a metaphorical and almost silent dance. A quiet desperation seen in the trembling of lips and fingers and shoulders. An unspoken desire that screams from the depth of the eye and the uneven sighs that barely escape, in and out.<br />
<br />
It's hard to define or explain desire. I'm sure it's onset is different for many of us. But for me, it's a deliciously painful greed. The kind that makes the world slip away, because all I want is that which is before me. Not just some of it. All of it. Now.<br />
<br />
But, the waiting. The waiting and the denial are almost as sweet...are they not? As long as it doesn't last too long, that is.<br />
<br />
When I feel him slip in beside me, wrap me in his arms and pull me to him, our bodies forming one fluid machine, my breath heightens and deepens, becoming audible as my hunger begins to speak in a language only the body knows.<br />
<br />
He kisses me, softly, holding back, because he knows how crazy it makes me. He drives me like a luxury car, smoothly and sensually...totally in control. His hands search my skin as if it explained the meaning of life in brail, gently in places, grabbing hold of me in handfuls in others, reminding me that all of this is his...not because he takes it...not even really because I give it. It is his because, like any kind of faith, it just is. His touch makes my body believe.<br />
<br />
On our sides, his tongue searches mine for secrets and treasures, while his right hand follows the curve of my back and my plump behind. I wrap my left leg over his, exposing the core of my heat and hunger. He teases it, runs his fingers across it, but eventually, he covers it completely with his hand, probing gently at first...one finger...<br />
<br />
And I melt, I sigh, I come completely undone. All the breathing in and holding the want as if it were a word on the tip of my tongue...the kind I can't let go...the kind that keeps me up all night looking for it. To let all of that out is like being slowly submerged in warm water...maybe something like going home. The perfection of it...that seemingly simple moment...the sort of thing that happens all the time. It still holds that power for me...when he slips his fingers inside me...when he first penetrates me.<br />
<br />
Because when he does that...when he breaches the surface of my bodily being - he enters my soul.<br />
<br />
It is always more than what it seems.<br />
<br />
With him.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://masturbationmonday.kaylalords.com/" target="_blank">Masturbation Monday</a></td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-69668082240220485242016-02-01T19:32:00.002-08:002016-02-01T19:32:28.362-08:00The Centerpiece"Tabitha, this house is just unbelievable! Who is your decorator? I simply <i>must</i> know." Angelica looked around the living room. The marble floors, the large, plush rugs, the exquisite furniture. Every piece was decadent. The detail was unequivocally riveting, and Angelica felt as if she could just sink into the over-sized leather couch, cover herself with the cream-colored, cashmere throw, and lose herself in the 1st edition <i>Lady Chatterly's Lover</i> on the coffee table.<br />
<br />
"Michael Evansfield planned and oversaw the whole process. It was a stunning thing to watch him work...the drawings, the fabric swatches, the <i>dreamy</i> young men he brought to assist him. I'm telling you, Angelica, you could give up television and reading altogether with a crew like that around. Pure, sensual entertainment."<br />
<br />
"Well, this is going to be a fabulous open-house, Tabby. Everyone will be so jealous. What are you serving?"<br />
<br />
"That's a whole separate and wonderful affair. Michael hooked me up with the chef at Tempranillo. His cuisine is like an orgasm melting on your tongue, I'm telling you. He's made all these wonderful, little appetizers, and Micheal promised an enticing display."<br />
<br />
"Ooh, it sound scrumptious. I can hardly wait."<br />
<br />
"Well, Micheal won't let me see it until all the ladies arrive. He says he's cooked up a lovely surprise for us all."<br />
<br />
______________ XXX<br />
<br />
<br />
"Ladies, ladies, ladies..." Micheal burst into the room in a flurry of satin and velvet and spicy cologne. He stood with his legs perfectly straight and connected at the knees, his hands clasped under his chin, and an impish grin to pull them all in.<br />
<br />
"I have such a treat for you tonight, ladies." He walked toward Tabitha and took her hand in his. "Over the past several months, I have grown to adore this woman. Her sense of style and her willingness to allow my creative instincts to make this house into an unrivaled beauty have just made my heart swell with gratitude. I'm so happy to have had the chance to work for such a gracious and charming woman." Michael then leaned forward a bit, putting his hand to the side of his face as if telling a secret, and in a low voice, he said, "Not to mention that she's virtually filled my bank account to overflowing in the process." The small crowd of women laughed and clapped in their upper-class way, controlled and just a touch condescending.<br />
<br />
"And so...ladies...I implore you to follow me into the dining room. If you thought this room was to die for, you will be heady from the perfection of the next, pardon my immodesty."<br />
<br />
The ladies collected like a group of noisy hens and followed Michael through the french doors into the dining room. Sudden gasps and squeaks and other noises of surprise and shock came from various corners of the room as the women took in their surroundings. From the pastoral paintings in ornate gold frames to the glossy mahogany table and the deep burgundy brocade drapes, the extravagant, yet oddly understated feel of the room was almost enough to draw the eyes away from the centerpiece.<br />
<br />
Or not.<br />
<br />
In the middle of the table, what seemed to be the statue of a young man, naked, his muscular body transfixed in the process of an upward undulation, began to move, ever so slowly.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
"Oh....my....god." Tabitha went pale as a pearl and looked around at her guests to gauge their reaction.<br />
<br />
Judging by the grins, averted eyes, and blushing cheeks, she made the assumption that the ladies were quite uncomfortable. But, in minutes, not one pair of those averted eyes could stray from the scene unfolding on the table.<br />
<br />
The man, seemed to be in the throes of ecstasy. His hips pulsed slowly toward the ceiling and then back to the gleaming, mirror-like surface of the table. His reflection rippled beneath him.<br />
<br />
From within the group of women, huddled in a circle like wintering penguins, Angelica emerged.<br />
<br />
"I have to see this more closely." She walked toward the table. Looking at Michael, who stood off to the side, beaming with delight, she asked, "Can I touch him?"<br />
<br />
Michael grinned, a deep, throaty laugh boiled up from his diaphragm. "My dear, he's a work of art...how else are you going to fully appreciate him if you don't touch him?"<br />
<br />
Angelica reached out and touched his abdomen, the muscles there contracting with his smooth, wave-like movements. Like an electrical current, the energy he exuded traveled through her fingers, up her arm, and down her shoulder, resting in the small of her back at the base of her spine.<br />
<br />
"Oh, good lord, that is a fine specimen."<br />
<br />
If it were even possible, Michael's grin widened. "Well, my love, to truly experience art, you must take it in through all of your senses. He walked to the side of the marble-topped buffet and picked up a tapestry-covered footstool. Moving toward Angelica, he placed the stool at her feet.<br />
<br />
"May I?" He offered her his hand.<br />
<br />
With a look of confusion, she took his hand and stepped up, boosting herself on to the table.<br />
<br />
"Ah, ah, ah...let me take those lovely Jimmy Choos of yours. Wouldn't want to scratch the beautiful finish, now would we? <i>Watch your nails, too, hon...</i>"<br />
<br />
Angelica, having no clue what to do next, now that she was on the table, beside the naked man, a wide-eyed bevy of gossipy, wealthy women staring at them, mouths agape.<br />
<br />
Which sense to test first? Smell...taste?<br />
<br />
Michael reached out and placed a tiny cracker, covered with a dollop of caviar, on the man's stomach.<br />
<br />
"See if you can enjoy that tasty treat without the use of your hands, love."<br />
<br />
Angelica's eyes twitched back briefly to her little crowd of anxious spectators. <i>What the hell? </i>She thought. And she leaned forward, on her hands and knees, slipping her tongue beneath the cracker, placing her lips on his skin. The smell of him was primal. And she noticed his skin glistened as if rubbed down with gold shimmer. She heard him part his lips and exhale as she lifted the cracker into her mouth. And from the corner of her eye, she saw his member twitch to life. It made her forget herself. It made her forget the people in the room. It made her forget everything but the taste of his salty, sweet flesh.<br />
<i><br /></i>
And, good god was she<i> starving</i>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://masturbationmonday.kaylalords.com/masturbation-monday-week-74/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_HOh5xHBGSiXg6yfQbl-vz8SyMAacgxWC92uMB7uHsHS_WW2_mtmmRU3h3DbV1ykCrIEZkZAofLCgacq80cERSVK2Neg2pra1KyolK3xbReH03Yz1MkpuqQMSypXWVkbmfyLwv5QogmNR/s1600/Masturbation-Monday-badge-small.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-18962426425677802242015-08-26T22:13:00.000-07:002016-04-24T17:23:59.199-07:00Magical realism...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://wickedwednesday.rebelsnotes.com/2015/08/prompt-169-i-dont-want-realism-i-want-magic/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQQGd5o3zjOB1IIZesexPZh5cPly1TsNPa754H-FCBoNl0AkkMP4wLy3euRrlUswUNMDgh9Vr4D3NckpcYp2y7gxQ2MI4QctWg2YK8nF5hyphenhyphenZ9m1OzwoQLoJVrnfI94eKeF9oNqgIvWQHDl/s1600/rainbowcircle1-150.png" /></a></div>
<div class="vk_ans" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif-light, sans-serif; font-size: xx-large !important; font-weight: lighter !important; margin-bottom: 0px;">
<br /></div>
Is magic when everything works right?<br />
<br />
The house is clean, the kid is behaving, the work is done, and only fun is to be had.<br />
<br />
Or is it when the planets align?<br />
<br />
I want Him. He wants me. We have time. Alone. Together.<br />
<br />
Could it be when I'm feeling sane?<br />
<br />
I'm not anxious. I'm not stressed. I'm not pissed off. I'm happy. I'm smiling. I'm relaxed.<br />
<br />
If it is, magic doesn't happen around here that often, but when it does, it's awesome.<br />
<br />
I suppose that's why it's magic, right? I mean, that's the way most people use the term..."It just happened...like magic."<br />
<br />
That kind of magic isn't supposed to happen every day. If it did, it wouldn't be nearly as amazing, and we wouldn't be as in awe of it as we are when it does. It surprises us into noticing things that either don't normally happen or becoming momentarily aware of things that do happen all the time but fly under our radar because we're too busy rushing around in our daily lives.<br />
<br />
But there's another side of magic...<br />
<br />
<div class="vk_ans" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif-light, sans-serif; font-size: xx-large !important; font-weight: lighter !important; margin-bottom: 0px;">
<span data-dobid="hdw">mag·ic</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<div class="lr_dct_ent_ph" style="font-size: large;">
<span class="lr_dct_ph">ˈmajik/</span></div>
<div>
<div class="lr_dct_sf_h" style="padding-top: 10px;">
<i>noun</i></div>
<div aria-hidden="true" class="xpdxpnd vk_gy" data-mh="-1" style="color: rgb(135, 135, 135) !important; max-height: 0px; overflow: hidden; transition: max-height 0.3s;">
<b></b></div>
<ol class="lr_dct_sf_sens" style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 20px;">
<li style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.2; list-style: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div class="lr_dct_sf_sen vk_txt" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif-light, sans-serif; font-weight: lighter !important; padding-top: 10px;">
<div style="float: left;">
<b>1</b>.</div>
<div style="margin-left: 20px;">
<div class="_Jig">
<div data-dobid="dfn" style="display: inline;">
the power of apparently influencing the course of events by using mysterious or supernatural forces.</div>
<div class="vk_gy" style="color: rgb(135, 135, 135) !important;">
"do you believe in magic?"</div>
<div>
<table class="vk_tbl vk_gy" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: rgb(135, 135, 135) !important;"><tbody>
<tr><td class="lr_dct_nyms_ttl" style="font-style: italic; padding: 0px 3px 0px 0px; vertical-align: top; white-space: nowrap;">synonyms:</td><td style="padding: 0px;"><a data-ved="0CB8Q_SowAGoVChMIqYL68bfIxwIVlESICh1GJg74" href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=off&espv=2&biw=1093&bih=479&q=define+sorcery&sa=X&ved=0CB8Q_SowAGoVChMIqYL68bfIxwIVlESICh1GJg74" style="color: #660099; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">sorcery</a>, <a data-ved="0CCAQ_SowAGoVChMIqYL68bfIxwIVlESICh1GJg74" href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=off&espv=2&biw=1093&bih=479&q=define+witchcraft&sa=X&ved=0CCAQ_SowAGoVChMIqYL68bfIxwIVlESICh1GJg74" style="color: #660099; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">witchcraft</a>, <a data-ved="0CCEQ_SowAGoVChMIqYL68bfIxwIVlESICh1GJg74" href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=off&espv=2&biw=1093&bih=479&q=define+wizardry&sa=X&ved=0CCEQ_SowAGoVChMIqYL68bfIxwIVlESICh1GJg74" style="color: #660099; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">wizardry</a>, <a data-ved="0CCIQ_SowAGoVChMIqYL68bfIxwIVlESICh1GJg74" href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=off&espv=2&biw=1093&bih=479&q=define+necromancy&sa=X&ved=0CCIQ_SowAGoVChMIqYL68bfIxwIVlESICh1GJg74" style="color: #660099; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">necromancy</a>, <a data-ved="0CCMQ_SowAGoVChMIqYL68bfIxwIVlESICh1GJg74" href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=off&espv=2&biw=1093&bih=479&q=define+enchantment&sa=X&ved=0CCMQ_SowAGoVChMIqYL68bfIxwIVlESICh1GJg74" style="color: #660099; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">enchantment</a>, the supernatural, occultism, the occult, <a data-ved="0CCQQ_SowAGoVChMIqYL68bfIxwIVlESICh1GJg74" href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=off&espv=2&biw=1093&bih=479&q=define+black+magic&sa=X&ved=0CCQQ_SowAGoVChMIqYL68bfIxwIVlESICh1GJg74" style="color: #660099; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">black magic</a>, the black arts,<a data-ved="0CCUQ_SowAGoVChMIqYL68bfIxwIVlESICh1GJg74" href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=off&espv=2&biw=1093&bih=479&q=define+voodoo&sa=X&ved=0CCUQ_SowAGoVChMIqYL68bfIxwIVlESICh1GJg74" style="color: #660099; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">voodoo</a>, <a data-ved="0CCYQ_SowAGoVChMIqYL68bfIxwIVlESICh1GJg74" href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=off&espv=2&biw=1093&bih=479&q=define+hoodoo&sa=X&ved=0CCYQ_SowAGoVChMIqYL68bfIxwIVlESICh1GJg74" style="color: #660099; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">hoodoo</a>, <a data-ved="0CCcQ_SowAGoVChMIqYL68bfIxwIVlESICh1GJg74" href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=off&espv=2&biw=1093&bih=479&q=define+mojo&sa=X&ved=0CCcQ_SowAGoVChMIqYL68bfIxwIVlESICh1GJg74" style="color: #660099; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">mojo</a>, shamanism;</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ol>
</div>
</div>
<br />
It's not all love potions and card tricks. There are curses and spells. There is darkness. And there are ways to live with intention in order to navigate the ups and downs, the negative energy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRaXbho2FsyK5jL5vr0apVtFMNiQvBOn2p-nKQodaiaPek9bw8CpifK4-t9xvo-TZKjaFRHQ8LjJshjKee5g8g2copCOA4jTcQxyRNPqLQ59eRQhgtCMuwjRISff1_Ta2X6m_gulDUYcCS/s1600/3a76b9ff8194996f5fcbcc9bf83ec6d8+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRaXbho2FsyK5jL5vr0apVtFMNiQvBOn2p-nKQodaiaPek9bw8CpifK4-t9xvo-TZKjaFRHQ8LjJshjKee5g8g2copCOA4jTcQxyRNPqLQ59eRQhgtCMuwjRISff1_Ta2X6m_gulDUYcCS/s1600/3a76b9ff8194996f5fcbcc9bf83ec6d8+%25281%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I'm not positive that it works. But if living with intention, burning candles, praying, lighting incense, and generally working to connect with the world around us and our space within it to ensure the best outcome for ourselves and those we love is magic...then I suppose I live a rather magical life.<br />
<br />
This week's <a href="http://wickedwednesday.rebelsnotes.com/2015/08/prompt-169-i-dont-want-realism-i-want-magic/" target="_blank">Wicked Wednesday</a> prompt was:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJHTrM7LSHKAtydDSB6pqWY7OR_vDnUG1aqDW26WxBB3cnYBXByb_DkOq1sfP0-LhYZlIP-qwv7uPfXQTuYDAXrCc4itIzzredPNtErKKYRYoKi91gvcpumHC7sHgBw264cZlwH9QExmlW/s1600/magic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJHTrM7LSHKAtydDSB6pqWY7OR_vDnUG1aqDW26WxBB3cnYBXByb_DkOq1sfP0-LhYZlIP-qwv7uPfXQTuYDAXrCc4itIzzredPNtErKKYRYoKi91gvcpumHC7sHgBw264cZlwH9QExmlW/s320/magic1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I thought long and hard about it. And though I suppose I could've written a story or a poem...or written something deep and transcendental, I decided to stick with "reality." Because, despite how boring realism sounds in relation to magic, it doesn't have to be...and probably shouldn't be, if you're doing it right.<br />
<br />
<div class="vk_ans" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif-light, sans-serif; font-size: xx-large !important; font-weight: lighter !important; margin-bottom: 0px;">
<span data-dobid="hdw">re·al·ism</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<div class="lr_dct_ent_ph" style="font-size: large;">
<span class="lr_dct_ph">ˈrē(ə)ˌlizəm/</span></div>
<div>
<div class="lr_dct_sf_h" style="padding-top: 10px;">
<i>noun</i></div>
<div aria-hidden="true" class="xpdxpnd vk_gy" data-mh="-1" style="color: rgb(135, 135, 135) !important; max-height: 0px; overflow: hidden; transition: max-height 0.3s;">
<b></b><b></b></div>
<ol class="lr_dct_sf_sens" style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 20px;">
<li style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.2; list-style: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div class="lr_dct_sf_sen vk_txt" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif-light, sans-serif; font-weight: lighter !important; padding-top: 10px;">
<div style="float: left;">
<b>1</b>.</div>
<div style="margin-left: 20px;">
<div class="_Jig">
<div data-dobid="dfn" style="display: inline;">
the attitude or practice of accepting a situation as it is and being prepared to deal with it accordingly.</div>
<div class="vk_gy" style="color: rgb(135, 135, 135) !important;">
"the summit was marked by a new mood of realism"</div>
<div>
<table class="vk_tbl vk_gy" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: rgb(135, 135, 135) !important;"><tbody>
<tr><td class="lr_dct_nyms_ttl" style="font-style: italic; padding: 0px 3px 0px 0px; vertical-align: top; white-space: nowrap;">synonyms:</td><td style="padding: 0px;"><a data-ved="0CB8Q_SowAGoVChMI3p3VsbzIxwIVypqICh3h2gRF" href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=off&espv=2&biw=1093&bih=479&q=define+pragmatism&sa=X&ved=0CB8Q_SowAGoVChMI3p3VsbzIxwIVypqICh3h2gRF" style="color: #660099; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">pragmatism</a>, <a data-ved="0CCAQ_SowAGoVChMI3p3VsbzIxwIVypqICh3h2gRF" href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=off&espv=2&biw=1093&bih=479&q=define+practicality&sa=X&ved=0CCAQ_SowAGoVChMI3p3VsbzIxwIVypqICh3h2gRF" style="color: #660099; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">practicality</a>, <a data-ved="0CCEQ_SowAGoVChMI3p3VsbzIxwIVypqICh3h2gRF" href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=off&espv=2&biw=1093&bih=479&q=define+common+sense&sa=X&ved=0CCEQ_SowAGoVChMI3p3VsbzIxwIVypqICh3h2gRF" style="color: #660099; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">common sense</a>, levelheadedness<br />
<div style="display: inline;">
<div style="display: inline;">
<div class="vk_gy">
"optimism tinged with realism"</div>
</div>
</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-left: -13px;">
<ul style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<li aria-hidden="true" class="xpdxpnd" data-mh="-1" style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.2; list-style: none; margin: 0px; max-height: 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px; transition: max-height 0.3s;"><div class="lr_dct_sf_subsen" style="display: list-item; font-size: xx-small; list-style-type: disc; margin-left: 25px; padding-top: 5px;">
<div class="_Jig" style="font-size: small;">
<div data-dobid="dfn" style="display: inline;">
</div>
<div class="vk_gy" style="color: rgb(135, 135, 135) !important;">
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
<li style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.2; list-style: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div class="lr_dct_sf_sen vk_txt" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif-light, sans-serif; font-weight: lighter !important; padding-top: 10px;">
<div style="float: left;">
<b>2</b>.</div>
<div style="margin-left: 20px;">
<div class="_Jig">
<div data-dobid="dfn" style="display: inline;">
the quality or fact of representing a person, thing, or situation accurately or in a way that is true to life.</div>
<div class="vk_gy" style="color: rgb(135, 135, 135) !important;">
"the earthy realism of Raimu's characters"</div>
<div>
<table class="vk_tbl vk_gy" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: rgb(135, 135, 135) !important;"><tbody>
<tr><td class="lr_dct_nyms_ttl" style="font-style: italic; padding: 0px 3px 0px 0px; vertical-align: top; white-space: nowrap;">synonyms:</td><td style="padding: 0px;"><a data-ved="0CCMQ_SowAGoVChMI3p3VsbzIxwIVypqICh3h2gRF" href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=off&espv=2&biw=1093&bih=479&q=define+authenticity&sa=X&ved=0CCMQ_SowAGoVChMI3p3VsbzIxwIVypqICh3h2gRF" style="color: #660099; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">authenticity</a>, <a data-ved="0CCQQ_SowAGoVChMI3p3VsbzIxwIVypqICh3h2gRF" href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=off&espv=2&biw=1093&bih=479&q=define+fidelity&sa=X&ved=0CCQQ_SowAGoVChMI3p3VsbzIxwIVypqICh3h2gRF" style="color: #660099; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">fidelity</a>, <a data-ved="0CCUQ_SowAGoVChMI3p3VsbzIxwIVypqICh3h2gRF" href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=off&espv=2&biw=1093&bih=479&q=define+verisimilitude&sa=X&ved=0CCUQ_SowAGoVChMI3p3VsbzIxwIVypqICh3h2gRF" style="color: #660099; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">verisimilitude</a>, <a data-ved="0CCYQ_SowAGoVChMI3p3VsbzIxwIVypqICh3h2gRF" href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=off&espv=2&biw=1093&bih=479&q=define+truthfulness&sa=X&ved=0CCYQ_SowAGoVChMI3p3VsbzIxwIVypqICh3h2gRF" style="color: #660099; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">truthfulness</a>, <a data-ved="0CCcQ_SowAGoVChMI3p3VsbzIxwIVypqICh3h2gRF" href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=off&espv=2&biw=1093&bih=479&q=define+faithfulness&sa=X&ved=0CCcQ_SowAGoVChMI3p3VsbzIxwIVypqICh3h2gRF" style="color: #660099; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">faithfulness</a><br />
<div style="display: inline;">
<div style="display: inline;">
<div class="vk_gy">
"a degree of realism"</div>
</div>
</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ol>
</div>
</div>
<br />
I don't always want to accept my situation...and I'm quite often not prepared to deal with it accordingly, but shying away from what "is" to live in a fantasy world won't bring about more magic in life. It'll bring disappointment.<br />
<br />
So what does this have to do with my life? Since this blog really is my pool of narcissism, in which I gaze at my own reflection and pontificate.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiOGmbQswZ2QdDYKktBoHPTr0QYyQx4rolz8UlDdiQc2ZpcP4XzotbjSdSFbQVdGk8wkOIeusLOJea9HxEUX4s7zAHfiPy2VKz5NGVZsDq5Ak03wNcI-yJ9AFYn4_uB5Ld9pu-K0wfBVN6/s1600/narcissus_by_biffno.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiOGmbQswZ2QdDYKktBoHPTr0QYyQx4rolz8UlDdiQc2ZpcP4XzotbjSdSFbQVdGk8wkOIeusLOJea9HxEUX4s7zAHfiPy2VKz5NGVZsDq5Ak03wNcI-yJ9AFYn4_uB5Ld9pu-K0wfBVN6/s320/narcissus_by_biffno.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
In every life, there is magic...both ordinary and unexplainable. There are those moments that take my breath away. The moments I will never forget. The day I married my Husband. The day my son was born. The times when both have surprised me with expressions of love that have made my world seem absolutely complete.<br />
<br />
None of these things were supernatural. All were real. Simple. So, quite honestly...I have to say that reality can be magic when we accept the fact that we are blessed to have what we have.<br />
<br />
Is it magical that I am sitting here, enjoying a glass of wine, wearing a black nightgown, waiting for my amazing Husband to walk through the door so I can hand him a glass, kiss him, and know that my life is complete?<br />
<br />
Not really.<br />
<br />
It's life. A sort of magical realism, I suppose. Something like <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/One_Hundred_Years_of_Solitude" target="_blank">One Hundred Years of Solitude</a>. Regardless, I'll take my reality with a healthy does of magic...and my magic with a healthy dose of the blessings I already have.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvjRSlQpjsvPFTuT9fH4C1o-rRfJP_s-4SNq-_z0IYjeTX6FDBzkIqTAIMgvNUOLiZi3o382iZoYlpHuSKv1LB49SW85dzXahCz-w_ZZU2yPV78MV7heXYtUifuRIJP-CR2JSZ1ksbeXq5/s1600/jatarri_witch.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvjRSlQpjsvPFTuT9fH4C1o-rRfJP_s-4SNq-_z0IYjeTX6FDBzkIqTAIMgvNUOLiZi3o382iZoYlpHuSKv1LB49SW85dzXahCz-w_ZZU2yPV78MV7heXYtUifuRIJP-CR2JSZ1ksbeXq5/s320/jatarri_witch.gif" width="304" /></a><br />
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<li style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.2; list-style: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div class="lr_dct_sf_sen vk_txt" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif-light, sans-serif; font-weight: lighter !important; padding-top: 10px;">
<div style="margin-left: 20px;">
<div class="_Jig">
<div>
<table class="vk_tbl vk_gy" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: rgb(135, 135, 135) !important;"><tbody>
<tr><td class="lr_dct_nyms_ttl" style="font-style: italic; padding: 0px 3px 0px 0px; vertical-align: top; white-space: nowrap;"><br /></td><td style="padding: 0px;"><div style="display: inline;">
<div style="display: inline;">
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-67517170480396800912015-08-01T22:13:00.001-07:002015-08-01T22:13:20.607-07:00Nostalgic<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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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. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://sinfulsunday.mollysdailykiss.com/2015/08/01/sinful-sunday-week-225/" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8P9qT5ZhDiJx2dg1O3GTAogD7-KzQsusiC-b1jXEhFTFdeVrcabsxjBUpcFu_xu9105Jgl2JoLuiWnGzLEKBBig_IKIP8nnsqaEsOayUpIXthMO16gngJ5ITHydJaTZpQGn_OAB4YTK8-/s1600/SinfulSundayLips150.png" /></a></td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-87523962275549360242015-07-28T19:12:00.000-07:002016-05-18T20:44:26.087-07:00Am I starting to like it? WTF?I never considered myself the spanking type. I'm not much into pain (small amounts in the right situations...you know, hair-pulling, rough sex). But, it's growing on me, and I'm beginning to understand the need that some people have for serious spanking sessions. That whole "out of body" experience, getting outside of one's self, can be freeing and cathartic. Some people do it with drugs. Others with alcohol. Still others with physical activity like running or sex. It's all about the endorphins. Regardless of how you get there, it's about the build up of tension followed by the intense release.<br />
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We all seek it in one form or another. And as I begin to find it in ways outside of alcohol (I can admit that me and wine are pretty close...and gin is a happy third wheel)...mainly through physical activity, and as Daddy and I continue to adapt and find what works best for us, I'm finding that the occasional spanking...that tiny bit of pain...isn't so much a "bad" thing. There's intrigue there. There's just a little fear. A lot of mental build-up. And then a sudden burst of pain followed by release.<br />
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The sting...ouch...I can do without (though I don't always have a choice). A nice solid smack with a hand...the flogger (which expands the pain into more than one place so it's not so intense)...the pretty pink rose that blooms on the skin afterward. Yeah, I can live with all of that. In fact, at certain moments, I actually find myself craving it.<br />
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Weird.<br />
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Plus...he likes it. He likes to smack my ass...he likes to see it turn pink with the shape of his hand. he likes to hear the crack of skin against skin...or spanking implement against skin (whichever). So it's hard to use it completely as a punishment. For now, it works, because I don't love it. But, what if it grows on me? Or better yet, what if I begin to want it? What if I start adding it my requests and it comes out sounding like...<br />
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Of course, it has a lot to do with me either being ready for it, and steeling myself against the pain, or simply being off my guard and not being ready for it. If I have too long to think about it, I build it up in my mind. I turn it into a much bigger deal than it is. I panic, and I make it worse than it is. But, I'm finding that my brain is turning on me. It's starting to consider it. It's starting to open up to it. </div>
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I'm not sure if my brain is my friend or my enemy at this point.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-72167043744964812132015-07-26T20:27:00.000-07:002015-07-26T20:30:45.529-07:00My tits...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
My tits + my camera + Picasa's editing features =</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-4501091511152907032015-07-21T20:49:00.000-07:002016-04-24T11:39:51.079-07:00The Mental Process of Concocting a FantasyCharacters: Me and My Brain<br />
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[<i>The room is dark. I am lying naked and alone in my bed, lube and a vibrator close at hand. The curtain flutters a bit - the window open to the night air.</i>]<br />
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<b>My brain</b>: So what's your pleasure today? Cowboy? Biker? Athlete? Businessman? What kind of fantasy man am I going to need to conjure up?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLVdNHRPUonZhn3QbpibdZKAjiFaBcaZrelce_NXCMXEqtYEKR4WJ6Eq8BWnWMgo36czixl4Pf04qW6thhs0W7Oy8aEHk8tM5jwZySfHsWV4uZk_tPPNiqz5zDWMHk4tK9AIcLgD1aNl5n/s1600/Fantasy-Fernando.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLVdNHRPUonZhn3QbpibdZKAjiFaBcaZrelce_NXCMXEqtYEKR4WJ6Eq8BWnWMgo36czixl4Pf04qW6thhs0W7Oy8aEHk8tM5jwZySfHsWV4uZk_tPPNiqz5zDWMHk4tK9AIcLgD1aNl5n/s320/Fantasy-Fernando.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>Me</b>: (<i>contemplatively</i>) I guess I'd choose biker. But not your stereotypical leather-vest-wearing, long-haired, gold-toothed, Harley rider.<br />
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<b>Brain</b>: What kind, then?<br />
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<b>Me</b>: The sport bike type. Faster, younger, dangerous, Vin Diesel-y, and a bit out of control.<br />
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<b>Brain</b>: Oh. Okay. Next question...now that we've got the guy, what's under the helmet? Short hair, no hair, long hair (I think you already said no to that), mohawk, spikes...?<br />
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<b>Me</b>: Clean cut. Nothing showy. No facial hair...well, maybe a 5 o'clock shadow...that's pretty sexy. Bald is good, too...as long as there's facial hair...goatee, mustache...<br />
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<b>Brain</b>: Got it. Eyes?<br />
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<b>Me</b>: Blue...green...hazel...grey...don't really care...surprise me...<br />
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<b>Brain</b>: Alright...how 'bout this guy?<br />
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<b>Me: </b>Perfect!<br />
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<b>Brain</b>: Done! Now the scenario: day or night? urban or rural? crowd or no? inside or outside?<br />
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<b>Me</b>: Hmmm...I guess night, big city...but outside of it...looking down on all the lights...on a hill top? And I'm not really into crowds.<br />
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<b>Brain</b>: (<i>Sighs with disappointment.</i>)<i> </i>I know. (<i>mumbles</i>) Damn...I had a good one with a crowd... (<i>speaks back up</i>) but I can save it for another fantasy. Last few elements: romantic, sultry, frightening, frenzied, raw...what emotion are we going for here?<br />
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<b>Me</b>: Well, since the guy's a bit dangerous, I'm going to say sultry...maybe with an edge of the unknown, a bit of that fear...so don't tell me what's going to happen - just let me be surprised.<br />
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<b>Brain</b>: Yep...I can pull something out of left field...something from deep in your subconscious. Throw you for a loop...give you something to talk about with your therapist. (<i>Laughs knowingly.</i>)<br />
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<b>Me</b>: (<i>Slightly annoyed.</i>) It doesn't have to be weird, you know.<br />
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<b>Brain</b>: I know. But, weird is relative. Last thing...props. Ropes? Chains? A blanket with rose petals? Champagne? Hand-cuffs? A whip? Chocolate sauce and whipped cream?<br />
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<b>Me</b>: Hmmm...rope sounds fun...but let's keep it simple...just a bit of wine will do, I'm not looking to fuck myself all night...just want to get to sleep in a pleasant manner.<br />
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<b>Brain</b>: Right then. Before we start...should there be pain? And will you like it this time?<br />
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<b>Me</b>: Yes, there should be pain. <i>Pleasurable</i> pain. And, yes...I think I might like it...a little. I want him to own me up there above those city lights.<br />
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<b>Brain</b>: Alrighty then. Let's do this shit....(<i>pauses briefly, humming to self</i>) calculating fantasy.......this could take a moment....lay back....close your eyes....spread your legs a bit....rub your hands over your tits and squeeze your nipples awake....yes, that's good....now put some lube on your cunt and rub it around...get yourself good a slippery...and...turn on your vibrator...on low....slip it inside....relax...and let me tell you a story....the story of Markus...yah, that's a solid bad-boy name, who picks you up from a party you can't stand (I know, you despise them all) to take you on a ride...on the back of his bike. He's not a talker...doesn't even take off his helmet...just hands you one of your own, waits for you to climb on and grab hold. You nearly fall off with the force of his take-off. He rides too fast, out of the city, up the winding road to the lookout. No one is there, but that doesn't mean someone won't show up later. It's a popular place. Markus has come prepared...from his tank bag he pulls a bottle of wine and pours some into two small plastic cups. You follow him to the edge of the overlook. There's a safety rail there, which he swings his legs over and sits on top of...not worried at all about falling. He looks down at you and pulls out a coil of rope from his jacket. Your eyes widen, but you know to do whatever he asks. You like to do whatever he asks. It give you a break from being such a damn prude. He gives you an excuse to be a slut.<br />
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<b>Me</b>: (<i>Annoyed</i>) Enough set up already...this isn't a novel...I'm trying to get off here. Let's get to the good stuff.<br />
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<b>Brain</b>: Alright, alright....He jumps back off the railing, takes your wine and sets it aside. Standing in front of you, he unties the simple cord belt around your waist. Then he unbuttons the dress from your collar bone all the way to your thighs, opening it, leaving you exposed. He unclasps your front-hook bra (convenient, yes?), baring your breasts to the cool mountain breeze. Your nipples instantly rise to attention with the chill. He turns you toward the city view, presses you up against the safety rail, a shockingly cold metal rest for your naked tits. He spreads each arm along the length of the rail and, taking the rope, he binds each of your wrists to it. He lifts your dress in the back and uses his pocket knife to relieve you of your underwear. He spreads your legs and binds your ankles to the safety railing, as well, leaving you in a sort of spread eagle position, overlooking the lights of the city, naked. You can feel him behind you, his breath on your neck...the warmth of his body the only thing shielding you from the wind and the cold. You feel his pelvis push against your backside, his dick hard and ready. But he pulls away, and you feel the sudden shock of a smack on your bare ass cheek. His open palm. And then the whack of a something thin and hard against the other cheek. With a sharp intake of air, you gasp. But he doesn't stop. He continues to wield the weapon against your ass, sending a stinging heat to your skin, making your forget the chill and the goosebumps, the exposure, the possibility of being caught like this, unable to cover yourself or run. You are completely at his mercy. He smacks you hard enough to make you groan and squeal. And even cry. But when he stops, he rubs the throbbing places with his hands, softening the pain.<br />
<br />
<b>Me</b>: Yes, that's good....that's perfect....but I need penetration....I need to visualize that...internalize that....<i>feel that.</i><br />
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<b>Brain</b>: Gotcha....You hear him unzip his pants. You feel him spread your cheeks, the cold drops of lube dripping between them, running over you asshole, to your taint, and your already wet pussy. You know where he's going with this, and you instinctively lift your ass in offering. He places the tip of his cock against your asshole, presses into you slowly, and once he gains partial entrance, he grabs your hips with his warm hands, and thrusts into you, pressing you against the railing hard, smashing your ribs against the metal. It takes your breath. He reaches his hand around to your clit and rubs you to climax as he explodes inside your ass, his warmth filling you, your own running down the insides of your thighs.<br />
<br />
<b>Me</b>: Oh, good god, yes....that did it...that totally did it...<br />
<br />
<b>Brain</b>: Alright then...good. Let me finish this up and send you off to sleep. You hear him zip up his pants...his footsteps walking away...his bike starting, revving. For a moment, you panic. Is he leaving you here? Tied to the railing? But, no. You feel his hands untying your ankles, and then your hands. You feel him wrap his arms around you from behind, his hands grabbing softly hold of your breasts. He hands you your clothes and watches you dress yourself. Without conversation, you dress, drink the rest of your cup of wine, and climb on the back of the bike. The wind lifts your dress the entire way, and without the panties that he cut off earlier, it makes for a chilly ride indeed, and a salty, wet mark on the leather seat.<br />
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<b>Me</b>: (<i>Breathless.</i>) That was lovely, brain. I'm ready to dream now.<br />
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<b>Brain</b>: Would you like me to attempt to make you come in your sleep? I've managed it before...<br />
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<b>Me</b>: (<i>Voice growing faint and tired.) </i>Maybe another night, Brain...tonight, I want to revel in those city lights and the wind on my exposed cunt.<br />
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<b>Brain</b>: Goodnight then. We'll meet up in the morning, and I'll cook up something new for you to work with.<br />
<br />
<b>Me</b>: (<i>satisfied sigh and a wicked, sleepy smile</i>) Goodnight.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="http://wickedwednesday.rebelsnotes.com/2015/07/prompt-164-cowboy-biker-rope/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKfLsaWT6zZThFxlWHTyDFvYSDFT_0mZXDLZnwG6h7a0EFTqLwKSth_F8uYGNnZe4n68Rh2RPFMYcOgQADfBa15R4zynV3ZSEuKf77rZZWNncMWL0DD0xHl2G1oQaIspTpiNJZb9HD9-Iy/s1600/rainbowcircle1-150.png" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://wickedwednesday.rebelsnotes.com/2015/07/prompt-164-cowboy-biker-rope/" target="_blank">Click here to see who else is being wicked.</a></td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-4574175456831210972015-07-20T21:17:00.003-07:002016-04-24T15:56:36.355-07:00Masturbating for HimHe likes to watch me masturbate. But I hate being watched. <br />
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If He tells me to do it, though, I can't say no. It would be against the rules. <br />
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It makes me uncomfortable to be so open and vulnerable. So "on display." But, then. I'm His to display as He wishes, right? If He wants to gag me with my own shirt to keep me from crying out, and then asks me to close my eyes, bite down, and slip my hand into my panties, I'll suck back my pride (because I shouldn't have it, anyway, should I?), feel the heat in my cheeks (both sets), and begin to rub my clit.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwyU9pmg5Yy-4BFaOFnhEs6MJN1so1OgKYCkbB6_qitoEOwYF52JsrM_1jJsCLrb6wjU874lPWJHvbeuvrm2HN7_kWRUa1ChbRc1heIs7zRZQtFnQkPtEG7CFC2e29kLCe9_CiPn30mppT/s1600/Masturbation-Monday-Week-46.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwyU9pmg5Yy-4BFaOFnhEs6MJN1so1OgKYCkbB6_qitoEOwYF52JsrM_1jJsCLrb6wjU874lPWJHvbeuvrm2HN7_kWRUa1ChbRc1heIs7zRZQtFnQkPtEG7CFC2e29kLCe9_CiPn30mppT/s400/Masturbation-Monday-Week-46.gif" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image source: MasturbationMonday.kaylalords.com</td></tr>
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He won't accept that for long, though, will He? He'll know I'm holding back. He'll sense it, and He won't like it. And as much as I don't like being on display...the humiliation of being watched...I like disappointing Him even less.<br />
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So, I'll do what He asks. I'll slip my fingers inside of myself, and though I won't forget He's there, reclined, relaxed, and amused, I <i>will</i> begin to enjoy myself, if only because it's easier to come that way, which will get it all over with faster. Because, see...He'll know if I'm faking. And He wouldn't take kindly to a lie.<br />
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I'll go deep into my head, recall something arousing...I'll imagine my fingers are His dick, and I'll feel the heat and weight of him on top of me. I might moan a bit as the image takes over. With Him so close, I'd be able to smell Him, and that would help keep me in the place that allows me to hide.<br />
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But He'd figure out my trick. And He wouldn't let me fall back on it for long.<br />
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He'd make me open my eyes and look at Him.<br />
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He'd make me face His challenge.<br />
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He's benevolent, though. He might help me. He might place a vibrator on my clitoris while I worked my fingers in and out, feeling the wetness multiply, soaking through the satiny fabric.<br />
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He might have mercy on me.<br />
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But he might not.<br />
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He might pull the vibrator away, tell me to remove the wet panties, and command me to present.<br />
He'd probably tell me to keep touching myself, so he could watch me from a different view. This one, even more vulnerable...my ass cheeks in easy placement for a smack, my asshole exposed.<br />
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I know Him well. He'd have to touch it. He'd maybe lick his forefinger, insert it into my asshole to the second knuckle. Hell...He'd probably go all the way, fucking me with it, slowly.<br />
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And I'd have trouble concentrating on my own movements. I'd slow down, maybe even drop my hand away from my pussy.<br />
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But, He wouldn't let me stop. No, He'd still be watching.<br />
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He'd pull his finger out. And, knowing it would drive me mad with embarrassment, he'd lick my asshole. He'd make out with it as if it were my mouth, tonguing me, loving to make me squirm with discomfort.<br />
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He likes to make me squirm...to make me uncomfortable.<br />
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He's looking for my limits.<br />
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He's mapping them out...keeping track of every curve, harbor, inlet, and peninsula of thought, fantasy, and fear. So He can use them.<br />
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He's a very observant man. A detective of sorts. And He misses nothing. Forgets nothing.<br />
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I find that terrifying and exhilarating all at once. That He knows me so well. That He cares to. That He can tell me to do something as simple as shove my shirt in my mouth and masturbate for Him. And that He knows I'll do it.<br />
<a href="http://masturbationmonday.kaylalords.com/masturbation-monday-week-46/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdMYkAkYSVUuS1UAsecjMiv61t6gDStqFeOqjYjYE1Kw8EQCIhiDoPP-Lpgz_1nAp867JyqgI7HCte3OkfJzNd3EQZ06PUufE_t2BBRZYgVkrregyvG4pBm3H2VUf3pL77cKl4aDwG53BT/s1600/Masturbation-Monday-badge-small.jpg" /></a><br />
No matter what.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyRgP2tGMMTiLbVQ7-kOE4BmHJKQviTP_9LPnrqTPYtI9pmWyIDjQ__KzPgfLqucGsNW1lkN2mp8e2pK1Xp553U2D9XYD3uh2oarOYy1NkfBjlVXhI6ocArY0b9zA17jO2MDQaEe0LkI7A/s1600/ll+signature.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyRgP2tGMMTiLbVQ7-kOE4BmHJKQviTP_9LPnrqTPYtI9pmWyIDjQ__KzPgfLqucGsNW1lkN2mp8e2pK1Xp553U2D9XYD3uh2oarOYy1NkfBjlVXhI6ocArY0b9zA17jO2MDQaEe0LkI7A/s1600/ll+signature.png" /></a><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-15169929028813685302015-07-14T20:30:00.003-07:002016-04-24T15:57:14.996-07:00Hormones: a cash cow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXJBz7AZlE6b7bHoGaAPnKgNAyrnstPDpUmwEBVW6faOPEI2-QgruYz6DCgt9VWIkxRkBJalw89etkAgRD-8q7xP_UZJH55xzmp6U1BB9OggMbsV3QVDbx6fSCuCDVDITCoWS48hhWCUxl/s1600/hormones.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXJBz7AZlE6b7bHoGaAPnKgNAyrnstPDpUmwEBVW6faOPEI2-QgruYz6DCgt9VWIkxRkBJalw89etkAgRD-8q7xP_UZJH55xzmp6U1BB9OggMbsV3QVDbx6fSCuCDVDITCoWS48hhWCUxl/s320/hormones.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_fgcA7Ik3CAu-pzNfv8Ob-LY3fBmmtKDUBw0q5rF-96FDt1PKom9A6dWvoPbvNK8QiXJBmYZ3DEjPEfs9CavZppzV-qtmmNFCNGrB1ZpLbtOUfk-SbXDGnICmOERKRudU5i61fAs39jVa/s1600/rainbowcircle1-200.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_fgcA7Ik3CAu-pzNfv8Ob-LY3fBmmtKDUBw0q5rF-96FDt1PKom9A6dWvoPbvNK8QiXJBmYZ3DEjPEfs9CavZppzV-qtmmNFCNGrB1ZpLbtOUfk-SbXDGnICmOERKRudU5i61fAs39jVa/s200/rainbowcircle1-200.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://wickedwednesday.rebelsnotes.com/2015/07/prompt-163-hormones/" target="_blank">Check out who else is being Wicked.</a><br />
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I find it ridiculously amusing that "Hormones" is the topic of this week's <a href="http://wickedwednesday.rebelsnotes.com/2015/07/prompt-163-hormones/" target="_blank">Wicked Wednesday</a> prompt, considering the trouble I've had with this particular issue for the past 7-8 years (<a href="http://lustfulliterate.blogspot.com/search/label/mental%20health" target="_blank">mental helath</a> and <a href="http://lustfulliterate.blogspot.com/search/label/libido" target="_blank">libido</a>).<br />
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Hormones, or the possibility of unstable hormones, have pretty much affected everything having to do with my physical, mental, and emotional health. I've gained 30 lbs. (okay...some of that is just my laziness and my love of good beer), my energy levels are all over the place...my moods...my libido. And it's all supposedly (or probably...or possibly) tied to hormones, according to my doctors.<br />
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Late last year, I went to a naturopath (because I wanted a "natural" way to deal with my symptoms). I began using natural progesterone cream, to see if that would help. It didn't, really. So my doctor added bio-identical estrogen cream. Then testosterone cream. I've had all my levels checked, and oddly they all show as fine.<br />
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So is it all in my head? Maybe I'm not a hormonal wreck, but a mental one instead? That's a great thought, isn't it? I'm not hormonal, just crazy.<br />
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And you know...I'd take <i>crazy</i> if it came with <i>horny</i>, because that would work out for my marriage.<i> </i>Instead, it comes with depression, which makes me lethargic and lazy and fat...and does <i>nothing</i> for my marriage but cause stress...and I need more of that like I need a hole in the head. Or, it comes with manic episodes which won't let me sleep and make me irritable, agitated, and forgetful. Good times. Anxiety is the spice of life.<br />
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Hormones have ultimately just not been my friend. And hormone-related complications are hard to diagnose. Because <a href="http://www.webmd.com/menopause/guide/guide-perimenopause" target="_blank">perimenopause</a> can cause <i>all</i> of my current symptoms, and because <i>all</i> of my symptoms can be hard to diagnose and attribute to a cause, it's hard to counteract them all.<br />
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Basically, what it comes down to is, if I don't want to be on a hundred medications, I just need to eat healthy, exercise daily, practice yoga and mindfulness, get acupuncture, drink less, develop a sleep routine, and keep seeing a shrink. Sounds easy, I know. And for some people, it might be. I wish I were one of those people.<br />
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I could probably do without all the meds, honestly, but now that I am on them, all my docs are reticent to take me off of them. Western medicine <i>does</i> love its prescriptions. I've managed to get the dosages down. As for the hormone supplements, those are complicated. While using them may be beneficial, especially if you really <i>are</i> low in one or more of them, using them also presents a host of fun side effects: weight gain, oily skin/hair, acne, hair growth (in odd places), aggression and irritability (yay...cause I need more of that), fatigue...and on and on. Seriously, it's a case of the side effects being worse than the disease. (A decent book on hormones and their functions is <a href="http://www.saragottfriedmd.com/tag/the-hormone-cure/" target="_blank">The Hormone Cure</a>. It was suggested by my naturopath, because he refused to prescribe anything until I was educated on the issues...smart guy.)<br />
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I feel sort of like I started getting old at 30...because my body has seriously railed against me from childbirth on. Aren't we supposed to be friends, or something like that? Isn't my body supposed to be my temple? Because really, it feels like a war-zone...<i>me</i> against <i>it</i>, and <i>it</i> usually has the upper hand.<br />
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What I've found over the years, too, is that issues having to do with hormones and mental and emotional health (even physical health, actually), have provided the opportunity for a booming business in books, programs, supplements, and medications. And there are sooooo many "answers," it's hard to know which to try, if any. I've read my share of books, spent hundreds on supplements and medications, and have found myself choosing the more natural paths, because...<i>hell</i>, <i>they do less damage even if they help less...and mostly I see them helping more.</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQKTl8G7mifQ01v_G60tQTvKhY4MtS_CJixpz-GoOZKw8FrYtq5Lx2FGia8A5Aj2pvFciHecCENRSwmfH7hgSUdaHglN2yzi4rMn8ETUQFC9g5etI6pKWcxSq2LtQFZWiLejyBOVrWpOiU/s1600/image5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQKTl8G7mifQ01v_G60tQTvKhY4MtS_CJixpz-GoOZKw8FrYtq5Lx2FGia8A5Aj2pvFciHecCENRSwmfH7hgSUdaHglN2yzi4rMn8ETUQFC9g5etI6pKWcxSq2LtQFZWiLejyBOVrWpOiU/s320/image5.jpg" width="308" /></a></div>
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My biggest issue for the natural methods of mental, emotional, and physical healing is the time it takes. And actually...the money, as well. Yoga is expensive because it's trendy now...and because those little yoga studios have to make a living, right? The time, though is trying to fit in yoga, along with regular work outs. If I were doing what I am <i>supposed to do</i>, I'd be working out/doing yoga 1-2 hours per day...add showering and such to that...twice...and now I'm at 2-3 hours. But, I work full time. So now I've used around 11 hours working and working out. <i>And</i> I have a child and family. <i>And</i>...well...I HATE working out!<br />
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As far as I can tell, however, exercise and diet are the keys. The two things many of us really don't want to accept. Why can't there be a magic pill? Instead of all that hard work and time? It'd be one thing if I liked exercise...and believe me, I've tried all kinds - I'm just not a "physical" person. I'd rather sit on a couch and read a book.<br />
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Speaking of that...<a href="https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.sixtostart.zombiesrunclient&hl=en" target="_blank">I'm off to run from zombies</a> (see, they were sneaky and sucked me in with STORY). One of the ONLY...besides yoga...physical exercises I like to do. And later...I'm off to see my shrink to discuss my "thought distortions."<br />
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You know, I'm starting to come to the realization that the Western World wants us all to be mental, emotional, and physical wrecks so it can capitalize on our suffering and keep us feeling "broken" so we'll keep seeking ways to fix ourselves by adding to the gross national product. And blaming hormones is perfect...because it's so hard to pinpoint the cause...and so easy to spend time and money on a "treatment."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4NxUyLXgm93arNBac7mTfzy7thnaEb9hLXZJa_LnkrFX4zZdDgQbIezaJaZ4_2oi3xWto2-wL4YcMHunco706Rcg48Sha-EBRd9t68pmkVknNhLrU0un5WCIyPwifkmXKVa88vMy2f_YW/s1600/money_pills.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4NxUyLXgm93arNBac7mTfzy7thnaEb9hLXZJa_LnkrFX4zZdDgQbIezaJaZ4_2oi3xWto2-wL4YcMHunco706Rcg48Sha-EBRd9t68pmkVknNhLrU0un5WCIyPwifkmXKVa88vMy2f_YW/s320/money_pills.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Here's a complimentary set of blog posts of you're interested: an on-going review of <a href="http://lustfulliterate.blogspot.com/2015/05/sex-again-recharging-your-libido.html" target="_blank">Sex Again: Recharging Your Libido</a> (covers issues regarding hormones but really pushes to counteract them with natural methods).</i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-7077898604008973942015-07-14T09:31:00.000-07:002016-04-24T15:57:29.226-07:00Does she know any tricks?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"Why on earth would you want to do that?"<br />
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"Are you seriously questioning me? I just do...and that's enough."</div>
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"I couldn't <i>possibly</i> go to the banquet on a leash, Michael," her voice was an octave higher than normal, incredulous to his suggestion.</div>
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"I believe you could...and you <i>will</i>."</div>
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She gave him a look of utter horror, "But..." He placed his finger to her lips to silence her protestations, and she lowered her gaze in resignation.</div>
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"No whining. It's not allowed." </div>
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Michael pulled a small bag from the back seat. Inside was a red collar, studded with clear, sparkling gems and a matching leash. It was the exact color of her dress and heels. And her cheeks bloomed a complimentary shade of scarlet as he slipped the leash around her neck, clasping it in front, and attaching the leash to the silver loop meant for such purpose.</div>
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"Stay," he commanded. She rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of his command and closed her eyes, humiliated to be treated like an animal, but she refused to let him see it. It would only encourage him.</div>
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Michael came around the front of the car and opened her door. Normally, he would have offered his hand, taken hers, and helped her up from her seat. This time, however, he reached in, took hold of the red leather leash, and pulled her gently from the car.</div>
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"I hope I won't have to spend much time leash training you, my love," his eyes glittered with mischief, "you've always been such a smart, good girl." He eyed her in that way that warned she had best behave. She said nothing in response, but began to dutifully walk behind him as he made his way to the front door of the building. He yanked the leash a bit, pulling her forward and upsetting her balance. She caught herself before stumbling, her eyes wide with surprise. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Honey, <i>do</i> walk <i>beside</i> me like the obedient slut you are. Behind me is so...<i>timid</i>...so <i>meek. </i>You aren't weak, my dear...<i>are</i> you?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"No, sir, I am not." There was a slight, and noticeable edge to her voice which caused Michael to frown and "tsk, tsk" his disappointment.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Are we being spoiled now, pet? You know that will lead to nothing good, don't you? Nothing good." He shook his head disapprovingly, and she bent hers in submission and apology.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I'm sorry. I'll behave. I promise."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"That's a good girl, Lauren." He turned again and began walking forward. She stepped quickly to catch up and remain at his side, the benefit to her being that the leash was less noticeable if she stayed close.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As he opened the door and walked in front of her, pulling her behind him, she nearly jogged to keep the leash slack and to match the speed of his gait. Making his way to the front desk, he asked the receptionist which ballroom the medical awards banquet was being held in. She smiled pleasantly and gave him the requested information. He glanced sideways at Lauren, clicked his tongue as if in warning of his movement, and began to proceed to his destination. The tapping of her heels on the marble tile echoed in the high-ceilinged lobby. They were uneven and sounded something like Morse Code...possibly a call for help...surely a message of supreme embarrassment. What would the other doctor's wives say? What would they think? Surely they would judge...possibly even call Michael in for abusive behavior. What was he thinking in doing this?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When they reached the giant arched doorways of the ballroom, Michael turned to Lauren. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Turn around, my pet." She did. And he began to unzip her dress. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She turned quickly toward him and hissed," My god, Michael, what are you doing?!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Ah, ah, ah...you do not question me, love. And <i>never</i> take that tone. I can see I have a lot more training to do." He continued to unzip her dress, then pulled it from her shoulders and let it drop to the floor, encircling her feet like a puddle into which she wished she could sink and drown on the spot. Her facial expression was one of complete horror, her cheeks burning, her body shaking.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There she stood, her back to the doorway, in nothing but her underthings, red heels, a collar, and leash. Her face blazed heat that spilled down her throat and onto her chest, which was heaving with fear.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Pick up your dress, love, and give it to me." She did as requested, but refused to look at him, her embarrassment turning to anger.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Come now. Let us join the party." He tugged the leash gently and she followed, her eyes lowered and nearly closed in shame. She could see several sets of feet in shiny dress shoes and heels as they made their way into the crowd.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Kevin! How are you? I was hoping to see you here. And this must be your lovely wife, Anne, that I've heard so much about? Lauren, say hello to Kevin and Anne." His voice was jovial as he shook hands in greeting, leaned forward to kiss Anne's cheek, and put his hand beneath Lauren's chin, pulling up to force her to look at Anne.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In front of her, Anne stood naked, in nothing but a pair of open-toed stiletto pumps and black fish net thigh high stockings.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"What the....?" Lauren looked around the room filled with mostly men in tuxedos and naked women in striking heels and sparkling jewelry. A few women in expensive evening gowns led naked and semi-naked men from table to table, glasses of champagne in hand as they toasted each other and laughed. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"What kind of medical awards banquet is this?" </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"It's not, my dear. That's simply our cover. Now follow me to our table. There are a few more people I'd like you to meet."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She looked around the room in awe as he tugged her gently to keep her at his side. Her body betrayed her embarrassment by donning trails of goosebumps like tiny pearls along her skin and triggering her clitoris to twitch and her pussy to moisten. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So many naked bodies.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When they came to their table, Michael pulled out his chair and sat down, leaving her to stand beside him. He looked up at her, pushed the chair beside him back far enough to provide space, and then glanced at the floor meaningfully. Lauren's eyes widened imploringly, but she dared not refuse his silent command. She lowered herself to her knees.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Take off your shoes, my dear. I want you to be comfortable at my feet."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She did as requested, turned her feet inward, her big toes touching. and settled her backside onto her heels. A man sat beside Michael and they began to talk, but he never let go of her leash. She sat there, at his side, blushing hotly, trembling, and fuming inside, mostly at herself...mostly at her body, which seemed to enjoy every second of what her mind felt was torture. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Is this your wife, Michael?" Both men gazed at her from above. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Yes...yes this is Lauren. Isn't she beautiful?" He ran his hands through her soft curls.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"She's gorgeous. Does she know any tricks?" The man laughed deeply, but looked at her admiringly.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Oh, plenty. Would you like to see?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Of course!" His eyes widened like a school boy's in the presence of an ice cream truck.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Michael patted her head, "Lauren, touch yourself, please."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She looked up at him with a look of pained questioning, her lips parting, sucking in sharply.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Go on...you can do it. Pull your panties aside and touch yourself."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She spread her knees, pulled her panties aside, and touched herself.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Keep going...that's wonderful..." He reached down and pulled her breasts from the cups of her bra, letting them set on top, plumped up, her nipples erect from the cold of the room and the illicit nature of her situation.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Lay on the floor, Lauren, and continue."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She sighed, her breath growing quicker and more shallow as she lay back on the floor, one hand holding her panties out of the way, the other still circling her clit.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I want you to make yourself come, Lauren."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Lauren closed her eyes in shame. She wanted to recede into the floor and become one with the basement. But she did as Michael commanded. Her fingers slipping inside of her, the palm of her hand pressing against her clit, she rubbed herself to orgasm quite quickly, cried out softly with the climax. Her cheeks flamed a red that trailed down her throat, across her breasts, all the way to her belly. She pulled her hands from between her quivering thighs and looked up at Michael. His face beamed with pride and lust. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Come..." He patted his thigh, and she came back to her knees, back to his side. She could see the lump against his thigh and knew that he was hard beneath the fabric of his dress pants. He took her hand, inhaled the scent from it deeply, and then slipped her first two fingers into his mouth, sucking the wetness from her. He licked his lips, closed his eyes briefly, an smiled.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
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"There is nothing sweeter, love, nothing sweeter. You are amazing. And I love you."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Lauren smiled for the first time that night. Looking up, she saw in him a man she had yet to meet after fifteen years of marriage. And looking inward, she began to see a woman she'd never realized she'd wanted to be. How was it that he could know her desires better than she knew herself? Fifteen years provides a lot of time for study.<br />
<br /></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-24179878984630245832015-07-13T09:17:00.004-07:002015-07-13T09:18:40.093-07:00DaydreamingShe looked at the large pile of dirty clothes, sighed, and shook her head. Walking out of the laundry room, she glanced at the kitchen sink full of dishes, the counter cluttered with papers, keys, and wayward items that just never seemed to find a proper home and stay there. There were toys on the living room floor, and her office desk was covered with piles of bills and to-do lists.<br />
<br />
"Fuck it," she mumbled under her breath.<br />
<br />
Sometimes that's the only solution.<br />
<br />
She wandered in to check on her napping children and then padded back to her own bedroom, drew the blinds, and then closed the door and locked it.<br />
<br />
She lay down on the unmade bed, buried her head in his pillow, and inhaled deeply. His scent still permeated the room. She'd been up early with the baby, and when she'd come back, she'd found him naked, the sheets drawn back, his cock in one hand, and his other teasing his own nipple.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijM96s7dCbMRjKxQgtP9k0IlgHogvR_YLsyO2mdKMvpx_sVeZDF4XaW-hR5zwZzwOcYyzvQtt7aF9ncpXlqdyodjwcBXMjBjlDWlt6ajXLtSL4aUJqlfTuKZHRRD4v0j2MEh1Estakbghyphenhyphen/s1600/Masturbation-Monday-Week-45.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijM96s7dCbMRjKxQgtP9k0IlgHogvR_YLsyO2mdKMvpx_sVeZDF4XaW-hR5zwZzwOcYyzvQtt7aF9ncpXlqdyodjwcBXMjBjlDWlt6ajXLtSL4aUJqlfTuKZHRRD4v0j2MEh1Estakbghyphenhyphen/s320/Masturbation-Monday-Week-45.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
She'd smiled and slipped in beside him, her hand cupping his balls while he continued to slide his fist up and down his shaft. He'd moaned softly with her touch. Leaning over his chest, she took his other nipple in her mouth and sucked hard, letting it recede back to his body through her teeth. He'd pulled her on top of him and slid into her like a knife into butter, smoothly and slowly, both of them letting out a sigh of release as she settled at the base of his cock and squeezed her vaginal muscles around him. His hands on her hips, she rocked back and forth slowly, rhythmically, speeding up and slowing down as he willed her, wordlessly, with his body. It took only a few moments and his stomach muscles began to contract, his hips jutting upward into hers, lifting her and taking control even though she was on top of him. His head went back, his chin up, neck muscles strained and taut, face looking pained with the intensity of the pleasure and the imminent nearness to climax. Just the sight of his expression caused the beginning of her own orgasm, and as he exploded into her, her cunt began to pulse like the mouth of a hungry fish around his rigid cock. Every muscle in his body was tightened, but as the orgasm subsided, his abdomen let go, twitching its way to resting. A sheen of sweat beaded up on his forehead. He'd looked up at her and smiled, his hands reaching up to hold her breasts and squeeze her nipples until she giggled and pushed his hands away playfully.<br />
<br />
He'd left for work shortly thereafter, leaving her here in this mess that never seemed to go away.<br />
<br />
Now as she lay in the dark, in the blissful and brief quiet of the afternoon, she spread her legs and found release again as she breathed in the smell of his sweat from the pillow.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrquJ31D7DYfCaEMsc5-KHQJLWDkIHZWmqLH0B6N1jMpfPQ32y1ONtweh_cg2TPbqRQaalmEGzZR09JkJPTn9KnsKZD8YArew9lZX8fOBNeWBvQlqw3UgJYn_GhsSvrAFsIOvpvFcGBF4T/s1600/images+%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrquJ31D7DYfCaEMsc5-KHQJLWDkIHZWmqLH0B6N1jMpfPQ32y1ONtweh_cg2TPbqRQaalmEGzZR09JkJPTn9KnsKZD8YArew9lZX8fOBNeWBvQlqw3UgJYn_GhsSvrAFsIOvpvFcGBF4T/s200/images+%25283%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2tq_jo9-g75MjoD-eIuimstFQmaMNSVO8w8-whFL2E_5m8lYIQ8Am13wwMulVqG3lc0VJNxzli43C2FFXEM0Vn_SA6x_bfSkTZEG3UVXNeeP5kfebFkLnIJ3I87AwwjDzCpCeInYGz-Fl/s1600/Masturbation-Monday-badge-small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2tq_jo9-g75MjoD-eIuimstFQmaMNSVO8w8-whFL2E_5m8lYIQ8Am13wwMulVqG3lc0VJNxzli43C2FFXEM0Vn_SA6x_bfSkTZEG3UVXNeeP5kfebFkLnIJ3I87AwwjDzCpCeInYGz-Fl/s200/Masturbation-Monday-badge-small.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
Check out the other Masturbation Monday posts by clicking <a href="http://masturbationmonday.kaylalords.com/masturbation-monday-week-45/" target="_blank">HERE</a>.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-1111730029364083922015-07-12T22:50:00.001-07:002015-07-12T22:50:44.225-07:00Bound<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Another fabulous contribution from Daddy.</div>
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xoxo</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2EAPyMyQsO8Om8qWUMbVEQpoBLL_EzTeGSw403iMPAN6alFuJjnuAM5-qYxboqlA0o6RCczBJ4npjjKvEdAz7WLO2KgF-6LEFdOwow-VAn0nc3HqCq-wo-fwBUNhdhhk_8tz2Qvm4AX_M/s1600/photo+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2EAPyMyQsO8Om8qWUMbVEQpoBLL_EzTeGSw403iMPAN6alFuJjnuAM5-qYxboqlA0o6RCczBJ4npjjKvEdAz7WLO2KgF-6LEFdOwow-VAn0nc3HqCq-wo-fwBUNhdhhk_8tz2Qvm4AX_M/s640/photo+3.jpg" width="328" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGmXf9IKtmnme_RN2bW9NYptp99xCiJnNH_t6dzT7vjYbeTNkqEv2mm0XWXn9v8LXo_WGzFql9NhQ5WvT1ai4H7syLCH-iCrKNwqQ8V5fPMd5oxcIxSpIHx20GxHbNX4KT7zSljKeqMDHU/s1600/SinfulSundayLips150.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGmXf9IKtmnme_RN2bW9NYptp99xCiJnNH_t6dzT7vjYbeTNkqEv2mm0XWXn9v8LXo_WGzFql9NhQ5WvT1ai4H7syLCH-iCrKNwqQ8V5fPMd5oxcIxSpIHx20GxHbNX4KT7zSljKeqMDHU/s1600/SinfulSundayLips150.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Click <a href="http://sinfulsunday.mollysdailykiss.com/2015/07/11/sinful-sunday-week-222/" target="_blank">Here</a> to see who else is being sinful.</td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-25625306809222783662015-07-08T22:50:00.000-07:002015-07-08T22:50:37.368-07:00Oui<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT9V2c4rNLOgAMT4-EJhb-S9TzN-qsV95OxzPh6lvdAarnbtzvND0eRGm8MQH0cY-YGzlvPxdDCKs-CkfoLHM7JFOTihfQTboj6ttYN0SS4Y6zh-wraLN8ZiV8yhmkG0s-Q9pPM2ZFvNbE/s1600/il_570xN.694065272_a1gp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT9V2c4rNLOgAMT4-EJhb-S9TzN-qsV95OxzPh6lvdAarnbtzvND0eRGm8MQH0cY-YGzlvPxdDCKs-CkfoLHM7JFOTihfQTboj6ttYN0SS4Y6zh-wraLN8ZiV8yhmkG0s-Q9pPM2ZFvNbE/s320/il_570xN.694065272_a1gp.jpg" width="255" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
It's what her t-shirt said that caught his eye: <i><b>Oui</b></i>. It was an answer. And he had a number of questions he hoped would elicit that response from her.<br />
<br />
He followed her in, waited for her and her friend to find a stool, and then sidled up next to her at the bar. She glanced sideways at him, unconsciously looking him up and down. He looked back at her..."Damn hot today, eh? Couldn't wait to just come in and get a cold beer to cool down."<br />
<br />
"Yah." She said little, but her eyes showed interest, and she smiled. <i>Oui number one</i>.<br />
<br />
She looked back at her friend who was ordering for them. Two margaritas and two shots of rather expensive tequila, which the bartender poured and scooted toward them. The two girls took hold of the shot glasses, giggled, and counted to three before bringing the glasses to their lips and tipping their heads back.<br />
<br />
"Celebrating?" he asked.<br />
<br />
"Yah, I got a new job today." <i>Oui number two.</i><br />
<br />
"Oh," he smiled, his impressively straight, white teeth framed perfectly by his curved lips.<br />
<br />
"Let me buy you another shot? To congratulate you?"<br />
<br />
She giggled a bit and looked back at her friend, who also giggled and gave her <i>the look</i>. The one girls give each other when they want to encourage their friends to do things...the raised eyebrows, the smile, the nearly imperceptible nod.<br />
<br />
"Okay..." <i>Oui number three.</i><br />
<br />
She blushed, her pink cheeks round and high beneath her sparkling green eyes. The bartender put the second round of shots, this time three, in front of them. They all took hold of the glasses, clinked them together in a toast, and quickly drained them, simultaneously slamming the glasses back on to the bar.<br />
<br />
"So what's your name?" he asked.<br />
<br />
"Amber."<br />
<br />
"Well, nice to meet you, Amber. I'm Greg. And I'm going to head on over to that table back there. The one by the pool tables. I'm going to order a pitcher of beer, and if you ladies would like to join me, you'll know where to find me." He nodded toward her and smiled again, a slight dimple in his cheek. He was tan in a way that showed he either worked outside or spent a lot of time out in the sun. He was also muscular, and his t-shirt was tight enough that it followed his shape all the way to his waist. It was hard not to notice Amber's shy but obvious gaze downward along his torso before she looked back up at his blue eyes as said, "Okay, maybe we will." Not quite a <i>Oui</i>. But close.<br />
<br />
He grabbed his pitcher of beer and three glasses and headed to the back of the bar. He could feel her eyes on him as he walked away and smiled to himself.<br />
<br />
He put the pitcher down on a table, poured himself a glass, and chose a cue stick from the wall. He heard her voice behind him, "You going to play by yourself there, hot shot?"<br />
<br />
He turned toward her, "It wasn't my first choice, but I figured I could make do...mess around a bit, wait for someone to turn up. You know how to play?"<br />
<br />
"Yes. My dad taught me when I was a kid." <i>Oui number three.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
"Where's your friend?"<br />
<br />
"She's back at the bar with some of our co-workers."<br />
<br />
"And you thought I looked lonely?"<br />
<br />
"Well, yes, a little." <i>Oui number four.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
"And you felt sorry enough for me that you decided to come on a back a share this pitcher of beer with me?"<br />
<br />
She blushed, but confidently answered, "Yah, I didn't want you to look silly playing pool alone. A guy like you...I'm sure you've got an image to uphold." <i>Oui number five.</i><br />
<br />
"Oh..." he leaned back a bit, eyes opened wider, brows up, questioning, "...and what image might that be?"<br />
<br />
She stammered a bit. He'd flustered her with the question.<br />
<br />
"I'm not trying to assume anything about you..um..but it looks like you..uh...care about how you look...so maybe you care how...um...others think you look..." She had that deer-in-the-headlights expression.<br />
<br />
"Right now...I just care about how you think I look."<br />
<br />
She smiled, blushed, and looked away as she stuck her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, causing her chest to jut out toward him, her breasts stretching the fabric of the t-shirt in an irresistable way.<br />
<br />
"So, Amber...what do you think? Do I look alright?"<br />
<br />
She looked back at him, breathed deeply, and replied, "Why the hell would I be over here right now if I didn't like what I saw?"<br />
<br />
"So you like what you see?"<br />
<br />
"Sure, yah...that's pretty much what I said, genius." <i>Oui number six.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
"Well, then, Amber, that makes two of us. Two hot geniuses who know how to play pool, just hanging around not playing pool and not drinking beer. So shall we remedy that?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, Greg...we <i>shall</i>." <i>Oui number 7. </i>She headed to the wall and grabbed down a cue stick of her own.<br />
<br />
"Pour me a beer, Greg...I'm gonna kick your ass." She smiled at him and looked at him rather seductively through her lashes while she chalked her cue. He watched her hand move around the tip and felt a slight twitch in his groin. Good god he'd love to see those pretty hands doing a similar dance on his own stick.<br />
<br />
"Wanna chalk mine up, too...you're awfully good at that." He grinned.<br />
<br />
"All in good time, mister. All in good time. What's the game, Greg? Standard 8-ball?"<br />
<br />
"Sure...you wanna rack the balls?"<br />
<br />
"Yep...I do, indeed, want to rack the balls, Greg. But can we play a few games of pool first?" <i>Oui number 8.</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw2oYJufyGKBByisODrOa4h_GqzLDBSp075VK-rqKiGU5fJAjlfumsUCZZ4_fOJhoTH6Pr_JEdgWSHTlExJOXl1XhndjjbovtDl-zMRX4QTUoAO3TGQLnozkHku6hFaLbyg5EYvxMPdJYx/s1600/2994748909_bf1854fb04_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw2oYJufyGKBByisODrOa4h_GqzLDBSp075VK-rqKiGU5fJAjlfumsUCZZ4_fOJhoTH6Pr_JEdgWSHTlExJOXl1XhndjjbovtDl-zMRX4QTUoAO3TGQLnozkHku6hFaLbyg5EYvxMPdJYx/s320/2994748909_bf1854fb04_b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Just a short, flirty story...nothing too sexy today. I'll be off on vacation for the next few days and, because I guess I sort of suck...I have not written and scheduled posts. So, I'll be off the grid until Saturday. That means no EFF this week...unless I post it late again on Saturday instead of Friday. Regardless, I wanted to at least get my Wicked Wednesday post completed before I turned off my computer for good (I'm sure it could use a rest, too.)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwQ-VRhvg9WOGtlYcvi6-6bv7KRTNPxJfczHPj6FLjAn8p6sN0LlteVYBCJOY5M1sHEgWiuVyY0Z2yH5n4-B1s0mKkSqw3K5gfQZY7Vcp3gj4oZQuOcrsE1aSOOGMdQoC2ztp-aNKUe3X3/s1600/rainbowcircle1-200.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwQ-VRhvg9WOGtlYcvi6-6bv7KRTNPxJfczHPj6FLjAn8p6sN0LlteVYBCJOY5M1sHEgWiuVyY0Z2yH5n4-B1s0mKkSqw3K5gfQZY7Vcp3gj4oZQuOcrsE1aSOOGMdQoC2ztp-aNKUe3X3/s200/rainbowcircle1-200.png" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDCdJnZB2b2jL7wT7OQQ0j0TXC4BvYBJdEWrMnDSjqrM9Fuyk05tRU37X4zzdlfqg5RVXIZQHZ8Pj_dAXk2un0fPQzdokWFLli-XJAKYY2pzGMRxq77PWrpADA8Pm_zhks25vyTnDa3uyf/s1600/images+%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDCdJnZB2b2jL7wT7OQQ0j0TXC4BvYBJdEWrMnDSjqrM9Fuyk05tRU37X4zzdlfqg5RVXIZQHZ8Pj_dAXk2un0fPQzdokWFLli-XJAKYY2pzGMRxq77PWrpADA8Pm_zhks25vyTnDa3uyf/s200/images+%25283%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
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Check out who else is being wicked...<a href="http://wickedwednesday.rebelsnotes.com/2015/07/prompt-162-photo/" target="_blank">click this LINK</a>!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-54041821119137085472015-07-06T21:06:00.001-07:002015-07-06T21:12:48.441-07:00I know you're watching....Patricia walked into the storage room. The floor was swept clean, the garage was down, and Jeremy's work truck--hitched to it's trailer--was parked toward the back. She knew he'd be back within the hour, lunch in hand for the both of them.<br />
<br />
A wicked little grin tugged at her lips. Wouldn't it be nice to surprise him?<br />
<br />
She slipped her dress from her shoulders and let it fall to the ground, puddling around her feet. Stepping out of it, she kicked off her shoes, unclasped her bra, letting it slip from her shoulders and down her bare arms to join her dress on the ground.<br />
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Laying down on the cold tile floor, Patricia arched her back and inhaled sharply. She giggled with the delicious shiver that the shock sent through her body. Picking her ass up off the floor, she pulled her panties down around her ankles, kicking them aside, leaving her naked, goosebumps covering her from neck to thighs.<br />
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She placed her hands on each of her breasts, rubbing over her nipples softly, though they were already erect from the cold. Licking her right forefinger and thumb...then her left...she began to tease her nipples until she could feel the rising pulse and heat between her thighs. Her clit began to tremble from within, and her pussy began to open hungrily, waiting for something to enter.<br />
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Her stomach began to feel hollow, as her pelvis tilted upward, ready to receive. Patricia trailed one hand between her breasts, down her torso, across her navel, and into the soft, clean-shaven folds of her twitching cunt. Touching her clit felt like a low level electric shock, vibratory and warm, and she let loose a soft moan of release upon contact.<br />
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Her whole body relaxed, heat extending to every extremity, a buzzing under her skin.<br />
<br />
She slipped one finger into her wetness and felt her muscles contract in response. Her pussy tightened around her finger, hugging it greedily, unwilling to let it go. But she pulled it out and slipped it back in again. Each time, her muscles grabbed hold, and her body melted with the effort.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibh_HIX4SQzizznUDo6hksLZkufT-GBzc0HRSkSGNlYELWnDYCY2ReVCF45Sn7EWkdOdIH5UIwDsPVk414z8Q8YGr4QG_oW3Ul6BRL6Tv9HX0N1TRCUk75bh3CkGHek6YDfaOoB_t5Z9bH/s1600/Masturbation-Monday-Week-44.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibh_HIX4SQzizznUDo6hksLZkufT-GBzc0HRSkSGNlYELWnDYCY2ReVCF45Sn7EWkdOdIH5UIwDsPVk414z8Q8YGr4QG_oW3Ul6BRL6Tv9HX0N1TRCUk75bh3CkGHek6YDfaOoB_t5Z9bH/s320/Masturbation-Monday-Week-44.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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Patricia lifted her feet up off the floor and opened herself up as wide as she could...to the point that she could feel the cold air of the store room on her exposed asshole. It, too, began to pulse in response to the new stimulus. It fluttered softly, being so fully exposed, and Patricia licked her lips and moaned a bit, arching her back and feeling the cold tile on the back of her head, hard and unyielding.<br />
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Her eyes closed, writhing on the floor, she made quite the spectacle for Jeremy in the doorway. As Patricia worked herself into a frenzy, the telltale pink rising from her belly to her breasts and up her throat to her cheeks, making obvious her state of ecstasy, Jeremy smiled. He leaned against the door frame, with one leg bent and crossed in front of the other, and interlaced his arms across his chest. He cocked his head a bit, ran his tongue across his teeth, and licked his lips. He wondered if she'd intended to be caught, or if he was simply just this fucking lucky.<br />
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Patricia's back arched, she squealed a bit, and nearly rose from the floor as every muscle in her body clenched in orgasmic rush. She cried out, grunted in a rather unladylike way, and her face pinched, as if in pain. Her thighs clamped on her hand, as if unwilling to let it go. But within seconds, Patricia lay on the floor, one leg bent, knee pointing to the ceiling, and the other splayed to the side, exposing her glistening cunt toward the door. Toward Jeremy...who was clapping, slowly, and emphatically.<br />
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Patricia smiled to herself before pretending to be horrified with surprise.<br />
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<a href="http://masturbationmonday.kaylalords.com/masturbation-monday-week-44/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0yONVJQzf_kYhiwrOviLFU72PfO3F-efDF6xB1fDnQsEh7iobnRv96MbXcEE4Tt0VT7XuPhW2A0hqNHcHgkh4fjZmybVGcaG6yFGtroRBh6JY3-c_CiaOvLAdLIPB0FeP7LnJniCvpdiE/s1600/Masturbation-Monday-badge-small.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitFeXLcwI9BgYnhZizIrL5vPIyUdoc3ZNygmDjrNsw2e9mmvzYopK2Kt_wbcf7zwklstUP69oNL8Cdgs6-VeZvbg2UFti9vT51mKrQFxH51wvJgUgbbRX_PNa6YOn9YuBpHAV4KE9qiGmr/s1600/ll+signature.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitFeXLcwI9BgYnhZizIrL5vPIyUdoc3ZNygmDjrNsw2e9mmvzYopK2Kt_wbcf7zwklstUP69oNL8Cdgs6-VeZvbg2UFti9vT51mKrQFxH51wvJgUgbbRX_PNa6YOn9YuBpHAV4KE9qiGmr/s1600/ll+signature.png" /></a><br />
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P.S. Head on over to the Masturbation Monday page to see what everyone else has come up with for this photo prompt. Delicious, isn't she?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-73402092943826140692015-07-05T22:32:00.004-07:002015-07-26T20:33:42.111-07:00The Chair<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdjz_pZLNHP09RDofQwhxse1Xz0ukR1RxNdDvdFib02QrVJiPaM3Wc8ZPy7bhSaU19gTPW5b1A6y800ukHl1G6FgARRw6QLddRONQObD1USLXb7xelr5TdiwEIOiI8fl40gOX9dZnlRzz8/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="353" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdjz_pZLNHP09RDofQwhxse1Xz0ukR1RxNdDvdFib02QrVJiPaM3Wc8ZPy7bhSaU19gTPW5b1A6y800ukHl1G6FgARRw6QLddRONQObD1USLXb7xelr5TdiwEIOiI8fl40gOX9dZnlRzz8/s400/3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="http://sinfulsunday.mollysdailykiss.com/2015/07/04/sinful-sunday-week-221/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLNEyqE8vzXvQzWa8S3ao16tp6auAOMbm8rBiTmniV0acG-UKK4M_iBv1yg1yQt588GX_i2vBw0XnLYp5HrGHNKOfZm0jsCjuuddUaqh323zRWLMeHSXV895_zUCD63TdgkpCm7h4qKn4g/s1600/SinfulSundayLips150.png" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://sinfulsunday.mollysdailykiss.com/2015/07/04/sinful-sunday-week-221/" target="_blank">Check out who else is being sinful.</a></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAmwHlQFAQQwyYy6UgVET__fcpJ0KNIJosk7S-VFiKj8ETrXzv16CZUBl9fy29ddwVO4hGztiCI8Q9QBJPHZaSic9Xg4NlFC0Zxr7hS3iAsruCZMR8NAp2UwB8hCuzDfU7psCPGEr0qe75/s1600/ll+signature.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAmwHlQFAQQwyYy6UgVET__fcpJ0KNIJosk7S-VFiKj8ETrXzv16CZUBl9fy29ddwVO4hGztiCI8Q9QBJPHZaSic9Xg4NlFC0Zxr7hS3iAsruCZMR8NAp2UwB8hCuzDfU7psCPGEr0qe75/s1600/ll+signature.png" /></a>A little help from Daddy behind the camera this time...thanks, Honey. It's not easy to be the cameraman for a very self-conscious subject.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-51086945228198927122015-06-30T20:47:00.000-07:002016-04-24T11:43:07.879-07:00Naked: A softening perspective<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I look at myself in the mirror. Naked. From a distance, there's an hourglass shape. Upon closer inspection, however, there are all the faults I'm learning to process. The older I get, the more of them I see. But also, the easier they are to accept. My perspective softens with age. And I become more forgiving.<br />
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I stopped looking at magazines years ago. But it doesn't mean I don't inadvertently compare myself to other women. Constantly. And it shines a huge spotlight on my insecurities. My rather ample behind, my softening midsection, my less than perky breasts.<br />
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But, when I'm alone, I can usually look past all of that. And I'm getting better at accepting that Daddy finds all of it attractive. All of it. Which sort of blows my mind. I'm also getting better at dressing for the body that I have rather than the body I wish I had.<br />
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Acceptance is half the battle right?<br />
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So as I stand naked before the mirror, in the full glow of the bathroom lights, I place a hand beneath each breast to lift them. I let them drop and marvel at how changeable they are. When it's cold, the nipples pucker and darken to a shade of brown. But they melt in the heat, becoming weighted by the humidity. They grow dark hairs that I constantly pluck out, because I hate them, But the areolas, on a warm day, are a lovely shade of blush on a background of pale white skin.<br />
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And then there are the purple and white stretch marks across my abdomen and hips. There's nothing I can do about those, besides look past them. Along with my thighs, which have always rubbed together, and will...no matter how much weight I lose.<br />
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But there are parts I love. My hands, my eyes, my lips, my skin, my hair.<br />
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It helps to look through someone else's eyes on occasion. So, I asked Daddy to write briefly about HIS image of me. This is the list He came up with:<br />
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<i>Qualities:</i><br />
<i>strong, but prefers to follow me</i><br />
<i>bratty</i><br />
<i>uber professional at work</i><br />
<i>worrier</i><br />
<i>obsessive </i><br />
<i>closed off</i><br />
<i>hard to approach</i><br />
<i>socially not engaged </i><br />
<i>an awesome wife</i><br />
<i>a loving mother</i><br />
<i>my best friend</i><br />
<i>inappropriate (you might not say it but you laugh at it when I do)</i><br />
<i>easily agitated and annoyed</i><br />
<i>the ability to squirt</i><br />
<i>your love for masturbation </i><br />
<i>your adventurousness and willingness to follow me when your head is in the game </i><br />
<i>that you find women as sexy as I do</i><br />
<i>that you find other men attractive and can tell me.</i><br />
<i>you will laugh at me when I do something dumb</i><br />
<i>you are submissive</i><br />
<i>that you are so literary and well-schooled</i><br />
<i>that you can make geek jokes and you laugh at crude ones</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Appearance:</i><br />
<i>your green eyes, such pools of jade</i><br />
<i>your hips, the way they hourglass away from your waist</i><br />
<i>your full breasts, you are a mom and they are still spectacular</i><br />
<i>your tattoos</i><br />
<i>your ass, such a marvel of perfect womanhood</i><br />
<i>your perfectly shaped asshole</i><br />
<i>you DON'T have a gut</i><br />
<i>your shaved pussy is porn quality </i><br />
<br />
Interestingly, my mind went straight to appearance and body image with this prompt, but his traversed the landscape of personality, character, actions, and appearance. He has a much broader lens to examine me with.<br />
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I probably should, too.<br />
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Something I also notice is that I gravitate to women's bodies that are like mine. It's not that I'm trying to make myself feel better. It's that I "find them attractive." All the things that I hate about my own body are the things I love about theirs. How dumb is that?</div>
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Here are a few examples...</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjta5XmAPc7NGor4NFKBfjdKMz1XbrdXDH46vnH8htB8dPckgujVNYKSPGcSWhAGXnOZ069N8iHKy9ago4tKCt2ReyYmAWlHpVnCN-ZBl4ZSMHohX_Xghz2RWALMLfngECAiWj78aG0FIXO/s1600/55190845_700.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjta5XmAPc7NGor4NFKBfjdKMz1XbrdXDH46vnH8htB8dPckgujVNYKSPGcSWhAGXnOZ069N8iHKy9ago4tKCt2ReyYmAWlHpVnCN-ZBl4ZSMHohX_Xghz2RWALMLfngECAiWj78aG0FIXO/s320/55190845_700.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Both women are beautiful...but get a load of miss Surrey! Not your typical beauty queen. I'm certainly not saying that Miss England is unattractive. But...I'm personally more attracted to the gal on the left. That's why it's so odd that I hold myself up to the standard of Miss England here. Why do I want to look like that, when what I think is hot...is not that at all? Bizarre.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqdeQq-baUTt6I3UL2YhAMri5mBxiD3aKkDC3q3ngLMpvqMp6DT6MTx48nhsDHG8jTjCRVr2OBa3GQL2u2CnJPWW9BVpnAWQo9S1rgwbb-KF98SSZ29zOLgchcq_U3R1znLtm10ZetZKHn/s1600/8d21c1614e3fab3c87fbf86a5ed06ae0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqdeQq-baUTt6I3UL2YhAMri5mBxiD3aKkDC3q3ngLMpvqMp6DT6MTx48nhsDHG8jTjCRVr2OBa3GQL2u2CnJPWW9BVpnAWQo9S1rgwbb-KF98SSZ29zOLgchcq_U3R1znLtm10ZetZKHn/s320/8d21c1614e3fab3c87fbf86a5ed06ae0.jpg" width="209" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNiMnIQpQQ2RV-IKTGAJ0kvFsWS1UKdfMTwHSfxC1Izyn_SLWdc_DaJ7hjqog_xg8RWdQRUz49ya-YtZzBY6ggRz9j_nJxYBJWZnG2kSWADg-Sna7BkvxSvTWHO5BTMVVnj0qDqQhE80GE/s1600/702db5425b8b3873f0256571e023cf82.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNiMnIQpQQ2RV-IKTGAJ0kvFsWS1UKdfMTwHSfxC1Izyn_SLWdc_DaJ7hjqog_xg8RWdQRUz49ya-YtZzBY6ggRz9j_nJxYBJWZnG2kSWADg-Sna7BkvxSvTWHO5BTMVVnj0qDqQhE80GE/s320/702db5425b8b3873f0256571e023cf82.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG2N4-Z9fx7pRHh7lsT2Pl6apRgtn-7TZ4q3_EUYSUS-6CHNv_mkOSHGrnidrxiUrLXI3RVMNawym0UYKsqBL-xdby3L_oS_6jIU8VhHC6P583dXLfUJziMP8nzvTcx67lBLMEfQU56Syk/s1600/the-curvy-issue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG2N4-Z9fx7pRHh7lsT2Pl6apRgtn-7TZ4q3_EUYSUS-6CHNv_mkOSHGrnidrxiUrLXI3RVMNawym0UYKsqBL-xdby3L_oS_6jIU8VhHC6P583dXLfUJziMP8nzvTcx67lBLMEfQU56Syk/s320/the-curvy-issue.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And to conclude...<b><u>me</u></b>...in all my size 14 glory.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-70388398605300536892015-06-29T22:04:00.000-07:002015-07-30T21:08:38.389-07:00Caveat EmptorThe man in the suit was speaking to them both, "I want you to lie down in front of the window. People will be filing past, and that will give them the best view."<br />
<br />
"What exactly do you want us to do?" asked Callie, the shorter of the two, and younger by a few years. Her short curly hair, matched the short curly hair between her legs, which the man was looking at now. She followed his gaze and looked down. "Do you want me to shave it?"<br />
<br />
"No. It's fine. Everyone has their preferences, and I'm sure someone will like to see what you've got there. Besides, there's no time."<br />
<br />
Emily, who was already shaved hairless as a babe, looked at Callie, "Are you sure you want to do this?"<br />
<br />
"Yes. It's easy money. And you'll be here with me. I'll be fine." Callie looked away.<br />
<br />
The man in the suit continued with his brief instructions, "The crowd will begin filtering in around 10. They'll wander past, gaze in...but some will linger, so try to change it up a bit - don't always do the same thing. Don't ever forget you have an audience, and making them happy is what I'm paying you for."<br />
<br />
"Simple enough," Callie mumbled, and glanced away. She was obviously afraid, and ashamed.<br />
<br />
The man left them alone in the room. They had thirty minutes to prepare for the "show." Emily put her arm around Callie's bare shoulders, "Are you really sure? We can find other ways to pay the rent."<br />
<br />
"No. I mean, yes...I'm sure. And no...this is easiest. And no one's sticking their cock in me. I'm safe here."<br />
<br />
"You're always safe with me, Callie."<br />
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"I know. I just wish we didn't have to work so hard to make it."<br />
<br />
"It won't always be this way, Cal. It won't."<br />
<br />
Callie looked up into Emily's amber eyes. Emily always tried to keep her up, but Callie hovered just above rock-bottom no matter what Emily did.<br />
<br />
"Just keep your eyes on me, Cal."<br />
<br />
"Okay."<br />
<br />
Callie took her place on the bed, her head just below the dark window. Emily lay beside her, resting her hand supportively on Callie's muscled thigh. It was tense, and Callie's face was cemented into a frown.<br />
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<br />
"You should smile, Callie. Our tips rely on how happy we make our audience."<br />
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"I know," she whispered. "What am I supposed to do? Just fuck myself?"<br />
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"Just take your time, Cal. These guys just want to see you enjoy yourself."<br />
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"That's rich, Emily. You know that ain't gonna happen."<br />
<br />
"You could try, Callie. Just close your eyes."<br />
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Callie closed her eyes just as the lights in the room behind the window came on. They were dim, but the moving shadows of bodies shaded the light over Emily's head. She chose to focus on Callie.<br />
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"Okay, Callie. Just listen to my voice. Let me tell you a story, okay?"<br />
<br />
"Okay."<br />
<br />
"Put your fingers between your legs, Callie. Play a song there. Follow the rhythm of your favorite poem. What's your favorite poem?"<br />
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"Une Charogne. Baudelaire."<br />
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"That's a dark one, Cal."<br />
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"But you know it, Emily, don't you?"<br />
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"I do. Do you really want me to recite that one?"<br />
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"It seems fitting. This is a sort of a death for me. A death into a new life. A new life that mama would cry for. She's rolling over in her grave right now, Em. Tell me the poem."<br />
<br />
"Alright then, Callie. But, you need to begin."<br />
<br />
"I will."<br />
<br />
Callie put her hand between her thighs. She spread her lips and began circling her forefinger around her dry clitoris.<br />
<br />
"<em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">My love, do you recall the object which we saw, </em><br />
<em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">That fair, sweet, summer morn!</em><br />
<em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">At a turn in the path a foul carcass</em><br />
<em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">On a gravel strewn bed,</em><br />
<div>
<em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Its legs raised in the air, like a lustful woman, </em><br />
<em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Burning and dripping with poisons,</em><br />
<em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Displayed in a shameless, nonchalant way </em><br />
<em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Its belly, swollen with gases."</em></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">Callie felt her cunt begin to pulse. The words always did it, when her lover spoke them. Dark, brooding, ugly words that made her soul seek her own black depths. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">"And the sky was watching that superb cadaver </em><br />
<em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Blossom like a flower."</em></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">There were men, looking in the window. Men touching themselves through their pants, beneath long jackets. They had come prepared, with handkerchiefs in hand, hats to cover their crotches when they exited.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">Callie arched her back just a bit, and slipped her finger inside herself while Emily's voice hummed in her ear.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">"— And yet you will be like this corruption,</em><br />
<em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Like this horrible infection,</em><br />
<em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Star of my eyes, sunlight of my being, </em><br />
<em style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Bitstream Charter', serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">You, my angel and my passion!"</em></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">Yes, that was it! Those were the words! Callie reached over, her eyes still closed, and took hold of Emily's hand, "Touch me, Em. Touch me when you speak. I need to feel you close to me...."</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">Emily, placed her hand on top of Callie's between her legs. Her forefinger merged with Callie's and both slipped into Callie's slowing softening cunt. Emily followed Callie's rhythm, but then began to create her own, to the words...</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"></span><br />
<div style="font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;">"Yes! thus will you be, queen of the Graces,</span></div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;">After the last sacraments,</span></div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;">When you go beneath grass and luxuriant flowers, </span></div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;">
</span>
<div style="font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;">To molder among the bones of the dead."</span></div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;">
<div style="font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">
Callie breathed in sharply as Emily slipped a second and a third finger inside of her. The words she whispered in her ear set her free in a melancholy way. She hovered just above hell. But she never touched down. Emily's voice kept her from dropping.</div>
<div style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><i>"Then, O my beauty! say to the worms who will</i></span></div>
</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><i>Devour you with kisses,</i></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><i>That I have kept the form and the divine essence </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><i>Of my decomposed love!"</i></span></span></div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">Callie released all of the breath within her. Her cunt clamped down on Emily's three fingers and began to pulse. Emily kissed Callie's earlobe.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">"I love you, Callie. No matter what. We'll be okay."</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">"I know, Emily. I know."</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">The light above them went out. Callie opened her eyes. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">"Is it over?"</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">"Yes. They're gone."</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">"That wasn't so hard."</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">"No. No, it wasn't, was it?"</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">"I can do anything, Emily, with you and poetry. I can make it through anything. You are my muse."</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">"I know, Callie. I know."</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">Callie pressed herself against Emily, feeling her breasts being crushed beneath her lover's, their nipples missing each other's by at least a few inches due to their height difference. Callie pulled away and leaned over just a bit. She placed her hand beneath Emily's breast, cupping it gently, pushing it up to her mouth like a glass of wine. Bringing it to her lips, she placed it between her teeth and bit down just a little too hard. Emily winced and whimpered quietly, trying to control her reaction. Callie's kisses were often brutal. Especially after an "encounter" like tonight's. It was as if she somehow needed to sink as deeply as she could into the sin by hurting herself and the people around her.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">Tomorrow morning, she would see the mark she left on Emily's breast. She would apologize, make her coffee, buy her flowers. She would wipe away her actions with breakfast and cleaning the kitchen in their tiny apartment. She would conveniently forget. Until they needed rent again. Or groceries. Or the electric went out. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;">She would forget for one blissful morning. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Bitstream Charter, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 23.7999992370605px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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P.S. I have to admit...this was not a post I was going to write. I was not going to even attempt writing a story for this photo, because I didn't feel inspired, and I felt it was too dark. But. Yes, that word gets me in a lot of trouble. But...I decided to just start and see where it took me. I had several glasses of wine and just opened myself up to the muse - and...well...she took me where she took me. And this is the result. It's a bit dark, but so is the photo. No smiles, no one looks happy, everything looks clinical and forced for an audience. Hence...my story. Regardless, I enjoyed writing it. I'd completely forgotten, consciously, of the poem "A Carcass," and I'm not really sure why that's the one that entered my brain, but when I'm writing, I don't question, I just roll with it. So there you have it. The backstory. And the apology, I suppose.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-25372356953586232322015-06-27T16:06:00.003-07:002015-07-26T20:35:36.010-07:00In Bed with Books (Sinful Sunday)More than once, books have been responsible for my naughty thoughts and actions. They inspire that little twitch at my core, that expands outward to my erogenous zones...most assuredly - my brain being at the top of that list.<br />
<br />
While reading in bed the other night...and after being asked to text a pic to Daddy while he was out of town...I took these several shots:<br />
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<a href="http://sinfulsunday.mollysdailykiss.com/2015/06/27/sinful-sunday-week-220/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqvaYUDN79poGB6fRqOgYbgR6asfMlh7l5yBYJClfLjWILGJfvGiOmQ0rvllZlNKojotvqMmjuNnkBMdmU5y-oBxxmQyX-H8UpKxkGexWi2AGQOMTzh9ZOFD-A-9H95BnwHwCwNVffl3iK/s1600/SinfulSundayLips150.png" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2T6rWKUSypxVvCc4_NE8P42hDiKJ8GmKFW8YMW_4RvPciRDjDkLKmLsXcmnHExtk7lYTBxWOiE-aLZA8LqRwZbfKUYHIWnhWztJr88nceDTfAGilRk3-nEPDrZsuCJ6jsOjjKXAUuG3hO/s1600/ll+signature.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2T6rWKUSypxVvCc4_NE8P42hDiKJ8GmKFW8YMW_4RvPciRDjDkLKmLsXcmnHExtk7lYTBxWOiE-aLZA8LqRwZbfKUYHIWnhWztJr88nceDTfAGilRk3-nEPDrZsuCJ6jsOjjKXAUuG3hO/s1600/ll+signature.png" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2649925342305445586.post-57274078879598125602015-06-26T22:37:00.000-07:002015-06-26T22:37:57.998-07:00Chained<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgkEIRX2NmiCcR-e1FXUlmIKLzesOcVd1SargYBa1euthpGRJeA00fWKMH3zqANmG4U3Lj1i_xKPZlYHZNf0bV6pzSXxsrTEBmnSDkD6SH0d-vz4wN8ktcEsRzDps-3jneGOQey1ifeHHe/s1600/chains-lanci-bdsm-erotic-picture-slika.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgkEIRX2NmiCcR-e1FXUlmIKLzesOcVd1SargYBa1euthpGRJeA00fWKMH3zqANmG4U3Lj1i_xKPZlYHZNf0bV6pzSXxsrTEBmnSDkD6SH0d-vz4wN8ktcEsRzDps-3jneGOQey1ifeHHe/s320/chains-lanci-bdsm-erotic-picture-slika.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
You could </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
chain me </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to your belt loop, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
dragging me around, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
place to place,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
just to be sure that </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I would follow.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But you don't </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
have to.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Your gaze is chain enough--</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
thick, heavy, palpable--</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
your eyes pull me in,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
hold me immobile,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
even bid me to move</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
whichever way you desire.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I could say no to you,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
but I won't.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So there is no reason</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
for chains...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
unless it is</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
your wish</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
that I be</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
bound.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
In which case,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
you could tie me up</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
just for fun,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
bend me,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
shape me,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
touch me,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
leave me</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
wanting.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You could say no to me,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
which you will,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
just to prove</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
that you can.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
There is little</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I can do</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to stop you.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
There is little</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
that I want</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to do...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
besides</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
You can be happily "chained" to a person. Or not so happily. Or...like me and Mine...you can need the other so much that when they are away you don't feel "quite right." Your souls are tied...or chained - and there's no set of bolt cutters that's going to break them apart. Seriously, even if you were separated forever, by land, sea, divorce or death...you'd still feel it. That pull. That necessity. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It's more than love. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It's life itself.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Indeed...the meaning of life is <b>not</b> <a href="http://whatis.techtarget.com/definition/42-h2g2-meaning-of-life-The-Hitchhikers-Guide-to-the-Galaxy" target="_blank">42</a> (yes...I'm <i>that</i> big of a geek). The meaning of life is connection.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
And a set of chains is as good a metaphor for that as any. Because that connection is not always easy, or soft, or happy. It just <b>is and must be.</b> </div>
</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15831717334292672743noreply@blogger.com6