Bwaa haa haa!

So- I've long been a fan of the Gil Elvgren Pin-up- or, I should simplify that and say I like pin-ups, period.  I don't know why precisely.  Sure, they're ultimately objectifying, but they're also cheeky and funny and playful. And most of them illustrate a spontaneous moment of sexiness, in the midst of domesticity, or mundane life.  Maybe it's Spring in the air, and like I said yesterday, sex seems to be everywhere, if you're looking, listening, for it...

But this? This may not be Hot per se... but they're surely awesome, and funny, and awesome and funny have a good chance of making it into my pants. Behold:

Men-Ups by Rion Sabean

Sometimes when I'm on the train

I look at the men with wedding rings and think:

Some woman loves you, touches you tenderly, takes your cock into her mouth, into her body.  She knows what makes you smile and what to do to make your lips go slack and induce the lust haze.  She knows the smells of your secret places and your ticklish spots.
Sometimes I wonder what those things are, what you look like in full arousal... What your hands and mouth and cock do to her....but mostly I think: Some woman chose you.

It's nice.

Sex is everywhere

It's a current running under and around.

She's a pretty woman, MILF-ish, standing with girlfriends. They're all attractive, well dressed, stylish. They're parting on the corner, but haven't quite let go of the conversation. 

"Are you sore from running, or something else?" one says from across the street.

"What?!"

"Are you sore from running," repeated, louder, "or something else?!"

As I pass that one I catch her eye, raise an eyebrow, and we laugh.

"Something else," she shouts back.

I can't help but picture her, in a split second flash- riding him, mouth shaped in an O, surrendered to pleasure.

Sometimes it's closer to the surface than others.  Or maybe I'm listening harder.

Daffodils

I've been leaving them on his Vespa, now and then.  It's rusty.  Old.  Him?  He's cute.  Busy seeming, and a little edgy.

This morning there is a note:

I prefer tulips.

What to do?

The surest way to make me blush

More than spinach in my teeth, or toilet paper clinging to my shoe, or my skirt tucked into my tights, or lipstick on my teeth, or a dribble of food on my blouse, noticed hours later (all of these things mortifying, by the way), vastly more than all of this, is to catch my myriad grammatical errors.

I usually see it (them?!) the moment I press 'send'.  The misapplied apostrophe?  The poorly matched tense? They're, there, and their? God save me from...(I'm pinking just thinking about it).  And you can just forget about the spelling.

The flush is instant, consuming.  My throat first, engulfed in prickly heat.  It travels upwards, blooming on my jaw, curling like a voracious vine over my cheeks. It meets itself on my forehead: undeniably, obviously, aglow.  My arm swings up to cover my face, to hide my shame.

Fucking?  It doesn't embarrass me.  I will turn pink though, if we're doing it right.

Cracking the Whip, part three

A story started here, and continuing here and now here:

"I appreciate the work you've been doing.  I really do.  But we both know the truth."

E. stood up, walked around the table.

She pressed her foot into his back, watching the tiny spike indent the flesh just above his ass.  She pressed just hard enough.

"You've been slacking," she said.

"Yes." he bowed his head.

"You've been distracted.  I understand."

She scooped the half melted chocolate off of the table, swinging around to face him.  E. dipped her finger into the center, bringing the cream to her lips.

"Bow before me" she purred, her hand gently caressing his chin, tilting his head up. 

His eyes held hers as he slid off of the chair, onto his knees before her.

She licked the cream off her fingers slowly, gaze never leaving his.
He shivered.

Lifting one leg onto the now empty seat, E splayed before him, her cunt at eye level, though obscured by her skirt.  Sunlight limned the exposed curve if her thigh, the slim lines of her calf, the delicacy of her ankle, caught in shadows in the folds of the skirt.

"You will service me now" she said.

"There will be no further talking"

She held out the egg.

Resilience

Is the word of the day.

This is a post.

elust#34

My "First Date" story is in the erotic writing round up.  Thanks elust!!!

Photo Courtesy of JM from There is No Spoon!

Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #35 ? Start with the rules, check out the schedule and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates! Note: Wondering why there is no Top 3 this edition? Read the latest Editor's Note to find out why, and what you can do to help prevent this from happening in the future.
~ Featured Posts (Picked by Lilly) ~
The Ultrasound and the Fury- I cried softly and my partner moved closer to the table so I could lay my cheek against him for comfort and support. Then they brandished a wand and explained they needed to take pictures inside of me. And told him to get out.
Vagina in the Wild - Adventures in Pantslessness - They are self-cleaning and self-lubricating. They are a wonderfully well designed body part that speaks of feminine power and beauty. They leave wet spots on the couch.
~ e[lust] Editress ~
The Ultimate Guide to Silicone Sex Toys – With Metis Black of Tantus, Inc. - I picked the brain of Metis Black, the fabulous woman behind Tantus Inc, makers of some very awesome silicone sex toys. Get your sex geek on and find out some myths and facts about silicone sex toys!
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!
Kink & Fetish
As Is Custom
Consent and negotiation
Fishnets and Spanking and Sleep
In room entertainment
Ladies' Night: My First Time at an All-Womens' Sex Party
Learn the rope of knots: Overhand Knot
slapping...drinking...and other wacky fun...
That Moment
Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor
An Open Letter to Rush Limbaugh
Erotic-On Me
Eyes Wide Smut
Strangers on a Train
Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships
Bondage Insecurities
Cunnilingus 101
Getaway Sex vs Everyday Sex
Gifts from Lover's
Innies, Outties & 3-Ways
Im 35 and My Mum Can Hear Me Having Sex
Mono or Poly
Mmm, the kissage!
Never Pinch a Sadist #3: Relationship Rules
Primary? Alpha?
Safewords in the Real World
Shields
The long distance thing
The Next Evolution – Swinging-Open Marriage-Polyamory
Erotic Writing
A Good Day and Sexzy Night
50 Ways to Fuck Your Lover
Blissful Candlelit Climax
Cunny Honey
Easy Like Sunday Mornings
Fingertips
first date
In which... I go to my first party (Part I)
I’m the SlutHow It All Started
Mount'n Dew
Our Sex Diary (Part Two!)
Rain
Rendezvous
Some Truth...About Cocksucking
Sensuality
She Takes Control
The Chair - The Execution
The Beast
That Familiar Maddening Thrill
The Importance of (Emotional and Physical) Self-Love
Vignette 2: Traffic Stop
Working Out
Whore’s Mouth

Transgressive Girl (whip-us story interupt-us)

I'm a transgressive girl- but not very. (see- if you went there- my pictures are pretty, not even especially raunchy.)

I love my secret life. But secret lives are complicated. Some days I'd love to reveal all. But most? I love having this- outside of my day to day, outside of (what I think are) most people's perception of who I am.

Other days I wish nothing was hidden, that we were all brave enough to risk judgement daily, constantly. That I didn't have to sweat the potential damages to my family.

I run up to the edge, drop a (very cute) toe over it, and hope I don't fall. Trust I won't fall? Hope the landing is soft? Trust it will be?

I've never done drugs- not really. The illicit, transgressive nature of them is my only attractor. I've tried, here and there, but I'm not cut out for it. Alcohol is similar. In that case I'm sure I could become addicted- it's in my family- but I don't go there. I don't go there in large part because it doesn't work for me. I'm a lightweight in every sense of the word. More than one drink and I'm sleepy and almost guaranteed to feel it the next day, regardless of the type or strength of the drink- beer will knock me over about as easily as a martini. Remember that scene in "Raiders of the Lost Ark"? I ached to be tiny Karen Allen, drinking the big boys under the table, then walking away level as all get out.

I'd love to be a wine snob, but it's never gonna happen.

But skinny dipping? I'm in. 

And sex? I'm not particularly kinky. Nor unusual. The exploits documented here, as much as they are, are about it. But it does qualify as having pushed my boundaries, in a delightful, challenging, and occasionally painful way.

How far will I go? Will it have to ratchet up? (in an aside, I think this could be a danger of sex blogging- for me anyway- the idea that I would have to have/court experiences faster than I would naturally want to in pursuit of fodder.)

Boundaries are tough for me. I want to push them. I want to see just how far I will go. Can go. Of course, this is a slippery slope, and many many people who've thought they were in control have slid down it.

The most immediate and unfortunate negative to pushing boundaries is finding them before I would want to: hating to be denied. Feeling like my edges are further out than someone else's, being told No. Or that I can't. Or that "it just doesn't work that way".

Cracking the Whip, part two

She handed the egg over without a word.

W. laughed, peeling back the foil.

The egg melted in his fingers, already sticky and hot.

"Let me help," she said, taking his fingers into her mouth. Her eyes glittered with humor and desire. She suckled his thumb, and first finger, letting the sugary juice slip down to the base of his fingers. She took them deeply into her mouth, her eyes attached to his face, her desire looping through her chest, nipples tightening.

His cock jumped in his pants, an electric jolt flying through his body. His lips parted as he watched hers stretching over his fingers. She withdrew, licked her glossed lips in satisfaction, and bent back to the computer.

He raised his eyebrows, eyes dancing. "Really?"

She smiled a little and recrossed her legs, admiring the arch of her foot in her new shoes- still virginal, in that they'd yet to be worn outdoors. They were not, however, unsullied in other ways.

He put the partially wrapped chocolate on the table. The top of it had melted away, revealing the milky white center.

Cracking the Whip

--A motivational story in (at least) three parts--

With a project looming, and W.'s will to do it abundantly tepid, E. decided to take matters into her own hands. The stakes were too high to let it slide.

He needed motivation. And perhaps a flogger?

******************

The carrot?? Hmm.

******************

She took off her coat in the hallway.
And sauntered into the office.

"Oh dear," he said, appraising her.
"What?"
"Uh, nothing".

She sat down and opened her laptop.

They went to work. W.'s eyes occasionally flicking over her face, her body. She could feel his mind behind his eyes, but neither of them said anything.

She stretched, arms above her head, and then let her hand land on the place where her thigh high socks stopped, and her short full skirt began. She inched the skirt up.

They'd been diligently working away. Emails had been sent. Phone calls were made. It was time for a little break.

E. reached into the big ass bag that accompanied her most places, and came up with an egg. A Cadbury chocolate egg.

************************end part one.

The way it goes

Ruminations on objectification.  And submission.  And marriage.

As my husband and I muddle through our issues around Monogamy, (capital M), we are looking for what it is that threatens us... and what challenges us.  Where do our true feelings bump up against our/the unquestioned commonly held beliefs about what a Marriage is.

From last August through December (with bubbles earlier in this year as well) I had a relationship with N.  He was my, at least nominally, SASS- Spousally Approved Sex on the Side.  I recognize that N. and I traveled a road perhaps a little far from just SASS- we became playmates- pals who fucked, and wrote about it, sent each other hot and goofy assignments and photographs, etc. etc. He called me his girlfriend.  I liked it.  I thought of myself as his toy.  And I am fine with that.  It was liberating.  I was objectified- and still me.  I didn't lose any of my "self" or feel less-than in any way.

I've never been actively "submissive" in my sexual relationships, but N. likes to be dominant, and I like him that way.  Tell me what to do.  I surrender myself to pleasing you.  Take me off the shelf and play with me.

Every now and then in our conversations my husband will say, "but you're my wife!" Usually this means:

1. How can my wife be willing to be someone else's toy?  Or anyone's toy? 
2. What does it mean about my wife that she takes pleasure in that? 
3. What does it say about me?? 
4. How can I possibly be ok with this?

You might wonder why he doesn't fulfill the D/s desire that I have.  It's not how we've ever related sexually.  He doesn't want to.  And I like him the way he is. Plus, it's something of a latent desire.  I've never really explored it before.

N. said a while back that he and I are different- that he knows where he is with his sexuality, and his blog and his life are expressions of that.  I'm still figuring it out for myself: what I like, what I want, and with whom.  How do I assimilate those needs and desires into my relationship with my husband, or if that's not compatible, how do we both find peace in not being everything to each other all of the time?

The way through isn't clear, but the journey is compelling.  I'm learning and stretching and continuing.