Some words are inherently sexy, or just make me think of sex. Here's my list:
Adam's Apple. My first thought was "ass" but it seemed obvious. An Adam's Apple is such a masculine part of the body. I love watching them move and listening to the deep timbre of someone's voice.
Booty. I love this word because its sex-positive. Words like "butt" and "ass" can have both negative and positive connotations.... but booty? It's full of positive thinking. Booty is always a compliment.
Cunt. How could I not use this word? I love it. Its powerful and offensive. But why? How is it any different than vagina or pussy other then it's one of society's most feared words - beyond even the f word. Cunt. CUNT. LICK IT.
Daddy. Sometimes, I like to call him Daddy. It makes him want to bend me over and fuck me.
Eros. Erotic love and passion. If you don't have it, you know its missing. I missed it for years, and when I found it.... I've never let go.
French lace. What is it about things being French that make them sexier than their otherwise-sourced comparatives? I would love to own a French lace bra and panty set.
Generosity. Give me a partner who wants to give me orgasm after orgasm, past the point which I think I can handle, and show me new limits of mulitple O's, and I will try to be just as generous.
Hole. Find one. Use it.
Intimacy. The ability to say exactly what you're thinking to your partner. So valuable, and
Jerk off. I love to watch a man play with his own penis. Sometimes its like watching a child play with his favorite toy. Only the play ends in an orgasm and he's so addicted he can't stop.
Kink. It's only weird the first time.
Love. For me, it makes sex a possibility. For him, it makes it so much better than without. The more love, the better the sex.
Mound. I love the pussy mound, how it raises up with your pubic bone. I love how it feels when you massage it with your hand.
Nipple. When he sucks mine, I feel like the most loved woman in the world. It's so intimate.
Orgasm. It's not the end-all, be-all of sex. It's great, but if you're having sex for the orgasm you might be doing it wrong.
Penis. Because God has a sense of humor. From an observational standpoint, they are equal parts hilarious, gorgeous, and pure sex.
Queening stool. One of the most brilliant pieces of furniture ever invented. I need one!
Record. I never though recording ourselves and then watching it would be so fucking HOT.
Silicone. I know more about this material than I ever thought I would, thanks for my interest in body-safe sex toys.
Testosterone. As a PCOS woman, I have way too much. Thankful I have a partner who understands the consequences of that.
Uvula. The way your mouth moves when you say this word reminds me of sex... kind of how your lips form during a blow job. Uuuuvuuuulaaaaa.
Virginity. Highly, highly over-rated.
Wrap. I love to wrap myself around him. Arms and legs, entwining myself.
X-ray. Several times for overseas trips I've had to get a chest x-ray... and you can totally see my boobs on the x-ray. The nice rounded bottom swoops of my boobs... displayed to any doctor or tech who reviews it. I felt so exposed.
Yoni. I really want a yoni massage. Lately, when I look at porn, it's what I look for.
Zero. The number of times you should fake orgasms. Just be honest.
Note: this post is an entry into Beck's Asian Leather Ball Gag Giveaway. Go and check out the other entries and take an opportunity to enter yourself.
Friday, February 22, 2013
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
He spanked me til I cried
"We need a safeword."
"Ok. Pick one."
"I can't think of anything! I'm nervous."
"Well, you need to pick so you'll remember it."
"Ok." My heart was pounding. I'd never picked a safeword for myself. I don't allow myself to be vulnerable like that. But I had asked for this, and I wanted it.
Safeword chosen, I stripped and laid face down on the bed. I peeked up at him.
He had the riding crop in his hand. Oh. So not open palm like we've tried before. Instead of widespread pain like I had only experienced one other time, this was to be a series of sharp, stinging, small painful hits. I hadn't thought about this.
"Relax." Yeah, like that was going to happen. I tried not to tense my body. I held my face in my hands and waited.
He knelt on the bed beside me, crop in hand. There was no warning, just a light swish of air as the crop hit my right butt cheek. My body flinched. He hadn't hit very hard, but hard enough to cross the line to a little bit of pain. He didn't wait too long before the next hit on my left cheek. He alternated between hits and watched my body do little flinches of surprised, painful response.
I hoped he wouldn't tell me not to flinch. I wasn't ready for that yet.
The hits started to come harder. Most of the time he alternated cheeks, but randomly he would strike the same cheek, in what felt like the same spot, and it would hurt. A lot. I let my whimpers and moans be heard. But I knew this only spurred him on.
The slaps of the crop stung and left my skin with this warming feeling. I was no longer worrying about whether or not to control my flinching. It was out of the question. He wasn't waiting for me to settle down or prepare for the next. It was already happening before the sting of the first stopped.
He paused a moment to kiss my red cheeks. "So beautiful," he breathed against my skin. "So warm." My breath shuddered. He resumed spanking me with the crop.
My hands gripped my head, pulling slightly at my hair. I bit my lip and tried to breath through the pain. He made my spread my legs and hit my ass near my inner upper thigh. I howled with pain after two sharp hits. I pulled my legs shut, so happy I hadn't suggested restraints. I couldn't handle many blows like that.
With my legs closed, he returned to my ass and started hitting three sharp whacks to the same spot, and then changing. It hurt so bad my whole body started twisting away from him in pain. Tears started falling down my cheeks; I've never started crying so fast.
I heard him jerking off with his free hand. He liked it so much. In a frenzy of emotions, I tried to process how I was letting this happen, why I had asked for this, how he could be turned on by it, and just how I knew that my cries and tears (definitely audible to him) would all turn him on more than I probably wanted to know.
He made me spin away from him several more times. He didn't always let me get back to laying on my stomach before he hit me again. I cried and yelled my pain. The tears helped me through it.
Finally, he stopped and I was happy. I'd almost used the safeword, but now that it was over I was happy I had endured. Happy despite the pain and falling tears.
I'd never felt so vulnerable. I laid there as he put the crop away and I continued crying. So many emotions that I couldn't understand were washing through me.
He returned to the bed and laid beside me, one hand stroking my hair and the other holding my hands in his. He was so gentle. I was so raw and tender and he looked on me with such love. I don't remember what he said. He comforted me, held me, and supported me.
He let me cry my tears. He soothed me and held me as the emotions slowly evaporated away. I ended up laying on his chest, resting. Eventually, I asked about how much he had enjoyed spanking me and hearing me cry. He hadn't come, but his continued boner told me how much he was still turned on.
I laid on his chest as he jerked off. He held my head against him and told me how beautiful I was and how he wanted to do it again.
"Ok. Pick one."
"I can't think of anything! I'm nervous."
"Well, you need to pick so you'll remember it."
"Ok." My heart was pounding. I'd never picked a safeword for myself. I don't allow myself to be vulnerable like that. But I had asked for this, and I wanted it.
Safeword chosen, I stripped and laid face down on the bed. I peeked up at him.
He had the riding crop in his hand. Oh. So not open palm like we've tried before. Instead of widespread pain like I had only experienced one other time, this was to be a series of sharp, stinging, small painful hits. I hadn't thought about this.
"Relax." Yeah, like that was going to happen. I tried not to tense my body. I held my face in my hands and waited.
He knelt on the bed beside me, crop in hand. There was no warning, just a light swish of air as the crop hit my right butt cheek. My body flinched. He hadn't hit very hard, but hard enough to cross the line to a little bit of pain. He didn't wait too long before the next hit on my left cheek. He alternated between hits and watched my body do little flinches of surprised, painful response.
I hoped he wouldn't tell me not to flinch. I wasn't ready for that yet.
The hits started to come harder. Most of the time he alternated cheeks, but randomly he would strike the same cheek, in what felt like the same spot, and it would hurt. A lot. I let my whimpers and moans be heard. But I knew this only spurred him on.
The slaps of the crop stung and left my skin with this warming feeling. I was no longer worrying about whether or not to control my flinching. It was out of the question. He wasn't waiting for me to settle down or prepare for the next. It was already happening before the sting of the first stopped.
He paused a moment to kiss my red cheeks. "So beautiful," he breathed against my skin. "So warm." My breath shuddered. He resumed spanking me with the crop.
My hands gripped my head, pulling slightly at my hair. I bit my lip and tried to breath through the pain. He made my spread my legs and hit my ass near my inner upper thigh. I howled with pain after two sharp hits. I pulled my legs shut, so happy I hadn't suggested restraints. I couldn't handle many blows like that.
With my legs closed, he returned to my ass and started hitting three sharp whacks to the same spot, and then changing. It hurt so bad my whole body started twisting away from him in pain. Tears started falling down my cheeks; I've never started crying so fast.
I heard him jerking off with his free hand. He liked it so much. In a frenzy of emotions, I tried to process how I was letting this happen, why I had asked for this, how he could be turned on by it, and just how I knew that my cries and tears (definitely audible to him) would all turn him on more than I probably wanted to know.
He made me spin away from him several more times. He didn't always let me get back to laying on my stomach before he hit me again. I cried and yelled my pain. The tears helped me through it.
Finally, he stopped and I was happy. I'd almost used the safeword, but now that it was over I was happy I had endured. Happy despite the pain and falling tears.
I'd never felt so vulnerable. I laid there as he put the crop away and I continued crying. So many emotions that I couldn't understand were washing through me.
He returned to the bed and laid beside me, one hand stroking my hair and the other holding my hands in his. He was so gentle. I was so raw and tender and he looked on me with such love. I don't remember what he said. He comforted me, held me, and supported me.
He let me cry my tears. He soothed me and held me as the emotions slowly evaporated away. I ended up laying on his chest, resting. Eventually, I asked about how much he had enjoyed spanking me and hearing me cry. He hadn't come, but his continued boner told me how much he was still turned on.
I laid on his chest as he jerked off. He held my head against him and told me how beautiful I was and how he wanted to do it again.
 |
| Taken after he had jacked off. Still a little pink. |
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Just another day
It's Valentine's Day... and we really don't care.
Last year was our first Valentine's Day together, I told him that if he did ANYTHING for this day, it would end up in a fight and a major problem for not listening to me. The first time I told him, he said OK. And then after a moment's pause, he asked, "Wait... you're not doing that woman thing where you say you don't want anything, but if I don't, you'll get mad at me, right?"
"What do you think?"
"Well, you're not like that, but I'm just checking."
"I'm 100% serious. You give me anything to make this day different than any other day, you will be in big trouble."
Smart guy, he listened and the day was like no other.
I've always been this way. Growing up, I hated this day. The stupid little cards you gave to every person in your class so no one would be left out were so meaningless. What was a "valentine," anyway to a third grader? I remember one year the teacher said that giving Valentines were optional. I chose not to bring any - and I was the ONLY student in my class of 25 who didn't bring any. I felt embarrassed and mad. Signing your name to a card didn't mean you felt any one way about me. It was a stupid tradition with no point.
Every year, my mom made the day special. Every year she gave us each a personalized card and a little gift. There was always chocolate, but there was always a gift telling us how she loved and appreciated my sister and I. It was special appreciation for us as daughters. While I hated the commercialism of the day, I loved and looked forward to her gifts. She made the day special for us.
But romantic interests? In grade school it was out of place and awkward. I received one Valentine in high school from my long-distance quasi-boyfriend. It was sweet, but unnecessary. I hadn't expected it and appreciated the gesture.
All I heard about the dreaded V-day was failed expectations, sickening displays of affection that came wrapped in Made in China teddy bears and cheap chocolate candy. I just didn't care or what any part of it.
If you love me, show me every day. Make dates. Be romantic randomly. Make an effort to make any day special for us. I don't need chalky candy hearts or red and gold heart-shaped boxes to tell me how you feel. If that's the only way or time you do, we have problems.
There's no point to celebrating this mother of all fake holidays other than to support cheap manufacturing and overly sentimental romantic whims. Growing up I saw huge expectations women placed on men based on movies and media, and men hopelessly trying to figure out what to do. What was the point of this?
I can't see one. So for us, today is just a normal day. Like the other 364 or 365 days of the year, we'll do our best to further our relationship, show our love, support one another, and each take opportunities to be romantic.
Oh, and he couldn't be happier about this viewpoint. He's had the awful expectations placed on him by ex-girlfriends who wanted him to figure it out and then have it blow up in his face when it wasn't quite what they expected or wanted. He's had girls say its no big deal and then it is because, well, it's the most special day of love, how could he be so inconsiderate? So, to say the least, he's very happy.
Last year was our first Valentine's Day together, I told him that if he did ANYTHING for this day, it would end up in a fight and a major problem for not listening to me. The first time I told him, he said OK. And then after a moment's pause, he asked, "Wait... you're not doing that woman thing where you say you don't want anything, but if I don't, you'll get mad at me, right?"
"What do you think?"
"Well, you're not like that, but I'm just checking."
"I'm 100% serious. You give me anything to make this day different than any other day, you will be in big trouble."
Smart guy, he listened and the day was like no other.
I've always been this way. Growing up, I hated this day. The stupid little cards you gave to every person in your class so no one would be left out were so meaningless. What was a "valentine," anyway to a third grader? I remember one year the teacher said that giving Valentines were optional. I chose not to bring any - and I was the ONLY student in my class of 25 who didn't bring any. I felt embarrassed and mad. Signing your name to a card didn't mean you felt any one way about me. It was a stupid tradition with no point.
Every year, my mom made the day special. Every year she gave us each a personalized card and a little gift. There was always chocolate, but there was always a gift telling us how she loved and appreciated my sister and I. It was special appreciation for us as daughters. While I hated the commercialism of the day, I loved and looked forward to her gifts. She made the day special for us.
But romantic interests? In grade school it was out of place and awkward. I received one Valentine in high school from my long-distance quasi-boyfriend. It was sweet, but unnecessary. I hadn't expected it and appreciated the gesture.
All I heard about the dreaded V-day was failed expectations, sickening displays of affection that came wrapped in Made in China teddy bears and cheap chocolate candy. I just didn't care or what any part of it.
If you love me, show me every day. Make dates. Be romantic randomly. Make an effort to make any day special for us. I don't need chalky candy hearts or red and gold heart-shaped boxes to tell me how you feel. If that's the only way or time you do, we have problems.
There's no point to celebrating this mother of all fake holidays other than to support cheap manufacturing and overly sentimental romantic whims. Growing up I saw huge expectations women placed on men based on movies and media, and men hopelessly trying to figure out what to do. What was the point of this?
I can't see one. So for us, today is just a normal day. Like the other 364 or 365 days of the year, we'll do our best to further our relationship, show our love, support one another, and each take opportunities to be romantic.
Oh, and he couldn't be happier about this viewpoint. He's had the awful expectations placed on him by ex-girlfriends who wanted him to figure it out and then have it blow up in his face when it wasn't quite what they expected or wanted. He's had girls say its no big deal and then it is because, well, it's the most special day of love, how could he be so inconsiderate? So, to say the least, he's very happy.
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