Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Any girls out there ever been able to lick their own pussy? When I do this position, and keep going, my knees can squeeze the side of my head and I get SO CLOSE. If I had a dick, I would totally be able to suck myself off.
Must be a lot of bending over
via Ms. Savannah Sly
Monday, January 30, 2012
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Sergio Davis needs to make partner in the ad firm before he turns thirty, and his last chance is getting a huge new account with an underwear magnate. He's focused all his time and energy on this presentation, until he meets a beautiful woman in the parking garage.
Liz is an heiress, hugely successful in business, but not so successful in her relationships. She wants a man who finds her attractive for herself, not her money. She encounters an artistic and sexy man who takes control and that triggers a submissive reaction in her. Realizing he’s enamored of her without knowing who she is, she sets up a seduction in the conference room where he’s scheduled to make his presentation to her.
The attraction heightens, and Liz teases Sergio until he turns dominant. Once he discovers who she is, he plots his payback, controlling her body, her emotions, and her sexual pleasure. After a glorious night of sensational sex, the real control battle begins. Who will end up on top during the day, and during the night?
Reader Alert! : As payback for seducing him at work, this hot young man takes control of this sexy CEO’s body, her emotions, and her sexual pleasure. He ties her up and seduces her through every room in her house and outdoors too. She’s bound to enjoy it, wouldn’t you?
To My Readers: I wondered what kind of woman could seduce a man to risk his hard-won career to be with her. What if there was the danger of them being discovered any minute? I thought it would be fun to see how he’d plan his payback. What would he do if he had complete control over her for a night?
About the Author: Chellesie B. Dancer enjoys writing contemporary, historical, and erotic love stories with a sprinkling of comedy. The women in her books dare to ask for their desires, so they truly will be satisfied ever after. Be careful what you wish for...
Chellesie lives on top of a hill overlooking the smog of sunny Southern California. Other than writing, she entertains at parties as an M.C., a clown, and occasionally a dancing gorilla. She’s the mother of three beautiful boys and an assortment of other critters. Luckily her husband cooks!
Heading to the elevator, he saw a profile in the dim light–the silhouette of her flirty dress, her Grecian nose, and her high cheek bones set against the harsh light behind her. Poetic.
She turned and caught him staring. “Did I forget to put on clothes?”
The amusement in her voice stirred him back into motion. As he neared, he saw long strawberry-blond hair and caught his breath. A gorgeous figure and a red-head too? Damn! “Sorry, didn’t mean to stare. I was just captivated by the classic lines of your face… and, uh, dress. It’s just–your silhouette was so lovely against the glare of that bulb.”
She smiled. “You’re an artist.”
He shrugged. “Well, a graphic artist.”
“An artist nonetheless.” Her tone suggested she was accustomed to being correct. “Art is art.”
“I’d like to make art with you.” Damn, he didn’t mean that. Well he meant it, just didn’t mean to say it. Something about her made him to want to strip her nude and pose her in a hundred classic poses. And take her in every one of them.
“Really?” She couldn’t contain her wickedly sexy smile. “Let me guess, you paint nudes?”
Damn, was he that obvious? She watched him in anticipation. Was she flirting with him?
“No, I don’t paint nudes.” A flicker of disappointment in her eyes. “But now that you’ve suggested it, I think it’s a great idea. When are you available?”
An eyebrow raised, then her mouth tightened. “I’m a very busy woman. I’ll have to check my schedule.”
Busy how? A gorgeous woman like that, how many men did she have in her life? Brushing aside that unsettling thought, he forged ahead. He’d never met a woman who intrigued him like this, and he wasn’t gonna let her run away. “We’re all busy. Let me know when you have an opening and I’ll clear my schedule to fit you in.” After he’d said it he noticed the double entendre.
She must have gotten it, because she looked away. “It might be a while till I can find the time.”
So she wanted to play coy. That’s all right, he was determined, he’d persist till she gave in. He approached her, instinctively summoning his most authoritative voice.
“Make the time.”
Her eyes widened for a split second before hardening into slits. “Oh, do you think I do anything that a man tells me to do?”
Her scathing tone was meant to put him in his place. Instead it made him bolder. He stepped closer–too close–and that felt good. “No, of course not.” He moved again. An inch from her breasts. The electrical charge from invading her space zinged through his body. “Just anything I tell you to do.”
Her mouth fell open and her eyes got steamy. It felt as though that electrical charge from his body had surrounded her and drawn her in. She was his.
The elevator doors rumbled open behind her. As she stumbled back, he stepped forward and held them for her. She nodded her thanks, and turned. The soft turquoise fabric draped like silk over her curvy hips as she passed him, and he wanted to slide his hand along those curves. As she tapped the button, he darted a quick glance at her fingers–no ring. This was his lucky day.
She fled to the far corner, almost against the wall. He envisioned himself pressing her against that wall, lifting her skirt and taking her right here in the elevator. His cock was flooded and hard, ready to take control. He shook his head slightly, trying to get blood flow back to his brain. Think. Gotta do something. Appropriate.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Urinal, A pissoir is also a French invention common in Europe that allows men to urinate in public street without the need for a bathroom while also avoiding the possibility of public urination onto buildings, sidewalks, or streets. They have become more common and some communities such as the patrons of San Francisco's Dolores Park have vocally demanded their installation. They are said to have the added benefit of freeing up regular single occupancy public bathroom toilets for women.
via Perverts of Color
It tells the story of Matt Gregg, an ex-cop transitioning to a new career as a private detective, who is pulled down into the world of underground porn and murder.via Leer Es Sexy
Friday, January 27, 2012
I'm "different" too, in my way,
Text by yours truly, Snidely Whiplash
Pic from swisssublover
Thursday, January 26, 2012
The "thou" is a little thin, she needs that belly filled some of my home cooking.
( or something else filled with...that would also thicken her middle )
Personal aside, I still miss cigars after twenty five years
I was a terrible slave to nicotine (tops always make terrible slaves)
Ten cigars or fifty unfiltered cigarettes a day
Smoking women look so damn hot, too
I have to disapprove for health reasons and I need to be puritanical about some things (it's a very short list)
but it gives me a wicked thrill like a priest given a glimpse of adolescent (or younger) thigh in the front pew
The pic is from longingtobeowned , a heartbreaking tragic blog of a very kinky and very lonely girl, I wish I could help but I can't flog the whole world.
I've told you before, he likes me on my knees.
So there I am again, happily, kneeling naked at his feet.
I stand to undress him as I've done a thousand times.
First the belt. The leather is worn and looks deceivingly soft.
We both know it's not. I place it on the bed near me, his two
favorite toys side by side and within his reach.
Shoes, socks, trousers...I pause when I start to unbutton his shirt.
It's been a good day. There is lightness in the room with us tonight.
I look him in the eyes. A smirk curls his lips. He knows this look
in my eyes. It's not the usual look of love, adoration or even fear.
My eyes are bright and playful. I can't suppress the wicked imp.
She is there in full force wanting to play. And he indulges her.
I love that about him. How he can humor me and let me have
what I want without ever letting me forget who's really in control.
I know what my role is. I'm his toy. His eager, willing, trusting fucktoy.
But now it's me who wants to play, who orders him not to move.
I slip off his shirt and slip my arms into it. It still hangs open for
him to see but I'm not as exposed as he likes to keep me.
I take my time, smelling him, touching him, moving my lips over anywhere
that I like. Teasing him with my tongue, I linger until I get a response and
stop abruptly moving on to other delicious parts. Tasting whatever pleases me,
he instinctively grabs my head and I pinch him hard. I order him again not to move.
Reprimanding him excites me. I stifle a giggle because it also scares me.
I know there will be payback but I can't help myself. I reprimand him again while
I move on to the bed in front of him. Sitting up, legs wide open for him to see
and I can feel I'm already wet. Spreading myself open more, I taunt him
with my words, asking him if he likes what he sees, asking him if he wants
to touch and more, always denying him. Taking a slick finger, I brush it over his lips, just a taste, just a tease for him and I lick it off myself. I'm happy with his response and lean in to lick that, too. Greedy. Greedy, Greedy. Sucking him while I play.
I want him as close as possible to me while I tease so I order him to his knees knowing the only time he goes to his knees is to hold me down or use me, never for servitude. I can hardly hold his stare, my stomach is in knots knowing he can end my game at any time, but I can't ignore how wet I get when he appeases me.
I order him to lick me, just a lick but he doesn't stop. It doesn't take me long to lose myself in a wave of orgasms. The moans he is forcing out of me are so loud, I never hear him pick up the belt until it hits down on my chest. He flips me over and pushes my head into the bed so fast I can barely catch my breath.
Game over. Payback will be a bitch.
Well, yes it does make me want to scream! Loudly! You see, it’s the third time this has happened to me -- males -- straight males, confusing me with the characters in my tales.
Have any other women writers come across this?
I write erotica. Sometimes what I write is downright, absolutely pornographic. I write to entertain, sometimes I write quite deliberately to arouse -- I write to explore what a fun thing sex can be. The games that we play; the games that we want to play, but dare not.
I hope that sometimes people laugh! Laughter is sexy!
If consolation is needed, then I hope that I console -- it’s a sad mind that thinks that you are the only person in the world, who has had strange fantasies -- sometimes what the world would see as perverted fantasies. I write for the guy who wants to be a mommy’s boy -- for the male or female who wants to be Dominated, humiliated, who suffers for the sake of the one that he or she idolises. Those who give up their right to orgasm, because their Master, or Mistress forbids it. They eat, sleep, wear clothes, defecate, urinate when they are permitted. I want to tell them that they are not weird. They don’t have to act on their dark fantasies, but they are entitled to have them.
Sometimes I write heavy stuff.
And I hope that women read my tales too. I write for them; to empower -- sexually.
One guy who wrote to me, declared himself a submissive. He wanted to be tied up, be beaten until he was “bruised and bloody”. He couldn’t possibly tell his wife, she would think he was a pervert.
So how can he tell me, a stranger, things that he would never divulge to the person he is closest to in all the world?
Do male writer’s of erotica get this? I wonder what their response would be? A gay friend, who writes gay male erotica, tells me that he’s had mails where his readers confess that they have masturbated after reading his stories. My friend’s response is: “well well”.
One New Year’s Eve, I had a cold so I decided not to join in the celebrations. I stayed in, warm and cosy. I was watching the new year arrive on television. Big Ben struck on the hour of midnight. The phone rang. A guy telling me to open my mouth, he was waiting to shove his penis in. It’s hardly poetry, is it? I was shocked and hung up. I was nervous and felt upset. Then I got to thinking, how would a man react to a dirty phone call? So I asked them -- gay and straight. Both said that they would laugh and probably be excited. So I wrote my story, “Retribution”. It’s about just that. A straight man receiving a dirty phone call from a woman. It’s in M.Christian’s anthology, “Best S&M Erotica vol.3" available at Sizzler and Amazon.
I mentioned all of this to an acquaintance; his response was -- “Well, given the genre you write in, don’t you think that this sort of thing is bound to happen?”
Maybe I’m naïve, but I didn’t. The males who have contacted me come over as intelligent guys; men with refined, intellectually developed, sophisticated minds. So why, after a few emails, do they ask me ask me inappropriate questions? Very personal questions. Have I ever…? Very creepy questions.
These questions take me by surprise rather than shock me. A bit like the dirty phone call on New Year’s Eve. Questions that unsettle me rather than distress me. I feel a little bit insulted too -- but most of all, I feel very irritated.
I could name names -- I could, perhaps I should. But I’m not going to -- that would make me spiteful, and I’m not spiteful.
But I am not Ulena, or Jasmine, or Sally, or whoever the hell the FEM/dom is in my tales. They are figments of my imagination; they are not me. I create these characters, just to see if I can do it. I put them and their submissive partners in depraved situations, just to see if I can do it. Human beings have always whispered tales of the forbidden; the taboo. Those tales are a part of every culture in the world, expressing stuff we dare not speak of.
Perhaps, one day I’ll move away from erotica/pornography -- maybe I’ll write something “worthy”. Heavens, there are plenty of issues to be going along with. Racism, homophobia, xenophobia, how we treat the elderly, child abuse, animal cruelty -- the list goes on and on. Perhaps I’ll write about the cult of celebrity -- the desire that half the world has, it seems, to be famous.
Maybe I won’t -- there are more than enough writers churning out “worthy” books.
I’ve deleted my Facebook profile -- no great loss there. I was getting inappropriate comments on my “wall”.
It’s fiction for God’s sake; it’s a story.
It seems that if I want to write in the erotica genre, then I have to hide -- But I will continue to write my tales of sexual release, sensual release -- and yes, even spiritual release.
I think that my ultimate aim, as a writer of erotica, is to express erotica with words, as beautifully as Dita von Teese does in her burlesque dance. Dita dances to entertain -- She dances to arouse men -- and women too. She’s also empowering women -- to be beautiful, to take control of their sexuality. She’s telling a story, a fiction -- her dance is no more real than any of my, or any other writer’s erotic/pornographic tales.
In her dressing room, Dita von Teese takes of her wig and heavy makeup. She kicks off the killer heels -- she probably slips, very elegantly of course, into a pair of old jeans and a tee shirt. She exits through the stage door -- her adoring fans don’t even recognise her. She tip toes away gracefully into the night.
Phone booths were always places of sex. When I was younger had a girlfriend who was always on a phone call there. She'd go in and sit down, while I went in, folding the door shut after me. Oh boy, did she know how to use her mouth! Standing there, my shoulders covering the door, who could have seen what was going on? But I heard in New York City there are practically no more phone booths left. Damn, where do kids go now?
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
And I thought I had it bad with my wheelchair she certainly gives me some inspiration.
Athlete Aimee Mullins
“Born without fibulae in both legs, Aimee’s medical prognosis was discouraging; she was told she would never walk, and would likely spend the rest of her life using a wheelchair. In an attempt for an outside chance at independent mobility, doctors amputated both her legs below the knee on her first birthday. The decision paid off. By age two, she had learned to walk on prosthetic legs, and spent her childhood doing the usual athletic activities of her peers: swimming, biking, softball, soccer, and skiing, always alongside “able-bodies” kids.”
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Man, I would have been jerking off if I saw this! And what if I saw them from the front? My erection would have destroyed me, what a sight to see, them or me haha!
via The Storeroom