Monday, June 25, 2007


I do not generally get excited about self-serving holidays, notably my birthday and Christmas (yes, for all the goodness and 'true meaning' of that season, I believe the consumer hype has won out by a few lengths). To note what could be considered a cliche, Peggy Lee's Is That All There Is?* has on innumerable occasions been the soundtrack playing on repeat in my head during past occurrences of these dates and others. My internal visions of what should be and what came about have never really aligned, whether due to the understandable limitations on the type of gifts my parents could provide or to the incomprehensible thickness of a boyfriend who, knowing full well that a particular color was my least favorite in the spectrum and I wouldn't be caught dead in that hue, bought me jewelry with that color stone. So I tend to keep my expectations low, if existent at all, in an attempt to minimize my disappointments regarding any potential gift receipts.

But then again, sometimes your wish is granted. You might, perhaps, get lucky enough to have your birthday coincide with the local play party.

Where the near-professional rope master was kind enough to take my bold hints that a girl should be so lucky as to get proper birthday spanking. Kind enough to dress me in a beautiful and intricate weave of red silk rope, binding my breasts and chests and crotch ever so tightly, hang my wrists from the chains in the ceiling and to proceed to work my backside up and down with everything from horsehair to floggers and slappers.

The public play was new for me. The small frisson of excitement driven by my exhibitionist tendencies easily overrode my hesitation at dropping my clothing in front of these mostly unknown people milling about the play areas. As this kind man worked me slowly and softly to the almost-can't-take-it edge with each new toy and occasionally forced my head back or to the side with a forceful grip on my hair, somewhere in the middle of that my space changed. I was no longer gripping the hand bars and leaning on the tips of my toes, balancing my high-heeled self between the spreader bar.

I was hanging from a cliff, and falling. It was beautiful.

There was no need to be careful what I wished for this birthday.

I'm going to keep dancing, my friends.

Is that all there is, is that all there is
If that's all there is my friends, then let's keep dancing
Let's break out the booze and have a ball
If that's all there is

*Perhaps this warrants additional comment. The fact that my exposure to the popular music and singers of the thirties, forties and fifties was self-driven and began before I even hit my teens was a little difficult to explain to friends since it was soooo not cool in the early eighties. I'm sure there were other odd kids developing tastes for the wonderful variety of tunes from back in the day at that time as well. I just didn't know them. It's harder sometimes than others to find folks of your persuasion.

Monday, June 18, 2007

Sugasm #84

This Week’s Picks
C’s Little Witch (…)
“Tom wrote on his blog I would do anything carnal to please her: oh, yes. Oh, yes.”

How to have a secret affair at work (…)
-Funny video-

Desperate wantonness is not always pretty (…)
“Am I now so desperate for sex that I’m causing random sex toys to spontaneously get off when they’re around me?”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
ActionGirls 2007 (…)

Editor’s Choice
History of Gay and Lesbian Pride Month (

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday (

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
All Righty Then… (…)
Attention to detail (…)
Hot and Bothered:Feminist Pornography (
In Which I Defend Myself, And Likely You Too (…)
On Baritones and the State of My Panties (…)
A Random Post About Why Shay Rarely Reads Erotica (…)
Thank You, Sir, May I Have Another? (…)

BDSM & Fetish
Dress Up (…)
His need (…)
Kink In The Mainstream - Exhibit B: Family Guy Bondage (
Making sense of it all (…)
Marked (…)
My choice (my choice)
Wicked Saturday - Part 1 (
You gotta be punished! (…)

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Half-Nekkid Nipples (…)
Party Tricks (…)
Two For One (…)

Sex Work
Chastity (

Sex News & Reviews
Celebrate Pride Month with Our GLBT Designs! (
Ohio: no nudes is good nudes… (…)
Pearl Pleasure Comfort Grip Stroker Review (…)
Punished Brats review (…)

Erotic Writing and Experiences
Appel téléphonique (…)
Dress Code (…)
First date etiquette revised (…)
Frustration (…)
A lovely evening (…)
My Body is Yours (…)
A Night with the Office Meeting Guy (part 2) (…)
Orgasm Addict (…)
Party Games - Part 1 (…)
Tonight You Belong To Me (…)
Unexpected, Part Four (…)
What Comes After “Hello” (…)

Saturday, June 16, 2007


Have I mentioned my love affair with shoes?

It's not a fetish. There is no sexual desire that is filled by wearing, handling or simple ogling at shoes for me.

Yet I adore them. My breath quickens when I pass a well-stocked shoe display. I imagine how particular ones will look on my feet, how they will enhance my legs and change my walk from a purposeful, even stride to a purposeful, leg-lengthened, ass-heighted, slightly hip-wiggling strut. I will consider what clothes already residing in the closet will go best with them or the type of outfit I will lust after if I break down and buy them.

Sneakers, flip flops and other unexceptional types of footwear do not have the draw that more 'feminine' shoes do. Spiked heels, chunky heels, wedges, ankle-wraps, solids, prints, bejewelled, leather, satin and more. Knee-length boots, lacing all the way up. The possiblities are endless. And such a very girlie addiction for a gal who generally has simple, yet bold and easy interests.

At minimum, they offer my feet a layer of protection against the concrete, brick or any other surface I might walk on. They can also shield the tender bottoms of my feet from an immediate smack of the cane. Without shoes, I am all the more naked.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007


"Can you make me into a bug?" I asked.

I had come across a photograph of a gal lying back on a bench with her thighs hoisted back alongside her torso, tied tight with straps to the edge of the bench. Her arms were then strapped alongside her calves, her feet and hands palmed together and her jaw pulled upward and tight to the top of the bench. Immovable. A fine representation, intended or not, of an insect you might stumble across on the sidewalk that was no longer among the living.

Part of my fascination and pleasure I find with bondage is the restriction - the physical restriction has an immediate consequence of a near complete mental release, a quieting of my mind I have rarely replicated elsewhere. Having had a number of rough personal experiences shortly before this play session, that "bug" tie interested me like no other at the time.

I was denied. Not on the tie itself, but on being made into a bug. I was in fact ordered not to come bearing a hardened shell that would impede my emotional release, no protection against the physical and mental vulnerability I desired. You can't NOT appreciate that sort of care.

That was a wonderful tie - I loved it the first time and still do. But I still think of it as the "Bug".

It appears I still have some work to do . . .

Monday, June 11, 2007

Sugasm #83

Anyone feeling a little bit Sally Fieldish?


This Week’s Picks

Saying No (…)
“Would saying no really make it all okay?”

Beyond slutdom (…)
“My eclectic slutfest continues, and I continue to love it.”

A guide to my erogenous zones (…)
“Not that you need it, but i thought i’d share it with you.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Pic(k) of the Day (…)

Editor’s Choice
Small Town (…)

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday (

Erotic Writing and Experiences
Back - Pt 1 (…)
The Diva and the Demon (…)
Dream (…)
Feast or Famine…Mr. Hunky Resurfaces….Grrrrrr (…)
The Great Outdoors (
Halls & Walls (…)
In a Velvet Glove (…)
It’s over, baby! (…)
“Lap Dance Lust” (…)
Looking For A Shot (part 2) (…)
Office Masturbation - part 3 (…)
The Parent Teacher Conference Concludes …. (…)
Quickie in the Closet (…)
The Return of the Mythical Beast of Yore (or 2 Girls, a Guy, and a Sex Drive)
Search Term Erotica II (…)
Sugar Daddy’s Pop (…)
Two Cheers For Democracy ((

Sex News, Reviews & Advice
Hitachi Magic Wand Review (…)
Review: A Woman Alone At Night (…)
Sex Online: The rise of internet porn (…)


I took your advice. After all this time, I contacted the local BDSM group here.

After being cleared as a non-threatening potential attendee at the coffee gathering the evening before, I attended my very first public play party this weekend. All of my forays in this area to date have been within personal relationships - no general meet and greets or parties before this.

Apparently my version of "slutting it up", which is how my inquiry regarding appropriate dress for these parties was answered, is a little stronger than some others. The corset and tiny black skirt, topped off (or is that bottomed out?) with the black thigh highs and skanky dancer Mary Janes seemed to make quite an impression. I was touched by the friendliness and neutrality regarding other people's interests or proclivities. There were a couple of other new attendees, both men who weren't sure which side of the fence they were going to land on, or if indeed it was going to be one in particular. The two of them seemed obviously uncomfortable and nervous. It felt a little odd swinging into hostess mode to help ease them into feeling more welcomed and part of the group when I was myself completely new. The most amusing part for me was being tagged as a dominant until I clarified my true disposition when asked.

There was no playing for me of course, being both dom-less and on good behavior (grin) for this introductory session. The club directors were very sweet; they kept checking in with me to see if I was being "freaked out" by anything. They never seemed to quite believe me that I was perfectly fine being surrounded by a naked, hooded man or asses smacked raw or backs being cut by single-tails. As a matter of fact, I ended up having to leave before the purported "best scene" got much past the warm-up simply because I was tired and couldn't stop yawning. Even propping myself up against the elevated slave post didn't keep my eyes from drooping.

How perverse is that?