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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.

Sugasm #84

This Week’s Picks
C’s Little Witch (un-cool.blogspot.com…)
“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 (myhotbox.blogspot.com…)
-Funny video-

Desperate wantonness is not always pretty (smart-girls.blogspot.com…)
“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 (sugarbank.com…)

Editor’s Choice
History of Gay and Lesbian Pride Month (http://www.taratainton.com/)

More Sugasm
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See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday (Fleshbot.com)

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
All Righty Then… (aurorablack.blogspot.com…)
Attention to detail (secretlifeofaman.blogspot.com…)
Hot and Bothered:Feminist Pornography (http://www.sex-kitten.net/)
In Which I Defend Myself, And Likely You Too (silent-porn-star.blogspot.com…)
On Baritones and the State of My Panties (whatmyfriendsdontknowcanthurt.blogspot.com…)
A Random Post About Why Shay Rarely Reads Erotica (shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com…)
Thank You, Sir, May I Have Another? (aslipofagirl.blogspot.com…)

BDSM & Fetish
Dress Up (katescuriosita.blogspot.com…)
His need (dirtylittlecockslut.blogspot.com…)
Kink In The Mainstream - Exhibit B: Family Guy Bondage (http://www.quipsandchains.com/)
Making sense of it all (transformher.blogspot.com…)
Marked (lafillemariee.blogspot.com…)
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Party Tricks (imelda-imelda.blogspot.com…)
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Shoes

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.

Bug

"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 . . .

Sugasm #83

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Suggestion

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?

Sign Me Up

"If you are truly interested in slavery as a career choice then I would be interested in discussing it with you. You would also be expected to submit to forced lactation for my enjoyment."

"I want a slave who does not want to be a slave but rather an owned piec of property. It is important that you cast ofgf the humanity within and sink to the level of cherished chattel. After your probation period you can expect multiple piercings, 4 tattoos, and and a branding of your body with hot irons. If you seek absolut love, total obediance, constant adventure then get back to me." (sic)

While I appreciate people being upfront about what they are searching for, some days it does not pay to check your online accounts.

Dress Up

Picture a slutty little schoolgirl.

(I have - I've dressed myself in that white shirt and tiny little skirt, with the cute little white panties beneath, and looked at myself in the mirror, sliding my hand down inside the panties and rubbing my clit and imagining things. White stockings and shiny, overly sexy Mary Janes topping it off. I've never worn it, though, in front of anyone else.)

You know I like my ass and thighs reddened, by hand or other means. Have I experienced a session of that where it was enough?

No.

What if I were to find myself lucky enough to have someone who would take that naughty girl to that stage? What if someone were patient enough to think I needed to be bent over their knee for a slapping session long enough for me to actually begin dripping my juice on their thighs? To be swatted, then stroked, my cheeks fondled then pounded, over and over again? What if I were forced to watch this happening in a mirror standing across from us? And then, finally, when I really couldn't take any more, my searing cheeks were parted and a hot, hard cock drove that heat down inside me further?

Fuuu-uuuck. Can you imagine how wet I am just typing this?

Dancing on Tenderhooks

I cautiously dance with you, because this brings those tremors on that I both so desperately desire and fear. You, I know, will take as much of me, both body and soul, as you want. You will be watching me, closely, carefully, always – this I know also - absorbing my reactions and words and emotions that I will sometimes fight to hold, hold as mine, when they should be yours.

I sometimes close my eyes as my breath releases as I think of you. You will hurt me and make me cry, and sob more than I can likely imagine, though I will struggle with that, too. The pleasure will come as well, desired somewhat more than the pain. How is it that I can ask that of you, to take me, completely, to you? Why does this become me so well?

Pulling Outward from the Past

I'm good; in many ways. Now, however, I do not feel like being good. I feel very hungry and naughty and ready to be ripped apart . . .

I used to be a gal whose libido waxed and waned with the amount of sexual activity I was having - if I was involved with someone and regularly engaged in horizontal and other positions, my hunger and desire stayed and grew along with that relationship. If it ended, the longer I went without, the less I needed, desired, was distracted by thoughts about it until that libido was nearly a faint memory that would only be triggered by a scene in a movie or book or a glimpse of a couple of lovers engaged in an embrace.

Now, however, that does not seem to be the case. I find myself fondling my pussy almost without conscious thought, though I know they are there, many of them, behind the curtain. Did I really just slap my clit? Just to feel, again, that sweet sting? I hunger, knowing that what really satisfies me can not be accomplished alone. Frankly, my vibrators and imagination are having a hard time cutting it in the dampening of this ever-growing fire within me.

Dream

I chose her. Maybe via her profile online, or at that coffee shop on the corner where I was lingering too long one day. Was she blond? Or perhaps brunette? I, of course, found her very attractive. As did you, when I introduced the two of you. I could see the immediate physical reaction in your eyes, which pleased me. You knew why you were meeting her. I had chosen her because I anticipated that she would excite you, that she would fill the role I had written, had desired, for the two of us. And her.

We would take her home, you and I, after our short meet and everyone's consent to proceed openly stated. I would take that chilled bottle of wine out of the fridge and pour us each a glass and settle myself in the chair across from the bed. Maybe I flipped the music on. Or maybe I didn't, wanting to hear everything, hear all of the sounds as clearly as I could see.

I would watch you. Watch you undress her. Slide your hand up under her skirt and turn her around before unzipping it loose, letting me see you fondle her ass. Watch you push her down, one hand on her back, on the bed and sliding that skirt along with her panties over her hips and down her legs. I saw you run your fingers back along the inside of her thighs, lightly, all the way up. You looked at me and you could tell that I was already aroused, could see that my hand had already pushed my own skirt up to the top of my thigh, which I had slung over the arm of the chair. You could see that my hand was already wandering in between my own thighs, almost tickling my sex.

What did you do with her? And she with you? So many things, the ones we had discussed. I watched the two of you becoming slicker as the minutes went by, with excitement and sweat, rubbing each other hot. This was the one time I was quiet - I drew those groans and whines and cries into me, watching your pleasure. I absorbed them and let them become mine. I dripped with that pleasure onto my hands, feeling my juice as I ran my fingers in and out of my pussy. And each time you glanced at me it felt as if our eyes could never bore deeper into each other than they were now.

I thanked her. You escorted her out. When you came back in to the room, the sweat was still drying on you. And the wetness was still building in me; I had stretched myself on the bed, laying myself where you and she had just been. I had watched you with her, and it excited me so very much. Seeing you physically pleasured had pleasured me, but now you would help me have mine. You laid yourself nearly on top of me and drew your hand across the insides of my thighs now, drawing ever nearer to my swollen cunt. That first finger you slid into me made me shiver, and you slid it in and out ever so slowly. Then you added a second, still going slow. And then you turned them, twisted them upward and started sliding over my g-spot and flicking my clit with your thumb. Your massaging became more insistent; you were still thirsting for me to blow my own, to drench us both. Ever so hungry, you kept at it until you drew my orgasm from me, pulling it from me as I knew you would. I always knew you would.

Intro

But everyone else is doing it!

Isn't that the always-popular refrain of children everywhere? My own inner child appears to have won the battle regarding making my self-imposed diary of exploration public. To a certain degree, of course.

Earlier today I was in the midst of a rather satisfying episode of masturbation with the incomparable Hitachi Magic Wand ®. I had begun feeling a need while in the middle of doing yard work. Not all that dirty or sweaty yet, I headed toward the bedroom stripping off the few pieces of clothes I was wearing. The bedding flung backwards, the towel atop the plastic bag placed in the middle of the bed (yes, squirting can most definitely be an issue), I plugged the Wand in and flipped the switch as I slid on some lube and threw myself on top of it, squeezing my thighs tightly and rolling my hips as I made love to that fine vibrating toy.

With my mind wandering as it is wont to do, the phrase 'I need to figure out why' kept rolling through my head. Why a woman can age to thirty odd years before she really begins to explore her sexuality. Why she's come to the conclusions she has regarding that intensely large part of her personality. Why so much is still yet unknown.

Maybe this will help me focus. Welcome to me.