spreading the legs

Opening your legs is one of the most vulnerable things a woman can do. It gives access to areas of her body where she’s most sensitive, most vulnerable. Done right, the simple act of getting those legs open for the first time can be a huge turn on in and of itself.

The most basic is opening my legs myself, freely given, without any prompting other than maybe fingers wandering down my belly. For me, if the man is watching me while I do it, the turn on factor goes from a 1 to a 3 (scale of 1 to 10).

Hmm, exhibitionist, who me?

Being told to open my legs for a man, while he watches, turns up the wow factor considerably. Bumps it up to a 5 or 6. Bonus points for being given specific instructions — slowly, or with your knees bent, or something else that exposes me to his gaze.

Little subbie girls love orders. This subbie girl in particular, especially if it’s said all firm and in-controlly. [shiver]

But having my legs forced open is the most arousing of all – particularly if I can struggle a little in the process. Or struggle a lot, for that matter. This boosts the pleasure and arousal factor up to at least an 8 or more.

However, force is definitely what you’d call an advanced move. Force me too early, or when I’m not in the mood, or when I’m not aroused enough, and obviously the reaction we all hope for just doesn’t happen. Luckily, my man is one hell of a mind reader most days and seems to time his force just perfectly. He doesn’t hate when I struggle against him; quite the opposite, it’s a powerful turn on for both of us. Him, because he has something to work against – and me, because I can satisfy all that primal “good girl” stuff with a good struggle, and still give in and have mindshattering sex because I’ve been “forced”.

You know, I used to struggle with those concepts a lot. Feeling that perhaps I was strange, or in need of serious therapy, because I had these urges – both to be a “good girl”, and to be forced to overcome it. But in the last few years I’ve grown much more comfortable with my psyche and my sex drives (not that I was ever terribly un-comfortable, if you know what I mean). I don’t feel weird about it any longer.

[shrugs] It’s part of my makeup, whether I like it or not. It excites me, and my partner, very powerfully. So rather than stress about it, we choose to not just live with it but embrace it and use it to drive each other even higher.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go spread my legs again. Wanna watch? ๐Ÿ˜‰

the office flirtation

I’ve recently been reading Sex in the Office, yet another in a long series of Black Lace short story collections, and I have to admit, the whole Sex in the Office thing does it for me.

Actually, the whole forbidden fruit thing does it for me, period, but that’s a whole other post. ๐Ÿ™‚

Even if there isn’t any sex, the promise of sex, the teasing and tantalizing and flirtation of the office crush is a heady experience.

It’s about adrenaline. Adrenaline surging through your veins when you talk to him, when he talks to you, when that look gets exchanged. It’s like working with sweet wine running through your veins.

Every sense heightened.

Even more important in this day and age is the digital flirt while at the office. You’re sitting apart, maybe at opposite ends of the building, and to everyone else it looks like you’re working. But you’re not. You’re saying saucy and salacious things via email with a coworker (or even more tempting, a boss), and like Bridget Jones says, the sending of flirty emails can be seductive.

It’s like one, long, drawn out, heart stopping, toe curling, tease. What’s more, there are a LOT of times when that’s all there is – it never gets further than that.

But damn while it lasts, aren’t you turned on? Aren’t you hyper aware of each of your naughty bits under your casual business attire? Doesn’t the restroom, the broom closet, the service elevator, start to look a whole lot different to you?

Don’t you just start imagining hot sweaty sex in all kinds of inappropriate places? (Elevators and boardrooms were always my two downfalls – for fantasies, at least.) Haven’t you noticed that your desk has just enough space and darkness underneath it to hide another person, if they were REALLY quiet?

The office flirtation can be brutal if it ends badly, if people get hurt, if you’re caught breaking the rules. But while it lasts – whoo baby, some hot and gooey fun can be had.


Life has been crazy lately. It has been tense, it has been busy, and it has required me to be Alert And In Control far too often. My S.O.’s life has also been tense and busy. Our visits with each other have been far less frequent than either of us would like at this point, and often we’re both so tired and stressed that all we’re up to doing is cuddle, a movie, and fairly vanilla sex before crashing into sleep.

All of this just serves to remind me what a difference regular BDSM play can make to my state of mind. I’m less anxious, more comfortable in my work which requires a fair amount of responsibility, and generally I afterglow, as Jane Black describes in a recent GoodVibes article, for much longer than a cuddle and vanilla sex provide.

Though he hasn’t said so outright, I know my partner feels the same way. We are, when deprived of the time and energy to scene properly, even more tense and exhausted. Seems like a downward spiral at times, though each of our situations should improve within the next few weeks.

I miss my collar. I miss the feel of leather and metal against my wrists, my ankles. I miss being tied so tightly that I cannot move even if I really, really struggled. I miss the kiss of the flogger, the sting of a spanking, the warm throbbing sensation between my thighs as my body and my mind process all these sensations. I even miss the wicked wooden paddle that hangs on the back of my bedroom door, though I’ll deny it should anyone – ahem – ask. ๐Ÿ™‚

I also miss the release that comes from being rebellious, a little bratty and fractious, and being overwhelmed and brought back into line by my lover. It is a release of stress and built-up angst, just as powerful as orgasm or the endorphin rush that comes from a good spanking or paddling. Just as critical to my psyche, as well. Without that release, the brattiness just builds and builds until I could go whole-temper-tantrum on my life. Being taken in hand, put back into line, restores a balance in my own life and in our relationship together that I know we both need, very much.

I cannot wait until we have the time for me to spend at least a chunk of a weekend in collar, tucked safe and secure in my lover’s control.

But for now, I will just savor my cravings. Hunger just makes the meal taste sweeter.

sugar walls

No, silly, not what you think. However, I have recently been found fantasizing about walls.

Er. Let me explain.

Walls are just hot. Push me up against them and I switch into subbie, wet, horny mode almost immediately. Shove your cock against me, and it’s even better. It’s dramatic without the over-violence, it’s cliched but still damned hot, and it also gives support for rubbery knees without needing to sit or lay down. (My knees have a nasty tendency to go on me when I’m being touched just right.)

Doesn’t even matter if I’m facing the wall, or have my back to it. There are benefits to both.

Back to the wall: All my sensitive bits, with the exception of my neck, are available for easy access. The pressure against my back is hot. Not as hot as another man (yes, I still have dreams of being a Vikki sandwich one day…) but hot, solid, giving me nowhere to move. Bonus point for pulling my hands to either side of my head and pinning me there. Whew. Warm in here, or is it me?

Front to the wall: I can’t see his hands as easily, kind of like being blindfolded without the smeared eyeliner. He can touch me any darned way he likes, shove my legs apart, tease me from behind, and my ass fits into his crotch in a rather lovely way. Spankings also are quite lovely in this position, allowing me to crowd the nice cool wall in contrast to my burning tush. If the height thing is right, he can even flip up my skirt and take me from behind. Yummm. Bonus points also for pinning my hands to the wall in this position. Who needs rope? We’ve got a wall…

I have a long elevator ride to get to my apartment. Well, long enough, at least, since I’m nearly 30 stories off the ground. And there’s nothing sexier, in the whole entire world, than getting shoved against the wall of the elevator, trapped within a man’s arms, and kissed and fondled for the duration of the ride.

However, it’s not just about the public walls, really – although I will admit a passing fancy for alleyway walls, subway walls (!), and other public place walls (the staircase down the hall – I always did want to give that a try…). The walls in my wee apartment work very well. My hallway, my bedroom, my dining room… the little nook around the bedrooms…

Oh, my. My imagination’s just running overtime today!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some pressing needs to attend to. ๐Ÿ™‚

did you say cigar?

I am so, so relieved to know I’m not the only woman out there with a Bill Clinton fetish.

I have been in serious heat for the man ever since seeing him, pre-presidency, on the Arsenio Hall show (yeah, I know, I’m dating myself here), playing a saxophone. Damned sexiest presidential candidate I’d ever seen. I was captivated.

His intelligence and sheer animal magnetism get to me every time.

And knowing he likes well-rounded brunettes only helped matters, really.

gay man trapped in a woman’s body

Before I get into this post, let me make the PC-correcting statement that I don’t mean to make light of real transgender issues.

That said…

I think I’m a gay man trapped in a woman’s body. More specifically, I think I’m a leather-lovin’ bottom with a wee hankering for a big bear daddy and other male authority figures.

I’ve been looking recently at a lot of “bears”, leather daddies, and other male authority figures like policemen. And drooling a lot with the looking.

Big, hairy and stern. Damn. Gets to me every time.

Why are all these men gay? Alternatively, why do I have to be a hetero female with zip zero zilch chance with these men?

I need to find myself a nice, big, hairy, stern, hetero (or bi – I’m not choosy), flogger-carryin’ male authority figure with a hot cock, a secure lap and a strong and steady spanking hand.

Or maybe I’m just horny. ๐Ÿ™‚

sharing a fantasy: the friend

So there’s this fantasy I’ve been entertaining lately. I do not know where it came from (well, my pervy little mind, obviously, but bear with me). And I don’t know if I’d ever actually have the guts to do it, but oh how it turns me on.

You don’t mind if I share, do you? ๐Ÿ™‚

I’m with my lover. He’s managed to undress me while staying fully clothed. He’s turned me into a mass of shivering, quivering, wet flesh by teasing me unmercifully. And then he reaches over and picks up a blindfold, wrapping it securely around my head. And leaves the room.

When he returns, I hear another male voice. They’re looking at me, from the sounds of their conversation. My lover is telling the other man what a little slut I am. They’re checking out my tits, my pussy, not touching me, just talking about me and my potential for hot sweaty sex. It becomes clear, with the familiarity they show one another, that they’re friends.

Together, they use me, push and mold me into different positions, shove their cocks in every available orifice, and generally treat me like a shared plaything. And it turns me on like no tomorrow.

I know, I know. I’m an evolved (some would say feminist, but at the very least wildly independent) woman. This sort of demeaning, objectifying scene should probably horrify me. It doesn’t. In fact, it does just the opposite. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it all week. I may have to write a new short story about it, just to get it off my chest.

I suppose that’s the lovely thing about fantasies. They don’t have to be politically correct. If they turn you on, it’s all good.

npm. oh yeah. I’m all over it

Sometimes boys can be very silly little creatures, whining about having to look at dick on a sex blog. At least, that’s what’s been happening recently on ErosBlog when our beloved Bacchus (equal opportunity perv that he is) posted a lovely upkilt photo of a very nice Scottish cock. Not one to be bullied into a dick-free environment, he’s proclaimed June to be National Penis Month, and I for one am ecstatic. Because sure, pretty girls, fun sex stories, but really, is there a girl out there who doesn’t love looking at veiny, hard, tasty (I’m digressing here… and drooling to boot) cock?

Not this girl, that’s for sure!

So in honor of the occasion, I share this link (I posted this here last year, actually):

One of my fave cock photos ever, of two cocks chained together by a lovely little bondage device.

naughty fantasy

Finally back from the parents’, and a Merry Christmas was had by all.

Except… oh, this ongoing fantasy I’ve been having is wickedly potent.

It’s probably the celibacy doing it. I mean, sure, it’s been ages since I actually had man-flesh next to my skin, and also the lack of places or opportunity to touch myself while visiting the folks, it’s bound to drive a woman crazy right?

I picture him. I picture him in so many scenarios it makes my panties damp.

I picture him tangling his hand in my long hair and pulling my mouth to his for a wet, sensual, fierce kiss. I picture him pushing me against a wall, pinning my hands to it while his mouth burns my collarbone, my nipples, his teeth closing over my shoulder. I picture him standing there, aching, against that same wall, while I slide to my knees and nuzzle him, licking the very tip of his cock over and over until we’ve both lost track of time, sliding him between my lips only then, that powerfully hard cock filling my senses. I picture him pulling me to a chair and over his lap before I have time to calculate, his meaty palm meeting my ass in firm strokes that have me gasping and wriggling against him. I picture straddling over him, pushing aside my panties so I can ride him, face to face, grinding into each other until we both break apart and moan and…

See? And these are the ones that are G-rated. ๐Ÿ˜‰

I cannot get this fantasy out of my mind. Maybe it’s the forbidden thing. If I was allowed to do these things, maybe they wouldn’t be such a powerful fantasy, but because I know I can’t do these things, I can’t stop thinking about them.

I mean it. It comes to me at odd times, and always visits me before I sleep. The past three days have been filled with ideas, scenarios, naughty little thoughts.

And fantasies about his smell, his taste. Damn.

truth vs. fantasy

I’m allowed to have fantasies.

The fantasy is that this man is a Dom who likes girls and is looking for someone just like Vikki to settle down with and tie up once in a while. The truth is he’s probably some young boy’s leather daddy.

And besides, he lives thousands of miles away.

Doesn’t matter (she says, stubbornly). I’m still allowed to have my fantasies.

Part seven of Spanking is now up. Read part seven… or start at the beginning.