Archive for August 27, 2013


You’ve seen all of my clothes. You know my skirts, tank tops, dresses, shorts, yoga pants, pjs, by now. All of it. You have your favorites, you’ve told me. I have mine.

“Pick your favorite dress,” you tell me. I’m half-dressed, splayed before you, begging for more. Really, I am. You’ve just ripped my panties off.

“Pick your favorite and put it on. Nothing underneath,” you tell me gently but firmly. This is what we’re doing now, there’s no question. It’s all okay.

“Yeah,” I say, barely coherent.

I get up and rifle through my things. I find the little black dress with the white polka dots. This one is nice, not slutty. I put it on.

“Kneel on the rug, please,” you say.

I do. I wonder what’s next.

You move around the bed and stand in front of me. Your cock is still bulging in your pants, I am still hungry for it.

“Undo my pants now,” You say deeply.

I do. I start to pull them down.

“No. Not yet,” you tell me, removing my hands from your pants. Your cock is half out and I am straining towards it, trying to lick it, brush it with my lips, anything.

You hold my hands tightly above my head. You slowly move your cock toward my lips until I can feel the heat pouring off of it. I whimper.

“Suck my cock now, please,” you tell me. “Just the tip to start.”

Finally your cock touches my lips. The contact sends shudders through my whole body. You are still holding my hands, bracing yourself against me, making it difficult for me to move at will. I brush my lips against the tip of your cock, again and again. I open my mouth and try to take you inside it, straining against your hands. I love the control that you have over me.

The tip of your cock is glistening. You want more, need more. But you’re resisting for now, drawing this out.

You move a tiny bit closer, let me circle my tongue around the tip of your cock. Your breathing is slow and heavy.

“Take my pants off now,” you say, releasing my hands.

I do, quickly, moaning when I see your cock finally free.

“I want you to keep sucking my cock now, please,” you say. “I want to come all over your pretty dress.”

“Yes,” I gasp, as I reach for your cock with both hands.


I want to put my hands on you

Take off your shirt. Undress completely if you like.

Lie down.

Breathe deeply. Our space smells of sandalwood smoke and desire.

Ready yourself. I am lighting the candles and warming my hands.


You’ll feel my hands on your shoulders first, heavy and needing.

My touch takes as much as it gives.

With my hands, I will work your body. I will translate skin, bone, muscle into feeling.

Slowly, I will move my hands up your neck, higher, onto your head. Where I touch you, I will infuse you with energy.

Lower, down over your back. Your tension evaporates, opening you.


Feel me. Feel the pure pleasure in the places I touch you. Feel the language of my touch as I translate you.

Hours pass like this. Me touching, you feeling.

I will know every inch of your body.



1 : desire to know:

 a : inquisitive interest in others’ concerns : nosiness
 b : interest leading to inquiry <intellectual curiosity>

Full moon

Here I lay in the light of the moon.

The light shines in the grooves of my mind.

I’m mysterious, unknowable. I like complication.

Here, I belong to myself.

Here, I offer myself to you.

Here, I wait for you to take that invisible, indescribable thing, that heavy thing inside me that begs to be taken up and used, picked up and played with, scooped out of me and scratched.

In the light of the moon I can admit how deeply the dark draws me. I can feel the wild girl inside me and I can feel the layered ache for more.

In the light of the moon I can form the words to ask you for more, to beg you to take what is yours.

In the full moon I have no fear.

Make me want you

Now, please.

Don’t show me your picture. Just looking at you won’t work for me.

I need to know you.

I want what’s in your mind. Tell me what you want me to show you, what I can do for you.

What do you need right now?

What can I provide that will give you a rush? What will make your heart race? What will make you feel more alive?

It’s not complicated. I want to give you what you want. I like to please you.

So tell me what to wear, where to wait, how to touch you. Tell me how I can get inside your mind. If I’m in yours, you’re in mine. And if you’re in mine, then I’m wet. Really fucking wet.

That’s all it takes.

It’s simple.

Tell me.

I like this


Photo care of Nympho Ninjas

I love the contrasts of her nudity against his clothing, her lightness against his dark. I love the gritty bathroom. I can practically feel his hand on my own ass, its stinging, burning tightness.

Yes, please.

It’s working

You are sexier than ever to me.

The more I ask for the opposite, the more I like what you have to offer.

The more I think I want to be apart the more I like being together.

The more questions I ask the less I need their answers.

The more I try to mix things up the more I like the way things are.

The more you deny your fantasies the more dirty they become.

The hungrier I am the more I like going without.

The more frustrated I feel the more you fulfill me.

The more I beg to be regular the more I love how special you make me feel.

The more I want to be off the hook the more I like being accountable.

Thanks for doing that for me.

See? Like this


She did her makeup, still naked and damp from the shower, standing over the bathroom sink. She reached for her blow dryer and did her hair, enjoying the stinging hot air snaking down her back.

She put the dryer and brush away, and moving to the next room she took a pair of panties from her drawer. She slipped them on in front of the closet. She hesitated by her clothes, looking for the right mix of put together and offhandedly sexy. She had a meeting today.

She stepped into a tight black skirt and pulled up the zipper. She studied her blouses.

“Take off the skirt,” he said from the doorway. She jumped, startled, then half-smiled. She complied, lowering the zipper, letting the skirt fall to the floor. As it hit the ground, she felt his arms around her, his hands cupping her breasts. He kissed her neck.

She rubbed her ass against his boxer shorts as he pinched her nipples. After a few minutes, he reached down and yanked off her panties, removed his shorts.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered. “On your hands and knees.”

She did.

He ran his hands over her back, over her ass, and down her legs. With one hand he stroked his hard cock and began rubbing it against her ass. He pulled it down against her wet pussy and slipped it inside her.

He fucked her hard, kneeling behind her and one hand on each of her hips. With each thrust he pulled her towards him hard. When he came, he held her still against him, and when he was done, he pulled out and turned away.

“You left the closet open,” he said.

“Mmm…” she mumbled incoherently, still lying on the bed, rubbing her clit with one hand.

He laughed and pulled his boxers back on, yanked a t-shirt out of the closet and shut the door.

Let’s try it a little different

“Move down,” you growled deeply, your hands on my hips pushing me away from your face.

I felt dazed and had a little trouble making out your words. All that I understood was your hands on me. You guided me down over your chest, my soaking wet pussy dragging over your pecks. You pushed and pulled my legs until I turned my back to you, straddling your lower abdomen.

“I want you on my cock,” you demanded. I was already lifting my hips as you spoke. Deep inside I ached where the tip of your cock would rub me. I moaned as we met, your hands on your cock, plunging it inside me as I lowered myself onto you.

“Ride me,” you said, and “Yes, that’s good.” Then moments later, “Oh, yes, good girl,” and “Mmmhmm,” as you rubbed your hands over my ass, up my back and down. I just kept riding, up and down and forward, concentrating on the spot where your cock met my cunt again and again. It was all that I could feel. I didn’t notice when you began to rub my ass, putting a finger gently inside. I was lost when you began to push harder, parting my ass to see what you were doing.

“I love seeing you like this,” you said, although I don’t know how you could still form words. Words were ancient history to me. I was all knotted up on the tip of your cock, stroking and thrusting and almost ready to come again. Then I could feel your finger in my ass, your finger that was pressing down against where your cock was thrusting inside my cunt and the pressure drove me straight over the edge and I came again harder even than the first time. This time my voice returned to me and I nearly shouted “YES, oh, yeeesss,” letting my pleasure come pouring out. I rocked down hard on your cock as I finished coming, until you pulled your finger out of my ass and pushed me forward abruptly so that I was on all fours over you. I yelped, still wanting you inside me and my heart pounding as I wondered what you would do next.


I have something to admit.

I am hard to handle. High maintenance.

It’s true.

It’s funny, because in real life, in my true identity, I’m super low maintenance. I never argue, never get in anyone’s face. I’m helpful and not overly emotional. People trust me. They tell me their problems and their fears, and I reassure them. I never bring my own feelings into it. They always stay put away inside me, and I certainly never push them onto others.

But here, in the attic, I’m letting myself I want what I want. Up here, I feel what I feel. Sometimes I’m grumpy and negative. I’m confusing and a mess. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. I’m not apologizing for it. I’m going to show you. I’m going to talk about it.

Last week, twice, Mark gave me what I asked for. And each time, I didn’t like it, or at least I was ambivalent about it. Once he fucked my face, just as I had asked. And while it was happening, I hated it. I felt used. Afterwards, right away, I liked it. I did a complete 180. On Friday, I messed with him on purpose. He asked me to wear my yellow skirt to dinner, and I told him I would. Then, at the last minute, I changed. I have no idea why I did that, or why I was a little disappointed that he wasn’t upset.

I don’t have any good answers. I realize that some of my behaviors are fucked up and immature — I can’t excuse myself. I’m trying to stay honest. I’m trying different things, and I’m reacting to them. It’s interesting and difficult. I’ll tell you when I like something, and I will be straight with you when I don’t.

If you don’t like it, you don’t have to keep reading. And if you notice some of my fucked-up behavior? Go ahead, call me out on it. I want you to.

Oh yeah, and the girl in the video is really hot. She reminds me of a friend.