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~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Bringing Toxic Sex Toy Facts Out of the Attic

How Do I Get My Wife to Dominate Me?

I Need This

~ Featured Posts (Molly’s Picks) ~

Speaking the unspeakable

#safetytipsforladies

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Easy Come Easy Go: A Look at Orgasm Control
I came before I was ready
Relationships and age difference
PolyAnna’s Musings: Different is Good, Right?
Seriously Proud Queer
Spanking Kink of the Week
How to Be Good in Bed
A Thousand Small Unhappinesses
What’s in a Number?
The Absence ofHow to Tell if a Man is Gay
Stop Shitting on the Bottoms

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

It’s Not Misandry, You’re a Douchebag

CatalystCon

Catalyst: How it Inspired

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Caning: To count or not to count
Slavery and Social Death, by O. Patterson
His Eyes Hungry. His Body Pleads: Use Me!
Toilet Whore
And then, I apologized.

Erotic Fiction

Wicked Wednesday: A little bit of confusion
The Moment
Detached
Waxing Lyrical
The “L” word
Gorge
Lolita Twenty-Thirteen, Part Three
Difficult

Erotic Non Fiction

Girl on Girl
The Moment I Felt Owned
Tasting Her
Acting on Instructions
Final Cruise
Quickie
A Lazy Sadistic Orgasm
I had 8 days of sex.
An hour together
Cheerful Disappointment
What is Erotic?
The Coin Flip
Playing with Adam
A Trip to the Hardware Store
Fall From Grace

Eroticon

A Somewhat Different Eroticon2013 4~part Post

Poetry

The Dark Place

There is always someone else there, there could be more than one person, but I never see them. I just know, because I am afraid.

There is sweat cooling my skin but my muscles are hot from the exertion and anxiety. Tremors take over my limbs one by one as I try and keep them under control.

The straps cut into my skin as I strain against them. There is no hope of escaping.

The worst part is feeling my legs, spread wide in restraints, my eyes peering past my knees straining to see what is happening beyond the dim light. But I can’t, not that I need to because I know what’s coming.

There is the distinct rattle of metal on metal when, like something out of a horror movie, a row of torture instruments are revealed. But they are not for torture, they are for medical examination. My mind distorts their shape into something bigger, sharper, longer, forcing me into panic mode. It’s the speculum that I fear the most. That brings the pain.

My legs are wide, there is nothing preventing access. I get frantic. The stirrups holding my legs force them to remain open. All my knees want to do is close and be safe, but they are shaking against the strain to escape.

My heart is pounding. My breathing short. I feel faint. My hands wet and numb. And sore from my fingernails cutting into my palms.

I start screaming desperately.

I never scream for very long before I jolt back to reality. I am fighting against my own duvet that is sticking to my wet skin. I take heavy breaths, trying to calm the panic away and realise I was woken up by my own screams. The images return bit by bit, but just as vivid as in my sleep.

The dream has been the same for years. Sometimes I am still in sleep paralysis when I scream myself awake, those are the worst. Waking up, in the dark, still unable to move. For the seconds it takes for my limbs to wake up, I am still there, but in reality. Unable to move, venerable, afraid, panicking, crying.

I take deep breaths and try to go back to sleep, sometimes I even leave the light on.

See who else is being sinful…

Once upon a time I would have said no. No way. Ew. Disgusting.

Then I saw this video.

She was wearing beautiful lingerie, her hair tumbled in elegant waves over her shoulders. She looked hot, kneeling there in the shower, waiting.

You could see the anticipation in her body language, she was obediently kneeling and squirming ever so slightly.

My mouth was aghast as I watched. The person holding the camera came into shot, or rather part of him did. He pissed on her, on her chest, her hair, her beautiful bra. On her face, in her mouth, and she opened it for him so he could fill her up.

The liquid ran all down her body. She gasped for breath as it filled her mouth and overspilled. Her styled hair became rat tails sticking to her wet chest.

He seemed to go on forever, but if I’m thinking that, what must she be thinking?

By this point my hand was over my mouth and my eyes wide, did I even blink? I was watching intensely. I could hear the trickling of the fluid, her whimpers and moans.

I hadn’t caught my breath in a while…

When he finally finished urinating, she was still there, waiting open-mouthed, for more; Bouncing slightly with eagerness for his cock, which he gave her. She sucked it clean with what sounded like a sigh of relief and lust.

The film ended. I was astounded she would put something like this on the internet; To not be embarrassed or ashamed. I admired her for it, but I didn’t know if I had it in me. Could I do this? And film it? And show people?!

I thought about being pissed on and I was filled with feelings of disgust.

But, I clicked the play button again. Then again, and again.

I don’t know how many times I watched her getting drenched over and over, but I couldn’t stop.

I reached down slowly, and almost begrudgingly into my knickers, already knowing what I would find. Wet. Sopping Wet.

“Oh fuck.” I said out loud in reaction to my slippery pussy, pulled my hand away and examined the layer of moistness coating my fingers.

I clicked off the page in protest at my own realisation. I often jest about my vagina having a mind of its own, or taking the lead in decisions, but I trust it. I am wet when I don’t expect to be, or don’t want to be. The fact that I am wet makes me wetter, because I am turned on by something I question or I think I don’t want, even though I am the one doing it!

My vagina is my sexual barometer and so far it’s never been wrong.

I want to be pissed on.

The girl in the video, I had only met her briefly a couple of times when I first saw it. She captivated me. Beautiful, sexy and I couldn’t get enough of her Scottish accent! The driest sense of humour which I am totally on board with, I could see us getting along well.

I still return to that video, imagining how it would feel if I were on my knees. It’s not about the piss, it’s the submission, the humiliation, the degradation. I got off on seeing her degraded. I get off on it even more from knowing her in person, knowing how confidently she carries herself, seeing her how well she presents herself and then letting him destroy it.

This girl is Bambi, you can read her blog, Girl Uninterrupted. She taught me something new about myself and my kinks. Filthy toilet whore.

Find her on twitter, comment, tell her how this makes you feel… because it made me feel like this. This was a gift to me, for inspiring her to write and she has allowed me to share it with all of you. I am so proud to share it, because when something just works, it’s an amazing thing.

Fucking holy fuck of fucks. I must have done something amazing in a previous life to deserve such hot lovers.

Let’s be clear, we were never unicorn hunting, it was never about ticking boxes or achieving a sexual bucket list. We simply met a girl and liked her, felt a connection, a spark, chemistry.

I feel like the luckiest girl in the world to have met her. Luckier still to become her lover, to share her with my man and my man with her. Boasting skills that blow our minds, she’s our sexual catalyst.

We first invited Miss Kitty to stay last summer; it was new for us, exciting, lovely, sexy and fun. This time, in the midst of winter, we created smouldering sexual heat.

He was amazing, my man. Single handily satisfying two cock-hungry girls, making it look effortless. Always in control he played rough in all the right ways, encouraging us to engage in filthy hot behaviour. I could feel his pride in me, in both of us, his good girls. I could feel his lust for our naked bodies as we entwined, skin soft from massage oil, enticing him.

I knew he was watching as I kissed her hard on her beautiful lips, her teeth finding my lip ring, sucking, pulling on it. Red fingernails scraping my skin, finding my nipples, twisting, smothering my moans with her kisses; full, passionate kisses.

My fingers weave in the hair at the nape of her neck, feeling her heat, grinding against her. She flips me over, pushing me down, leaving a trail of kisses on my stomach. Wriggling into the perfect position she wraps her arms firmly around my thighs, burying her face in my cunt with a fevered hunger. Losing myself in the grips of pleasure I became the squirmiest of girls, so grateful for her holding me in place. Knowing, feeling how she was enjoying as much as I. This knowledge confirmed by her smug smile as she sat upright, wiping her face, telling me how she’d been craving eating my pussy.

Vibrating from head to toe, panting, feeling the drenched sheets beneath me, I beg her to “teach me your ways”. I want to make her feel this way too, every lick, kiss and suck perfectly placed, perfectly timed.

I want her sweet pussy in my mouth; I want to make her squirm. Encouraged by her sounds, her incredibly sexy sounds, I get so much pleasure from going down on her. I continue enjoying her, feeling her become wetter as he positions his thick hard cock in her mouth.

Gripped between her strong thighs I watch him fuck her beautiful face, drinking in the scene, a mantra in my mind. “Fuck this is hot, fuck this is hot, fuck, is this real?!”

Completely comfortable in taking the lead, he demands more, dominates; secure in the knowledge we both love it, feed off it, so keen to please. Simultaneous moans at the sound of a slap. My face, his hand, her wetness. I catch her eye as he forces both our faces down into the pillows; hold her gaze as he slides fingers into us both, rhythmical, powerful.

I have never been more proud of him. Miss Kitty told me afterwards, “I’m glad he wasn’t nice this time.” I couldn’t agree more. United in our desire for his serial killer look, that flash of intensity in his eyes that tells you you’re in trouble, that you’re about to be restrained, to be hurt with bitter-sweet pleasure-pain, that he’s taking control.

“I want to see you fuck.” I implore them, pushing his face into her pussy, he needs no encouragement.

Her sounds are all too distracting, over-whelmed by a compulsion to kiss her, I fall into her arms, her hands in my hair. Her panting serving only to make me wetter. He pulls her down and flips her onto her front in the middle of bed, covers discarded. Despite being sopping wet, he spits on her pussy, the wet sound making me whimper. I touch myself as I watch them moving together. Catching my eye and with a diabolical grin he forces my face into her ass, holding firm on the back of my neck as he pounds her.

Watching him work, watching him fuck her and drinking in her reaction, I am entranced. Such a beautiful girl writhing, moaning with pleasure, squealing in delight. I swell with love, adoration of them both for sharing this experience with me.

I want his cock inside of me. I want to give her a show. Holding my face with his strong hand, pushing his fingers into my mouth, his eyes burning into me, I silently beg him to fuck me. I want him inside me. I want him now. He slows his pace and asks, “Shall we let her have a turn?”

I position myself in front of him, unable to stop my ass from wagging, begging him to make me his fuck puppy. Moving inside me, I overload with pleasure as Miss Kitty’s deft fingers find my ass, moving in time with him, filling me to satisfaction. “How shall I finish?” he asks. It’s her choice, for her pleasure. Never slowing his pace I can hear them plotting behind me, conspirators deciding my fate.

I find myself pinned down to the bed, facing them both; his full weight holding me down. I want to stroke her beautiful face, so hot, so full of anticipation. He begins to stroke himself as we watch, slowly at first then picking up pace until furiously, expertly, satisfying himself. All of us revelling in how ridiculously hot this moment is.

I fucking adore the look on his face as he cums, pure primal intensity. I feel his hot cum spatter on my face, my chest, lapping up what I can. My satisfaction from his satisfaction. Kitty looks like she got the cream as she leans in close to kiss me, to lick his cum from my face, her soft lips smearing it between our kisses.

The after-glow of a shared intense sexual experience lingers. Delicious flashbacks make me squirm.

Desire burns within me at the prospect of filthier, hotter times to come, kinks to try, experiences to share.

I didn’t know I was looking for love until I found her, and now I feel whole.

See who else is being sinful…

“Because I’ve been naughty.” He replied. Clearly glad to be in front of me.

“Well, that’s a bit of an understatement isn’t it?

“According to this report, you trampled the Head’s flowers, you streaked around the school at night, and Andrew was caught cheating from your text book-”

“But I wasn’t cheating.”

“Don’t interrupt me. It was your text book, so you should take better care of your property.

“I’ve spoken to the Head. He’s asked me to administer your punishment for trampling his flowers. For that you’re getting 12 strokes of the cane.”

“Yes miss.”

“Now, as for the streaking, I think that deserves a caning as well. Did you know indecent exposure is an arrestable offence? Considering, I think you’re getting off lightly.

“But we will start with a spanking. Hopefully when you sit down in lessons your sore bottom will remind you to look after your books better.

“Pull down your trousers…Over my knee.”

“I don’t think the messages is going to get trough your pants now.”

I pulled down his pants exposing his bottom. I then spanked him. I started off moderately building up. It felt like I was hitting him hard from the feedback on the palm of my hand, but honestly I couldn’t tell. So I asked, “Is this getting the message through to you?”

“Yes miss.” Came the response.

“It’s not too hard?”

“No miss. I’ve been really bad, I think I deserve to be punished harder.”

Ah, I see…

My hand came down firmer. Alternating between cheeks, then mercilessly applying slap after slap to the same cheek. The skin was beginning to blush; And so was my hand by the feel of it. Knowing how much I loved a spanking I didn’t even question continuing at a harder pace.

I’m only small, I wondered if this made a difference at all. Like a stiletto heel, all that power concentrated on the small surface area of my hand.

Every now and then I stroked the skin, blood was rushing to the area, making it pinker and warmer. I admired my handy work for a moment and continued.

I bought my hand down in fast slaps and then hard with a pause. Built up one cheek, then the other. He was wriggling on my lap a bit and I could hear the occasional whimper. I must be doing this right, it felt like I was hitting him quite hard, but he wanted it.

As I spanked him I reiterated the message, just to make sure.

“Are you going to take better care of your things from now on?”

“Yes miss.”

“If someone cheats off your work, we can only assume that you let them, therefore you get punished for cheating too. Do you understand?”

“Yes miss.”

I stopped and rubbed his radiating bottom.

“What do you say?”

“Thank you miss.”

“Stand up.”

I instructed him to bend from the waist with his hands on the chair in front.

“Now, the Head has asked me to give you 12 strokes of the cane.”

I stoked the cane across his raw skin as I spoke.

“Count them.”

I tapped the cane on his rump just to get feel of the length, the weight, the flex.

I swung the cane, quite lightly at first onto his flesh.

“One.” He twitched.

I had been a while since I’d used a cane, I was focusing on my accuracy, making sure the angle was right. Making sure I didn’t let the end swing; Making sure I was hitting both cheeks as evenly as I could.

“Two.” The skin twitched again.

By the fourth, I asked, “How is that for you?”

“You could go harder miss.”

So I did, “Five!”

“How is that now?”

“That’s fine miss.” His voice was a bit breathless this time.

Now I knew where his limit was. I continued at this pace but faster, making sure number twelve gave that little bit more umph.

“Thank you miss.”

Again I stroked the area. I hadn’t hit him hard enough to mark. I know how brutal the cane can be and I didn’t have any interest in causing that unpleasant sort of pain.

I checked his report. “I need to discipline you for running around the school naked. How many strokes do you think you deserve for that?”

“One miss…”

“One for each cheek?”

“No just one.”

“Well we both know that is not enough so I’m going to add a zero on the end, and make sure you’re all warmed up first, because this time, it won’t be easy.”

I spanked him again. Making sure I covered the areas I’d caned. It must have been sensitive. His body bounced slightly and that little whimper came back as I built up.

“Are you ready for ten more?”

“Yes miss.”

This time I played on his upper limit. I paused half way and checked he was ok. He was. ‘I couldn’t take this,’ I thought. Number six was a harder shock, it’s fun to keep someone guessing, on their toes a bit.

“Seven, eight, nine,” he counted, were quick moderate stokes and he flinched at each one.

“One more. Are you ready?”

“Yes miss.”

I let it rip. I felt mean, but I did it anyway. I hit him hard and he exhaled through the sting.

After a pause he said, “Ten. Thank you miss.”

“Well done. Now stand up and pull your pants up.”

As he did he was looking at the floor but clearly grinning.

“Now when we go back onto the classroom you’re going to apologise to the Head in front of the class for running his flowers.”

“Yes miss.”

As I lead him back into the classroom he turned to me and said. “You’re very good, thank you.”

I didn’t break my character but inside I beamed with pride.

Out there I was the prefect, but back in the classroom I was just another school girl, and it would be me receiving the punishment next.

Spanking was this weeks Kink of the Week,
click the link for other spanking stories.

I felt this ache from my nethers and this uncontrollable urge in my head. I squirmed on the sofa a bit, wondering where this has come from. Like a random spontaneous erection, my cunt was standing to attention practically shouting at me for…something…

I tried to be ‘normal’ for a moment, like the sensation was going to pass. This feeling was so alien, it’s literally been months. My mind drifted back to frantically rubbing myself in the work toilets needing a release. Or spending the afternoon in bed with myself on days off, me, my toys and my wand.

I squirmed some more. It felt like I was going to implode if I didn’t do something about this immediately.

I remember this, this is me, what I am like. I have a hunger, an insatiable need sometimes, to get myself off, right fucking now. It bypasses any cognitive thought and screams from my vagina. Where had she been? This horny, cock hungry girl? Slave to her urges.

Fuck. I have got to do this. Right now.

I went upstairs and dug out my wand from the depths of my chest; Where it hadn’t seen the light of day for sometime. I didn’t bother undressing. I didn’t bother seducing myself, caressing my labia, tweaking my nipples. I didn’t fantasise, or look for some porn. I plugged it in, knelt on the floor, yanked down the front of my pyjama shorts and reunited my wand with my cunt.

On my spread knees, on the carpet, holding my wand down the front of my shorts, the bulb pressing against my clit and the end held in my hand like a massive hard cock. I used it as such, wanking myself off, rhythmically, purposefully. There was no ceremony in this, just determination. Like an addict needing a fix.

Within minutes I was coming, nearly bent double at the exertion of the release, panting like a dog.

Fuck. Thank you. Thank you.

The relief washed over me. The euphoria relaxed me. That was all I needed, a quickie with myself. Fuck. Phew. I went back downstairs and resumed playing xbox, throbbing and satisfied.

I grinned to myself. I hope she sticks around.