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June, 2012

  1. Blood, Sweat, and Orgasms

    June 28, 2012 by Nikki Blue

    There was a time in my life when I prayed for my period. I was the last of my friends to get it and I was tired of lying about it. As far as they were concerned, I got mine the summer between sixth and seventh grade with the rest of them. I was almost fourteen before it happened though. And realistically it was maybe three spots of blood at best, but I was finally a woman. My dad high-fived me and took me out for ice cream to celebrate. It was the happiest day of my life. Well, other than the night I had my first orgasm in the backseat of my boyfriends 69 Camaro while parked on the bank of Jackson Lake. I clearly remember 96 Rock playing John Cougar’s Ain’t Even Done With the Night on the radio… My point is that the onset of my period was a joyous occasion. But that was the first and last time I was happy to get my period, not counting that one time I was worried I might have been with child. Okay, so maybe it was more than one time. Oh, shut the fuck up.

    I never really viewed my period as my enemy though. It was merely a messy inconvenience that ruled my sex life. I didn’t suffer from PMS or cramping, but I didn’t feel sexy either. When my breasts grew fuller and my clit became even more sensitive every month, I felt flawed because I’d never been made to see the beauty in it.

    Then I met a man who was smart, gorgeous, and very kinky. He found me at the peak of my dating frustration. He understood that I was tired of the players and the wanna-be’s who fell short of fulfilling the cerebral connection I craved. He appealed to all of my senses and I wanted him. Lots of him to be exact. And when the day arrived that we would spend our first weekend together, so did my period. I was devastated. I fell to my knees in a very dramatic fashion screaming “why?” Not really, but I was pissed. So pissed that I cursed Mother Nature, my parents, and the boy who’d cut the hair on my Cher doll when I was eight.

    There was nothing I could do about it though, and I had to tell him. I just knew he was going to tell me it wasn’t a big deal, that we’d reschedule our rendezvous for a more suitable weekend. When I was finally confident that I wouldn’t burst into tears as soon as I opened my mouth, I broke the news to him over the phone. His reaction left me speechless.

    “It’s a part of you.”

    He made it clear that such a small blip on the screen of biology couldn’t keep him from doing very naughty things to my body. I was stunned. I didn’t understand how he could be so willing to explore every inch of my body in my “condition.” He emailed me an article listing the benefits of having sex during menstruation. The article said that orgasms are supposed to be more intense and my cycle could even be shortened. Where is the downside to that?

    Period sex was a first for both of us, and until I saw the smile on his lips as I lay naked before him with a towel underneath me, I was worried he would change his mind. He assured  me again that everything would be okay. But it was better than okay. It was amazing. I didn’t worry that we were turning the hotel room into a crime scene. I was too busy having orgasms and marvelling at what an incredible man he was. My period did detour an activity or two, but the weekend was still very intimate, and orgasmic, and holy fuck was it fun.

     

    Category Sex | Tags: ,, | 8 Comments

  2. Periods. Not the punctuation.

    June 27, 2012 by Heather Cole

    My period and I have had an adversarial relationship for a long time. It appeared in my life at the age of twelve with vicious cramps and bloating. It felt like a street gang had staked out territory in my private downtown, a battle between the bloods for my crypt. Oh yes, just writing the word bloat conjures such appealing imagery. The worst part was the PMS. In a parallel universe, I would have been one of those women taking the witness stand for manslaughter with PMS as my defense. Irrational? Easily irritated? Exhausted and over-emotional? Try all that, then multiply it by thirty.

    When I was trying to get pregnant, my period became the enemy. After a plethora of tests, my reproductive system was declared perfectly healthy. There was no medical reason explaining why I couldn’t conceive. My ex-husband was deemed healthy as well, but since science has made no advances regarding male fertility, I was the guinea pig. I took pills and had injections. I had a chart that I carefully plotted according to the results of ovulation tests and my temperature. I became a zealot about having sex at the correct time on the correct days. All that work, the attention to detail, the hyper-focus on my body plus the addition of a cocktail of drugs took me on an emotional rollercoaster every single month.

    For four years my period arrived with the regularity of clockwork, and brought with it the bad news that nothing had worked. I began to view it as a harbinger of doom; the death of my dreams of having a child, the death of my hopes that this month would be different and a testament to my failure in the basic biological right that all women have. After days of hoping and trying to do everything right, my period appeared and I’d be in tears. I ranted. I shook my fist at God and the medical establishment, and I despaired.

    Through the magic that is In-Vetro-Fertilization, I eventually became pregnant. My period and I really needed that year-long break that pregnancy and infancy provided. When it did come back, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was a sign that my body and its cycles were FINALLY returning to normal. My period and I were no longer adversaries but partners. I welcomed it, because it brought me the good news that my body was transitioning from the taxing physical effort of making a human being and eating nachos with the appetite of a feral dog to the hope that I may someday fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans again with the normal desire for a salad.

    Now that my baby days are over, I don’t hate my period at all. In fact, I might like it a lot. Don’t get me wrong, I still get PMS and all the beautiful monster characteristics that accompany it. We’ve made a truce, though, because my period is the gateway to a new way for me to orgasm.

    I have never been squeamish about sex on my period, so I had experienced the physical sensitivity firsthand with a partner. Orgasms were easy to attain, and everything on my body felt highly sensitized during my menstrual cycle. But I had never used my period knowledge and applied it to masturbation.

    Several elements coincided to give me my new orgasmic experience. M bought me a new vibrator as a housewarming present. I had my period, and I was alone in bed and couldn’t sleep. I honestly didn’t expect anything to really happen. But I hadn’t used the vibrator a lot and figured I’d test drive it on my clit, since my vagina was otherwise occupied with a tampon. Mind you, up until that point, all my orgasms had been vaginal.

    The only way I can describe that first orgasm was…magical. I discovered that with enough deep stimulation of my vibrator on my clit and the clitoral organ beneath (check out this diagram so you know what I’m talking about) I can achieve a throbbing, powerful orgasm. I felt echoes of it in my vagina, but it was concentrated around my clitoris. The best part was that during my period, I could orgasm in about fifteen minutes. Without the help of my period, it can take as long as forty-five minutes.

    I made friends with my period that night. Although I may dislike the cramps and the inconvenience of bleeding, those seven nights of heightened sensitivity are a delight. In the dark of my bedroom, alone beneath the sheets, my period and I have a very good time.

    Category Masturbation | Tags: ,, | 4 Comments

  3. Aunty Flo Comes A Knockin’ – Guest Post by Jillian Boyd

    June 26, 2012 by Heather Cole

    Nikki and I are THRILLED to have the lovely and talented Ms. Jillian Boyd featured on Vagina Antics this week. She’s a smut writer and blogger, and her blog is a delightful mixture of erotica and honest posts about her own developing sexuality. PLUS, she’s a fellow contributor to the erotica anthology FELT TIPS, edited by Tiffany Reisz, that will be published later this year.

     Our guest bloggers get to choose their topic, and this week Jill wanted to write about that monthly visitor, our periods. Yes, that neglected part of female sexuality that gets negative press from women and men alike. This week we offer our readers three different viewpoints and different experiences about a common event that connects all females. Enjoy!  xoxo Heather 

     

    Aunty Flo Comes A Knockin’

    By Jillian Boyd

    -

    I’ve noticed something.

    It’s been troubling me for a few months now, but I can no longer keep quiet on it. My periods have changed.

    Seriously. The last few months, they have become worse. More bleeding, fiercer pains in my lower belly, mood swings of a positively apocalyptic fashion. Well, maybe not that last one, but I have swings in my mood and they are not pleasant.

    Never once did I imagine them to become worse. When I got them at age eleven (yes, I bloomed too early), they were already terrible.

    Do I remember getting them?

    Oh yes. Yes, I do. Because it was awful. Traumatic, awful and oh dear me.

    Picture this. You’re about eleven years old. Nobody in school likes you, seeing as you’re that weird autistic kid from that special boarding house who doesn’t get to go home on the weekends. You’re shy, you’re awkward, you have no idea what life is.

    So, of course, your periods decide to pounce on you in the middle of a school day.

    You try to hide them. You even sit on your jacket on the bus ride home, because you don’t want to leave stains on the seating.

    The bus ride is uncomfortable, by the way. As if you couldn’t guess.

    You arrive back at the boarding house, and run up to one of the pedagogues. At this point you are without any words, so what you do is just show the MAHUSSIVE bloodstain on your jacket.

    The pedagogue nods. “You’ve become a woman,” she says. (I don’t actually remember if she said it, seeing as I was violently sobbing and crying out for my mum at this point. True story.)

    Needless to say, the first few months of my period weren’t exactly happy times.

    I didn’t really know how to control the flow and when to change pads, so I often had “accidents”, that kind of made me the laughing stock of the entire school. It’s not fun running around with massive red stains across your bum, I tell you that.

    Not long after, I started taking birth control, to regulate the flow of my periods. It did help, although it took me a few years to get used to changing pads in time. When I finally mastered that, I felt like I’d conquered a small country.

    They became more subdued too. I could go about my business without keeling over with stomach cramps. No significant mood swings took over. It felt good.

    Although, of course, you tend to lie about it in order to get out of PE class.

    Or was that just me?

    Lately though, it’s gotten worse. I don’t know how it got to be worse, but I just know that I’m experiencing more cramps and more mood swings.

    You tend to learn to live with it though. ‘Cos that’s just how Flo rolls, ‘innit?

    Every period experiences changes, I presume. Right now, mine is just at that time where I need more lie-downs during. And possibly a hot pack.

    So.

    Periods. Talk about them. Write about them. Fuck, be daring, and taste your own period blood, like I once did. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.

    Flo can be a bitch. But she’s really nothing to worry about.

     

    Jillian Boyd is a writer (of smut), blogger (of sex) and serial coffee drinker (of milk and two sugars). She is a soon-to-be expat and will be conquering the UK with her salacious ramblings. She blogs at http://barenakedlady.wordpress.com, and owns the I Spit Glitter (http://ladyspittingglitter.tumblr.com) and Filthy/Gorgeous/Love (http://filthygorgeouslove.tumblr.com) Tumblr blogs. 

    Category Guest Post | Tags: ,,, | 6 Comments

  4. Naughty Girls Need Aftercare Too

    June 23, 2012 by Nikki Blue

    There was a time in my life when I prided myself on my ability to have no-strings-attached sex. I could fuck like a man. And I was good at it. Whether it was a one night stand that happened after a night of cocktails or an established sexual relationship, I was able to disconnect myself emotionally. It was just sex, nothing more. That’s what I told myself anyway. I refused to be seen as a needy piece of ass, albeit a fantastic one. I thought that allowing myself to be held close after sex, showed weakness. And I was anything but weak.

    Truth be told, I didn’t understand the importance of aftercare until I met Heather and I began to unravel the twisted threads of my life that had been shoved into a box and buried. I didn’t even know there was a name for it. I didn’t know that it was an essential component of being made to feel safe. And I definitely didn’t think it applied to me. I was wrong.

    I needed the aftercare that I’d spent my life resisting. I needed it when I felt exposed and vulnerable after the handcuffs had been removed from my wrists that secured me to the bed. And I needed it after I was spanked bare-handed until I was sore and bruised. But I would have chewed my tongue off before admitting it.

    I can’t help but wonder if my life would’ve been different had I accepted aftercare on the occasions it was offered. Would I have been less guarded with my emotions? It’s hard to say. Would the struggle to understand my desires have been less painstaking? Possibly. Maybe if I had allowed more intimacy into my sexual relationships trust would have followed and I would’ve felt a sense of wholeness. Maybe my mistakes would’ve been fewer as I searched for answers. Just maybe, I would’ve been happier.

    I finally realized I needed aftercare the first time the overwhelming need to please my partner swept over me. His warm breath on the back of my neck gave me chills as he wrapped his fingers around my wrists. I wasn’t expecting the submissive in me to be unleashed as I gave him the part of my body he worships the most. But it happened. As I lay curled against him with my fingers tangled in the hair of his chest, I understood that allowing him to hold me close while reassuring me that I was a good girl didn’t make me weak or needy. It made me human.

    Our relationship wouldn’t work without those moments of raw intimacy. It’s what keeps me feeling safe with him. And that safety is what allows me to trust him with everything I am. I know that no matter how far he pushes me, he’ll respect me. And he’ll always give me the aftercare I need.

     

     

     

    Category Kinky Sex | Tags: ,, | 6 Comments

  5. One Lovely Blog Award!

    June 21, 2012 by Heather Cole

    We’ve Been Nominated!

    Twice to be exact…

    Our effusive thanks to The Dom Next Door and Deviant Wench for the One Lovely Blog Awards. We’re thrilled and humbled. WE HAVE READERS! And you like us! (Yes, we just swooned on to our fainting couches.)

    If you’re not already following those outstanding blogs, you need to get on that. ASAP!

    Here are the rules to the One Lovely Blog Award:

    - Thank the person/people who nominated you and link back to them in your post.
    - Share seven possibly unknown things about yourself.
    - Nominate fifteen or so bloggers you admire.
    - Contact the chosen bloggers to let them know and link back to them.

    Many of our favorite blogs have already been nominated, and you can find a full list of them on the main page under the heading “Blogs We Covet.” Here are some highlights:

    http://www.dumbdomme.com/  - self-depracating and downright hysterical Domme adventures
    http://mydissolutelife.com/ – a wolf in wolf’s clothing…sigh…
    http://theladygardenproject.wordpress.com/ – celebrating women’s sexuality no matter what the size
    http://alwayseachother.blogspot.com/ – the trials and triumphs of a married couple rediscovering what makes them work in the bedroom
    http://www.diaryofakinkylibrarian.com/ – smart, kinky woman who talks books and sex. need we say more?
    http://sexuallifeofawife.wordpress.com/ more real life kink from married people – riveting!
    http://janeonymous.wordpress.com/ the life and sex of a single woman who knows what she wants. funny and touching and hot!
    http://www.mollena.com/  The Perverted Negress: sexy, kinky and full of sass!
    http://kneelinginkansas.wordpress.com/ – Noelle Kneels: her stories are very um…arousing.

    Seven Things About Heather:

    I recently discovered a new way (not with my usual vaginal means) to make myself orgasm while masturbating.
    An excellent vocabulary and wit gets you to second base, at the very least.
    I talk to my mother on the phone at least twice a day.
    If I show up at your door in a dress, heels and carrying my world’s tastiest bunt cake, your ass is mine.
    I’ll watch Fifth Element every damn time it’s on cable. Dammit!
    I haven’t accepted the fact (at all!) that one day I’m going to die.
    My favorite sound in the world is hearing my daughter saying, “I love you, Mommy.”

    Seven Things About Nikki:

    I would sell one of my kids, possibly both, for Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.
    I sing in the shower.
    I can make a pony out of gumpaste and carve a surfboard out of cake.
    I ad-lib for the wildlife that congregates around the pond in front of my house. I use a deep voice for the alligators and exaggerate my southern drawl for the woodstorks.
    I’m terrified of sharks, but Jaws is my favorite movie.
    I’m addicted to eye shadow.
    I don’t wear eye shadow.

     

    Category Announcements | Tags: ,, | 9 Comments

  6. Ask Heather: The Importance of Aftercare

    June 19, 2012 by Heather Cole

    Dear Heather:

    My partner and I are beginning to explore more dominant/submissive roles in the bedroom. We’re experimenting and like to switch who is dominant, but she really gets off submitting and allowing me to do “whatever I want.” We have a couple fantasies we’d like to enact, and we have our safewords picked out. I was wondering if you have some suggestions about what we should (or shouldn’t) do as beginners to kink.

    Thanks,
    Anonymous

    Dearest Anon:

    First let me say congratulations! Exploring and being open sexually to the needs and desires of your partner (and knowing yourself) are a wonderful start. Keep up the good work, because open communication in the bedroom is crucial to a fulfilling sex life. Choosing a safeword is also important. Remember, if there’s a gag involved in your fantasy or the person submitting can’t vocalize for some reason, make sure that you have a hand signal that acts as your safeword.

    What I can’t stress enough is aftercare. That’s right…AFTERCARE. My darling Anon, if you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, don’t fret. Many people don’t know about this crucial piece of good sex play. Aftercare is so important that absolutely everyone, regardless of sexual preferences, should practice it. What I’m saying, Anon, is that those moments after your fantasy has run its course, when you’re together in the aftermath of orgasm glow and bodily fluids, hold her close and tell her how fucking amazing she is. Personally, I think everyone should do that after sex. Heaven knows that I didn’t do it enough in my twenties. If I could, I’d go back in time and thank every one of my sexual partners. Even that quickie in the bathroom.

    In the world of kink, aftercare is supposed to be the last part of every scene. In fact, many submissives include it in their negotiation of a scene as an essential aspect of their play. After the excitement and fun, the resulting vulnerability for a submissive can be scary if they’re not tended to after the scene. Some submissives want to be held and stroked, others want to be left alone and untouched until they’re out of subspace. It can be anything really, just make sure you ask your partner what she needs after all is said and fucked…er, done.

    Here’s an example: Last month M celebrated my birthday with me, and I had a special, super-intense scene which I had requested. M likes to surprise me, and not only was this scene longer than usual, but not one kind word escaped his lips. I was beaten in my most tender places. He took a cane to my thighs if I cried, and I swear he left me alone for what seemed an eternity. (I was blindfolded and tied so time was unreliable.)  At the end of my birthday scene, I used my safeword because I had convinced myself that M hated me. His mindfuck was that superb. I was physically and emotionally undone. Imagine a puddle of crying goo. That was me.

    As soon as the safeword was out of my mouth, I was unhooked from my bonds. The blindfold came off, and I curled into the fetal position on the bed. I was sobbing into my hands when I felt the bed dip behind me. M slid his arms around me and held me, murmuring that I was such a good pet for enduring what I did. That he was proud of me and loved me. Gradually I stopped crying and relaxed into his embrace. I have a favorite position with my arms tucked to my chest and my face buried in his neck as he wraps his strong arms around me. I floated in subspace, and M reassured me. His excellent aftercare was what enabled me to continue being completely open with him.

    Anon, it sounds like you and your partner are giving this a lot of thought, for which I commend you. And I say this to all our readers: aftercare shouldn’t be an option, it should be a requirement. If you have one ounce of respect for your partner, whether it’s an hour of fun or a lifetime commitment, take care of that person. Tell them thank you for getting your rocks off. Ultimately, we’re sharing a connection. Honor it.

    Yours in sexual matters,

    xo Heather

    Category BDSM | Tags: ,, | 7 Comments

  7. Toy Shopping Isn’t As Easy As It Sounds

    June 15, 2012 by Nikki Blue

    I have a terrific partner, and as I’ve said before, we have few limits. When he expressed his desire to find a fucktoy for us to play with, I was in full agreement. He wanted someone to see the intensity of what we share. And he wanted the experience of watching me Top a woman. How could I deny him that?

    We discussed limits, agreeing that there are things about our sexual relationship that are sacred, and we want to keep them between us. Condoms will be worn, and anal is out of the question. Not to sound too territorial, but that’s mine. We also had some requirements for our ideal plaything. My partner wanted a younger woman with perky breasts and erect nipples. My requirement, and it is a huge one, is that she’s more submissive than I am. Otherwise, it won’t work.

    With limits set and an idea of what attributes our potential toy should possess, we reached out to kinksters on FetLife and opened an account as a couple on OKCupid. We read profile after profile of bisexual women who might be interested in couple play. I read the details of each one of them looking for their curiosities and limits. I messaged each woman with a personalized “hello.” Fuck, women are complicated.

    Our first inquiry was from a woman who I liked immediately. That is until she began calling me just to chat. She led me to believe she wanted to play with me alone and that’s not my thing. I consider myself to be heteroflexible. I love the complexity and curves of a woman’s body, but I only find delving into the soft folds between a woman’s thighs appealing if there is a man involved. I need that male stimulation to get my *ahem* creative juices flowing. I know, I know. I’m complicated.

    The next back and forth took place with a hot little blonde who said she’d never played with a couple before, but she was up for the experience. But that ended when she asked if I was worried that my partner would like her better and I would lose him. Oh hell no. If she had been within arm’s reach, I would’ve crotch-punched her and choked her with the bikini she wore in her profile picture.

    There were others too. They were either too far away, too young, not our type, or decidedly too inexperienced. As flattering as it is, I’m not mentor material.

    Why was it so hard to find someone who understood the situation for exactly what it was with no expectations beyond a night of fun? Were we asking for too much?

    Then it dawned on me. My partner found me on FetLife. And even though he had an agenda of sorts initially, he still wooed me. He knew that whether it’s cerebral or physical, a woman still needs to feel an attraction. That’s what I feel we were omitting from our search. We were expecting someone to climb into bed with us and remain completely disconnected. I don’t know if that’s possible.

    I was bellyaching about our disappointing search to one of my girlfriends. I was frustrated. I wanted to please my partner, and I was failing.

    “I’ll do it,” she said, very matter-of-factly.

    “I’m sorry. What?”

    My partner and I had discussed the possibility of approaching her in the beginning, but I was hesitant. She was my friend, one of my best, and I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that. But that’s what I was missing while I was pouring over profile after profile. She is my friend and would do anything for me. She would never question my limits. She understands and accepts them. She knows how important it is to me to please my partner. Plus, her husband enjoys sharing her. It’s a win/win.

    Our night of lascivious behavior hasn’t happened yet, but when it does it will be so much better than a random hook-up on a fetish site. It will be with someone we can both trust. Someone who understands it for what it is and wants nothing more. She doesn’t need it. The emotional connection is already established, but on a higher level. And the best part about our experience up until now is that my partner wasn’t disappointed with me for not being successful in my search for a playmate. I proved my willingness to please him, and in the end, that’s what matters.

    Category Group Sex | Tags: ,, | 1 Comment

  8. Plays Well With Others

    June 13, 2012 by Heather Cole

    Me: [picks up pen] [scribbles recklessly] Bisexual, thirty-something, divorced, mother-of-one seeks a bisexual female for friendship and lady-loving*.

    *means that I would like to learn the arts of lady love. I have very little practical experience with women aside from the occasional stolen kisses as a young girl and drunken breast caresses at parties in high school. But that doesn’t stop me from lusting, from yearning. OH THE YEARNING!  [crosses out last sentence. Note to self: shouting doesn’t attract the ladies.]

    Warning: I’m frickticulously complicated. I think about everything which means that I will think about making a move on you a hundred times before actually doing it. I also demand a variety of different beverages at breakfast. Coffee, water and a bloody mary for starters.

    In fact, you should probably only answer this ad…

    [Writes second note to self: will this be a personal ad? A dating site? A placard outside the neighborhood deli?]

    …if you want to have a lot of sex, albeit beginner sex, because my situation involves two boyfriends.
    Yes, you read that right.
    One of whom is also my Dom.
    Yes, you read that right as well.
    And both of them live long distance.
    Yes…complicated…

    Perhaps you’ll understand better when I explain that I love my male partners, one of whom is kinky and who is helping me explore and expand my kinky self. They both know about my wish for female companionship-sex… [why do I sound like an 1800’s governess when I say that?] …and we talk about it. Quite a bit. And for the record, I won’t proceed with any of this if one of them objects. Yes, they’re that important to me.

    I feel like now is the time to explore my bisexuality, because I’ve denied it for years and years. I love women; I love their curves and soft skin, how they move and how they think. Why shouldn’t I act on it? Maybe I can take action with you? [Crosses out last sentence. Meaning unclear and generally too pervy-sounding.]

    I refer to it as “companionship-sex” because I suck at casual sex. I’m absolutely no good at not caring. [Note: this should probably go under the warning part.] I would like us to be friends and genuinely enjoy hanging out together. Ideally you would meet both boyfriends and like them. Not liking them is bad. Very bad. [Crosses out last sentence as sounding too Godfather-ish.]

    So about the companionship sex…this is what I envision: you come over for dinner and a movie. I make the world’s best chocolate cake, by the way. Maybe a bottle of wine? One thing leads to another and we end up making out like horny teenagers on the couch. [Thank goodness you can’t see how red I am writing that!]  The couch is very uncomfortable, generally speaking. I apologize in advance. Eventually we graduate into the area where I have no practical experience except for my lovely Liri making me orgasm… [you can read about that adventure here] …which ultimately leads to orgasms all-around!

    What I can offer: a lively sense of humor, the company of an aging and mildly retarded greyhound, medium tits, round ass (perfect for spanking), loyalty, intelligence and a willingness to learn. Also, I will cook you into a stupor given half a chance.

    Please don’t reply if you make loud mouth noises when eating, think Mittens Romney is anything other than an alien parasite or believe that food is irrelevant to joyful living.

    Please DO reply if you think nerds are sexy, have an undying passion for beverages and have read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows.

    xo Heather

    Category Polyamory | Tags: ,, | 16 Comments

  9. Flash Fiction: The Test

    June 8, 2012 by Nikki Blue

    “Do you trust me?”

    He held her face in his hands, letting his thumbs fall lightly over her closed eyes before tracing the outline of her jaw. Her head fell back and her lips parted slightly as he wrapped his fingers around her slender neck.

    “Yes,” she breathed as he covered her mouth with his.

    He knew without a doubt that she did. They had no limits, and their trust was implicit, but he had a plan. He was going to push the one boundary she rarely admitted. He stroked her hair and reminded her that she was his focus, his priority.

    He allowed her a moment to look around the room, to absorb as much of the familiar surroundings as she could before he covered her eyes with the blindfold. It was their bed, so she wouldn’t question the chair he’d placed at the foot of it, or the pile of rope on the floor next to it. It wouldn’t have changed anything if she had.

    He caressed her soft curves as he slowly removed her clothes. He knew every inch of her body intimately. He knew it better than she did. He knew when she was about to come as she rode him. He could see it on her face, in her eyes, and he could feel it in the tension in her body. And he knew the exact moment when pinching her nipples would throw her into a powerful orgasm.

    His hand paused briefly in the warmth between her legs. She sucked in her breath when he dipped his fingers inside of her. It would have been so easy to dive into her and lose sight of everything around them. But he removed his fingers, marvelling at how wet she was. She was always wet for him. He loved that it only took one word to open her floodgates. He smiled and took a step back to admire her. She stood there naked and blindfolded with her mouth open, waiting to taste herself on his fingers. As well as he knew her desires, she knew his too.

    Leading her to the chair, he instructed her to sit and lifted each leg over an arm, securing them snugly with the rope. He wanted her thighs spread wide so that he could see her most honest reaction to the night’s events. He hoped that as conflicted as she would be about sharing him, her desire to please him would take over. He was gentle, handling her as if she were a delicate piece of china as he pulled her arms behind her, cuffing her wrists. He brushed his lips across the soft skin of her shoulder and took a deep breath.

    It was time.

    He didn’t dare underestimate her. The instant the bedroom door opened, she would know they were no longer alone. She would sense the girl’s presence, and she would smell the girl’s sweet perfume no matter how faint the scent.

    When the girl stepped into the room, he watched his partner’s cheeks flush with heat. Her chest began to rise and fall with ever quickening breaths, and he would have given anything to be able to read her thoughts.

    “Do you trust me?” he whispered into her ear.

    Her voice broke. “Yes.”

    “Good girl.”

    He’d often expressed his desire to find a toy to join them, not because she wasn’t enough for him, but because he wanted a witness to the intensity of the power that flowed between them. He wanted to share it, share her.

    Removing her blindfold, he watched the insecurity seep into her green eyes as she took in the young woman on the middle of the bed. He had forced her to confront her limits, and it came adorned with perky breasts and erect nipples. His weakness. He could almost feel the lump forming in her throat as he watched her swallow convulsively. Before she turned away, he caught a glimpse of the tears filling his lover’s eyes as he pulled the girl to the side of the bed, instructing her to suck his cock.

    “Look at me,” he said sternly.

    She did as she was told, as always, but with an emotion written on her face that he had not seen before. Anger. He felt her struggle as she blinked back tears, fighting not to let them fall. The look in her eyes said she hated him, and at that moment, he knew she probably did. But then her eyes fell to the girl on her knees in front of him, to her hand wrapped around his shaft as her blonde head bobbed up and down furiously. As he neared orgasm, he gripped the girl’s head and began to thrust, shoving himself deeper down her throat. Holding his woman’s eyes with his own, he exploded with a growl into the girl’s mouth. He watched his partner’s brow knit in thought as she opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out and she quickly clamped it shut. He bit back a smile.

    He could tell that she was beginning to understand that regardless of the fucktoy they played with, no matter how another woman pleased him, it was a moment they would enjoy together. And he saw the proof of the realization glistening between her thighs.

    Tossing the petite girl onto the bed, he spread her legs wide and flicked his tongue over her clit as she writhed and screamed beneath him. He brought the girl to orgasm, but his eyes never strayed from his prize who was secured firmly to the chair. His plaything’s controlled breathing and the renewed spark in her eyes told him that she finally understood the point of the night, and was no longer hurt or angry. She was hungry.

    “Untie me,” she said, her tone even and sure.

    Without hesitation, he rose from the bed, leaving the girl breathless and wanting to fuck.
    He bent over his babygirl and grabbed a handful of her hair, snatching her head back to expose the curve of her throat.

    “Untie me, what?”

    The corner of his mouth curled into a half-smile as his hand plunged between her thighs, making her cry out when he impaled her with his fingers.

    “Untie me…please,” she panted.

    After unhooking her cuffs, he ran his fingers along the length of her body and loosened the knots at her ankles, allowing the rope to fall to the floor. He was proud of her, and answered her unspoken question with a nod. He melted into the palm of her hand when she placed it affectionately on his cheek, walking past him to the dresser. As she slid the top drawer open and removed the leather strap-on, he wondered again at how lucky they were to have found each other. Handing him the harness, she flashed him the smile that had the ability to reduce him to a puddle. He fastened the buckles at her hips and gave her nipple a tweak before turning her to face the mirror. She tilted her head as he stood behind her, his fingers splayed on her stomach. He stroked the strap-on she wore and smiled at their reflection as she reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. She was his fantasy come to life, and she pleased him like no other.

    She turned her attention to the girl. “My turn.”

    Category Flash Fiction | Tags: ,, | 4 Comments

  10. Flash Fiction – The Birthday Present

    June 5, 2012 by Heather Cole

    The moment I opened the door, I knew she was a present for me. Standing on my welcome mat in a sundress of white lawn, her curly auburn hair captured at the nape of her neck, was a vision of alabaster skin and green eyes. The vision came complete with a light dusting of freckles decorating her pert nose. She looked innocent. Fresh.

    She flashed me a smile and then her gaze dropped to the ground. I recognized the signs at once, the subtle physical cues of a submissive in training.

    “Mistress sent me,” she said in a firm tone.

    “Of course she did.”  I smiled and fell silent, waiting to see what she would do.

    My friend was breaking in a new sub, and she had called several weeks ago to tell me about the birthday present she was sending. I didn’t know a lot about the woman in front of me except that she was fairly new to kink and that my friend described her service as “enthusiastic.”

    She shifted her weight back and forth, and then green eyes flashed up at me. “Are you going to let me inside or just stare?”

    I pushed the door open and motioned her inside, barely managing to cover my expression of shock. I expected her to wait in the foyer for further instructions, but she breezed past me without another look in my direction.

    I breathed deeply, inhaling her scent of honeysuckle. Thin sandals were secured around slender ankles, and the idea sprung to mind of her tied and helpless across my bed. As I watched her lithe form disappear down the hallway and into my living room, my fingers itched to lay a crop across the white expanse of her back.

    “Cheeky,” I muttered to no one.

    Ignoring my unexpected guest for a moment, I padded into the kitchen to get a glass of iced tea. I nibbled absentmindedly at my lip and pondered what to do with her. She was beautiful and unruly, and I recognized the unspoken challenge in her eyes. I knew it intimately, because not so long ago I had been in her shoes challenging the control of my Master. But I had little practice topping submissives. The planning, the plotting, the anticipation of a submissive’s needs was exhausting, in my opinion. What the hell was I going to do with her?

    Previous to my present’s arrival, I had been spending the morning hard at work. My hair was back in a high ponytail, and I was wearing my glasses. Dressed in yoga pants and a ‘kinky nerd’ t-shirt, I was nowhere near sexy or mentally prepared for a scene. For a moment I entertained the idea of calling my friend to tell her just what I thought about her catching me off-guard, but I knew that was exactly the reaction she hoped for. Damn Dommes and their mind fucks.

    By the time I made my way to the living room, my present was curled on the sofa as she leafed through a magazine.

    “Did your Mistress give you specific instructions?”

    “Yes,” she said, without glancing up.

    I waited for her to continue, but as the silence stretched between us, I felt the first bite of an emotion I hadn’t expected. Irritation.

    “Care to elaborate, or are you a gift I’m only supposed to admire. Not unwrap?”

    “Mistress said that you’re a slave.”

    “I am.”

    She shifted on the couch, one foot tapping against the floor. “Why have I been gifted to a slave? You can’t Top me.”

    She was correct in her own way. Domination didn’t come easily to me. I enjoyed brief periods of it, but in my heart I was a slave to my Master. But if there was one thing I couldn’t abide, it was a sassy newbie throwing labels in my face like confetti. I had earned my collar, and if I had anything to say about it, she was going to do some serious work towards hers tonight.

    “The simple truth of submission is that no one can Top you without permission. Answer me this:  did you deliberately and willingly accept your Mistress as your Domme?”

    “Yes. Of course.” She frowned.

    “And you willingly entered her service to train as her slave?”

    My present nodded.

    “Then your Mistress gifted you to me for the afternoon.” I tilted my head to the side and watched the emotions flicker across her face.

    “It doesn’t matter who you are then.” She stared over my shoulder, her voice soft. “If I trust my Mistress, if I wish to be her slave and complete my training…”

    “Exactly,” I said. With a loud sigh I stood up and stretched. “You always have a choice and a safeword, but I need to know what you’re going to do. I have a deadline, so if you’re only here to chat and be bratty, I’d prefer to do it after writing hours.”

    Her green eyes widened and then dropped. Her fingers began their twisting dance inside her pockets. “I choose to submit.”

    The words passed her lips, and I was suddenly in motion, a fistful of her silky hair tight in my grasp. I pulled her head back with a vicious tug and watched as her full lips parted with a gasp. I kissed her hard on the lips, my teeth snagging her lower lip as I pulled away. I slowly pressed into the rosy flesh until she winced and growled into the pink shell of her ear.

    “Thank you for your submission, my present, and in return for it I intend to beat your precious ass. Now go to your knees, little girl, and address me properly before I get my toys.”

    “Yes, Mistress,” she answered.

    I traced a fingernail along her spine as she knelt to kiss the arch of my foot. Goosebumps traced across her skin and she shivered.

    Oh how I loved a good birthday present.

    Category Flash Fiction | Tags: ,, | 1 Comment

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