How about you?

The Kink of the Week is “Breasts,” and of course today is Friday so it’s Boobday! I thought about taking the easy way out, and just posting a pictire of my tiny-but-powerful titties, but…well…I actually have some words about them. I know – surprise! right? But first, okay, since you asked so nicely…

I recently watched the video of myself that this clip came from. It was hot, and weird, and sexy, and uncomfortable watching myself do lewd things on video. I’ve got lots of images, and I’ve made more than a couple Marco Polos, but there’s not a whole hell of a lot of video of me doing nasty things out there, and less often do I watch them myself. The topic of this video – and the way it came about – was particularly kinky, and something I haven’t yet decided to share. But what I did want to share was this image of my breasts.

I’ve always loved my nipples. Perky, delightfully-shaped, delicate in color and oh-so-sensitive – I am a fan of them, as are and have been most of my lovers, once they discover their secret. And sometimes even if they don’t.

My breasts, on the other hand…

I’m not a hater of tiny titties. I have loved quite a few in my days as a lover-of-women. And there are times when I see them and think, okay, they are kinda cute. I love having them manhandled, mashed and pulled and squeezed and pinched. I like them bound and clothespinned, tied in rope and cropped with canes. I’ve enjoyed having them flogged and whipped with a singletail and splattered with hot wax. I’m not a huge fan of having them bit or slapped, though truth-to-tell even that I enjoy if only for the perverse joy in taking it for my Top. But all that is mostly enjoying them for what they can do, or have done to them. I don’t often look at them and think, “Wow, pretty!”

They are a little lopsided. They aren’t quite round, and they aren’t really much of a handful. They don’t spill out of my tops or fill out my bras; I’m not exactly a candidate for giving a good tittie fucking. Sometimes – especially when I see others’ beautiful breasts in all their full, rounded, luscious glory – I feel…less-than. Found lacking; unfeminine. Not always – it’s not like I dwell on it. But sometimes.

But then, as I did the other day when made to watch the video above, I see them as beautiful. So sexy and so female that I was mesmerized for a moment, as though I was watching someone else. They bounced and jiggled so delightfully, I loved the creamy tecture of their skin, and that smattering of freckles – wow, they are beautiful.

They may not be “perfect,” but that’s okay. I’m a fan. How about you?

Anticipation 2

I’m waiting for him in the swing on my patio, short dress, no bra or panties. His instructions on the bra, my own initiative on the panties. It’s warm, but I have a sunshade and there is the hint of a breeze tugging at my skirt, flirting with my warm, bared skin. Teasing me.

I fall alseep, anticipating.

Then he’s there, and we chat, and I am waiting, wondering when he will discover that I am bare beneath the dress. I stand next to him where he sits in one of the patio chairs. His hand slides up under my skirt and he looks up at me, grinning. I feel flustered suddenly.

Some temptress am I!

We go inside and Ad is there and we are talking and making salad and doing all the mundane things we do, and the whole time I am thinking about his hand sliding up, stroking the skin of my thigh, my ass, my hip. And I just want to be alone with him for a minute. “Come upstairs,” I say, tugging at his hand.

He follows, and I imagine his hands on me, under my dress, encircling my waist, pulling me close to him. He’s giving me this look he has…intent, focused, promising…something. I’m nervous now, more flustered. “Turn around,” he says, “Bend over the bed.”

I do, unsure what that intent look means. He has used implements on me now, has teased and provoked me sexually with hands and toys and words and mouth – this could be either. Or something new entirely.

He leans over me and flips my skirt up, exposing my bare ass to him. Suddenly exposed, I am absurdly shy and want to pull my skirt back down, and I can feel the heat traveling up my neck into my face. He places one hand on my back, stilling me. I go quiet under his hand, as I always do, settling down into the space between words, between moments. His breath is warm on the nape of my neck as I feel the barest caress of his fingertips tracing over my labia. Barely, barely touching; teasing. My breath comes short and quickens.

I don’t recall now what he says to me – it’s hazy and fluid like the feel of his fingertips brushing me ever so gently, tantalizing, building anticipation until the room is charged with it and I ache to feel his fingers inside of me. When I think I might go mad with it, he finally parts my lips and pushes a finger inside of me. “There,” he says, “right there,” and yes, he has found that spot inside and is rubbing it and I moan and push back against him —

Only to have him draw away, chuckling as he pulls me to my feet and sets my dress aright and says we should go back downstairs.

And I am left to anticipate what might come next for the rest of the evening.

kink of the week – love me some leather

The Canadian has requested that I do a scene write-up for the scene that I had in which I received these lovely marks. I figured it would be a fine write-up for leather as well, since all of these marks were made with leather implements.

I had spent the weekend with a couple who are friends of mine, and with whom I have played before. But much more than just play, they are beloved friends, and care for me as much as I do them. They had asked me what kind of weekend I wanted: friends only, boating, dinner, drinks, play? They know about The Hiatus and they did not want to push or to even suggest anything, not knowing where my head – and heart – was at.

“I really, really need to play,” I said. It had been months, and though I had had a couple other opportunities, they were not with people that I felt such a bond with. I wanted to feel safe, to feel loved, to feel appreciated – all while getting my ass beat.

And I did. We got back after being on the boat all day and having a sunset dinner and I laid out all the toys I had brought with me (they told me to bring toys I wanted to play with, that I felt comfortable with.) Then I laid down over this soft-sided coffee table, and then, first one, M, the husband, and then V, his wife, took turns. Floggers to warm up, crops to tease, paddles to punctuate. They would build up to a point and then back down, in tandem, back and forth. And then M took out his belt. That’s what got my butt so red. I LOVE a leather belt. In fact I had asked W several times to just get a variety of belts and do a whole scene of belting me. We never did, though I imagine in time we would have. So this was very satisfying. And mostly they stayed on my ass, which was good.

But then I knew I needed more. “Please,” I said, the jambock, on my thighs.” I needed the intensity of the heavy-cored, leather-braided implement.

There was no hesitation. V had M scoot around onto the ottoman we were using and pulled me up between his thighs so he could control me, and she took the jambock – and eventually, the dragontail – to my thighs. I had bruising for days, and a couple places where the dragontail had split the skin.

I didn’t think I was done when they stopped – then they stopped and I knew I had been done, I just hadn’t known it. I love it when a playpartner knows me that well. I curled into a ball at their feet and fairly purred for a half an hour, before standing gingerly, cleaning up my toys, and falling into bed.

As I mentioned, I love the feel of leather. Leather belts in particular bring an added emotional charge, but any kind of leather on my skin. Soft elkskin, hard leather straps, belts, tightly rolled crops, singletails, the falls of floggers. I don’t particularly like to wear leather, but I love to have it used on me. And I am grateful it was used on me that weekend so skillfully.