Sinful Sunday – Spanked

Have had a wonderfully sinful Sinful Sunday so far, which I will write more about later, since I am supposed to be doing final edits on a piece of “real” writing (read: a story to be submitted for publication.) (I’m almost done, I swear!) (The deadline is today.)

Writing for Sinful Sunday
See? I'm writing!

But here’s how I got ready to write. (Ad says, “We’re home, write naked.” W says, “Except for heels.” I forget that I went out to breakfast in tit collars, so those stay on too.  And Ad decides that spanking my ass is a good way to motivate me.)

Sinful Sunday action shot.
Action shot.

Sinful Sunday Ouch

Spanking laughter
Ad: "You're the strangest girl. 'Ouching' and laughing at the same time."

Big red paw print.

To see who else is being sinful, click the link below!

Sinful Sunday

Sinful Sunday – Shoe…Addiction? Possibly…

So my daughter may have as severe an addiction to appreciation for high heels as I do. In fact, she’s starting much younger than I did, and pretty much jumped in the deep – or should I say steep – end from the start. Once she got rid of her height-challenged boyfriend that hated her to wear heels, she embraced her high heel addiction love fearlessly. And we’re not talking puny 3 or 4 inch heels. My 5’9″ daughter rocks the 5 inchers with the best of them.

Unfortunately the Boychild has less understanding of this…hobby…of ours.

A recent conversation at the dinner table went something like this:

The Missy: My shoes came in, Momma! They are smokin‘!
Me: Cool! What are they like?
Missy: (describes)
The Boychild: Okay wait, didn’t you just get a pair of shoes last week?  What do you need another pair for??

The Missy and I look at each other. Duh!

Missy: I have, like, 15 pair of shoes.
Boy: Fifteen! Why does anyone need fifteen pairs of shoes?!?

She and I look at each other again.

Missy: You’ve never seen Mom’s shoe collection, have you, Little Brother?

Boychild glances down the hallway, towards my room, where I keep most of my “normal” shoes, my boots, my runners, my “low” heels (3-4 inches) and a couple pair of “emergency” slut heels. (Cuz you never know.)

Boy (uncertainly): Um, yeah…
Missy: No, I mean her real collection. The one she has at W’s…

She goes on to describe what may seem like an exorbitant amount of shoes. The Boy goggles. And shakes his head. And snorts.

Finally he says: What do you need all those shoes for?  What do you do with all those shoes?????

And I sit there with images in my head of what I do DO with all those shoes.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

And that, as W says, is just a start.

Nope, I don’t think I will enlighten the Boychild on this one.

And…possibly not the Missy either.  ;-)

Hope you all have had a very Sinful Sunday!
Click below to see who else is participating. :-)

Sleeping with Steve Madden

I figured, since I’ve had Tiger Woods in my pussy (twice!), that it was time to sleep with another favorite boy of mine, since my Real Life boys aren’t here to keep me company.

I went shopping tonight for flat or low-heeled boots, since I broke the heel on my favorite black ones. Ad’s response when I told him: “Thank God W’s out of state for it – you won’t hear his scream of anguish as you swipe your card.” There’d have been no cry, however.

Final score: flats – 0; red high heels – 1.

That’s right, I went for flats specifically and I still came home with high heels.

As penance I am sleeping in them tonight.

Preparations. And the Cardinals.

I haven’t seen W since last Thursday, when we got back from our Baltimore trip. I know, I know, maybe that doesn’t seem like such a long time, but after nearly 8 straight days together (or crooked ones, whichever) this week has seemed an eternity. Enough so that I asked him if we could get together before Thursday, my usual weekday day and night with him.

Or maybe he suggested it.  I can’t recall just now.

Anyway, at first it was just “lunch, run an errand, talk.” Then last night I wrote to him what I really wanted:

“I wanna come over and have a raunchy, brutal BDSM session and then turn around and go back to work. We can do lunch and talk and play nice (or not) Thurs day and/night. Whatcha say?”

His response?

“I’m certainly not going to turn that down!”

So it looks like I have an altogether different kind of lunch date today.  In preparation, I had planned to wear something professional/slutty. Button-down blouse, pencil skirt, too-high high heels.  Dark makeup. Something just this side of inappropriate.

I was slutwear blocked.  The woman in my office that (thinks she) runs it came around yesterday and said that in honor of something the Cardinals are doing (a baseball team here that is (apparently?) winning some games?) today is “jeans-and-Cardinals shirts” day.

Seriously???  Has she seen my wardrobe? In the four years I have worked here have I EVER worn something sports-team related, gone to a ballgame or even mentioned anything to do with sports?

But I don’t wanna seem like a contrary bitch, tho I was feeling like one.  So okay…red.  I can do red.

I revamped my look a little: red sweater, jeans and red shoes. With a Jade twist, of course.  The sweater is little, and tight, and stretchy. It should go over a camisole, because over a bra it stretches just a bit too much, and the center button pops occasionally. Oops!

I’m wearing it with a black bra.

And okay, I am wearing jeans.  With fire-engine red, Ridiculously High-Heeled pumps.  Oh yeah, RHH’s at work. Go me!

And red, red lipstick.

So there. Can’t slutwear block me!

(And yes, hopefully pictures will be forthcoming, if I can talk W into taking one or two.) ;-)

Free Time?

Asked on a new group that I just joined on Fetlife was a question about what it is we do when we have “free time.”  My immediate response: masturbate, of course.

Oh, and nap.

Seriously, when I have an hour and half at home alone, I am all about doing first one, then the other. HOOray!  I didn’t actually post that response, because I’m kind of like the new kid at school, and you know, I don’t want my potential new friends to think I’m weird or anything.

The reality is that I don’t have that much free time, as in extended time to myself, but I actually did have some today (that I wasn’t home for my favorite free time activity for) and realized that there are other things I do when I have some time.

And lots of things I don’t.

Things I thought about doing were:

  • Having a glass of wine at my favorite wine bar
  • Going to a movie
  • Work out
  • Work on a writing project
  • Set up my new domain
  • Work on blog posts

What I did do was go shoe shopping.  And I realized that, if I have any extra money at all, that really is my go-to activity if I have time to do so. (I know.  Shock, right?)

I don’t often actually buy shoes on these trips. The truth of the matter is that when I am ready to actually buy, I have something very specific in mind, and I hunt it.  Then, when I find it, I’m done.  I am seriously not a big “shopper.”  But when I’m bored…I love to look.  I always go thinking I’m going to buy, but without a specific goal in mind, a specific type of shoe or event or outfit that I am buying for, I rapidly get overwhelmed by the choices.  Especially at a place like DSW.  I have seriously gotten overwhelmed to the point that I just had to leave because I was starting to get anxiety.

Then there’s those odd times when I go with nothing in mind…and end up with four or five pairs.

Today was kind of a hybrid. I already have this one pair of towering wedges, and I’ve been wanting another pair, but with lacing up the ankle and in bright colors.  So that was where I started.  But in spite of billions of shoes, I couldn’t find one pair that met my (not that exacting) requirements. So…

I tried on two pair of boots (boots, Jade? Seriously? It’s summer.) (But they are SO cute! Lace up the front style, and half off…!) and four pair of Ridiculously High Heeled black pumps. (I don’t need another pair.  No really.  And, Note to Self: Every pair of shoes does not need to be RHHs. Even if W thinks they do.)

In a remarkable feat of self-control, I was about to walk out the door without having bought a thing (which would have actually been depressing, since I wanted to buy a new pair), when I realized there was a pair I needed, and that I think about every time I wear a summer dress with black in it: a different pair of black sandals.

Score!  I would not leave empty-handed.  I ended up with a cute pair of black wedges (not towering, but high enough, and 40% off!) and a pair of RHH smart black Working Girl pumps. Yeah they wasn’t on my list, but they were half off. What could I do?

Inappropriate Heels

This has been a rough week.  I usually spend two to three nights with W, and this week, for various reasons beyond our control, that hasn’t happened.  In addition, I’ve had some personal things go on that have dampened my usually high spirits, and W has been preoccupied with other things as well, so we just haven’t been connecting like we usually do. As I said in an email to him yesterday (bolded part added in by me just now),

We are used to spending a certain amount of time together, which gives us the emotional connection and we get kinda disconnected when we don’t have it. And then I get itchy and angsty and weird.  I start feeling like I did last night, and relate it to the physicality of playing, but you know it’s more than that for me–the physical is just a way to reaffirm the emotional connection, and the emotional connection is what I miss when we’re just doing the computer thing.

It’s funny that I didn’t really understand that was what was going on with me when I was angsting the other night.  I just thought, as I said in The Between Time, “I am a pissy girl right now. A pushy, petulant bottom that wants to be put in her place. Taken down. Dominated, used, abused, hurt, dragged down and subjugated.”  And yep, that’s all true–but it is why I am craving that right now that I didn’t realize until I wrote it to W yesterday. Which is so dense of me.  (Duh.)

It’s about the connection.  It is always about the connection.  It is about the way I feel in the midst of it, the way that I am tethered to him by the things he is doing to me, by his hands and mouth and focus on me–the tools he uses are just that: tools, implements to bind me, but not just to the floor or the wall or the ceiling, but to him.

It’s about the way I feel when he is fucking me, invading me, conquering me–and yet also joining with me, completing me. The way I feel when he is spreading my body open, my thighs, my mouth, my cunt, my asshole, opening it, opening me to him, looking at me, peering inside me, owning my body and as he does so owning far more of me than just that.

It’s about the way I feel afterwards, when I become “his girl” again, and I feel connected to him in a way I don’t feel with anyone else.

I know these things about what we do.  Of course I do.  And I know how much I need it, how deeply I need and crave having that connection affirmed and reinforced.  I need to know it for myself, but I also need to know he feels it, that connection, too. And…when we can’t have that…I need to know he misses it and needs to have it reinforced too.

In my email, I reminded him about the games we played while he was in Florida this last time and suggested that perhaps doing some small things like that might be helpful to us both. No, we’re not long distance right now, but if we don’t get to see each other and have that physical connection, then we might as well be.

And…he replied (to my joy and relief) that he, too, was feeling the disconnect.  And he, too, would like to find small ways to remind us both of our connection, to reinforce it, when we can’t see each other.  It’s amazing how such a small thing can make me feel so good. Following is the result of yesterday’s communication.

“Wear a pair of heels at some point tonight, even if it’s inappropriate.”

I went for a walk with Ad, and when we got back, I had some things to do.

In heels, inappropriately. ~grin~

I had plants to water outside on our patio.

And laundry to do...

And smut to write. (Heels should be *required* for writing smut, they always remind me of my place and make me feel so very sexy.)

And lastly, when all my work was done, I got to take a bubble bath.


And yes…as I put on my heels and did all the normal little things I would have been doing anyway, but doing them in a way that was for him, as I emailed him the pictures and received his responses back, and even as I write this post, I felt connected once again. To what it is we do, and to him.

Completely appropriately.