10 x 10 + 1 (or 2, or 3, but who’s counting?)

It started with a task that I was sure I wouldn’t be able to complete:

Task 20: Multiple O – Have ten orgasms in one hour. Each orgasm must be separate. There must be at least a three minute non-orgasmic separation between each orgasm.  If you fail, repeat the task the next day. If still a fail, repeat the third day. If not completed after three days incur penalty.

I’m a pretty orgasmic girl. And once you get me started, multiple orgasms are not unusual. But to have to stop and start, with at least 3 minutes in between? I just didn’t see any way that I could accomplish it. In fact I was so sure that I sort of gave up before I even tried.

Then I got this task:

Task 21: Ten Things – Insert ten things from around the house in your hole.

Hmm…ten things…ten orgasms…coincidence? Serendipity? The world giving me a smack with the clue x 4 to give it a try?

It was Saturday morning. I told Ad about the “1o Things” task. Without me even suggesting it, he started gathering the items that I would insert. Oh yeah, this was a task he could get behind.

Then I reminded him of the other “10” task. He knew that I had already decided it couldn’t be done. “Do you think…?” I began.  “You know…maybe if I combined the two…”

He was certainly up for the challenge.

Here are all the items he gathered together.

Out came Baldy, my Hitachi. I knew it couldn’t possibly happen without him, but I was still quite dubious about it happening even with him.

Ad kept time.

Orgasms with Items 1 & 2, a candle and the working end of a swiffer duster, happened pretty quickly, in spite of the pokiness of the swiffer.  In fact they were so quick that the time in between them was the only time that I didn’t make the “3 minutes between” rule.

The orgasm from Item 3, a monkeywrench, took a little longer, as the wrench didn’t lend itself well to “in and out” action. I knew the image was one that W would love though.  It’s just so…wrong.

Next up was the hammer. I actually kind of like this image. And I think it’s funny that of all the things Ad chose, two of them were tools.

It was in the aftermath of that orgasm (delightfully instigated by the amazing fucking action Ad used on me with the handle of the hammer) that I looked at the growing pile of toys and panted, “Is that only four?”  Orgasm are hard work.  At least ones where you come down entirely before starting another.

Item 5 was perhaps the most perverse.

Yes, that’s a rubber chicken, and yes, it’s a dog toy, and YES that’s my dog looking on very worried.  I don’t know how I managed to come with that thing in my cunt–close my eyes and think of…anything but what was really going on.

Items 6 & 8, a tube of hair product & an electric shaver, were related, but Ad swears they were not commentary on my unshaven cooch (letting it grow out so that I can get it waxed just before the cruise.)

I came hard and fast, almost painfully, with the shaver inserted. Ad turned it on, and the combination of Baldy vibrating on my clit and the shaver vibrating against my g-spot was a mixture of pleasure and pain that had me coming, hard, within minutes, but then I was begging for a break afterward.  Ad got me some water and a cookie, and I lay back and thought about whether my clit was going to be able to stand up to it all.

Then it was back to the salt mines.

Even with the break we were doing pretty good on time, until we ran into technical difficulties with the flashlight.  Condoms just aren’t made for stretching over a flashlight.  Soon, though, he had  Item 7 inserted and thoughtfully turned on, so there was “light at the end of the tunnel.”

Orgasm 7 was a long time coming (pun intended) as well, for whatever reason. But then when I did, I ended up coming again almost immediately, in my classic multiple style.  “No no no!” I said, curling away from Ad’s hand. “It doesn’t count! No fair!”

By Item 9, the remote control (of COURSE he would include that!) we were getting close on time. “Hurry,” I said, “shove that remote in there!”  I was glad to see a remote control being used for something other than flipping channels.

And then came the wine bottle.  “A fine dessert wine,” Ad said, smirking.

And I knew that I needed to give W a bonus.

I inserted the wide end of the bottle first into my cunt.  Then I had Ad turn it around and push the neck into my ass.

I came, explosively, in just under the 1 hour time limit. And then had another one right on top of it for good measure. Me, sleepily, exhausted, afterwards: “Rats, that one doesn’t count.”

And then, because apparently fucking his girlfriend with random objects makes him hot, Ad had to shove one more not-so-random object inside of me.

“Thirteen!” I yelled as I came with him thrusting inside of me.

“Yeah, he said, “but it doesn’t count. Your hour is up.”

Creepy or Romantic/Sexy?

It began as the opening post of a thread on Fetlife.  Edited a bit, it went like this:

I commonly see submissive women add things along the lines of ‘just take me and do what you want with me’ to their kinks. They profess that the idea of a Dominant doing what they want with them without having asked for permission first is a real turn on.

Some women go as far as rape fantasies, although that’s on the extreme edge of the scale.

The problem I encounter as a Dom is that it never seems to be sexy when I do those things. Not that I actually even really do them. When I suggest that it’s something that I could do, that I’d be interested in doing, there isn’t much interest. Were I to then actually do such things (Say, as an example, grab a woman by her hair, tilt her hair back, and bite her neck) then I’m sure I would get a negative reaction as much as some drunk feeling up someone’s dress at a club.

He went on to ask about getting a girl interested without seeming creepy, and how to be seen as romantic/sexy doing these things rather than creepy.  The responses were mostly “Get to know her,” “Ask about more than sexual/kinky things,” etc.  The usual “Dating 101” stuff.  But that wasn’t what interested me and jogged my memory/writing bug. It was the first idea: Do women really want guys to do those things to them, especially on a first date??

I didn’t respond, but if I had, it would have gone something like this: “Well, hell, it worked for me. First date, dark, empty parking lot afterward.  He didn’t ask if it was okay, there was no “consent” given other than that I didn’t scream for help.  He had walked me back to my car after our date.  I leaned back against the driver’s side and he kissed me, hard, and then when I opened my car door and made to get in, he pushed me back into the driver’s seat grabbed me by the hair and proceeded to take all kinds of liberties with me, which included a pretty severe pussy mauling (the first time I’d ever experienced W’s “grab a girl’s cunt and dig in” style.)  And yeah, it worked like a charm.”

Yeah.  That’s really how it happened, my first date with W. And yeah…it worked for me. No permission, except what my body was telling him, which was, in a nutshell, “Fuck yeah!”  Or at least it was telling me that.  I’m not sure what it was saying to him, though since he mauled me pretty good, I am guessing he was listening to what it was saying.

I do recall him telling me later that it had been a big risk, to approach me like that. Who knows if I would have cried “Help, rape!”   I certainly felt like I was being, if not actually raped, assaulted.  But in a good way. In that yummy, “Oh. My. God.  Finally someone that knows how to treat me!” way.

It wasn’t creepy.  It certainly wasn’t romantic.  I don’t even know if “sexy” quite covers it. But it was fucking hot. Blazingly so.

We had talked via email quite a bit before that, but no long “getting to know you,” talks on the phone, no discussions about limits or things like that.  We had talked about turn-ons, but, I don’t know at that point if I even knew this kind of behavior was a turn-on. At least by a relative stranger.

And, in point of fact, I was a bit scared, a bit taken aback.  I knew what I was supposed to feel: angry, assaulted, taken advantage of. Run, girl, run!  I didn’t feel any of that.  I also didn’t feel all submissive and “I have to let him do this because I’m submissive, blah blah blah ~choke.~” What I felt was heat. What I felt was, “Finally!”

I had thought about trying to push him away.  The last time a stranger had pushed me back into my car and attacked me, had pushed my panties aside and his fingers into me, had been at 2am on a darkened highway. I had run out of gas on the way home from the club.  I was dressed like a tart, half-drunk, and my attacker was my would-be rescuer.  I guess he felt I owed him for helping me.

But somehow, this was completely different.  Truth to tell? That other time I had been excited by the other man’s aggression.  I know, I’m not supposed to admit that, and I’ll probably have some feminists screaming at me for perpetuating the rape fantasy myth, but this is my truth, and I can only tell it like it is.  And the truth is–I was excited by it.  I know now that it was pinging on my “loss of control” fantasies that I have now, though I didn’t know it then.  But I really was more afraid of him than excited, and I did end up forcefully pushing him away–thank goodness I took him by surprise and was able to slam the door shut on him.  But W’s aggression…his aggression I wanted, I was ready for, I had been waiting for and looking for in every Dominant I’d ever played with–including the Ex.  The vanilla part of me said, “this is wrong,” but the kinky girl was loving it.  I wanted to be taken, I wanted a man that wanted to take me, to use me.  No one else had ever done so, had ever dared push past that initial bit of fear resistance, or even come on to me like that. Even Dominants I had played with had approached me very civilly, carefully, perhaps making me come to dinner with no panties, maybe telling me to go jack off for them in the bathroom, but never just…grabbing me by the hair, pushing me back, and using my body like it was theirs to do with as they pleased.

Until W.

I don’t know why it worked with him.  Who can say what attracts us to another, what weird chemical/hormonal/psychological interaction makes it just right with certain people.  Yes, he knew my subconscious triggers, or sensed them, and tripped every one of them.  But it had to have been more than that.  Maybe just the right person at the right time, I don’t know.  I know, I was probably very lucky that he wasn’t a mad rapist or something.  I like to think I already knew he wasn’t, that there was some instinctual part of me that knew him better than that, even then.  But if I’m being honest, that’s probably not true.  All I knew is that what he did worked. And here we are, two-plus years later.  And it’s still working.

Wrapping up the Wank

He had told me that I had to do my Daily Deed even while I was in PV with the GirlChild. The morning that we left it wasn’t difficult. Ad made me fuck myself with Bam, which was kind of like fisting myself with someone else’s hand. Weird, but hot.

Yeah, he's HUGE.

Earlier in the week I had used Blue…

Doesn't he look sweet all nestled in my feathers?

(and W’s J-Hook) and I have to say that I enjoyed Blue much more. Coming with Bam was difficult (had to use Baldy to get there) because he is just soooo big.  And thrusting with him? Right out. I think it might be more fun if someone else was fucking me with him, though.  The thought of being fucked by it as an extension of The Mean Guy really makes me hot (and that thought is what tipped me over the edge this time actually.)  I know I can take lots more of him than I did on my own, and being forced to…damn that’s hot enough to make me want to go fuck myself again, right here, right now.

But (ahem) I digress.

Once we got here to PV, however, just she and I, with no space or separation, well, it got tough.

I am nothing if not determined to obey W’s wishes, though.

Late in the afternoon, after we had been at the pool and beach and come back inside to cool off, I announced that I needed a shower. I knew that the only way I was going to get any privacy was in the bathroom, though I didn’t especially relish the thought.  Although my first experience with masturbation was using running water in a bathtub to do it, water is not usually conducive to good sex for me.

Of course, there’s always exceptions.

Anyway, I knew I had to try.

The shower here is large enough for two people, but there’s no bath. Sad for me, because generally, to do myself, I like to lay down. Coming sitting up was hard enough to do, though because I was being made to do it by W, it was actually a lot easier than I had expected. Anything sexual is easier with that man in my head. ;-) But he isn’t here, so I needed to find a way to make it work just as if he was.

I turned the water up high, closed my eyes, and started touching myself. I thought about that first time, in my sister’s bathroom, with my legs slung up over the edge of the tub, my hips cocked up to open myself to the stream of water, the delicious, startling feel of the hot, hot water sluicing down on my cunt, and later, when I turned the water on higher, pounding onto my clit.

I thought about another time, and my very first masturbation fantasy–yes, I recall it!–in which I was also in the bath, this time a shower, touching myself, when suddenly, into my mind, floated the image of a woman’s breasts, and my mouth on them. I had never fantasized deliberately about women before that time, nor fantasized at all during masturbation, so this was all new and amazing to me. And oh, what fun I learned when I combined sex with my brain. ;-) I came with that image in my head, and realized that I was still making sucking motions and noises with my mouth when the orgasm was over.

This time, however, wasn’t as easy. I rubbed, I stroked, I almost got there…but then couldn’t quite push myself over the edge. I really needed W there, demanding that I come, telling me, “One more…”

And then, there he was, in my head, and I heard him the last time I was with him, felt his hand on my throat (fuck that makes me hot), his voice in my ear, “Fuck yourself, do it, one more time, that’s a good girl, come for me, you little cunthole, come because I tell you to…”

And I did, sliding down the wall of the shower, landing in a wet, panting heap on the tiles, wishing I had my camera so I could show him what a good girl I was.

Book tours, wanking & sex toys – oh my!

I have a paper to write.

I have work to do.

I have real writing, ie a blog with some real content, to do.

And all I can think about is my cunt.

This is all Curvaceous Dee‘s fault, and her month-long Wankfest Challenge.  Well, her’s and W’s fault.

I started a spreadsheet, as she did, and sent the link over to W. (Have I mentioned I love Google Docs lately?) Anyway, no I am not publishing mine to all and sundry, mostly because of that aforementioned embarrassment that I can’t seem to shake about masturbation in the first place, but also because I don’t usually read erotica or watch porn to get me off (although seeing as how I am on the Please, Sir: Erotic Stories of Female Submission Virtual Book Tour, there will be at least one day this month that that will change.)  I fantasize almost exclusively, and I am here to say that my fantasies are sometimes a little…raw…even for this space.  So no, I am not sharing them here. But I did share them with W, because he is as nasty as I am (if not more so!) when it comes to the dirty things that get us off, and I knew he’d enjoy.

What I didn’t expect was for him to decide, based on my first two day’s meeting of the challenge, that yes, he is “requiring” me to participate now.


And so now all I can think about is my cunt. And how I am going to get myself off, and what toy I might use, and what dirty thoughts I am going to think while I am doing it and how I no longer get to choose if I am playing or not.  And of course, if I win the “Get Inspire(d)!” contest at Eden Cafe, I’ll have one more toy to choose from.  A new wand to replace Baldy?!? Well, it is purple.

So while I may not get a lot else done, this could be…a lot…of fun.


This weekend W and I played with my two glass plugs that I got from Eden Fantasys awhile ago.  Or I should say that W used them on me–I didn’t really have a choice in the matter and wasn’t a terribly active participant, as I was tied up at the time.

Coincidentally, I had just asked the Twitterverse about buying another glass plug earlier in the week.  I love play with the two I have, but W frequently talks about having me wear one out, and I wasn’t sure they would work for long-term, comfortable wear.  In the end, I chose the large Pure Plug.  W is an industrial guy, and I know he will dig the thought of me being plugged with stainless steel, and my guess is that the steel will prove just as comfortable as the glass, if not more so. Plus the little handle looks like it might be good for tying it in…I don’t know about that, but we’ll see.  I think the experimenting part is going to be just as much fun as the actual using it part.

Sunday morning started out fairly normally…eh, well, make that abnormally, for us anyway. Normally I wake to find W’s hands on me, pushing, pulling, fucking me, or a wrist getting wrapped in rope, or his arm around my throat as he pushes me down and takes me from behind.  This morning we laid in bed and talked and dozed, lazily, just like two vanilla lovers, til after 11am.  It was only when I made to get up that W pushed me over onto my stomach, grabbed one of my wrists, and then the other, and tied them behind my back. Next he tied my ankles together, and I was fairly immobilized: the lamb waiting for slaughter, as it were.

Or the slut waiting for fucking.  Later, he said to me, “I couldn’t just let you sleep all night in my bed and then get up and go in the morning without a good fucking.”

It’s so convenient that he has rope hanging from a rail above his bed, isn’t it?

So I waited, patiently, straining to see/hear what he was doing, as he got up from the bed and rummaged around in his chest of drawers.  I know many of the toys that he has in his drawers, but had forgotten about the plugs. And besides, he is always coming up with something new and…fun…yeah, that’s word…to torture/abuse me with. And sometimes even to pleasure me with. The “fun” part is I never know which it will be, though usually one involves the other.  It’s just the degree of one or the other that I don’t know in advance.

Then he was back, his hands on my ass, opening me, pulling my cheeks apart, exposing me. That was almost as delicious as the feel of his fingers, slick with lube, beginning to probe me. And even more delicious because having my ankles tied in that way, together, so that he had to open my legs, added to the humiliation of it. To feeling like I was just a piece of meat he was manipulating.

Ass play is such a wonderfully quixotic mix of humiliation and pleasure. It is as much headspace as physical sensation, and the act of being opened up, examined, looked at, in that most secret, embarrassing of places, is a huge turn on. It’s making me wet sitting here writing about it.

Or maybe it is the email conversation I am having with W even as I write this, talking about playing with the new steel plug.  Maybe it is thinking about sitting across a restaurant table from him with a pound of stainless steel in my ass, or reading about him telling me about how he will want me to wear it to work on a semi-regular basis, and about how hard it makes him just thinking about it.

How could I ever have let myself fall into that asinine headspace of the past week?  In his bed, bound by his rope, there is only he and I.  No one else and nothing else matters.

And in his bed, tied ankles and wrists, he was soon pushing something smooth and hard against my asshole, and as he pushed it in, past the tight band of muscle at the opening, I first resisted (because I just can’t help myself) and then relented, opening myself to the aching stretch of the cold, hard glass. But that’s what I love about glass, it is so smooth, and once you open yourself to it, it slides in so easily, so deeply, and then settles inside you, warming to your body temperature, like it was meant to be a part of you.

That’s when he used it like it was a part of me.

Honestly I had no idea what he was doing as he did it.  All I felt were his fingers, inside of me, pressing, probing the walls of my cunt, filling me, stretching and pushing on me. At times, I thought he must have pushed the other plug inside my pussy, or perhaps the steel balls he inserts in me at times, I felt so full of non-organic hardness. Later he told me he was using his fingers and hand to press against and roll the butt plug against my flesh, through the thin barrier between my ass and vagina. But at the time, I didn’t care what he was doing, I just wanted more of it.  I wriggled against his hand, moaning; I pressed back against his fingers; I pushed myself to orgasm as he teased and ground his hand into me and against the plug, as he kissed and bit my ass and thighs.  At one point he spread my thighs wide and licked and sucked on my rings and clit from behind.  Finally, when I was completely exhausted, he did push the large plug into my cunt, untied me, and rolled me over against him. I lay there for a few minutes, exhausted, my head still buzzing in that emotional space that being bound and anal sex always puts me.

But he wasn’t done with me yet, or maybe I simply wasn’t done, because the feel of both those plugs in me, filling me impossibly full, heavy and hard inside me, had me whimpering and grinding myself against him again in a sort of mindless, animal need.  I didn’t even think of the consequences: as I started to come, my pussy started to clench around the big plug, and my asshole around the small one and I realized suddenly it was going to hurt like hell, but by then I couldn’t stop it.  All I could think about was those two beautiful pieces of art glass in my ass and my pussy, sealing me closed until W decided to open me up again.

What an exquisite, painful pleasure it was.

I woke with him snuggled into my back, warm and secure. I had been dreaming…  “Let’s grow old together,” I said into the predawn dark. “Let’s do this forever.”

He chuckled, his breath warm against my neck, and squeezed me tight.

“What?” I said.

“You wake up thinking about forever, I wake up thinking about fucking you in the ass when the kids leave.”

Men can be so romantic.

Later, after the kids had gone over to their father’s house, we are alone.  The house is finally quiet again.  I am moving about the front room, straightening up, picking up a stray bow from the couch, putting away the detritus from the day’s festivities.

“Come here,” he calls from the bedroom.

I walk in and find him standing by the bed, tiny candy canes and camera in hand. “We have some pictures to take for W,” he says.

I climb up on the bed and spread my thighs obediently, showing off the new jewelry. A grin spreads across his face as he looks down at my newly pierced labia–I think he, too, was surprised at how much he likes my new rings.  He hands me the candy canes.  The piercings are still new and tender, and he knows it will be easier for me to hook the candy canes in the tiny hoops.

We spend a little while arranging me and the canes, laughing, taking pictures.  Eventually, we are done and I undo myself, carefully, carefully, the piercings more tender now after having been manipulated and moved around.  I start to get up to go wash, but he pushes me back down.  “Not so fast,” he says.

He takes my legs just above the knees in his big hands and pushes my thighs back, opening them and exposing the rings even more. “Such a pretty pussy,” he says. “But it’s your ass I want.  Your beautiful ass, with its dark hole, so tight…”

I am not sure I am ready for this. To have my piercings mashed, to have his body grind into them. But I want him…damn how I want him. I’ve wanted him since I felt the first sharp, pure pain of the needle pushing into my flesh, back there at the piercer’s.  Since that moment I’ve wanted him between my legs, between those piercings, sliding between them into my wet, swollen cuntlips…but I know I can’t have that.  My ass will have to suffice.

He starts out slow, letting me grow accustomed to his size as I begin to stroke my clit.  Ass sex is always a challenge for me…I love it, but it takes some work to get me relaxed and open enough for deep thrusting.  As he begin pushing into me, I start to think about the new toys I finally ordered, and Ad joking with me at the piercer’s when I said that I hoped W wouldn’t mind not being able to fuck me: “You have two more holes, Jade,” he’d said.  “I have a feeling you’ll be getting your ass well-used.”

“Maybe I should rethink this whole piercing thing…!” I’d said. But I didn’t. And now I have these lovely (tender) piercings, and Ad is pushing into my ass and my fingers are relearning how to make myself come with my newly reinserted hood ring. The piercings pull as I rub my clit, but the pain is also pleasure.  And as he gets more excited, as I get more excited, he pushes his weight into me and onto the piercings and the grinding is pleasure and pain as well, and the feel of him, so deep, so thick, in my ass, that is pleasure and pain, too, and I come, finally, gasping, pulling my hand away like I’ve touched fire, because it kinda feels like that, now.

“Be gentle on them,” the piercer said, “they’ll heal faster.”  Uh-huh. She doesn’t know me very well, does she?

A Stretch: Do I Have to Choose Just ONE?

So most of you know that I write articles on poly relationships and kink here and there on Eden Cafe (if you’re not aware, you can check out a list of the stuff I’ve written here.) While it’s not a paying gig (at least in “real” dollars), I do get some remuneration: I get paid in Eden Fantasys gift cards.

I’ve never been one to buy a lot of sex toys. My ex and I went through a brief period where we bought a dildo, my beloved Hitachi, a set of anal beads, but most of the toys we’ve purchased have been of the whips & rope variety, or toys that would lend themselves well to that kind of play.

Even after I left him, I didn’t go in for a lot of toys, although occasionally I went crazy and bought a whole slew of things just to see what they were like (reading others’ blogs and reviews actually instigated a lot of that. I’d never known there was such variety and joy to be had!)  So I’ve wound up with a couple different, yummy, g-spot stimulators, a clit vibrator that I don’t love (I’m pretty well sold on Baldy) and some other miscellaneous things that we use occasionally. Part of the reason I didn’t buy sex toys was, honestly, that spending money (sometimes a lot of money) on toys to enhance my sex life never seemed all that imperative. Let’s face it, I have a pretty fucking awesome sex life as it is. If I’ve got extra cash, it’s gonna be spent on shoes, okay?

Then, suddenly, I started getting these gift cards in the mail. For doing what I already love to do. And they can only be spent on…sex stuff. Toys, lingerie, etc. There was a moment when I got my first one that I thought, “It’s a shame this isn’t a more generic card, because then I could, you know, spend it at Target or something, for stuff I really need.” And then I did one of those mental headslaps.  “Hey, dummie! Here you have the opportunity to buy stuff you never thought about buying because you didn’t want to waste the money…  Duh.” And I was off.  It was like a whole nuther world had opened up.

My first purchases were two glass buttplugs, which I may have mentioned a time or two, like here and here.  And oh yummy, I love those buttplugs.  I love that I can wear them for extended periods of time (a few hours, at least) and not feel the acute discomfort that I did with the other sort…those rubberized or latex or whatever material they were.  Ouch and ick!

And lately I’ve been contemplating buying a stainless steel one, the Pfun Plug or possibly a Pure Plug, but, well, I am notorious for being unable to make up my mind, so I haven’t purchased either yet.

But then, the other day, while poking around there, I ran across these gigantic dildos, huge, molded-from-real-men’s-cocks dildos, and I was like…oh my god. Yummm.

And yikes!  These things are HUGE!  But, I started fantasizing.  Fantasizing about being stretched wide, filled up, pulled open, stuffed by a huge cock-shaped dildo.  Ass and cunt.

This isn’t a new thought for me.  A long, long time ago, when I first started exploring kink online, I started emailing this chick and her Dom. On her AFF profile she stated that he liked to insert large objects inside her, stretch her out, fill her as full as possible.  At the time I pretended (to myself, because I wasn’t yet ready to face my own desires) that that wasn’t why I was attracted to her profile, or why I had messaged her.  I never did meet with her, but from time to time (okay, more often than that) my mind has drifted (oftentimes while my hand is drifting downwards) to images of women with their legs spread open, often forcibly, as huge things are shoved into their cunts.

And then one day W told me about this guy he knows, that he calls “The Tool,” who has a gigantic cock, and who he’d like to have fuck me, impersonally, just use my holes as W tells him to do.

Yowza.  More fuel for my fantasy-head.

The John Holmes: Length: 13" Insertable length: 10" Circumference: 8" Diameter: 2 1/2" Weight: 2 lb (!)

Anyway. Now I am trying to decide if I should buy one of these dildos instead. And if so, which one? Do I start out smaller and work my way up? But they are expensive, so it may be awhile before I could buy the next size up.  Course, who knows if I can even take a “small” one. And am I more turned on my length, or girth? Does it matter if it looks like a real cock–do I even want it to look like a real cock?  Ad laughed when I was looking at them, because the ones that are “named” are more expensive than the generics. “Do you really have to buy a dildo named after John Holmes?”

Um, no, I could fuck “Bam” apparently, whoever that is.

"Bam": Length: 13" Insertable length: 10" Circumference: 8 1/2" Diameter: 2 3/4"

Or maybe even (Good lord) Ty Fox’s huge cock (three pounds o’cock!).

"Ty": Length: Insertable length: 8" Circumference: 7 1/2" Diameter: 2 1/2" Weight: 3 lb

I wonder if other women, while they are fucking themselves with one of these, or being fucked with one of these, is saying, “Fuck me, Ty! Fuck me!”  (And would I?)

Of course there are always the generic ones, as Ad pointed out. Poor little…er…giant cocks, with no name! As is the  case of this somewhat smaller but still impressive dildo called the “Realistic Cock.” Kinda sad not to have a name, huh? But still, a nice-looking piece o’cockmeat, if you go for that sort of thing (looking realistic.)

The Generic: Length: 9" Insertable length: 8" Circumference: 6 1/4" Diameter: 2"

I can’t decide if the wrinkly balls on these gak me out, or if I’d care.  I mean, I like my Guys’ balls…but rubberized ones? Cut in half the way they are?  I dunno.

If I was going for length rather than girth (which I think I might if it was going to be an anal toy), there’s always this beauty.  Not quite as fat as ole JH’s, but still respectable.

"Kevin Dean": Length: 13" Insertable length: 9 3/4" Circumference: 7" Diameter: 2 1/4"
"Kevin Dean": Length: 13" Insertable length: 9 3/4" Circumference: 7" Diameter: 2 1/4"

And last but not least, what about non-realistic (at least in color) dildoes? Like this little – er, not-so-little – number? This one is smaller comparatively. And obviously, I am doing my comparison shopping here.

Crystal Jelly: Length: 9"  Insertable length: 7 1/2" Circumference: 6" Diameter: 1 7/8" Weight: 1.5 lb
Crystal Jelly: Length: 9" Insertable length: 7 1/2" Circumference: 6" Diameter: 1 7/8" Weight: 1.5 lb

And this, my friends, is why I can’t make a decision to save my life. (And possibly why I like to sleep around.) There’s just too much variety out there. Too much to choose from. How can a girl choose just one??

Halloween Treats

If the first half of my Halloween weekend was mostly tricks–canes and spankings and rope–the second half of Halloween was all about Treats. With a few tricks thrown in for good measure, of course–he wouldn’t be The Mean Guy without tricks, now would he?

First, a treat for you: pics W just sent me of the stocks scene and me tied to the chair.

Yeppers, that's my SO in a kilt-can you say "yumm"?
Isn't the new floor pretty?

There are actually a few more pictures, one showing the pretty glass buttplug quite clearly, and the other illustrating quite well my entreaty to W for the cunt clamp–hands and legs open. But I don’t think I’ll post those here.  You’ll have to look for them later on Bondage Demons.

So okay, where did I leave off?  Oh yes. Me, on the floor, in stocks, a 2 inch buttplug in my ass.

First of all, I love a buttplug once it’s in there. Nice and full, with that feeling of being stretched, and the glass ones are heavy, an unexpectedly delightful feeling. It’s just the getting -in-there part that sucks.

Only, if I’m being honest, that part doesn’t actually suck either. There’s that edge, that feeling of being forced, of having him leaning on me, holding me down, pinning my body in place with his. What a deliciously helpless feeling that is! His body so heavy on mine, the feel of him on me so confining, and I fight without meaning to, my head wanting to comply, but my body responding, resisting, of it’s own accord, until my mind begins to follow suit and I feel that incipient panic that being pinned always generates.  And then it’s a mind game, in which I am trying to calm myself inside as well as out, and all the while I am telling myself, “submit, submit, do as he wants, open for him,” as he twists and pushes the plug inside of me, not shoving, nothing as harsh as that, but inexorably working it into me, his voice in my ear by turns cajoling and telling me that I will do what he wants, one way or another. And of course I will.  I always do, in the end.

What followed was playtime. I have (again) very little recollection of the particulars, but I do have an amazingly telling picture of Ad sitting in a chair, watching me. I don’t appear to be doing anything, being in the stocks as I am, but he just has this lovely, bemused expression on his face.  Here, I’ll show you.

Well okay, you can’t quite catch his expression, but trust me, he’s got that little quirk to his mouth that he gets when he’s laughing at me. Not that he would ever laugh at me. (Right?!)

Just another evening at W's...girls in stocks, ropes everywhere...

I think what was going on was that I had decided, for some strange reason, that since I had lost a lot of weight since W had first fitted the stocks to me, if I just pulled/twisted hard enough, I’d be able to get loose. And pull and twist and try I did…  Apparently my wrists hadn’t lost any weight, nor had my ankles, because I never got loose. It was when I landed on my back at one point that W came out of watching/photographing mode and decided that I was obviously begging him for the cunt clamp.

Oh my. To say I love the cunt clamp is a serious understatement. I love the cunt clamp. It clamps down tight, but broadly on my lips, with the smooth, wooden hook inserted deep into my hole, the hooked end curling under like loving fingers pressing into my g-spot. Did I say I love it?

So yeah, I am quite sure my body was begging for it, even before it knew it was an option.

By the time it’s in, and on, I am panting, wriggling, grinding myself onto it as far as the stocks will allow.  It’s a little different, though.  With the buttplug inside of me, with it so large inside of me, I can feel both toys pressing against each other.  I am incredibly full.  It nearly drives me out of my head.  And then, oh my god, it starts to happen, the first wave of orgasm starts to crash over me. I feel my body beginning to tighten convulsively as the orgasm rolls through me–and suddenly it is not just acute pleasure, but pain too, as my asshole contracts around the hard, unyielding–large, huge, gigantic–buttplug.

Does that really make a difference, you ask? Um, yeah. It does.  And I can’t do a thing about it (ever tried to stop an orgasm in the middle of it?) It rolls through me, torturing me even as it pleasures me.  Such exquisite pleasure/pain! And I couldn’t help myself, I couldn’t stop it. Domination by orgasm.

And all the while, the boys are not having to do a thing to me.  They are just sitting back, watching the show.

At some point, my shoes came off. Now if you have followed my tales of W and I, you know what a shoe slut the man is. Not having heels on is not okay. But, he’s also a very flexible man, and when presented an opportunity…well, he can adapt with the best of them.

He took a cane to my feet.  Since they were bare and all.

Guess there were some tricks left for me after all.

HNT & Writing

I almost forgot!  I have a new HNT up over on A Poly Life.  One of the many reasons I love to run…and wear 5 inch heels…

Oh!  And another piece of writing on Eden Cafe: So You Want to Go to a Kink Convention, a primer for newcomers to all the kinky fun that can be had at a big kink event.

I’ve been having so much fun writing for them, and now I’ve saved up enough writing dinero to get a new toy!  I’ve been having lovely fun with my glass buttplugs, but I am thinking of trying some stainless steel. Not the least reason of which is that, as ya’ll know, W likes an Industrial Girl, and what could be more industrial than having stainless steel shoved up your ass?  Pfun or Pure Plug, which should I choose?

Too bad they don’t carry anal hooks.

Late to Work

I was late to work this morning because I had to go reinsert the buttplug that Ad put in me this morning. After a rocking orgasm with it in and a trip up the stairs, it wasn’t seated quite so firmly in the place it was supposed to be. (“Seated”, heh, I’m such a riot.)  Ad had a shit-eating grin watching me traipse into the bathroom & back out, properly re-plugged.

This is why I love the synchronicity of my life. Yesterday W and I chatted about the joy he and Ad had using the glass plugs on me this past weekend.  I commented that  I’d be happy to wear it to work any time he wanted.  He suggested that today would be a good day. The plugs live at Ad’s & my house, so when I told Ad that I was going to have to wear it to work, he grinned and said, “Oh I think we can arrange that…” And arrange it he did. Complete with pictures to send to W.

Secretary 022

Secretary 030