Tie(me) Me in the Bath

Tie(me) Me in the Bath

I said, “Time me in the bath.”

He heard: “Tie me in the bath.”

Wonder what was on his mind?

I am signed up to do a 5 minute reading of my writing at the Erotic Heritage Museum in Las Vegas in conjunction with the Erotic Authors Association conference “Sex in Sin City” that I’ll be attending next week.  I’m nervous, and also, I needed to read my story, “Switch” from the anthology Orgasmic, in order to find out how much I could read in five minutes.

I guess he wanted to be sure I stayed put long enough to finish the reading.

Wank Wednesday – Journal

It’s late, and I am late getting this posted, and I am not even sure if the story makes sense, nor how “erotic” it really is. But it came to me all of a whole, vomiting out of me in a rush this past hour, so I figured what the heck. Following is my submission to Wank Wednesday‘s writing prompt: journal.

I hope you enjoy!

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Maya paused in the act of pushing the box aside into the “trash” pile and looked closer at the papers stacked in the bottom.  Old bills, receipts, and magazines, she’d thought. The detritus of a world, a life, long gone. One she was finally putting behind her with the sale of the house.

She found the journal under the papers.  It had been the edge of it that had caught her eye, that specific and particular shade of robin’s egg blue that she remembered, even now, almost ten years later. Hand on the book’s binding, she hesitated.

Better to leave it, let it go, discard it with the rest.

Her hand closed around it and she drew it out of the box.

She stared at it, wondering what she would find there; knowing what she would find there.  The ramblings of a young woman wildly in love–with someone other than her husband.

How had she allowed this evidence to exist? How had she not destroyed it? Clutching the book to her chest, she left the box and other trash where she’d piled it and backed out of the trap door and down the stairs from the attic.

In her old bedroom, the bedroom she’d shared with Matt, she sat down in the tatty lounger in its corner of the room.  It was sunny in that corner at this time of the afternoon, and in the past it had been a favorite place for her to curl up with a book. Matt had despised the chair, but she’d loved it, with her memories of reading in it when she was 10 or 12, and then making out in it in her father’s living room when she was 15.  She’d lost her virginity in that chair, too, though she’d never told Matt that.

And later, at twenty-two, two years into her marriage to Matt, she’d made love to Henry for the first time there.  Somehow, making love in that chair had seemed a lesser betrayal than if she had taken Henry to the bed she shared with Matt.

Now, settling into the chair, memories tumbled over themselves in their eagerness for her attention. Henry’s dark eyes and quick, easy smile. His hands, so much larger and rougher than Matt’s surgeon’s hands, and yet, so much gentler, holding her, touching her far more delicately than Matt’s ever had.  His hands had discovered her, comprehending her body afresh, every time he touched her.

She remembered his soft gasp of pleasure the first time he had touched her breasts, right there in that chair, on just such an afternoon.  The warmth of his mouth, suckling first one large, dark nipple and then the other.  How she had looked down at the crown of his head, shining in the filtered light, and thought that they would never part.  That she had made a mistake in her marriage to Matt, but that it could be undone. It could be fixed.  Yes, it would hurt, but Matt was still young.  He would find someone to love him better than she ever had.

She remembered how Henry had pushed her back and undressed her, slowly, savoring every bit of her that his hands revealed, his mouth soft and warm, quick or slow, kissing, licking and nibbling every inch of skin as it was revealed.  She remembered the hardness of his shoulders, so broad, the muscles of his biceps ropey and thick, his lovely olive skin and the wonderful thick pelt of dark hair on his arms and chest, so unlike Matt’s slender frame and pale, nearly hairless skin.

And when, finally, she had lain naked before him and he had gazed down at her, there was a reverence in his eyes that Matt had never shown.  To Matt, she was just another piece of the life he was supposed to have. The wife, the house, the career.  Soon, the children.  Or so they had hoped. To Henry, she was everything he had dreamed of, hoped for, desired.

Maya’s hand stroked the arms of the chair.  She could still feel the roughness of the wool plaid beneath her back as Henry had thrust into her, pushing her against it.  She could still feel her body opening to him, accepting him into her, wet and eager for him, as it had never been for Matt.  She heard their mutual cries of pleasure, smelled the musky odor of their arousal, felt the heat once again, in her belly, between her legs.

Clutching the journal tighter to her chest, she rocked back and forth, so caught up in those memories that she didn’t hear the sound of footsteps until she felt the hand on her shoulder.

“Mom?”

Maya started and opened her eyes. Her seven year old daughter, Hannah, stood next to her chair, a concerned look in her dark eyes. One hand nervously twisted a strand of long, dark hair. “Are you okay?”

Maya smiled quickly and brushed hand over her eyes.  “Of course, sweetheart,” she said.  “I was just…remembering.”

Hannah nodded solemnly. She hadn’t been old enough to remember Matt before he had succumbed to the lung cancer that had come on so suddenly, taking him when she was barely two years old, but she had been the joy of his life.  A joy that Maya would never have taken from him, no matter how wrong it had been to lie to him, to Henry, and to Hannah herself.

But now…

Maya looked down at the journal in her hands.

Perhaps the past could not be so easily thrown away as all that.

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See the rest of the Wank Wednesday story submissions here:

Rope as Foreplay

I had a sleepless night last night, but in the end it was worthwhile: I finished the edits on a story I’ve been working on with an editor and got an acceptance letter this morning. It was the first time I’ve been asked to revise a story for publication.  Always before I have had simple rejections or acceptances, with the occasional, “We really like this story, but it’s not quite right for this anthology,” type rejection (one of which, “Are You Gonna Be My Girl,” I revised on my own and submitted elsewhere, where it was accepted.) Although I know a lot of writers that despise making editor-requested revisions (or refuse to do so) it was an interesting exercise for me, and in the end I think I got a better story out of it. The thing it highlighted for me was how differently I perceive rope than might the average reader.

For me, the rope itself is foreplay.  When he touches me with his rope, he is touching me with his hands, with his power, with his desire. I feel it right to my marrow. Anymore, just the scent of the hemp rope is enough to make me wet;  the sight of him picking up a piece of rope, uncoiling it, running it through his hands, makes my breath start to come quick and my pulse race.  And he hasn’t even laid a hand on me. It is intensely erotic, and for me, in writing a story about a woman and a man and a piece of rope–even if they are not engaging in overtly sexual acts–I am writing about them having sex. Because that is how I, personally respond to rope.

My story had a slow, erotic build-up to a sex scene at the end. The eroticism was derived from her reactions to the rope that bound her wrists, as opposed to anything he did sexually to her while she was bound. In fact, in its first incarnation, I deliberately made him not touch her in an overtly sexual way. The fact that he didn’t was erotic (and frustrating) to her, just as it would be to me. I’d be on fire, feeling the rope, knowing what could happen, waiting and anticipating.  It would be–and is–a delicious agony, as I wait for what I know must come (in my case either pleasure or pain.)  My story was a subtle attempt to highlight this, and, as such, for another ropeslut such as me, it would probably be highly effective.  But as “mainstream” erotica dealing with power dynamics in relationships, it didn’t convey the sexual punch that the editor was looking for.

“More sex,” was basically what I was told. I was a little nonplussed by that at first. What? The entire story is one long sex scene!  But then I went back and reread it.  Objectively.  And I saw exactly what she was saying.

This is my reality. The picture below is of a scene we did that, on the surface, seems…static maybe.

And for the first half hour-ish, this was all that happened. Well okay, he started out by making me sit at his feet while he sat in a chair, and suck his cock while he tied my wrists to my upper arms, first one, then the other, all the while pushing my head down on his cock whenever I came up for breath.  But when he put me on the floor, that is exactly how I stayed.

What you don’t see is me writhing, not fighting the ropes, but to grind my cunt against the floor.  Opening and closing my legs as far as the ropes would allow, thrusting and pushing as waves of heat and lust washed over me.  The smell and feel of the rope was intoxicating, but it was the sound of the rope hitting the floor behind me, as W coiled and uncoiled it, the thumps of it on the hard wood, that sent shudders through me.

By the time we got around to this part:

I was already so worked up I could have come if he’d blown air on me.  I burned, with anticipation, with frustration, with the need to feel his hands on my skin, my ass, my cunt–and with the uncertainty of what exactly he was going to do.

As it was, sitting on me backwards, grinding my nipple collars into the floor, and mauling my ass, shoving his fingers inside me and in general handling me like a piece of meat, did the trick quite well.  But the point is, I am almost convinced that given enough time to squirm on the floor, I could have come without him touching me at all. I was that aroused just by the feel, sound and scent of his rope on me.

In any case, I went back and revised my story, adding in some actual foreplay, and using orgasm control and denial as the vehicle by which I highlighted her building anticipation and frustration.  And really? For the average reader, I think it works better.

But for me…for me sometimes the rope is foreplay enough.

Wanton Wednesday – NaNoWriMo Edition

This month is NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month.) What is NaNoWriMo, you may ask? It is the insane yearly challenge by hundreds of thousands of writers around the world to write 50,000 words in one month.  I have been participating for years (though never winning) and for the past several years my daughter has been participating as well.  This year, that has presented some unique challenges, as I am writing a kinky erotica novel, and don’t really want to share that part with her. So…she thinks I am writing a fantasy.  Well I am, in a way–a fantasy about being made to perform as a sex slave, though.  Not the sword and sorcery kind of fantasy.

In any case, if you are participating, find me on the website and add me as a buddy!  My name is MaybeJade on there, same as on my Fetlife profile.

So, without further ado, and in honor of NaNoWriMo, I present some pictures of one time W decided to put me in the cage to make me write.

Of course what he wanted me to write was my list of men I’ve had sex with.

This is me, being a good WriterGirl.

 

This is what I *actually* do (a lot) when I'm supposed to be writing.

 

This is what he *made* me do, since I wasn't writing.

That red thing in the corner? That’s the lid of The Mason Jar.  You can’t see the rest of it, but if you read the post, you might be able to guess where it is.

 

What else he made me do in the cage...

~click-thru for my favorite thing to in the cage~

Happy Wanton Wednesday!

Be sure to check out the rest of the wantonness by clicking below!

Orgasmic Reviewed

Sometimes I really love Facebook.  Not always, and in fact I haven’t quite got the “hang” of using it, but occasionally it lets me know when something cool has happened or is happening…

Cleis Press there posted about a review in Dirty Sexy Books that was done on Orgasmic, one of the two erotica anthologies that I was published in this year.  No, I didn’t get a mention in the review, but it’s a damn good review none-the-less! So go on, check out the review, and if you haven’t picked up your copy of the book–do it! ;-)

Lesbian Lust has arrived!

As I mentioned, I have had two stories published this year, one in Orgasmic, edited by Rachel Bussel Kramer and one in an anthology called Lesbian Lust. Both are published by Cleis Press and available on Amazon.com.  You can find Lesbian Lust at the Cleis Press website as well.  My story in Lesbian Lust, “Are You Gonna Be My Girl” is published under the name Jade Melisande.  (My story in Orgasmic is called “Switch,” written under the same name.)  If you have been following me since the beginning, you will probably recognize the genesis of the first in my writings and yearnings for J, and in fact it was directly inspired by a piece of writing (of the same name) that I wrote in Pieces of Jade about her.

So go buy them already!  Seriously!  Besides my own stories, you’ll find many more tales of sweet, hot lust…and who doesn’t want to read about sweet, hot lust?

I'm feeling Orgasmic

It’s almost on the shelves!  I am due to have copies of one of the two anthologies I was published in this year any day now! You can read about Orgasmic, published by Cleis Press, at Rachel Kramer Bussel‘s Orgasmic Book blog.

Rachel has indicated that she has free copies to send to people that will review it on Amazon.com. From her email:

“Also, I have free copies to send to those who will review it on
Amazon.com (I ask people to post their reviews within a month) – this
is a great way to give friends your work for free and get them to plug
it. If you know of anyone in the US who has an Amazon.com account (you
have to have made a purchase there previously) and would like to
review it, have them email me here with their mailing address, or you
can pass it on. This is a real help to me in getting people who might
be on the fence to buy the book so if you think of anyone, please let
them know about this opportunity.

You can reach Rachel to receive a copy of the book to review by emailing: orgasmicantho at gmail dot com with your contact/mailing information, or let me know either by commenting here or emailing me at: piecesofjade at gmail dot com.

Rachel has also lined up several writers to read from their stories at the October 21st In The Flesh Reading Series Orgasm Night in NYC (http://www.inthefleshreadingseries.com). If you’re in the area, definitely stop by there to hear the writers reading from their own works.

My story, by the way, is called “Switch,” and is written under the name Jade Melisande.

I’m so excited and can’t wait to see my writing in print again!

The other anthology, Lesbian Lust, is due to hit my mailbox soon as well–hopefully I will have more information to post about it soon.

e[lust] #16


Photo courtesy of Janie

Welcome to e[lust] – Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #17? Start with the rules, check out the schedule in the site’s sidebar and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Sex Pistil’s Guide to Sucking Great Cock The penis is not something to be feared. It’s not something to hide from, and it’s definitely not something to be put up with the good china and used for special occasions only. The penis is alive and breathing, so to speak, and as such, is not a one-size-fits-all, if-one-guy-likes-it, all-guys-like-it kind of entity.

An Erotic Vignette –  “You will come, and when you do, you will yell my name. Because I own you.” “No,” she whispered again, terrified. The last part of herself… total control over her pleasure, the responses of her body… surely he couldn’t… but his eyes said he could.

Dual Erotica: TahoeWe finally reach our floor and excitement wars with nervousness in my head. After all, it’s been a long, long time for me. I don’t have the body I once had; I’m not nearly as experienced as you are. But there is no turning back, not that I want to

~ e[lust] Editress ~

Does Size Matter? I am most definitely a size queen when it comes to my sex toys…but there’s a reason for that. Using a dildo is very VERY different from how I get fucked by a guy.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

I Want It AllGender (identity) is different to (biological) sex. Biologically there are males and females, and those who identify as neither (intersex). But it’s sure as hell not that simple, no matter what society says.

See also: Pleasurists #80 and #81 for all your sex toy review needs.

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Along OUR Beating Path
Bringing Sexy Back
Equality
Fear (No Loathing) in Las Vegas
Getting Started in Swinging – Clubs
I’m a woman, and I like porn.
M says I’m a good girl!
Nerves & Dysfunction – Erectile Issues in the Lifestyle
Revelations (Of the Feminist and Slut Kind)
Sex Addiction
Submission is not an excuse to be Spineless!
Semi-Rape – Couldn’t Say No
Toys Vs. Cocks
Transtastic: On Why My Relationships are Queer
Words, Words, Words

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Sex Ed
The Uncensored Realm of Internet Erotica

Kink & Fetish

67 orgasms will do this to a woman
Bless Me Father… For I Keep Sinning
Carnival
Can I?
Life List: TortureGarden Party…check
Three is a Magic Number – Part 1

Erotic Writing

#8 – Sharing is Caring
Alone
A Gracious Acceptance
disrobing
Erotica: Like This
Gagging her…
Homecoming
I Opened My Eyes
Kiss
Love, Sex And The Snooze-Button
Not Now
Phone Threesome
Remember…?
sex is sex no matter the sex
sexy photoshoot – part II
The Customer
Tall Summer Grass
The cave of unimaginable sincerity and beauty
Very Far from Heaven
With heels on

How We Got Kinky – Part 2

New post up at Eden Cafe, the continued (true) story: One Couple’s Journey into Kink:

How does a Top with no experience become a Top? What resources were there for someone that wants to learn to Dominate another human being? I didn’t have a clue. More than that, I didn’t have a clue if he’d even want to. But I had a challenge of my own: how to tell my husband that his wife liked kinky sex…

Read more at Eden Cafe.


How we got kinky

My friend Julian asked me once about my journey into kink.   I’ve decided to turn that into a so-far-two, but possibly-multiple, part series over on Eden Cafe. The first part, “One Vanilla Couple’s Journey Into Kink, or, How I Turned My (Ex)Husband Into A Pervert” is up over there now:

“My ex-husband and I were the most normal, vanilla couple you could ever meet. Married 10+ years, three kids, two cars, house in the suburbs, sex on Saturday nights. We didn’t fight, or drink, or do drugs. No wild parties, no clanking skeletons in our closets.

It was boring.”

Go on, have a read. Check out how I went from normal suburban mom to freaky-kinky me, in three easy steps. Well, maybe more than three. But anyway.  It’s all there. At least Part One is.