Sinful Sunday: Nude in the Sun

One of my favourite paintings is Renoir’s “Nude in the Sun”. I love this image, with the lovely model’s skin dappled by the shade of trees, and glowing in the sun, for some of the same reasons.(Though in most respects except for the light and shade on the model’s body they’re nothing alike.)

It’s not just that she’s a beautiful woman, it’s that she makes the whole place, the setting, beautiful.

 

E{lust} 118: The bonds of love

Elust 118 Header of My controlled ascent

Photo courtesy of My Controlled Ascent

Welcome to Elust 118

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #119? Start with the rules, come back June 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

I have daddy issues

Processing Emotions about Polyamory

Mirror Masturbation

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

V is for view

Not Alone

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Negotiating “NO”

 

Body Talk and Sexual Health

Tension

Erotic Non-Fiction

BDSM for Beginners
My first time being co-topped
The power of touch

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Hear My Confession
Avengers Assemble
#30DayOrgasmFun: Tapping Out

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

How I Started Moving Past Old Hurts
#AtoZChallenge -X is for XXX
Vanilla date #1: Incompatible-Awesome
Confessions of an unruly slave

Writing About Writing

Relying on Email More Than Social Media

Erotic Fiction

His turn in the shower
Sharp Beauty
Double Your Pleasure, Double Your Fun
Oxana, With Love
Sixty Nine Steps
Glorious garden fuck
Actually, that’s what the dog-whip is for

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Don’t ask us to watch you wank for free.

 

Elust

Wicked Wednesday: The shoplifter’s mother 3

Claire was sobbing, overcome by guilt because her husband had abandoned her and her daughter. I got up, and walked over to take her hand. “Claire. Mrs O’Donnell, I doubt very much that you did anything wrong. He walked out on his family. He found a new, more gullible woman. Or he just ran away from his responsibilities. Please know this: it isn’t your fault.”

“But it is! I fucked– I fucked– His friend. I was lonely. I just wanted to be touched, and held. I wanted, well, a man. And he found out about it! Of course he disappeared!”

I took a guess. “But … hadn’t he already left you, when that happened?”

“Yes, of course. But I shouldn’t have! I ruined everything.”

“Claire. If he left you, he has no say on your life. That includes whether you have sex, and who you have sex with. He had no say in that at all. And if he disappeared when he found out you were having sex, that’s absolutely not your fault. It’s not your doing at all”

Claire shook her head. She was still sobbing. “Yes, he’d left me. But he disappeared completely when he found out!”

“Claire, he might have used it as an excuse, but he went missing because he didn’t care enough about his daughter. Or about his other responsibilities. One sexual incident, I mean one fuck, doesn’t cancel that out.”

Though she shook with emotion, she spoke firmly. “I ruined my daughter’s relationship with her father. I ruined everything. She was doing these stupid things because she was upset. She loved her Daddy. I deserve that public caning more than she does.”

“No. She might be upset, but that’s not a license to steal. I’m sorry, but if we find she shoplifted, we’ll cane her. That’s decided. Not you.”

“I was thoughtless.”

“Claire, you were lonely. You’re human.”

“You should punish me.”

“I’m sorry, but if Tara shoplifted she’ll have to pay for that, and she will. You have done nothing wrong. At all. You’re absolutely not at fault, and I’m not going to punish you.”

Claire sniffed, loudly. When she looked up at me, her face streamed with tears.

“Please.”

Masturbation Monday: Masturbation, on a Monday 2

Ngaire’s fingers touched the grooves between her plump labial lips and her inner thighs, and she gasped. 

She said, spitting out the words in short bursts as she squeezed her lips, lightly hen hard, with her fingers and thumbs. “Tell me. About fucking me. Up the arse.” 

She pressed one finger between her lips, now soft and puffy, and pressed downwards. Inwards. Freddie said, “Uh.” He was reacting to her actions, or trying to think of a story.

Ngaire didn’t care which. She put a second finger into her cunt, her two middle fingers, and let them enter all the way. Her palm pressed hard against her cunt. Freddie said, “I walk into your room. You look like you’re asleep. On your stomach. Your ass is up. You are so beautiful. I smack your ass lightly, because I can’t not, and anyway I know you’re only pretending to be asleep.” 

The fingers inside her hooked, to press upwards at spongy skin. She’d once fucked a doctor, who’d told her that spongelike skin was called the anterior vaginal wall. 

It had seemed incongruous; such a technical name for something so live and blooming. She grunted, raising her arse slightly from the bed. Still, men who know words like “anterior vaginal wall” make better lovers. Probably. She wanted to ask Freddie if he knew. But she couldn’t form or speak the necessary words now. 

“I take lube, that lube right there in fact, from beside your bed, and I pour some into the cleft of your ass, so it starts to run down to your little opening. I press my hand against your cunt while you feel the lube running down, and the first drops find your asshole, and gather there. It feels so innocent, but you know it’s to make it easier for you to take my cock.”  

The words reached her. She imagined that, that first entry, not by him but by oil. He probably wouldn’t guess she hadn’t had a cock in her arse before. She’d have to tell him. He’d be all blokey and proud about it, which would be annoying, but he needed to know: “be gentle with me!” She felt the muscles in her legs tautening, and she pressed her palm harder against her sweet, god, so alive, clitoris. She fucked herself harder and faster with her fingers. 

“I lube my forefinger so it’s nice and slippery, and then I slip it into your ass. You’re so tight, and I love thinking about how you’ll feel, those muscles round my cock. We’ll fit so well, my honey, beautiful Ngaire, you on your hands and knees, me covering you, my cock sliding slowly into your asshole.”

Ngaire grunted. Her mouth had opened, though she couldn’t speak, and she felt her stomach muscles tighten. Something was building. Inside her. She brought in her left hand, to rub against her clitoris while her right hand finger-fucked herself. She felt herself slowly fall back to the bed.  

“But you admit me easily, no qualm, no pain, all the way to the first knuckle. Then I press deeper, to the second knuckle. I move my finger inside you, to let you strip lube off it, and slowly withdraw. I put more lube onto my fingers. And I lean down and kiss your sweet ass. I can’t help that, any more than I can help smacking it. Then you feel two fingers at your entrance, slowly pressing, and you suddenly give, you give yourself to me, letting me in. And -“

But Ngaire had rediscovered the power of speech. She said, “Jofff! Ah! Fuuuuck! Fuck! Fuck me!” And that power that had been building inside her burst, from somewhere between her belly and the small of her back. A wave of pleasure and power took her. Shook her. Her face and throat in rictus. She screamed. Oh fuck.

She didn’t stop working at herself, her cunt. She screamed again. And then, a few frantic seconds later, again. She looked up at last, almost embarrassed, to see what Freddie thought.

He was still in his seat, but leaning forward. His face seemed fierce and gentle, at once. He’d been moved. Then he came forward, onto the bed, his body between her thighs, now fallen, spread and relaxed. He kissed her cunt. As though he was in love with it. He babbled, “Good girl, good girl, good girl, oh good girl…”  

Ngaire put her hand, smeared and wet with her own fluids, on the back of his head. 

Sinful Sunday: Sleeping in sideways socks

A slave girl can too get a moment’s peace. And when she’s tired because you made her tired, and she sleeps because you made her calm and safe, a Dom’s heart gets all warm and gooey. It’s just how it is. 

But there’s something about those socks with the horizontal stripes. I’m not sure why this is so strongly true, but sideways socks are sinfully sexy. On… Sunday.

 

 

 

Wicked Wednesday: Her daughter’s punishment 2

Claire had just agreed that her daughter, Tara, would be caned in front of the school, probably naked. Her consent wasn’t actually necessary, since it was a school matter, but it was good to have it. 

I said, “I’m glad I’ve got your support. This hasn’t happened in this school before. Well, I’m sure it has, but not while I’ve been here. But it has at other schools I’ve taught in. And parental support does help to get the best outcome for the student concerned. You won’t be allowed in the assembly…”

“Thank god. I’d have to watch her take her caning if I was allowed in, but I’m glad I don’t have to.”

“You can wait in my office while Tara is punished. Afterwards she’ll put the robe back on and we’ll take her straight to you. Her clothes will be here too, so you can help her dress. She’ll have the rest of the day off.”

“Thank you.”

“I think it’ll be a time when she really needs her mother’s support and love.”

She smiled a little sadly. “I love the poor girl. But she hasn’t thought she needs anything from me for some time.”

“She will need you then, and she’ll know it. If you think you need another day with Tara, to re-establish the connection between you, take it. But I expect her back after two days. She should return to ordinary, everyday life as quickly as possible.”

Claire un-crossed her legs and crossed them the other way. “Thank you, sir.”

Then she noticed she’d called me ‘sir’, and looked briefly flustered. “I shouldn’t say this, considering my daughter is about to undergo an ordeal, at least from her point of view. But this is all a great weight off my mind.”

I said, “I’m sorry, Mrs O’Donnell, but I do need to know a little more about what happened and why. When did Tara start acting out?”

“It was after my husband left. That was two years ago. Tara was upset at the time, and then she started to accept it. Or I thought that she had. But now she thinks it’s my fault  that she doesn’t have a father.”

“Doesn’t he visit? Or have her to visit him?”

“He’s gone. He just disappeared one day, as far as I know. I had no warning, and no new address. And he stopped sending money. I don’t know what I did to make him leave me. I don’t know how I fucked it all up.” Now she was crying again. As she shook, the crying became wilder. She was sobbing, distraught. “Fucked it up for me. And … for Tara.”

Masturbation Monday: Masturbation, on a Monday

Ngaire lay naked on her own bed. She had her thighs wide, and her own fingers, no toys, in her cunt. Her thigh muscles and her stomach muscles were taut. She was getting close. Her mouth opened, though she didn’t want to risk waking Melinda, her daughter, asleep – she hoped – in the next room. But she moaned, and then, when a fresh wave of pleasure took her, hard like a punch in her stomach, she grunted.  

Freddie had been lying beside her, but now he sat in her chair at the end of the bed, watching her.

An hour ago they’d lain together, having fucked more less continuously through their evening, and then, some time in the early morning, they’d lain, happy and relaxed with the other. Ngaire had stroked his cock lightly. It was down to semi-hard, and wet with her own fluids. She ran a finger nail along the underside of his cock and he’d grunted. His cock had jumped, and it stayed lifted, free of his body. Not erect yet, but on the way back.

She’d said, lazily, “I like to wank boys. I did it a lot when I was a kid.”

“To avoid getting pregnant?” 

“Partly. That was the reason at first, I guess. Then I got to like it.”

“A man with his cock in your hand is a bit like a bull with a ring in his nose. So long as you hold that, you’re in control.” 

“No! Well, all right, yeah, that’s true. And as an teenage girl, it’s always nice to feel safe around boys. But I got to enjoy it in its own right. I like the way men respond, how their cock takes them over, when you give them pleasure. I guess I still do like that. Would you like me to wank you off?”

“Ahh. Look, while I can still get it up, I mean this morning, I’d much rather fuck you. I love your cunt. And I’ve got designs on your ass.” 

“Daphne said you like to leave marks on her arse.” 

“Yeah, I do. But I meant I plan to fuck your ass. My cock. In your rectum. Me in control, you out of control. Out of your control, anyway.” 

“Yeah, I think you might be allowed to manage that. Hmm. No wanking you off. Would you like to watch me wank?”

“Actually, yes. I’m still going to fuck you up the ass, if that gives you something to think about while you’re wanking. But yes, I’d like to see you get yourself off.”

“It’s funny, there aren’t many women who want to watch men wanking. But all men want to watch women wank.” 

“You’re more beautiful. I think, anyway. And there’s not much mystery about men wanking. The cock’s sort of out there. But cunts are more inwards -“

“So profound, this man.” 

Freddie put his hand on her left inner thigh, and smacked her, just missing her cunt.

Ngaire knew that wasn’t the last time he was going to smack her, though he was hiding the side of himself that Daphne had told him about. “Ok. Freud: Off! But I think men generally all wank much the same. But women do different things. I’ve had girlfriends who wank lying on their front, others who lie on their backs. Which are you?” 

“I’m an on-my-back girl. And I’m going to wank while you watch. Do you want to see me actually working to get myself off, or do you want me to put on a show?”  

And he’d said the right thing. Ngaire had made herself a pile of pillow to lean back against, and began to stroke her inner thighs, not touching her cunt at first. As if she was teasing herself. 

Sinful Sunday: Clearly an out-take

This is a nice image of a girl, Arethusa, well paddled, her ass and thighs glowing, warm and buzzing, bending over the bed, about to be fucked. It’s clear, and warm, and it’s the out-take. Why? 

Because the one I used, a fuck-up from a photographer’s point of view, better captured the sense of movement, the rush of heated red sex. Here it is again.

I liked the “mistake” much more. So the well-taken photo became the out-take. 

#sexTheoryThursday: History of BDSM Literature 2: Defining BDSM

 

If you’re going to attempt to provide a History of BDSM literature, you’d best begin by defining your terms. 

There are a number of definitions available, but I think they are mostly flawed by the assumptions the writer has made before trying to say clearly what they mean. 

Definitions by older psychological writers and practitioners, not to mention pseudoscientists like psychoanalysts, tend to build in the idea that bdsm is pathological. On the other hand, some more recent writers have assumed that bdsm is necessarily Safe, Sane and Consensual, so that activities that don’t fit into that ethical frame can simply be excluded and discounted. 

This is my definition, and I think it’s the most accurate, with the fewest unstated assumptions, on the intellectual market. So it’s the definition I’m using when I discuss writing that expresses bdsm desires.