2018: The Year of Four Books!

I finished four novels in 2018. That’s two erotic novels and two “mainstream, literary” novels. 

It involved working like a bastard all day, practically every day, from morning to night. 

Me, at local orgy: “Of course, girls! Just got to finish this chapter and I’ll be right with you”

I was thinking I was going to calm down a bit this year, and achieve a wiser work/life balance. 

Maybe I will, but I realise that next year I intend to finish the erotic post-apocalypse science fiction novel I’m working on at the moment: That Oceanic Feeling.

And Volume Two of the sexy Bdsm rom-com, “The Tale of the Tawse“. That’s from scratch. Not a word of it has been written yet. 

And Volume Two of “Probation“, a fairly serious bdsm novel about an inter-racial love triangle set mostly in LA. Cops, a corrupt judicial system, racism and drugs figure. Fortunately, about two-thirds of that is already written, and I have the rest sketched out in my head, so that shouldn’t be so hard. 

Ands there’s a non-erotic novel that I think it likely to outsell all the erotica combined. So I’ll start work on that in about February. Not a word of that is written either, though I have the plot sketched out.

So… work/life balance may have to wait. Stop this man before he types again!

Happy this-time-of-year to you!

It’s Christmas Day in the mountains. I’ve mostly been ignoring it, though I bought presents for my loved ones, as a gentleman should.

This graph gives an accurate representation of my feelings with regard to “The Little Drummer Boy”

I’ve really appreciated that the supermarkets, and most shops I’ve been to, haven’t been piping bloody hymns and carols at me.

I hate “The Little Drummer Boy” with the fire and fury of 10,000,000 suns, and I can’t stay in the same room as “God rest ye, merry gentlemen.” So silence has been golden. 

But carollers came to the supermarket while was I doing the last food shopping and sang Christmas songs at me, and I really didn’t want them. I felt the urge to say something piss-offy, though I didn’t. They’re probably nice people.

Anyway, I don’t feel my usual relaxed self about Christmas this year, because too many lunar right Christians are behaving badly.

Catholic Archbishop Fisher expressing something short of love for gays, lesbians, secularists and raped children

So, for example, Sydney’s Catholic archbishop Fisher came out and did a spray – it was his Christmas message! – about wanting the right to discriminate against gays and lesbians, and force kids to go to church, and to continue to protect pedophile priests: if they say in confession that they’ve raped some kid, then the duty to report them won’t apply. He calls this fucked-up agenda “religious freedom.” 

So far-right Christians are making Xmas a cultural war zone, where what they’re fighting for is evil. It makes it harder to feel an unconflicted goodwill vibe. And there’s the whole pretence that there’s a war on Christmas, which is just an angry, arrogant exclusion of non-Christians. 

All that has got my back up. I usually say, “Merry Christmas” and don’t give a fuck, but some Christians are trying to turn it into the equivalent of a Trump slogan. So, without thinking it matters or affects anything, I’ve been saying “Happy solstice”, or “Good Yule.” Not angrily. Just don’t want to take part.

Anyway, the reason for the season is this planet’s orbit, and in the Northern Hemisphere it means, “Happy Hump Day; the weather gets better now until Spring.” And lots of cultures have turned it into a time of celebrating each other, being alive, being kind, feeling hope.

It’s the people who bang on about this time of year being ONLY about Christianity who don’t understand Christmas.

Solstice, as every good pagan knows, is a good time to get somewhere warm (I like to make my own warmth) and play and fuck like rabbits

All that said, this is as good a day as any to celebrate the spirit of hope, warmth in cold times, renewal, love and tolerance, I wish everybody a wonderful loving time.

Please keep warm – other people help. If you’re lonely reach out to someone, or else give yourself delicious food and a good book in the bath.

Look after each other, and remember to let other people look after you, too. Those are the best gifts.

Warmth and happiness to all!

Masturbation Monday: Under new management

I’d just said to Emily, “You’ll do as you’re told whether you want to or not. You obey orders, and you accept punishment when I say you deserve it. The final say is mine. That’s how we are, now.” 

She’d frowned, considering. My heart was thudding. She had every right to say no, since it was a hell of a lot to ask. Still, I’d be devastated if she did. 

But she didn’t say, Yes. She said, “Hey, Jaime?”

So now I was worried. “Yes?”

“This is totally not normal, this.”

“No. It’s perverse.”

“And I’m thinking of agreeing to it. I even think it’s hot, for god’s sake. We’re so strange. Does this feel right to you?”

“Oh absolutely. Yes. Completely right.” 

“Actually it does sort of feel right to me too. But it’s a bit scary, Jaime.”

“Well. Jump and I’ll catch you, my love.” 

“I love you too. Will you really catch me? Always?”

“Yeah, actually I will.” We were solemn together. I stroked her cunt gently, and unfairly, since I knew it interfered with her thinking, then slipped a finger into her ass. Emily sighed. She liked that.

She said, “Then. I jump. I’ll do as I’m told, from now on. I’m yours.”

“So. Emily Maria Viviani, under new management. You’ve changed hands.”

“Jaime, this is the weirdest thing I’ve ever done. It is so not normal. I’m absolutely terrified. But happy. I seem to be ridiculously happy. Well, so far.”

“I love you. I’m not scared at all,” I lied, “and I’m happy. You’re mine. And it is ridiculous.”

That the most amazing gift I have ever been given. It was considerably better than Christmas.

Sinful Sunday: The dreaming of Mrs Willy Nilly

      SECOND VOICE

Willy Nilly, postman, asleep up street, walks fourteen 
miles to deliver the post as he does every day of the 
night, and rat-a-tats hard and sharp on Mrs Willy Nilly.

        MRS WILLY NILLY

Don't spank me, please, teacher,

        SECOND VOICE

whimpers his wife at his side, but every night of her 
married life she has been late for school.

Dylan Thomas, Under Milkwood

 

 

 

E{lust} 113: Lucky for some

By Quinn Rhodes a picture of a Doxy on a white hotel bed for Elust 113
Photo courtesy of Quinn Rhodes

Welcome to Elust 113

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 #114? Start with the rules, come back January1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

 

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

The Source of Control

Town Use

FOMO is NOT how my vagina feels about sex.

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

The Weight of my Red Self

Mistletoe kisses

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

If you want a job done…

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Figuring Out Oral Sex
Why I Need Non-Monogamy in My Polyamory
A Love of Photography
Third trimester sex
Nights like Tonight
Finding a D/s partner is one long night

Erotic Non-Fiction

On Subspace
Petting
Control Takes Many Forms
The New Hood – a peek inside
The Past Smells of Men
Men in Panties

Erotic Fiction

Tease Me Under the Mistletoe
Art Class
Total Control
men in panties
In the Red Room
All Slippery and Floaty
Amour

Writing About Writing

The Writing on the Wall
Writing is the painting of the voice.

Body Talk and Sexual Health

Connection, No Sex

Writing About Writing

29 Blog Maintenance Things You Can Do

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Champagne boys apply here
The other end of the cane
Giving me a frill

Poetry

-05.12.18_23:04-

 

 

 

Elust

Masturbation Monday: Lunch with a caned girl

After making omelettes and warming bread I put the tray in front of Emily, who lay on our bed, on her front. I sat beside her, my back against the headboard. Emily demolished her omelette at speed, and helped herself to some of mine. Healing is hungry work.

She passed me her plate, for me to put on the floor beside the bed. “So. I’m supposed to obey you. Like take orders, from now on. But what happens if you tell me to do something really stupid?” 

“Well, I’ll try not to. I don’t want to do you harm.”

“Oh that’ll work. Because your judgement is always better than mine.”

I put my hand on her well-welted left buttock and squeezed.

“Yeech! Well, all right: mostly it is, come to think of it. But not always, Jaime.”

“That’s true. I can say really stupid things.”

Emily nodded. “How about if sometimes I say, ‘excuse me, but what you just told me to do, um, putting this nicely, was stupid and it would do me harm because’. And then I’d explain that it’s a bad idea because of whatever it is.”  

“That’d be fine. Except you have to be even nicer than that. I’d suggest speaking respectfully. Or.” I put pressure on the hot skin under my hand.

“Yii! That hurts!” It wasn’t a complaint, or not entirely.

“But if I tell you to do something that would actually be bad for you, then you can trust that I’ve made a mistake. So if I give you an order that seems stupid, tell me. I’ll listen to what you say. Always.”

“Okay. You’ll always listen to me. Then what?”

“Then I re-consider it. Then I decide.”

“I don’t know, Jaime. I want you to be in charge. But if there’s a risk, it’s to me. I know you don’t want to harm me, but what if you told me to do something that would fuck me up at work or something?”

“Well, I’m going to be careful. And I’ll never mind you telling me when I’m wrong. Ever. And I’ll hear you and decide. Carefully. I know what you’re worried about, but I’m asking you to trust me. I have to have the final say, or this doesn’t work.”

“Trust you? You sure? You seen the state of my arse lately?”

“You can trust me to keep your arse in that state. Your arse looks great.”

“Feels warm. Makes me feel horny. Which is weird, I know. Glad it looks good.”

“Oh fuck. Emily, that ass looks fantastic.”

“This is good.”

“But we were talking. You can trust that I’ll only overrule you when I know you’re wrong. Like if you’re trying to get out of doing something you really need to do. That’s when you’ll do as you’re told whether you want to or not. You obey orders, and you accept punishment when I say you deserve it. The final say is mine. That’s how we are, now.” 

I watched her face carefully. She was frowning.