Dragon*Con Day One: From the Four Corners of the Globe . . .

Tonight was Pre-registration for Dragon*Con. That’s when you take your shiny ticket and go to the convention before it opens. You turn in your shiny ticket for a shiny badge. Then you go home.

I was anxious all day because of bills, wife fights and general esteem issues. The wife got off work late and wouldn’t use the directions I had printed out because “I know the area”. We got lost and I’m watching the deadline to pre-register slip away. This doesn’t help my anxiety.

Then we turn a corner and behold! A huge crowd of long haired geeks wearing black t-shirts in the middle of August thronged about. We paid seven bucks to park and went into the hotel.

It was about now that I kicked myself for not bringing my camera. Coming down the stairs was a beautiful Leelo from “5th Element” with orange hair and pure white strips of cloth covering her delicious bits. She was the first costumed person we saw and she was a hottie.

Inside the hotel were more geeks and a surprising number of women. I mention the gals not because they were hot but because it had a big couple vibe to the place. This wasn’t just a gathering of nerds; this was a gathering of nerds, and the nerds that love them.

My anxiety just slipped away. These were my people. These were the people that I rub shoulders with in crowded gaming stores. These are the people that are standing in line to see Lord of the Rings. These were geeks who will cut you if you disagree with them about their favorite Star Trek captain. Even more so than hanging out with kinky fetish people, I felt like a sense of community with these folks. This was our time and it was going to rock.

My wife weirdly enough seemed to take on my anxiety. Maybe her office job has made her forget what real geeks look like. She was nervous and unsure of herself. I on the other hand was walking straight up to strangers and asking them if they knew where to pre-register. I asked a pirate if I could see his tattoos.

I had no fear and Goddess help me, I forgot what that felt like. I want to be like this all the time.

Wish me luck tomorrow. I’m going to try to catch a magic act and hopefully find a few pirate clothes that fit. I’ll also be sorely upset if I don’t get my picture taken with a sexy pirate gal or two.

Tired

Anxiety runs through my mind like a tornado. I'm worried about the bills which were fucked up by the too-high electricity bill and an over zealous phone company. I'm worried about a country that seems to be working overtime to forget what happened last year with Katrina. I'm worried about my writing and how it all reads like crap to me right now. I'm worried about having another damn fight with my wife who seems to take the contrary position on every topic I talk about just to be contrary. I'm worried about the fact that I am in a full blown anxiety mood and there are things to be done and I don't feel up for any of it.

I'm looking forward to Dragoncon tomorrow. I think four days of convention fun will reboot my brain and exhaust me too much to worry about anything. I want to take a vacation from myself. Just walk away from the mess that is me and be something else for awhile. Something that is not as mentally fucked up as I am.

Erotidictionary: Logic Porn

Logic Porn is erotica that is primarily concerned with the circumstances that causes the sex to happen in a story. It’s a story where trying to figure out how an erotica situation can be possible is a major part of the enjoyment. At least the writer hopes it is.

Personally I think we all become amateur Logic Porn writers in adolescence. When we sit in geometry class staring at Ms. C___’s attributes, the mind begins to drift and think of what it will take to make a twenty something math teacher decide to fuck one of her students. Would it take being the best student? What about staying after class and helping out? The simple reasons seem likely to fail so the libido goes to weirder less likely to happen but more likely to result in a blowjob. These include such ideas like rescuing her from a mugging, or maybe the two of us are going to a state wide math competition and the car breaks down on a deserted highway. These daydreams rely heavily on soap opera plots but as a sex crazed teenager, you work through these details ironing them out because if you can come up with a solution that involves seeing Ms. C___’s tits, then that means you have at least a one in a million shot of touching them, and that was better than what you had when the class started.

As we grow older, and we actually get laid, these Logic Porn fantasies fall by the wayside. We are fucking and we know how to get fucked. Something changes though and our fantasies become fantastic again. Maybe we are in a marriage that sucks, or maybe we want far more deviant sex than simple vanilla. Or maybe we just want the world we are fucking in to be a bit more fun to fuck in.

So some of us write long stories where we imagine the details and systems that would have to be in place to support a real life BDSM slave market.

Some of us write long stories where we try to justify how our spouses would allow us to fuck the hundred or so people we want to fuck.

Some of us write long stories about how nudity, polyamory or fetishes can become mainstream and even socially acceptable.

But I find the most common Logic Porn is the stories people write about the how’s and what’s it would take to make them happy. These are the stories of how they figure out that the Barnes and Noble girl is a submissive. These are the long adventures where a very dashing man figures out that the quiet narrator is really a sex goddess and seduces her. These stories don’t focus on the sex as nearly as much as they focus on how they are going to get laid in that special way they deserve.

There is nothing wrong with Logic Porn. I sometimes get annoyed with BDSM stories that spend too much time justifying their slave market but I understand why they are there. Logic Porn is there to give hope. It lays out a blueprint that might never happen, but you know, that blueprint is a start. We’re a lot smarter than we were in Ms. C____’s math class, and we know a lot more about the world and sex. Share those blue prints for happiness and who knows, maybe a reader somewhere knows the missing part of the plan you need for it to become a reality.

Logic Porn, it’s there to make us all happy.

Pages and Pages But Not a Story to Share

This weekend I spent most of my time writing technical documents for work. That’s right, I finally get my dream weekend where I can write from sunrise to sunset and I can’t share a scrap of it with you.

The weird thing about technical writing is that you have clear goals of information that need to be conveyed, but creativity is frowned upon like a corset with Velcro. I do manage to amuse myself when I get to write examples but its not the same as writing say, a giant housewife orgy/book club. No matter how cool the example, it’s just not that fun.

I also find my writing in a bit of flux lately anyway. The anniversary of New Orleans’ destruction at the hands of Katrina and FEMA has reminded me of how we treat our poor in this nation. I’ve been reading and watching far too many articles on the subject. It is astonishing to me the huge gap between the Haves and the Have-Nots. It makes me ashamed that a ten year old murder of a white child beauty queen is considered breaking news and we don’t have entire teams of reporters deconstructing the tragedies of Katrina.

In a strange way, I find myself still mourning the effects of Katrina. I mourn the loss of life that could have been prevented. I mourn the suffering of the people who were trapped in a flooding city. I mourn the lack of leadership that tried to first deny the event and then tried to fix it with photo-ops. I mourn the degradation of a nation that cannot even discuss the event without trying to score political points. To me Katrina showed how we failed as a nation to care for the weakest among us. I want everyone held accountable and I want to see some fucking remorse.

I suspect that with these emotions, I will resume writing erotica fairly soon. Erotica is an escape hatch for me. Sex is one of those things that makes life worth living and there are days when erotica is simply a celebration of being here. I write because I can and the worlds I make up have to be better than the one we are living in.

Fiction:Kissing Slave

It was on the second date that I knew I would never make Wendy my submissive. It wasn’t because of her looks, for she was very pretty with straight brown hair and an ample chest. It wasn’t because she wasn’t eager; on our first date, she had told me that she would happily have me between her legs and down her throat. I knew Wendy would be a fabulous sexual partner, but she lacked one essential element I look for in a submissive. It was only fair that I inform her of this after our waiter had brought us our dessert.

“Will we be going back to your place?” she asked. She dug into her double fudge cake and did something naughty with her tongue and the spoon.

“No, Wendy. I don’t think we will be seeing each other after this,” I said. My dessert was a simple key lime pie, with no sauce or topping.

Wendy pouted, which is hard to do with a spoon in your mouth. “Why not?” she asked. “I’ve never had a complaint before.”

“I am sure you haven’t,” I responded. I knew this because Wendy loved to talk about her sexual adventures. In two dates, she had told me no less than eleven stories about her sexual prowess. The woman was insatiable and men took it as a challenge to sate her.

“Then why not?” she asked. She took another bite of her dessert, and I have to say that I did like the way her full lips closed around the spoon.

“Just because you like kinky sex does not make you a submissive,” I said. “Sure, you consent to being tied up and spanked, but in none of your stories have you told me of how you did something purely to please your man.”

I took another bite of my key lime pie. The flavor filled my mouth with pure tart bliss. I savored the flavor of that one bite while Wendy quickly consumed another bite of her dessert.

“I have never had a lover walk away unhappy,” she said.

“I don’t doubt that,” I said, “but in every one of your stories, you talk about how you get what you want as well. Like how you slowly convinced Eddie to go down on you even though he hates doing it. Or how you talked Robert into learning how to use a flogger because you enjoy it. Being a submissive is about making your dom happy, and a submissive derives her enjoyment from her dom’s happiness. Sure, a good dom will give a sub what she wants on occasion as a reward, but for the most part, it should be about what the dom wants.”

Wendy frowned and ate another heaping bite of her dessert. The whipped cream clung to her lips like cum. She was upset about being rejected. I imagine it was a new experience for her.

“Don’t feel bad, Wendy,” I said. “I am a particularly selfish man. Other doms will be glad to take you as a submissive. I, however, know that what I want out of a submissive is her total willingness to attend to my needs. And I can be demanding and cruel.”

I knew then that I had made a mistake. Wendy’s frown melted into a half-smile. Her bright blue eyes brightened, and she licked the cream from her lips. Rejection had given way to pride and I knew what the next words out of her mouth would be.

“Test me,” she said. “Use me as you wish. Give me a chance. I promise I will be good.”

Common sense told me to reject her offer. It was insincere, and it would just be one long waste of time. She would try for a short time, but ultimately, she would get frustrated and then passive aggressive before finally lapsing into a tantrum. It was all just as certain and predictable as the whipped cream melting on her dessert.

So why did I not reject her right there and then? It was her dessert. Watching the whipped cream and the chocolate sauce smear onto her lips and be licked off by her tongue had awakened my arousal. Oh, my brain knew better, but my cock was taking over now.

“Come sit over here,” I told her. I moved down the booth I was sitting in to give her room. Wendy smiled in triumph, reveling in the knowledge that once again she’d gotten what she wanted.

She got up and sat beside me. “Want a hand job?” she asked with her usual tact. “Or are you going to finger me?”

For an answer, I grabbed the back of her head and pulled her in for a kiss. Wendy was surprised, but after the first resistance, she stopped fighting and leaned in. She opened her mouth to me slightly, giving me a teasing taste of her tongue.

This would not do. I opened her mouth with mine. My tongue pushed in and tasted her. I sucked on her tongue and smashed my lips to hers. This was no kiss out of a romantic movie; this was an outright invasion of her mouth. Wendy groaned, and I felt her hand go to my chest to push me back, but I grabbed her wrist and firmly planted it down on the table. My other hand kept her head pinned to mine while my mouth ravaged her lips.

I took my fill. It was strange. I had never really enjoyed kissing that much, but tonight was different. For the first time, I really understood how much better full lips were over thin ones. In the past, I have shoved fingers, gags and my cock into mouths, but using my own mouth was so much more personable and invasive. I didn’t kiss her as much as I took her mouth and claimed it.

When I broke the kiss, my lips were tingling. I had a vague memory of that same tingling from my first girlfriend. Every kiss should be like that, violent and unyielding. My cock agreed as it pulsed with a hardness I had not felt in a while.

“Wow,” Wendy said. Her hand went under the table, but I caught her wrist again before she could reach my cock. I squeezed her hand till she bit her lip in pain.

“Here are the rules,” I said. I hadn’t planned any of this, but the rules were coming off my bruised lips as quickly as I could think of them.

“Your mouth belongs to me now. Get that smirk off your face. I’m not talking about blow jobs or feet kissing. I’m talking about your kisses. They are mine now. I will kiss you when I like, for as long as I like. There will be no sex, no heavy petting, not even touching below the neck. You will surrender your mouth to me and I will take your kisses for as long as you please me. Stop pleasing me with your kisses, and I will release you to seek out other men.”

Wendy touched her lips and I knew they were tingling too. “That’s it? No spanking? No bondage? No climaxing?”

“To start with, yes,” I said. “Give me your kisses for, let’s say, a month, and I’ll reevaluate what I want from you then. Prove you can be satisfied with pleasing me, and I’ll consider other ways you can please me.”

“A month?” she said. Her disbelief was comical, but oh my, did it turn me on. This pretty little slut was offering everything and all I was taking was her kisses. I did want her body, but most of all, I wanted her on my own terms. To take such a sexy delight and limit myself to only her mouth, that was true control.

Wendy touched her lips again. “Fine, all right,” she said. She said it as though it were a dare. No way could she believe I would hold back for a month. Or maybe she’d had her first hint of what it would be like to exist only to please her dom, and she wondered if she was up for it.

I grabbed her by the jaw this time and pulled her in for another kiss. This time, she didn’t hesitate. She did reach for my cock again, but I twisted her thumb till she stopped. It didn’t bother me that she tried again. Even a kissing slave needs to be trained.

We kissed, and this time the passion was vicious on both sides. Our mouths battled as the emotions we were going through bubbled to the surface. Neither of us knew what would happen first. Would I fuck her, or would she come to enjoy her role? Would I use her mouth for other things, or would she quit first?

Either way this relationship was far more interesting now than a fuck and a spank. Ultimately, that’s all I wanted.

Well, that and Wendy’s kisses.

Half Nekked Thursday Zipper

Sometimes you just got to get in there yourself.

Just So You Know

We have the right to be happy.

We have the right to be turned on.

We have the right to turn on others.

We have the right to fuck.

We have the right to fuck without fear.

We have the right to fuck the way we want to fuck.

We have the right to love.

We have the right to be loved.

We have the right to enjoy love without conditions.

We have the right to not be who others want us to be.

We have the right to be pets, slaves, partners, lovers, sluts, masters and owners as we wish.

We have the right to be happy.

A Perfect Moment

She was over my knees pretty close to naked. Her ass was bare and she lost her bra somewhere but she still had her shirt on. I had her hair in my hand and I kept tugging her head back to uncomfortable angles.

I was pissed. I was horny. I was excited. I was spanking her with my bare hand and enjoying every minute. She kept reaching for my cock even though I had told her not to. I think she was prompting me to tie her hands, but it had become a contest of wills. I had told her no, and she kept trying.

So to discourage her I was smacking her ass harder. A good sensual spanking involves building up and pacing yourself. This was different. Here I was slapping her ass fast and hard, striking the same spot multiple times. It doesn’t matter how tough the bottom is or how weak the top is, spank the same red spot enough times and there will be tears.

I smacked her ass six or seven times till she yelped. I rested my hand on her butt and grabbed her ass. A low sexy moan escaped her mouth and I yanked her hair again. I waited and this time she kept her hands where they belonged. Very good.

I pulled my hand back to deliver another smack and the most beautiful thing happened. She clenched her ass cheeks and tried her very best to avoid my spank. She half rose from my lap and let out a terrified scream of anticipation. Her body was arching, her legs were trembling and her hips grinded against me in the sexual throes of escape. If I hadn’t hesitated to consider where I was striking her, her instinctual dodge would have been perfectly timed with the next hit.

It was the most beautiful spank I had never delivered.

Fiction: Forget Me Nots

I found another picture of Karin today. She had taped it to the inside of a kitchen cabinet. It’s a statement of how distracted I’ve been that I didn’t see it before. It was a picture of her breasts; her skin that wonderful mocha color with the dark ebony nipples. She was squeezing her breasts together for the camera and making that wonderful cleavage that she knew I liked so much.

Karin had left little surprises like that all over the house. We knew she would have to go to the convention months in advance and Karin was never one to prepare at the last minute. She took her love of exhibitionism and turned it into a romantic game of unexpected delights. I try to figure out when she had so much time alone to do all the gifts she had left me and the answer is quite depressing. She had plenty of time, stolen here and there when I thought I had more important things to do. When I insisted on watching the ball game, Karin had her time. When I killed hours with my friends, Karin was seeding the house with homemade porn. When I immersed myself in a good book, Karin was in the bedroom dreaming up naughty things to surprise me.

Her gifts appeared as soon as she was gone out the door. It started with a video of her left on the computer. She had used our Webcam to capture a three-minute striptease. Karin’s perfect body moved and grooved and slinked as her clothes were shed to the sound of an Alicia Keys song. I did a search for more video files on the computer but found nothing. My girl wasn’t going to make it that easy.

The rest of the day I felt like I was tripping over Karin’s treasures. Every couple of minutes revealed an indecent photo of her ass, an audiotape of her climaxing, or a simple dirty note describing how much she enjoyed sucking my cock. That first day she was away was magical and funny at the same time. Though I was incredibly turned on by her gifts, I was also impressed by the many ingenious ways that she hid her notes. No place was safe to sit down. I couldn’t flip through a magazine or open a book without having Karin’s sexuality thrown at me like a passing kiss.

The finale for that first night was when I found a pair of panties under my pillow. It was a purple thong. Her scent was strong on it and I could tell that it had been deliberately “dampened.” Taking her gift in stride, I wrapped it around my cock and masturbated with it. I think Karin would have been happy to see her gifts used in the spirit in which they were given.

Three days went by and my love for Karin only grew. It’s not because she was constantly surprising me with pictures of dark nipples, round asses and orgasmic moans. My love grew because I realized how important her sexuality was to who she was, and by expressing her sexual side to me, she was telling me how unique I was to her. Only I was worthy of a four-page letter tucked inside the cereal box that described how much she loved masturbation. That makes a man feel loved and I thought day and night of how I could show my affection as well as she had shown me hers.

Things became complicated when she died. A drunk driver killed Karin on the fourth day of the seminar convention. She must have been driving to a restaurant or maybe she just wanted to see the sights. I’ll never be sure why she was out and about but I don’t think it matters much. All I know is Karin is gone now.

But not her hidden gifts. I must have found most of them but every other day I find another. Tucked away in places I don’t think either of us had been in years, Karin left her pornographic love notes. Yesterday I found a picture taped to the bottom of the bathroom sink. How was I supposed to have looked there? The absurdity of her placement has made me paranoid in my own house.

I debated moving out. I mean, I loved Karin, but finding a disk with a twenty second movie of her kissing a vibrator just breaks my heart all over again. The problem is, if I pack everything, I might pack undiscovered photos she had tucked in books and what not and then even in my new place I might find her gifts. I would have moved for nothing.

Last week I found a photo of Karin’s nipple in a magazine I swore I had read before. For one brief moment, I wondered if she was still alive somehow and hiding new pictures. It took an hour of hard crying to understand that she was really dead. Still, when I find a new picture, I scrutinize it for far too long to prove to myself that she is still dead.

One day I considered tearing the house apart. I could look in every corner and every possible inch of space. The idea comforted me and I even started on the basement where I found three more of her photos. I just couldn’t go through with it, though. A dread feeling welled up inside me and I went outside to understand where my panic was coming from.

As I stood outside the house where so many of Karin’s emotional land mines were still hidden, it was clear to me why I had to stop. If I did find all of her notes, disks, and photos, then there wouldn’t be any more. Her love for me would be quantified and cataloged in its entirety. If I didn’t find them all, then her love for me would never end.

Afterglow Movie Review- Snakes On A Plane

Subject- Motherfucking Snakes on a Motherfucking Plane

Feeling- Holy fuck! Did I just see that?

Favorite Part- Keenan Thompson's character calling Samuel L. Jackson's character "The biggest Pimp I know!". It's the best tribute Jackson will ever get for making such a fun movie.

Least Favorite Part- The first three minutes of the movie was like a scene out of Magnum P.I. WTF? Granted, the movie picks up fast after the opening but sheesh, get the action going already.

Egotistical Observation Because I Fancy Myself a Writer- Jackson gets the girl, but no fucking kiss. The man just fought some motherfucking snakes on a motherfucking plane, give him some fucking tongue!

Was the Movie Too Gross?- I wanted to mention this because I was really impressed. There are some gross moments but they are all bundled together in two long snake attack scenes. My wife buried her head in my shoulder for a five minute stretch and then the rest of the movie was just fun and actiony.

Scene at the end of the credits- No, but there was this video-



Final Thought- Your friends will pick on you for seeing this. Critics will take it apart. Logic Plot Holes worm their way all through this movie but I really admire how fun and energetic this movie was. They went all out and committed themselves to making taking an bizarre concept and running with it.

I Want to Fuck A Cowgirl

Sometimes my libido goes into strange base directions. Although I do often fall for strong females and develop mad lusty crushes, there are times when my cock and mind want something a little less of a person and more of an Idea.

This week I have had a hankering for some cowgirl fucking. I’m talking full blown Rodeo attire complete with their own rope. At first I thought I just had a craving for a Western fetish. I thought I could jack off a few times and be done with it but that hasn’t been the case. As soon as I take my cock in hand, my fantasies become complicated and hung up on the strangest details.

For one thing, she’s got to have hair. It’s got to be big long luscious hair like a horse’s mane. It can be in a braid and bouncing behind her back but it’s got to be out there flying in the wind. Without the hair, a cowgirl is just a cowboy.

She has to have boots. The boots have to be tough enough to kick a rustler in the nads but sexy enough that you want them resting on your shoulders. They can be as fancy as you like with designs and patterns up and down the side but they got to be real leather. If they’re caked in dirt, that’s what we call bona fide.

Jeans are nice and Goddess knows, I do love a women in blue jeans but if you’re going to be a cowgirl then why not wear some chaps? Give me a nice open ass I can smack or grab while the rest of the legs are sheathed in leather. They’re like jeans you can wear while fucking.

The top depends on the mood. I’m fond of an open vest that covers the breasts but is easily parted. Or you can go with a tight gingham shit that squeezes the tits together so tightly the top buttons are bursting open from the boob-rush about to spill forth. Those buttons are important. Buttons make promises.

I want to be ridden by a cowgirl who’s got one hand in the air as the struggles to hold on. I want to ride her from behind while I hold her hair like reins. I want to make those hips gallop. I want to make her scream “Yee-haw” when she cums.


Back before country music was about dickheads, back before people threatened the Dixie Chicks for being uppity, back before Texas became another word for crazy redneck Christain pride, back before Jessica Simpson, the cowboy was a symbol of America. Cowboys went into the West and wrestled the land from nature while riding one of nature’s finest creatures, the horse. Cowboys sang songs and fought train robbers and had gunfights over honor land rights. Well, the fictional ones did. The real ones killed Native Americans, slaughtered the buffalo and did some nasty atrocities. That’s a very important distinction and it’s not the real cowgirls I want to wrangle.

See, I’m still harboring a crush on the cowgirls of my youth. No one is a bigger fan of ‘Deadwood’ than me but I long for the days of naivety when a Cowgirl was just a really spunky tomgirl with nicer hair who liked boys. I want to fuck the smiling busty cowgirl with a nice tan who existed only in pinball machines, TV westerns and pulp novels. I want to fuck the rough and rowdy girlfriend who carried her own gun. I want to give the rodeo Queen something really large to ride. I want to go back in time and look at a girl wearing a cowgirl hat and not worry that she probably thinks evolution was a communist plot.

I want to fuck a cowgirl. I want to ride and be ridden by an outdoors gal. I want to have nasty wild sex with an American Amazon.

And the cowgirl hat has to stay on.


*Last Picture courtesy of Claudia Hex*

Half Nekked Thursday Pool Feet

Last week, before the Great Electric Bill Mystery, I and Sometimes Spanking Friend Sara went down to the pool. I brought my camera for HNT but got caught up in the sheer bliss of the pool and forgot to take any pictures till we were out of the pool and ready to go.

I still like the picture though. Look at the hair on my legs! Look at the toes that could double for fingers! Look at the contrast between my Sasquatch feet and Sara's dainty painted toes!

It looks like a feet version of Beauty and the Beast.

Erotica Hardcopy Stockpile

Some people have a list of the books or movies that would take if they were every trapped on a desert island. I have a different take. I sometimes look at censorship and I get these paranoid delusions that one day the government is going to conduct a door to door search for porn. There will be a great Porn Bonfire and I need to pick a few pieces of erotica worth saving in my bunker. But what to choose?

I love reading erotica online. It’s personal and often geared towards real desire as opposed to trying to please the lowest common denominator. Nine times out of ten, free internet porn is better than stuff you buy in stores.

So let’s talk about that one out of ten shall we?


“The Marketplace” by Laura Antoniou is one of my favorite BDSM books. It takes a realistic approach to how a real world consensual slave market would operate and it puts more of an emphasis on Service over Sex. It is not a book with a lot of sex actually, but it the kind of book that changes how you view BDSM.

I treasure this book because the four main characters are clichés you see so often in BDSM fiction but they get put through the gauntlet of practical common sense. The sissy submissive male, the shy submissive female, the bratty sex vixen and the arrogant gay stud are broken down and remade into real people. To me it reads like one author’s attempt to change reader’s unhealthy expectations of BDSM and turn their fantasy into something that could happen.

It is the first book in a series but don’t let that put you off. This book is very self contained and the sequels deal with tangent characters.

Disclaimer- I met Laura once and I found her to be very funny and modest. I doubt she remembers me, but I had a great time listening to her stories in person.

“Master/Slave” edited by N.T. Morely is that rare gem in that it is an BDSM anthology with a focus on Male dom/Fem Sub stories. It’s nice to have a thick book crammed with one kind of dynamic. Half the book focuses on Masters and the other half on Slaves but it’s all sex and it’s all BDSM.

Like any good anthology, some stories are awesome, some are okay and some suck. It should be that way so you can get the maximum spread of stories. I read a new story every few days and digest them. The nice thing about erotic short stories is they can stick with you all day long.

Incidentally, this book is the most popular book I have ever put in my bathroom. Guests disappear for ten minutes and come out with blushes. That’s worth it in itself.



Lastly I offer a book light on BDSM but heavy on fun. “Game For Anything” by Lyn Wood reads like a dirty story from the Oxygen Channel. The main character gets caught up in a weekend party where there is a series of puzzles that lead to an inheritance prize. The puzzles have an erotic theme and the main female has a romance, some good exhibitionism scenes and of course, problem solving detective work. It’s a book about a smart gal having smart sex. The way the puzzles demand certain naughty behavior appealed to my BDSM tastes without getting heavy enough to offend vanilla folks.

So there you are. You have three books you need to buy and store for the upcoming Anti-Porn Armageddon that some people are begging for. Store these books away for arousal, education and a good late night climax. What books do you think I should add to the Erotiterrorist Censor Shelter?

Ask Skippy

My name is Skippy, and I’m the Dungeon Master for Shon’s toy harem. Shon’s as busy as a mo-fo today or as we like to call it around here, Tuesday. I’ll be watching the blog today instead of getting my cock waxed by Catwoman. You lucky fucks.

Ask me a question, tell me how awesome I am or cyber me; isn't that what you bloggers do? I am here and hornier than a slut in Home Depot. Hurry up, I ain’t got all day. Wait a minute, I guess I do.

Smell of Sex

Last night I was in bed first. I’m always in bed first. When it is bedtime, I am ready to go to bed. My wife was in the bathroom which was no surprise. She was either plucking eyebrows, or brushing her teeth or something. She always stalls. Bedtime to her is something to be delayed and put off.

“Are you asleep already?” she says as she gets into bed. I’m not but I stay quiet. She wants to talk because of course; she’s not ready for sleep just yet. I stay quiet, hoping she’ll just settle down. My wife puts her arm around me and lays her head on my shoulders.

That is when I smell strawberries.

Without a word I turn and kiss her. Without a single comment on my part I roll on top of her and lift her shirt and pull down her underwear. One nipple goes into my mouth while my hand plays with the other. They are both hard little nubs and they both taste of strawberries.

Years and years ago when my wife and I were first intimate, she was trying soft soaps for the first time. The first bodywash she used was strawberry scented. It was overpowering cheap stuff that smelled more like strawberry candy than real strawberries but that is the smell I remember when I first bit her nipple and she first reached down my pants.

I mount her. She’s giggling now. I am easily aroused but the fact that the strawberry bodyspray she bought can do this to me fills her with domme glee. My buttons have been pushed and now I am between her legs thrusting and growling as I bite her shoulder. In the back of my mind I know I should have done more foreplay but damn it, the strawberries are a green light and I have to fuck.

Fucking isn’t enough though. I smell strawberries and it makes me want to fill my mouth. I slip out and my wife groans. She thinks I have come back to my senses but a second later my mouth is on her sex and she knows I am still entranced. My tongue is wide against her sex and I am lapping every flavor I can.

I eat my wife out. She doesn’t taste like strawberries but the smell is still with me. I think of those first heady days when I played with her tits and marveled at how round and full they were. I think of the joys of moving her long blonde hair and finding new places on her neck to leave hickies. I think of the oh so very quiet way we would climax because we had roommates in the house. I think of open thighs and a pussy I never get tired of eating. I think of her lips around my cock. I think of fucking my wife.

I devour my wife and my memories. Her hands go to my head and she grinds against me. She pins me to her strawberry body as she fucks my face to climax. When she cums, it’s not the quiet whispers of youth, it’s the full throated growl of adulthood.

I sit up and wipe my face. In the darkness I can make out my wife laid out and exhausted. She fakes a snore. I laugh. I had consumed her last bit of energy. Now she is ready to go to sleep.

We cuddled and she makes a vague promise about tomorrow night. That’s okay. The last of my stamina is gone too and I can feel dreams begin to form on the edges of my brain.

I dreamed of strawberries.

The Case of the Leaky Water Valve

Yesterday morning I went to the manager’s office and presented our evidence that the water heater had gone insane. Super-Hot Manager was not there today but Accountant-in-Training guy was. When I told him about the little timing experiment me and the wife did, his eyes glazed over. He asked me if I was an electrician.

I said, “No, but I can count and do math. With the water heater breaker on, I’m using ten times my normal power.”

Confused, he got out Maintenance Guy. M-G expressed disbelief. He had just checked the water heater yesterday and the elements were fine. The heater was working right.

I asked, “Is it possible it is working right, but is working all the time?”

An hour later, M-G confirms that yes, there is a problem with the water heater. There is a release valve that is supposed to drain off water in certain situations. That valve was broken and was releasing all my hot water as the water heater made it. M-G was a bit upset that he didn’t figure it out, but I was just thrilled it had been figured out.

So I spent the next few hours helping M-G replace the valve cause I’m a hands on kind of guy. I even got to break out my neglected toolbox from when I worked at a car factory. M-G was stunned that I was willing to get dirty and take apart pipes with him, but he decided I was an alright guy for a tenant.

We replaced the valve and believe me, I have been checking the meter every few hours. It is now working at a sane pace. I was told to come by Monday morning to talk to Super-Hot Manager and she would contact the power company about reducing my bill.

If I have one lesson to take from these three days of stress, it’s this. Although Super-Hot Manager was helpful, nothing would have been accomplished if I hadn’t been a total pest about it. I don’t think companies are evil, I just think they are filled with people who are trained to be skeptical and to act when given no other choice. It was only when I vigorously fought on my own behalf did I get things changed. I know that sounds simple, but you would be amazed how many people advised me that I would never get anything done because I was not a lawyer or rich. It makes me wonder if middle class America has a roll-over and submit attitude. It makes me more aware of the general sense of hopelessness that seems to be us as an income bracket and as a country.

Fuck that.

Now excuse me, I am going to take a long hot shower.

Spin Me Round Like A Record

Yesterday I went down to the manager’s office, full of rage and indignation and met the new apartment manager for the first time. Holy fuck was she hot. She had long chestnut hair, full lips and these wide disbelieving eyes when I told her about my electric bill. She instantly adopted a pleasing "how can I possibly help you attitude" that bordered on frantic. I’m angry and pissed off but shit, my brain was cycling through porn plots of how she could REALLY make it up to me.

Superhot Manager luckily was not overcome with lust like I was and she called up the power company. She ripped through several layers of bureaucracy in no time and talked to someone semi-important. Here is where it gets surreal.

The power company let us know that they really are only in charge of the meter. There’s another power company that does the actual electrical stuff. Apparently the people that send us our bill are subcontractors who’s jobs are to look at a meter and write the number down. On occasion they replace a meter. She offered to send me a brochure and advised me to keep my air conditioning at 80 degrees. That’s it. Oh and she informed us that meters last ‘a hundred years’ and I got a little distracted by the thought of Georgia Power around 1906.

Well Superhot Manager hung up on them and vowed she would send maintenance over to my apartment to check the air conditioning. I thanked her and she asked for my phone number. I was assaulted by more porn plots before realizing she just wanted to call me if the power company stopped being assholes.

Keep in mind I also have my work from home job which requires my absolute attention and this is a busy week. So all day consisted of guys stomping through my apartment to look over everything while I tried to squeeze work in. It’s literally me answering a question from the electrician, watching him leave, run over to my computer and crank out some work, then stop when he gets back to answer more questions about how often I do laundry.

Eventually they show me where the meter is. I’m looking at a bank of power meters and they are all slowly cranking at celestial speeds except for this one that is spinning like a damn record. That one is ours. We shut off all the breakers and our meter stopped cold, which was proof that we weren’t being siphoned from some other apartment. I can’t tell you how disappointing that was.

The electricians left without figuring anything out and I went back to work from 5 to 8 to catch up on stuff. My brilliant wife gets home and listens to the whole story. She then asks “Why didn’t you turn the breakers off one at a time to see what was causing the biggest drain?”

I think my answer was something like, “Did you know our apartment manager was hot?”

At nine at night, I’m standing outside watching the meter. It does a full revolution every six seconds. My wife turns off the air conditioning breaker and it barely slows down. She turns off the kitchen, the bedrooms and the living room, nothing. Then she turns everything back on and turned off the water heater breaker. I watch out spinning wheel drop back down into reality. Now the meter does a full revolution every 49 seconds. Damn. The water heater had jacked our usage up what? Ten times? We shut the water heater off.

So here it is in the morning. We can’t take a shower cause fuck, that water’s cold. I need to go chat to Superhot Manager and tell her it was the apartment’s water heater and I don’t think we should have to pay for that, especially since we complained that something was up last month. I am hoping she stays her really nice self and agrees. Just because she’s hot doesn’t mean I can’t be a total asshole about this. Hell, it might even help.

Plus I still have work from yesterday to catch up on and work to do today. If anyone has the ability to clone people, now is the time to let me borrow it.

Articulate Rage

I don’t get mad often. I know people say that all the time but seriously, I have anger issues. I just don’t build any. I used to get angry all the time but as I discovered Buddhism and as I got in touch with my dominant side, I stopped getting angry. Someone pisses me off and ten minutes later I understand what made them do that, and why they will do it again. Now, I might come to the conclusion that they are a worthless fuck of a human being, but I don’t get mad. The highest level of anger I really approach is a low boil of sarcasm.

Yesterday I was raging beserk full green Hulk furious destructive mad.

Still am.

My electric bill ranges from 90$ to 130% During the hottest month of the year my bill was 150$. Last month it was 250$. It was a full 100$ more than it was the previous month. We had bought no new appliances and in fact I had gotten into the habit of turning off the air conditioner and walking around in my boxers.

I called the electric company and heard a long speech about how I could conserve energy. When I told them the only thing I was doing different was turning OFF my air conditioning, I broke the call center drone and she offered to send someone to re-read my meter.

I then called my apartment management and told them of the situation. They were VERY concerned and made me feel good right up until they said let them know what happens.

What happened was I got a post card that told me that they re-read my meter and everything was fine. Oh and I got a note advising me to turn off my air conditioning during the day.

Yesterday I check my mail and my new electric bill was 430$. My wattage use for the month was in the 4000’s. I had effectively used three times as much energy as I had a year ago by doing nothing different. I found myself walking through the apartment wondering if the new cell phone I plugged in was somehow creating an energy drain as big as twice the apartment before I came to my senses.

The fucking cocksucker I contacted at the electric company offered to send me a brochure on how to conserve energy. When I decline with scorn, he offered to send someone to read my meter. When I pointed out hos much good that did last time, he very reluctantly agreed to send someone out to audit my power usage but warned he had no idea when, where or who would be arriving. Essentially, that was some sort of extraordinary thing to do and he wasn’t trained on the mother fucking details.

Today I will contact my apartment management again and ask them why the fuck my power bill has spiked to triple its usual rate. I am planting my ass in their office till I get a damn answer that doesn’t make me want to smash something. I am going to get a smidge more response than their father fucking attitude of let them know what happens in the next fucking episode.

My wife is pretty depressed by this turn of events. She obsesses over why we had a car crash, a tooth that needs to be pulled and now this bill. It seems like we never can save any money because of fresh disasters and Dragon*Con is looking a bit out of our budget.

In a moment of raging clarity, I realized it wasn’t anything we did at all. This shit happens to everyone because shit happens. What makes the difference is how we deal with our shit and right now I am feeling like skull fucking the next entity that gets in my way.

430$ and they want to send me a fucking brochure.

Cell Phone Slave Token of Appreciation Winners

It takes a ruthless cold heart to sort through these entries and pick winners. So many of you sent me pictures of asses or little e-mails where you make your best passionate plea for a paddle. I want to give you all a paddle but damn it, the Publix doesn’t seem to think they need 30 pizza shovels on stock. They gave me a weird look for buying three as it is. So I am forced to pick winners when I feel like all of you are winners.

I am not sure if I can announce who won. There is a certain level of anonymity in BDSM. We all live secret lives and we don’t know if the person next to us in the grocery store is buying that pizza shovel for pizza or hot ass. Kinky folks are out there, and you’ll have an easier time finding someone else who likes spanking than you will finding an extraterrestrial, a ghost or a dungeon without a black color scheme. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you so you’ll be extra nice to your next date, not knowing if he has a paddle tucked under his car seat.

I will tell you there were three winners. One was a man who loves his wife very much and complained about the lack of good paddles. Another was from a woman who’s never been spanked with a paddle at all and she wanted her boyfriend to wield my token like a blessing. The last winner was a woman who asked for the paddle, asked to be bruised and asked to be used in so many ways with such a simple pizza shovel. Yeah, that will get you a prize.

But much like Wesley, I plan to call without warning. If you submitted an entry, keep half an eye on your e-mail. As more shovels arrive, I plan to keep giving them away. Heck, keep submitting if you like. You never know when a paddle might be coming your way.

Erotic Alert Level: Soothing Water Blue

Today I step away from the world of porn, instant messeges and up to the minute politcal news and walk into the happy sunshine world called the Pool. There the hot Georgian sun will be tempered by the wonderful cooling waters. Atlantan women will lounge about in various states of undress and I will make sure they are tanning properly.

Sometimes but not lately Spanking Friend Sara shall be with me, where she will no doubt tell me of her many adventures in cock. The woman is like a slut story mine.

I will also be joined by Agatha Christie, a charming lady who writes books about charming old ladies and even more charming Belgian travellers. Agatha insists that there may be a murder at the pool which I find quite unexpected but I will humor her and keep an eye out.

While I am watching out for murders and listening to tales of golden pussies and cocks, please remember that tomorrow is the last day for the Cell Phone Slave Paddle contest. We have far more enteries than I ever expected but I would love to have yours.

I am off to rub down in various lotions.

Fiction: Timothy and the Paddle of Gold

It was a good night for spanking. The Kinks Club was filled with so many sweaty bodies, and the hot Georgia air was overwhelming the meager air-conditioning. Enigma was on non-stop rotation over the sound system, and the lights were set comfortably dim. I was giving demonstrations on proper spanking technique, and there was a long line of eager female asses ready to be taught a thing or two.

I had just finished beating some submissive named Kitten or Angel or some derivation thereof. As I was getting ready to call the next eager sacrifice, a man rudely pushed himself to the front of the line. I snickered at his appearance. He looked like a young Vincent Price, complete with cape and little leather bag. His shirt was unbuttoned to reveal a smooth chest that looked freshly waxed. He radiated that macho sense of domination that said he expected to be called Lord somebody.

“Sorry, I spank only women,” I told him.

To read more, click Whole Post

I pissed him off with that one comment. His nostrils flared, which is something I didn’t think actually happened.

“I am not here to be spanked,” he said. “I am here to challenge you, Timothy Kyle Vance, to a contest of spanking prowess.”

Yep, he pissed me off with one comment, too. It’s what doms do, I guess.

“You know my name, but you haven’t told me yours.”

“I am the Devil,” he said.

The crowd laughed.

“The Devil?” I sneered.

All the lights shut off except for one single brilliant light that seemed to emanate from the man. The smell of brimstone overwhelmed the smell of sweat and leather. The music stopped, and all that could be heard was the gasping of the audience as motherfucking WINGS sprang from the dude’s back.

“I am Lucifer, the Lightbringer, Satan Himself!”

“All right, don’t let your panties get in a bunch. I believe you. You seriously want to challenge me to a spanking match?”

The Devil nodded. The lights came back on, and the wings went back under the cape. “I’ll bet the finest submissive in the world against your soul that I can spank ass better than you.”

Now he’d pissed me off a second time. “All right, first of all, I can’t believe you brought this shit back to Georgia. Didn’t you learn anything from that song?”

In an instant, the Devil was right in my face, and I could see the fires of Hell shimmering in his eyes. “Do not bring up that thrice-damned song! How was I supposed to know that inbred, cross-eyed, cousin-fucking hick was a cock-sucking autistic fiddle-playing genius?”

I stepped back. “All right, fair enough. But offering me a submissive? Submissives come and go. Offer me something I can keep.”

The Devil smiled as he reached into his leather bag. “There’s always the classics,” he said.

Fuck. He brought out the most beautiful paddle I had ever seen. It was wide, wicked looking and bright gold. It caught the light and glowed like a freshly spanked ass. A dom like me deserves a paddle like that.

“A paddle of gold against your soul that I can spank better than you,” the Devil said.

“You know I’m a Buddhist, right?”

“Look,” the Devil said with a sigh. “Do you want the fucking paddle or not?”

“There might be some theological issues to settle, but sure, you got a bet.”

“I will go first,” the Devil announced. He scanned the crowd of assembled people and pointed at a goth chick named Deathwing. He pointed at her, and she wet her black lace panties. She brought her pale white ass right on over and shimmied out of her panties. Without any word from us, she took her position over the spanking bench and offered her curvy bottom to our game.

I stepped back and gave the Devil room. He lifted the paddle of gold up high so everyone could see it. He snapped his fingers and little blue flames appeared all over Deathwing’s body. The Goth girl screamed and then moaned as the flames turned into little nibbling demons that licked, bit and sucked on her flesh. The girl started to hump the bench, and the Devil hadn’t even touched her.

The paddle of gold came down hard and — whack! — left a damn nice print on her white ass. Deathwing squealed, and a little blue demon stuck something naughty in her mouth to hush her. The Devil paused, waiting for the echoes of the paddle to fade away before hitting again.

Show-off.

On and on he smacked the goth chick’s ass with that same level of pretension and melodrama. Whack and then pause for the pose. Whack and then wait for the print to appear. The demons kept nibbling her body, and Deathwing kept swooning and squirming like she was in heat. The whole scene was overacted and so full of posturing shit that I expected the Devil’s eyes to turn brown.

The people at the club ate it up , of course, and applauded every goddamned affectation.

When the Devil was done, they had to carry Deathwing away from the bench. Her ass was black, blue and somehow gold. A wet spot the size of a Chevron Big Gulp dripped from the bench. They took her over to the comfort couch where a blanket was laid over her as if she were a horse after a long race. The fact that she was actually fucking sitting didn’t impress me at all.

Not that it was noticed by this bunch. I couldn’t believe the sheer adoration from the crowd of leather posers. The Devil had given them the spanking they all imagined in their Anne Rice- and Laura Hamilton-inspired masturbation fantasies.

“Since you provided me with my partner, I shall provide you with yours,” the Devil said.

Stepping out from under his cape was the ugliest, dumpiest flat-bottomed girl I had ever seen. Judging from her red skin and horns, I assumed she was another of his demons. The sagging tits and grossly distorted shaved pubic lips told me she was a gal, but the goatee around her lips prevented me from calling her a lady. This abomination of spanking horror winked at me and took her place on the bench. She wiggled her flat ass at me.

I snorted. “If you thought this ugly fuck was going to turn me off, then you don’t know much about spanking.”

I picked my harshest, meanest leather paddle and walked right over to that ugly daughter of a bitch. One hand gripped her by the horn and yanked her head straight back. The demon bitch froze in mid ass wiggle. I think she realized that there are other kinds of Hell here on earth.

“This is how we whup ass in Georgia,” I said.

I spanked her ass lightly until the heat built deep within her..

I spanked the top of her thighs till tears of acid dropped from her eyes.

I spanked her right buttock till it was redder than the devil’s face.

I spanked her left buttock till it was redder than the right.

I pulled her head back and told her exactly how I was beating her ass.

I fulfilled every promise I made with the harshest swings I could give with my paddle.

I spanked.

I punished.

I claimed her ass the way only a spanker knows how.

She climaxed, and the wail of a damned soul screaming in bliss was something to hear. In her spasm, her hands and knees shattered the steel bench. She fell to the ground, and I released the horn I was holding. On the ground, she planted little kisses that burned my leather boots.

I looked at the Devil while his demon kissed my boots. The Devil sighed and set the paddle down right at my feet. The crowd was too stunned to say anything. That’s fine. I got everything I wanted when I saw the slump of the Devil’s shoulders.

“Fucking Georgians,” he said as he vanished in a cloud of black smoke.

The demon bitch disappeared with him. The paddle of gold, however, stayed. I walked over to it and picked it up. Damn, it just felt right in my hand.

“All right,” I said to the assembled crowd. “Who needs their ass tanned now?”

Just 26 More Days

September 1st is Dragon*Con. Me and the lovely wife will be attending and we plan to have a fan-fucking-tastic time.

No, we are not dressing up.

It’ll be four days of comic nerds, role-playing nerds and science fiction nerds hanging out, selling things, buying things and waiting in long lines to meet favorite authors and artists. I went alone years ago and it was awesome but this will be my wife’s first time so much hilarity should ensue.

My wife has her four days planned out but I am a much more casual type. I also realized that some of you might be there. I know there will be a ton of real celeberties there, but if you would like to meet up with a guy who posts on the Internet, drop me an e-mail at shonrichards at yahoo [dot] com and we can work something out. You can look at me and snicker about whatever I had bought that day and I can look at you and confirm that real human beings read my stories.

By the way, that image is from Leia's Metal Bikini A fun group that plans to be at Dragon*Con as well.

By the way Part 2- I was scanning the list of guests this year and my fanboy heart skipped a beat when I saw Erin Gray on the list. Oh Colonel Wilma, Buck just doesn’t appreciate you like I would.

By the way Part 3- Just a few more days for the Cell Phone Slave Paddle Contest

On Notice

With the help of this place I made my own nifty little On Notice Board.



Thus concludes perhaps the only meme I will ever do.

Fiction: Too Fucking Hot

It was too fucking hot.

We were college kids who burned all our money to live together in an apartment. We ate the cheapest food, didn’t have cable and never turned on the air conditioner so we could afford to live under the same roof and fuck. And, oh, how we fucked. I was Cassie’s dom, and the games we played with rope and paddles would have been impossible in a dorm. She was my slave, and I owned her cunt from sunrise to sunset and back to sunrise.

What had been fun in the spring semester, though, was impossible over the summer session. One-hundred-degree weather had interrupted our games where shame and decency could not. There was no rain. There was no breeze. All we had were closed shades and the shedding of clothes to keep us cool. We were soaked in heat to the point that touching another person was just a little much extra heat to stand.

It was too fucking hot.

Cassie’s long blond hair was pulled back into a very unsexy bun just to keep it from touching her skin. She was naked except a pair of panties to keep her from sticking to our couch. Her nearly nude body inspired lust, and one night I actually tied her down and fucked her, but the awful feeling of two burning bodies rubbing together was too uncomfortable to repeat. Oh, I’m a sadist, but I’m not willing to be a masochist just to make her hurt.

That was three days ago. This morning, I was looking at her flushed sweaty body, and I wanted her. I wanted to use her. I wanted to somehow lose myself in her sex and escape the heat. It was just the sticky friction that kept me back. I stared at Cassie for an hour as my overheated brain tried to think of a way to fuck her. When I finally did come up a way, I couldn’t believe it had taken me that long.

“Come with me,” I said.

She recognized the tone of my voice and knew we would be fucking. The look of fear in her face was worse than that time I tried my belt on her. Christ, she was more afraid of the heat than of me.

“It’s too fucking hot,” she said.

“Oh, I know,” I told her.

I grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to the bedroom. She shed her panties like a good slut while I kicked off my boxers. Cassie bit her lip and braced herself. Would I burn her with a spanking, or was I going to just immolate her with sex?

“Sit at the end of the bed,” I said. She obeyed and spread her legs. Oh, such a very good girl. I walked around her and sat at the head of the bed. Cassie followed me like a flower following the sun. I sat down and got comfortable, my knees pulled up so I was just shy of touching her long, open legs.

“Stroke,” I said.

The tension went out of her shoulders. This she could do. Her hands went to her hairy sex and pushed into herself. Cassie moaned as soon as she entered herself, just as I had trained her. She leaned back against the footboard and fucked herself.

I spat on my cock and stroked my cock. I gasped at the brief flash of coolness from the saliva. My hand pumped my cock, grinding along the length of my shaft. Cassie’s eyes stayed on my cock, and I knew that as much as she wanted it inside her, she wasn’t willing to brave the heat that was almost solid in the bedroom.

It was too fucking hot.

We masturbated. I felt the friction build on my cock, but this heat was manageable. I saw Cassie go through it, too, as she almost touched her tits but stopped herself. Our bodies longed for touch but at the same time couldn’t stand to be touched. So we did the next best thing. We fucked ourselves. We fucked ourselves for each other. Our hands were proxies for our cunt and cock.

The sweat on our bodies wasn’t from fucking, but it still turned us on to watch. I couldn’t stop looking at her flushed face, and I didn’t care if it was flushed from the heat or from the masturbating. Cassie felt the same about my cock. She knew it was red and swollen from my hand, but I could see in her eyes that she imagined it was red from her lips. Our bodies weren’t touching, but we still going through the same sweaty reactions.

Our fucking was so hot.

Cassie climaxed first, the greedy slut. The sound of her wet sex sounded deceptively cool and inviting. It sounded like footsteps in a pool, and I heard the sounds of her slick cunt over the sound of her moaning orgasm.

I was close. It was so hot, and Cassie was already in so much pain from the heat, but I couldn’t resist. I stood up on the bed and walked over her while I kept pumping my cock. She looked up at me, and that flash of fear was all I needed to cum.

Unbelievably hot cum rained on her face, and I knew every drop burned her. Cassie winced as my stream fell on her, but she didn’t try to dodge it. Hell, she even started to smile. My seed joined the sweat on her face, proving that my mark can overwrite even nature.

That is so fucking hot.

Half Nekked Thursday Workout

I don't work out as much as I used to. My old routine was hard on my knees and after two weeks I would have to take a one week break till my knees recovered. Not the best schedule, huh?

So now I am doing more low impact stuff. The Wife is helping out and bless her Twin Moons, she finally found a way to make sit-ups fun.

The goal-



Reach-



Oh Goddess, feel the BURN!



Success!



That's one. It's not so bad this way.

Cell Phone Slave Wrap Up- Token of Appreciation

Feels weird doesn’t it? Cell Phone Slave is over and here it is Wednesday and we have no new part. Amaya is being trained by Wesley and is she enjoying the experience? Was there a reason that Wesley had such grueling tests? Was her submission everything Amaya hoped it was? How does Wesley act day to day, as opposed to cool and cruel for an hour on the phone? I’m curious too but at the same time that part of the story wasn’t nearly as important as the transformation Amaya went through to get there. I could write the day to day story of what Amaya is up to now, but as a writer, I want you to write that ending so that the story ends just the way you want it.

That doesn’t fill the strange hole that I am feeling now though on Wednesday. I want to replace Cell Phone Slave with another big long series but it really helps to write that series first. Right now I am bouncing between several ideas; almost all of them things I have never tried before. I’d like to tell the story of an older submissive; someone who has been in the lifestyle for over a decade and then goes through a transformative event. I’d like to tell a Coming-of-Dom story. I’d like to revisit the boys of the kinky fraternity and tell a story of friendship. They bounce around in my head, jockeying for position and when I pick one, it may take up to six months to write it all.

So what shall we do in the meantime?

I’d like to have a little contest. I bought some more 2$ pizza shovels that are the Best Damn Paddles I’ve used in awhile. They are sitting on my desk and I would like you to have one. But because I am a writer and because I am a dom and because I am really missing Amaya and Wesley right now, I want to have a little contest. I want you to earn that pizza shovel. I want to have one last little test and I want you to be rewarded with what I hope will be a good luck spanking charm.

I have two methods in mind and both of them depend on a Need-To-Be-Spanked basis. One is that you send me an e-mail describing why you need this paddle. Are you a bad girl? Are you a very good girl? Do you know such a girl? Are you a guy who aspires to be a Wesley? Are you already a cool dom and deserve such a token of power? Write me and tell me why this paddle should be yours. Beg, brag, demand, testify; it’s up to you.

The second method is more crass and lewd but hey, it was that kind of a story. Send me a picture of the ass that needs to be spanked. Clothed, nude, wearing a purple thong, it doesn’t matter. Send me a piece of the ass and convince me it needs to be spanked right by the paddle on my desk.

Send either or both submissions to my e-mail address of shonrichards at yahoo{dot}com. I swear on a stack of busty submissives I will never share your images or written statements with anyone. I’ll pick a winner next Wednesday or if submissions are large enough, I will extend the contest to two weeks. The paddle shall be mailed out and I will even sign it if such a thing interests you. Hell, if you want I’ll even sign it as Wesley.

Are you ready for the last dare?

Another Book for the Kinky

BDSM people love books. For a lot of us, these books were our first windows into the weird wonderful world of domination and submission. Movies are nice but they lack the introspection that a book brings. Ultimately, every BDSM person feels a little freaky and we spend a lot of time wondering just how normal we are. Pictures, movies and even sex can excite us, but often it is the books that make us feel normal.

‘The Story of O’, Anne rice’s ‘Beauty’ books and nowadays, L. K. Hamilton’s endless tales of vampire domination appear in most kinky persons’ bedrooms. They’re gateway books for a lot of us. As we grow more mature we see some of the inherent flaws in those books but we still have a fondness for those delicious stories that made us both aroused and a little comforted. We are all kinky librarians, saving and treasuring books as they grow wrinkled and cracked.

Let me suggest another book for that secret library.

‘The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde’ was a book I read during a Victorian Novel phase and I was dreading reading it. I had little interest in a story about a man who accidentally turns into a monster. I based this knowledge on the movies, TV shows and musicals that have come out. Of course I was utterly wrong.

In the original book, Dr. Jekyll is an unhappy man. He wants to indulge in forbidden pleasures and yet he knows that his moral side will never allow him to really commit and enjoy himself. To cure this problem, he dabbles in chemicals with the goal of isolating his morality from his immorality. He succeeds and transforms into the fearless and selfish Hyde. Mr. Hyde enjoys himself and then changes back into Dr. Jekyll who remembers every detail. Not only remembers, he savors it.

That’s a little different from the movies, isn’t it?

The story of Jekyll and Hyde is not about good and evil, its about guilt over your own desires. Jekyll wants to indulge, enjoy and wallow in the pleasures that are never named in the book. He can’t do it, so he constructs Hyde, a fierce loathsome creature with no pity or empathy what so ever. What is key to me is that Jekyll remembers what happens when he is Hyde and enjoys those memories so much that he keeps changing back into him.

We never find out what these pleasures are. My personal guess is homosexuality but the beauty of the book is that you can’t prove one thing or another. Stevenson did this on purpose so we can plug in whatever vice we have.

For BDSM people though, it could easily be talking about Domination. Sometimes as a dominant, I have very selfish, greedy, cruel, ravenous, lusty impure thoughts about my subs that surprise and frighten me a little. It’s hard to love someone and deliberately hurt them even if you know it is what they want. I know that my urges come from myself and not some alter ego like Mr. Hyde, but there certainly would be a sort of freedom if I could blame those desires on some other persona. Like Jekyll, I sometimes look back on my BDSM experiences and think of them as happening to another person because I can’t imagine what drove me to do THAT to her.

I find comfort in ‘The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde’ more so now that I am experienced in BDSM. I don’t see my Dom side as evil. In fact, I am a little cocky because unlike the cowardly Jekyll, I can embrace my Hyde and make it a part of my life. There are days I am not entirely comfortable with it, but when I think of the alternative, with unhappy Jekyll wringing his hands over the pleasures he wishes he was having, I am grateful that I am naturally more Hyde than Jekyll.

I think the last lesson we can learn from Jekyll and Hyde was the fact that Hyde had to be a secret. He existed off screen for most of the book, as the book refused to follow him into darkness. This creates an effect of isolating Hyde and turning everything he did into a dirty shame that can’t stand the light of day. I think bringing our vices into the light is the cure for Jekyll/Hyde Dom syndrome. The more we act on our Hyde impulses, and the more our loved ones accept and encourage it, the less the Jekyll in us needs to hide in shame.

So what is your personal Hyde like?