Cryptolibido

Her sex is a labyrinth.

Whether by cock or by tongue, her sex is a maze filled with magic, wonder and bliss. Folds and passages without dead ends going on forever and ever through corridors of pleasure and mystery. At the center of this beautiful maze lies precious treasure but it is not the treasure that makes the labyrinth special. It's the way the labyrinth changes me. It molds me, reshapes me, transforms me as it squeezes me through until I emerge from the labyrinth exhausted, exhilarated and new.

After I leave the physical labyrinth of her sex, I still find myself blissfully lost in the labyrinth of her love.

Out of Town

I am heading out of town for the rest of the week. I'll be back this weekend and hopefully will be back on a regular posting schedule Monday.

I have stories in mind that I want to tell that do not feel like therapy. I have some ideas that will hopefully entertain you and me. I know divorce is supposed to take forever to adjust to but I'm really tired of it. I want to be a writer again and not that guy who analyzes his life all the time.

Thank you for all the kind e-mails and comments. I may not have been a god husband but apparently I have been a good blogger considering how much affection and good wishes I have received.

Merry Christmas from Chiron Beta Prime

From the always entertaining Johnathan Coulton comes a song I wish I had written.

Office Party

You are cordially invited to the Von Madd Laboratories Christmas/Kwanza/Festivus/Whatever party being held December 21 at 8:00 pm. Please bring this invitation with you or else you will not be allowed into the party unless you submit yourself as a test subject for the new FlogMistress-3200 (Now with 20% more rotations!).

Food and drinks will be provided, as well as lube, mattresses and seasonal lingerie. A strictly dress code will be observed requiring at least fifty percent of flesh to be exposed. Lab coats may be worn if they are the only article of clothing being worn.

The mistletoe this year will emit a powerful aphrodisiac at random intervals resulting in kisses you may not be able to stop for an hour.

One percent of your fellow coworkers will actually be cleverly disguised sex robots. Take a chance this year on that coworker you have been crushing on, you might get lucky with them or at least get lucky with a highly accurate sex android version of them.

A vast majority of the candy canes will in fact be vibrators. Yo determine if a candy cane is in fact edible, you can test it by stroking the length of the cane three times. if it vibrates, it is not edible, though you may still want to put it in your mouth.

Presents will be distributed based on a system of peer appraisals, work reviews, outstanding sexual qualities and number of PhD's. Presents could of course be traded but that is only if you have zero faith in Dr. Von Madd's delicate and highly researched system, but that is your choice if you want to go against science and all. It is the holidays, you are allowed to throw away everything you beleive in just because you want something prettier than what you deserve.

You may of course bring your own presents to give to your coworkers based on your own flawed system.

Video cameras will be recording the entire party in order to provide Research and Development with necessary data. The film footage will also be used as outright porn for management and holiday cards for next year.

Happy Holidays,
Dr. Otto Von Madd

Good Sex

Good sex is like entering heaven.

Good sex is like finding what all the fuss is about.

Good sex is like the sky: warm, bright, beautiful and infinite.

Good sex is like watching porn and realizing that it is you on the screen.

Good sex is like Christmas, Easter, Halloween and your birthday on one special day.

Good sex is like finding an author you love and then realizing that they have written a hundred other stories that you can read.

Good sex is what we all deserve.

Written Anything?

I love my friends. Some of them ask if I have written anything this week. They are not greedy, they just think it is a healthy sign that I am getting better. They want to know that I am still writing and that everything will be okay. The fact that it has been less than a week doesn't seem to sink in because it is so surreal.

Of course I haven't written anything yet.

But I have some ideas. I have one story banging around but I'm not writing it because it is really sad. I don't want to be that blogger. You know the one, who undergoes a terrible life change and then starts writing stories about characters who go through the same life change and shit plays out. Christ, you're my readers, not my therapists.

I want to write something funny. I want to write something with a lot of action. I want to write a summer movie with big explosions and bigger breasts. I want to write amazing sex with even more amazing dialogue. I want to go blow your fucking socks off.

So we'll see what happens this weekend. This weekend I get the rest of my stuff. I get boxes and boxes of memories and coping mechanisms. I'll get stuff that was either bought for me by my wife, or bought by me trying to make myself happy in a unhappy marriage. Bleh, I am not looking forward to that.

That cheap meaningless light story is looking more and more attractive.

My Porn

One of the first things I did when I left my parents' house was get a shitload of porn. Man, I wanted it all. Back then I only had access to magazines and over priced videos from mail order companies but I just tore through it all. My parents viewed sex as a dirty thing and I was eager to see what all the dirt was about.

When I got married, my porn buying slowed down. Part of that was the Internet and it's wonderful vast collection of free porn. I really liked the text stories and started writing my own. The more I wrote, the more I treated porn as research material. I got porn that excited me, but a lot of it was just that same insatiable curiosity I had as a young adult. Sex fascinates me. It's something no two people can readily agree on. Well, they do if they want to have sex, but I almost consider that a statistical miracle. You can grab two people off the street and ask if they like a certain flavor of ice cream and you stand a good chance of these random two people saying yes. Grab two random people and ask how they feel about oral sex, you have no telling how they will react.

This is all my way of saying that my porn collecting didn't bother me in the least.

But now that I am divorcing, and I am able to talk to my friends for the first time about the sheer lack of intimacy I have had in my marriage for the last 10 years, holy shit. I've moved in with a friend and as I unpack I am just stunned by how many breasts, asses and acts of submission I have visibly around me. It's impossible for me not to see how dysfunctional it all looks.

Take my video games. My wife hated going anywhere. She much rather stay home and rest from throwing herself at work. So I bought a beach volleyball game for the XBox that has all bouncy half naked chicks who you buy swimsuits for. I got my summer vacation I didn't want, a bunch of giggly video girls who lay in the sun and I got to dress them in the swimsuits my wife always rejected wearing.

I have a pillow with pinup girls dressed in Halloween costumes. I like it because it is done in a 50's carefree style. My wife made it for me, after I found the fabric and asked her to do it. She made it for me, but it was what I wanted. You know what I mean? It wasn't her desire to make it. It was me, surrounding myself with something sexy to remind myself that I like sex.

Fuck. That's how I look at all my little sexy possessions. Art books, posters and figurines that evoked desire in me were precious things I bought and treasured because it was validation that I was a sexual being. For many reasons, my wife rarely had sex with me and damn it, I just couldn't ever give up on sex. I surrounded myself in sex like I was living in a bachelor's apartment. Maybe all that sex around us was too much pressure. Maybe it turned her off. Maybe because I wanted it so fucking bad and she realized my objects were my substitute for her. I don't know.

I can't throw them out though. I see them as reminders and maybe emotional crutches but I can't let them go. Being sexually frustrated is a part of me I know so well that right now when my world is so upside down, I don't want to let it go.

Who the Fuck?

This is going to ramble a bit but you'll understand because I'm getting a divorce.

My wife and I take care of each other. We adore each other in spite of those thing we hate about each other. Over the last few years, the hate outnumbers the love. There is no need to say what the breaking point is because over time the breaking has been going on for years.

I didn't understand this till Friday night. She was mad. She was upset and she unloaded on me. She said that she felt like I split my attention between my writing, my readers, my play partners, my friends and her. She said that all her attention is on me. She said that I hurt her, and for the last 8 years, that I have not taken care of her and that I am too selfish to really care for her.

Then she took it all back. She was just upset. She didn't mean it.

The thing is, this was a continuation of the same fight we have had for ages. We were picking right back up from the last time we had this fight and this was years old. She resents that so many of our friends like me better. She resents that I do not want to live like a hermit just with her on some lonely mountain. She resents that I don't submit to her tastes and interests.

So this really tore me up. I realized how unhappy she was for the past decade. See, I thought that no matter how unhappy I was, at least she was happy. I thought I took a good job taking care. I feel like I break my back taking care of her and now I knew that I sucked at it. The question became, if I was doing such a bad job as her husband, why was I making myself miserable for so little results?

We talked about it and we both agreed that we were both working really hard for so little happiness. We love each other and we care about each other but we are not good for each other.

The weird part is that I feel like I have lost my identity. I saw myself as that husband guy who loved and took care of this very special woman and made her happy. I made choices every day with her in mind. I made decisions with my inner voice sounding like hers. I have worked, played, loved and wrote with her influence and approval or disapproval.

And now it's just me. I haven't been me in 14 years. Even in my writing, there are large bits of her. I'm not saying it in a tragic, oh-she-will-always-be-with-me way, but in a very serious, I did everything with her in mind. I was not myself, I was what she demanded of me. And now I'm not. I'm me.

Who the fuck is me?

I have friends. I have close friends. I have people who love me. I will not be alone in this. I'll be moving this week. I will keep writing. Something. I just don't know what that writing will be. It will be all me. Or a lot of me with less of my wife. But this will take time and well, practice.

I've never been me.

Spanking Rivalry

Matthew checked the woman’s ass. It was like touching a hot plate. The hour of flogging, spanking and whipping has made the woman’s ass a crimson delight of heat, welts and tenderness. The woman squirmed when he touched her but the spanking bench’s restraints held her tight. The gag in her mouth stopped any protests but that was okay, she consented to everything in advance which is just how Matthew liked it.

He tried to remember the woman’s name and failed. It was just too damn hard to keep track of all these names. He felt like it started with a hard ‘K’ sound. Karen? Kathy?

“Is she ready?” Jason asked.

Matthew looked at his older brother. “I’d say so.” Matthew tried to act cool as he gripped the woman’s plump ass. Was her name Kelly?

Jason was acting just as nonchalant. He toyed with the paddle he had just used on the woman. “So, which end do you want to fuck?”

To read more, click Whole Post


Matthew looked at his paddle as if the choice didn’t matter to him either. “I was thinking about fucking her ass.” He was also thinking the name might be Kitty?

The bound woman moaned in delight or apprehension. They couldn’t tell which. They really didn’t care.

Jason shook his head. “Brother of mine, I think I’m going to have to call you out on that.”

Matthew kept looking at his paddle. “You sure? She has a pretty mouth. I’ll take the ass and you can fuck those plump red lips.” Katherine?

Jason laughed. “You’ve been reading too much porn. Plump red lips?”

Matthew laughed. “Okay, you’re right. That was a bit too much. But you know, I didn’t spend an hour whooping her ass just to fuck her mouth.”

Jason nodded. “That’s how I feel too.”

This conversation was one they have had a hundred times. It started back with their high school crush, Tina Stratford, and continued through college, and into their adult lives when they started going to BDSM clubs. The brothers don’t mind fucking a woman at the same time, but they have very strong opinions about which end they prefer and they just hate sloppy seconds.

“Dragon tails?” Matthew asked.

Jason nodded. “I’ll get the stickers.”

Five minutes later, the bound woman had twelve colorful stickers on her ass. They were bright yellow and green letters arranged in a circle on her bottom. B-B-O-O-T-T-T-T-O-O-M-M.

Fifteen feet away, Jason and Matthew uncoiled their dragon tails. The whips were made of rough leather and had a strange cut that resulted in the fabric forming a spiral when at rest. They looked neat but were a bitch to actually aim. This made it perfect for their purposes.

Jason snapped his first, striking the bound woman’s exposed ass but missing the letter, ‘B’.

“Fucker, we hadn’t decided who goes first,” Matthew said.

“I just did,” Jason said. Only brothers could get away with being this unfair when a woman’s ass is on the line.

“Fucker,” Matthew said again. He snapped his dragon tail and hit his letter perfectly. The sticker was obliterated by the speeding leather.

“You small dick asshole,” Jason sad.

Matthew smiled and snapped again. This time he was off by a few inches as his dragon tail landed on the woman’s bare ass. Even through the woman’s gag they could hear her scream.

Jason snapped his dragon tail while the woman was still squirming. He struck his letter this time perfectly.

“Show off,” Matthew said.

“Yep,” Jason said as he snapped again. The leather uncoiled and whipped off the ‘O’.

This time the woman arched up as much as her restraints would allow and Jason waited. She stayed like that for a minute before she collapsed back into the bench. That’s when Jason tried again and missed.

“I had to make sure your bench would hold,” Jason said. It was an old insult.

“Dog humper,” Matthew said without much conviction. “I don’t go bitching about the quality of your leatherwork,” he lied. “If you think you can do a better job building benches, then you build the next one.”

Jason said nothing. The fact that Matthew missed was all he cared about.

Around the woman’s ass they went. Crack after crack of leather landed on her bottom and there were more hits than misses. The brothers had good aim, the kind you only get from years of practice and an asshole to compete against. They never lacked for targets in the clubs and jealous doms were convinced that they weren’t even really brothers. They could have any woman’s ass, but they didn’t do it for the pussy. What really mattered was which brother was better. Something like that makes it personal.

It came down to the last letter.

Jason missed.

Matthew missed.

The woman shook as she realized how soon she was about to be fucked at both ends.

Jason missed.

Matthew hit.

The woman screamed and climaxed at the same time.

“”Fuckstain,” Jason said. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even that disappointed because the woman did have pretty lips. These things came in cycles. Today he lost, tomorrow he might win. If the contest hadn’t been close, then there would have been an issue.

“ Christine!” Matthew said. “That’s the woman’s name! That was driving me up the wall!”

Jason shook his head and tossed Matthew a condom. “Brother, you worry about the dumbest things.”

Matthew took the condom. The woman’s ass was decorated in multiple welts. Jason was right. What did names matter when there was a victory ass fucking to be had?

The end.

Dirty Thoughts: Greed

I want to unwrap her.

I want to take all of those beautiful clothes that she wears and peel them off one by one. I want to be so gentle but not for her sake. I want to be gentle with her clothes that are so delicate and feminine as I work my way down to the prize of her body. I want to savor every new curve, treasure every new inch of skin and memorize every gasp she makes as I pull her out of the safety of her clothes and into the thrilling danger of what I have planned for her.

I want her bare.

I want her exposed.

I want her to be all mine.

Erotica Alert Level: Blood Rushing Red

I wrote most of a story lately. It is almost finished except of course for the part where I like it. I have to tweak it a bit and figure out what essential piece will connect the story I wrote to the story that was in my head that I was so happy about.

What is interesting to me and I apologize to you wonderful readers because I have turned this into a Track-My-Anxiety blog, is that although I am no longer scared shitless by the world, I still have all this crazy adrenaline. I'm excited. I'm terribly excited to the point that when I sat down to write my story, I had to get some scratch paper and write out the four different possible ways of telling that story because I couldn't just focus on one. This story is barely three pages and yet four versions of it exist in my head and I had to give them all equal time just to silence the doubt that the version I like is the best one.

But the thing is, I wrote it. I put it down and it's not bad. Considering how much work I have to do at work, and the constant jitters I have right now, it is a fucking miracle it was done at all. Yes, I want a cookie for my efforts.

Where's my cookie?

Time Management

Daydreaming about kissing is the most unproductive use of my time and yet it is the BEST use of my time.

Gateways

I was watching 'Tin Man' last night on the Sci-Fi channel. It's not bad, but it has more interesting ideas than execution. I'm still watching it though because the flashes of brilliance might get more frequent.

It got me thinking about childhood fantasies. The most popular stories often involve tornadoes or rabbit holes taking us to wonderful places where children get to be active participants instead of passive observers. I think we like these stories because we inherently don't beleive that the world we live in is exciting or interesting enough. We want to go somewhere else and much like Dorothy, we don't know where that place is, but we know it's not here.

I think the Internet has become a tornado for people now. I know the first time I logged into a BDSM chatroom I felt like I was embarking on an adventure. I was escaping conservative North Carolina where BDSM could only be accessed through 'Beauty' books or leftover Gor novels. Chatrooms grew into discussion groups, fiction story archives, cyber sex and dirty e-mails. I met one of the loves of my life through the Internet and right now I keep in touch with my kinky friends through livejournal and my blog. When my anxiety last week was at it's worse, I got supportive e-mails from Oz and Wonderland, encouraging me to come back.

I think sometimes that people online don't really understand how lucky we all are. We are one click away from a new Emerald City or one e-mail away from meeting the Red Queen. Before the Internet, we were stuck on that Kansas farm wishing for something, anything, different and the best we could hope for was meeting someone who didn't think we were too weird for owning a paddle bought in some kinky gas station.

I think we're living in a fantasy land right now and we don't even notice it.