egg

The elevator door shut.

Jean-Paul stood quietly next to Sylvie, looked up at the ascending numbers as he grinned.

Sylvie reached into her handbag. Todd. Todd was calling her now, and she grabbed her cell to silence the vibration.

The purse continued to shake; it was not the phone, but the egg jittering inside. Sylvie felt warm as she remembered that the egg was supposed to be inside her right now. Jean-Paul had meant to drive her over the edge. The elevator stopped, and the door opened.

The vibrating stopped, and Jean-Paul grabbed Sylvie’s hand, marched down the hall with her, unlocking the door quickly, and leading her to the back of a chair.

“Let me see if you have done as you were told…” Jean-Paul pushed Sylvie forward as he lifted the hem of her dress. Her purse fell to the ground, Sylvie’s concentration now entirely centered on her sincere wish for his bulging cock roughly fucking her again, like the day before. Jean-Paul ran his fingers along the garter, then around the lace top of her stocking. “Very nice…” Two fingers slipped just inside her pussy, then out. He let the dress fall, then unzipped it slowly and pulled it down and off Sylvie.

Jean-Paul backed away from the chair, dropping the dress onto the bed. Sylvie began to turn.

“No… mmm. Stay there. Stay just like that.” He took the remote from his pocket and turned it low, then high.

“Now, hand me your panties.”

Sylvie reached for the vibrating purse.

“I.. I don’t have them.” Sylvie turned now, and Jean-Paul took her purse from her.

“You don’t have them?” Jean-Paul smirked, then held up the purse. “They must be in here somewhere.”

“No, but you asked me..”

“I asked you to save them for me!” Jean-Paul opened the purse and began to remove the contents. A wallet. The phone. A lipstick…

“Jean-Paul. Remember? You told me to give them to the bartender!” Sylvie stood and crossed one leg over the other.

“Yes.. Yes. And what is this?” Jean-Paul held the egg. “Why is it here?”

“I… I…” Sylvie stammered, as Jean-Paul bent her back over the chair, kicking her legs gently apart.

“Oh, you don’t like it?” Jean-Paul pressed the egg against Sylvie’s clit, pushing her against the chair as she first resisted, then pushed back against his hand.

“Oh, yes! Yes, but…” and Jean-Paul pushed the egg lower.

“Maybe you don’t know what to do with it,” Jean-Paul whispered, and pushed it deep into her dripping, turned it higher.

Sylvie arched her back, squirming, aching for Jean-Paul’s fingers now. The vibrations stopped.

“So,” Jean-Paul let Sylvie from his grasp, walked toward the window, “we don’t have to play with toys.”

He turned back toward her. “How are you going to get your panties?”

Sylvie stood, looked bewildered as Jean-Paul took a seat on the bed, smiling. He reached for the room phone. “Why don’t you call your friend downstairs?”

Sylvie walked over, then looked at Jean-Paul. Was he serious? Yes, surely he was, and she realized also that she could walk away now. She could say no. She could leave.

She dialed the hotel operator.

“Yes, front desk.” Sylvie was sure it was the same desk clerk who had helped her earlier. “This is room #504? How may I direct your call?”

“Yes. Yes, may I have the bar, please?”

“Yes, of course, ma’am.”

Sylvie waited. A woman picked up the phone, “Aqua Bar. May I help you?” she said.

“Oh.. there was a man working there earlier. May I speak to him?”

“Rob is at lunch right now. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I left something.” Sylvie felt her pussy clamp down as the egg growled quietly deep in her cunt.

“Let me get the lost and found box…” and Sylvie found herself listening to Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony as she reached between her legs, wanting, oh yes, wanting relief. Jean-Paul quickly grabbed her hand, held it with one hand as he smacked her ass with the other.

“What were you looking for?” the woman asked, and Sylvie flinched as Jean-Paul raised his hand again. She continued, “Oh, no. I gave it to the bartender. It was a bag… Oh…”

“Oh, ma’am,” the woman interrupted, “he’s walking back right now. Let me put him on.”

“Ooohh. Oh, thank you!” Sylvie writhed as Jean-Paul held the remote again and adjusted the control, higher, higher.

“Hello?” the bartender began…

“Oh, yes. Yes, I need my panties back!” Sylvie gasped, near tears.

The bartender did not respond immediately. “Ma’am, I understand your situation. I’ll bring it right up. Room #504, right?”

Sylvie dropped the phone, moaning as Jean-Paul turned her over and pushed her legs wide apart, his face diving into her warmth, his tongue circling, circling, as Sylvie grabbed his head and held it tight as she shouted, grinding wider against his face, tight, until she fell back, until she shook, until she grabbed the remote herself and turned the egg off. Yes. Yes! at last yes.

Jean-Paul rose between her legs, his face glistening as he leaned over to kiss her belly, her nipples–Sylvie startled–her face, her mouth. His tongue tasted like her, his lust still apparent as she lay limp, still smouldering in the noontime, a day, a day. Jean-Paul lay next to her, stroking her arms, her hair.

Sylvie heard a vibrating sound, and she clenched, expecting the egg to seize her once again. But this time, it did not.

The phone. Todd.

Someone was knocking on the door.

“Sylvie,” Jean-Paul sat up, then stood, took her dress from the bed as he walked into the bathroom…

“Aren’t you going to answer the door?”

home alone

Light streamed into the room as a door shut, shaking the curtains open. Todd rolled over, reaching for Sylvie as he had so many mornings before. An indentation remained in her place, the pillow still damp and fragrant. But Sylvie was gone.

Todd’s head pounded as he rolled back to the nightstand for his glasses. A pink robe lay bundled in front of the closet, a pile of clothes beside the open door, shoes left fallen sideways–the unchosen. As he sat up, Todd’s throat seized; the room was wobbly if now in focus, and he lay back, spinning, feverish, cursing the light so early, so–well, it was nearly noon now. Of course she had left for work hours ago.

Todd strained to sit up, then lay back in bed, took his glasses back off. Not yet, not yet. If his eyes could be forced to see the day clearly, his mind remembered the night before in short segments. Sylvie had wandered off into the night sometime around the third or fourth drink, all with his best wishes, his complete incapacity to reconcile that he himself had pushed her away; he himself had pushed her fantasy into the realm of reality. And yet it was she whom he punished that night. It was glass six or seven before Todd had managed to dull his senses enough to bear it: to bear the thought of her with another man, to bear his own brutality where before the spankings had all been in good fun.

He thought of it for some time now, his own life seeming to dissolve while Sylvie refused to despise him. A business failed, and she remained, she even supported him, urged him to talk to her, climbed enthusiastically into his bed each night. No. He could never bear her softness, her desire.

And then, somewhere in the night, Todd knew that Sylvie had returned. It seemed a miracle then, her glowing body lying across the bed as she ran a bath. He first could only stop and watch her, there, so apparently satisfied by another man. Todd felt she was like a beloved cat, returned from adventures he could never understand or know. Sylvie always seemed so eager to share her life with him, even this. But something in himself kept him from wanting to ask her, or even to listen as she told him. He wanted only to reclaim her now, and the feeling overwhelmed him as much as she fascinated him just at that moment, despite his stupor.

Todd reached beneath her dress, her murmuring as he pulled off her soaked panties, as he kissed her gently, fucked her gently at first, then roughly as she laughed in her sleepiness, whispering in French, words he could not know, words for another. Roughly, he fucked her like a slut, his love. Todd pulled out before he came in her, let his come soak his own hand as he sat beside Sylvie, who was now fast asleep. He staggered to the bath and took a cloth to wash this all away, this shame, this night.

Sylvie had rolled onto her side. Todd pulled her dress gently off and covered her, then climbed in beside her, close behind her for sometime before she faded, before the room faded away.

Todd had his regular dream that night. He had built a large cage where Sylvie could have everything. Inside it he put all of the things she loved most. Then, he led her past the bars, showed it all to her. She was ecstatic and hugged him, exploring for days with him before he went on the other side and shut the door. He stayed close, talking to her through the bars, and it seemed perfect to him then: she was happy, and he could always be with her, know that she was always safe. But then, one day he went to visit her, and she did not come near. Somehow, she was gone, though it was impossible. And then, in the dream, it somehow was reversed–which made no sense to him as he rethought the whole thing. He was on the outside, looking in. And yet, he was the prisoner, panicked because nothing made sense, and the real world had become hers and not his, and he could not escape where he was now.

Todd lay on the bed for some time before sitting up, walking to the bath to drink several glasses of water, then shower, then.. yes, shave! Now it was time to get back to business, to accomplish something. He dressed, in clothes neater than the ones he had worn for the past several weeks. He combed his hair.

Todd suddenly thought to share his new vision with Sylvie, and dialed her cell.

“Sylvie?..” She had answered, but did not speak immediately.

“Yes? This is Sylvie,” she seemed to pant hurriedly.

“Are you running? At lunch? Perhaps I could…” Todd suggested, not seeming to believe his own words, “perhaps I could meet you.”

But Sylvie did not answer, least not in words. Todd heard her, though, muffled desire heating the airwaves in tones he had not prompted from her in so long.

It was the soundtrack that broke his heart, the relentless satisfaction he had forgotten, Sylvie’s pleading, her oh, her sigh, her long silence. And then, his.

Todd closed the phone, and put it in his pocket as he ran down the stairs. Todd grabbed his car keys from the cabinet by the door, and went out into the day–the first time in perhaps a week. The sunshine shocked him, the colors so clear and vivid that they seemed surreal to him now. The car sat in the drive, undriven for over a month, he realized as he climbed in, adjusted the seat, the mirrors. It started, to his surprise, and he put the car in reverse, then turned out the driveway, and down the road.

six pack

Wooed by hopeful faces, I loaded the car with shoppers and headed to the mall today. Yes, today, on the darkest of all dark shopping days: Black Friday.

Now, I am always taken a bit aback when I hear about start of the Christmas shopping season, but in spite of all crowds and shopping hassles, I survived. The day had nothing of the doom I assume when I see Black capitalized, as in Black Death.

No, it was much more of a happy, bubble gum sort of day, I suspect named for Rebecca Black, who–now that I think of it–must have invented the holiday (see Black, “Friday”).

Well, sure, I was a little annoyed in the end by the messy shoppers who had completely overturned the $29.99 boot display before I could even look at them (originally priced $70-$100, damn it). Slightly peeved at paying $6.98 for a slice of greasy pizza and a soda.

But beyond this, all I can really remember are the Hollister boys.

Yes, the Hollister boys, those sort of 25-year-old eye candy that would have earned me a discount had I taken a picture of them and entered the cologne- and pounding-music-infused atmosphere that is Hollister.

But even then, even in the happiness of the moment, memories have a way of working their way into other thoughts. And once I got over the surprise of these buff boys, I thought this:

What if they had been bikini-clad females? Abercrombie and its network seem to thrive on half-naked men, which in some respect is seen as chic–if controversial. Artistic.

If women had paraded their corporal equivalent of the six pack in the store front, would it be so cute? Would it be so appealing?

Or would the models be sluts, asking for it, using their bodies to make a buck, degrading themselves, allowing corporate America to objectify the woman, once again?

Just wondering.

buzz

“If you are wearing panties, remove them. Put them in your purse until I ask you for them. The small egg-shaped item is meant for your cunt. Please insert it, and wait for me at the bar. When you are there, you may open the second envelope.”

The winding roads were a challenging drive, even on a dry day–at least at top speed. The Radiohead was now blaring through the state roads, the top down, even in November, even if it meant gloves and scarves. The lakes rippled in the sunlight as Sylvie passed, reflecting bright flashes that blurred as the she zipped past. Numb from the cold, Sylvie could forget her frustration with Todd, her love for him, too. At last the bridge that led into the city became visible, closer and closer, until the convertible was crossing it, zooming down the long boulevard that led to Jean-Paul’s hotel.

The valet jumped from his stand as Sylvie approached, the top now locking back into place.

“You are here for #504?,” he asked. “There is a message for you at the front desk.”

Sylvie traded keys for receipt, tossed her gloves and scarf into the passenger’s seat as she grabbed her handbag, stood for a moment before walking past the door, before stepping into this other world once more.

“Yes, I am looking for a message from room #504?” Sylvie watched the desk clerk typing away at her computer. The young woman glanced  at her colleague.

“Yes, ma’am. The concierge has your message,” she directed, pointing quickly toward a small desk before looking down again. An older woman in a sweater suit sat at the desk, writing a note.

Jean-Paul had made no efforts to wrap the items he had left.  A note, scrawled on a card, in English. A small ball of sorts, another envelope. The concierge opened a drawer, and efficiently placed Jean-Paul’s offerings into a small plastic bag. “Enjoy your stay,” she smiled, more amused than surprised, it seemed, years of customer satisfaction no doubt having revealed the most exotic of urges among a wealthy and bored clientele.

Sylvie looked quickly at the note. She found the ladies room, and shut the door to a small stall. She nervously loosened the garters to her stockings, then peeled off the wisp of ivory silk beneath the garter belt. The panties were drenching, her labia swollen and warm. Sylvie gasped, and pulled the silk down to her ankles, bent to retrieve her clothing, then stood and reached back to refasten the garters.

Sylvie rolled the panties up, put them into the bag the concierge had given her. The egg. Sylvie held it for a moment, then sat to follow Jean-Paul’s request. The garters and stockings pulled, one hook snapping off–these items were not invented for women who spread their legs wide, much though the allure of lingerie seemed to encourage a fair amount of lust. Sylvie’s labia were slicker now as her fingers separated them, as she forced the egg deep into her cunt. Sylvie let her finger brush against her clit. Oh, fuck me now Jean-Paul, Fuck me. Sylvie’s pussy grabbed tight onto the egg, her nipples erect at the smallest touch, a small moan escaping as she squeezed one, her finger circling her clit now with more determination, her back arched, grinding need.

The outer door to the restroom opened; heels clicked on the tile. Sylvie awoke from her reverie, and stood, flushed the toilet to mask what she had been doing. She walked to the sink, the egg like a princess’s pea with every agonizing step. Sylvie’s hair had blown in the wind, her face was red from it–or from this, her lust, her embarrassment–her mascara smudged. She splashed her face, looked back into the mirror. There. More mascara, more red lipstick, fingers through hair, and she walked out toward the bar.

The bartender greeted Sylvie as she entered, and handed her a champagne flute.

“Someone has ordered for you,” he said. Sylvie surveyed the bar, saw a few men with laptops closer to the lobby, but the place was otherwise empty.

Sylvie regained her balance, lust contained though for the moment as she thanked the bartender, and tore open the envelope from Jean-Paul.

“I am in my room right now, dressing. Before you come upstairs today, you must tell the bartender why you came here. Tell him what we did yesterday, and tell him what you want to do now. Give him your panties. I will be down soon to watch. Pretend you do not know me.”

Sylvie’s hands were shaking. She suddenly thought of Todd, wondered if he was awake. She pulled out the phone–no messages. He probably was still asleep. And yet… and yet.

“How do you like the drink?” the bartender smiled. He was young, curly dark hair, graduate student, swimmer, she guessed, looking at his shoulders and the book open near the cash register.

“The drink?..” Sylvie started, then sat straighter, determined “is delicious. How do you make it?”

“Oh.. it’s only orange juice and champagne, nothing difficult,” he answered, “but extravagant for a Friday morning.”

“And who sent the drink?” Sylvie asked.

“To be honest, I don’t know,” the bartender smiled. “A secret admirer who is staying here, I guess. The concierge told me what you looked like, that I should make it for you.”

“Mmm. Aren’t you at all curious?” Sylvie watched the swimmer redden as he looked down.

“Frankly,” he began, “I’m curious about a lot of things that happen here. But I get paid not to notice.”

“So, there are a lot of curious adventures in hotel bars?” Sylvie felt herself become bolder. “Tell me what you see.”

“Ah.. I just told you I get paid not to notice.” The bartender looked at Sylvie’s rapidly emptying glass. “Another?”

“Oh.. yes.” Sylvie could feel her heart racing, her mind buzzing now as she had quickly drunk the champagne on an empty stomach. “I am having an adventure today,” she blurted, as the bartender poured a little more champagne into the glass.

“Oh?…” the bartender handed Sylvie her drink. She fidgeted in her purse for her wallet, saw the panties again.

“No.. your drinks are covered today,” he smiled.

“Oh! By you..” Sylvie felt herself warmer, fumbling. “I mean, that’s not necessary.”

“Oh, no. Your secret admirer is evidently paying for whatever you order.”

“Oh.. yes, well, that’s nice of him.”

“Nice,” the bartender grinned.  “Of him…”

“Well, yes.” Sylvie was resolved to fulfilling Jean-Paul’s request. “Yes, actually I think I know who sent the drink. He is staying here. I met him last week, and…”

“No need to explain,” the bartender turned. Another man had walked into the bar. Sylvie’s heart pounded, but it was not Jean-Paul. The man took his drink, and walked to another seat near the window.

All the time that Sylvie sat, her cunt throbbed. She feared moving, feared losing her concentration, feared the lust raging inside of her, feared what she might do to satisfy it if it became any stronger. The champagne was good, the warm bar inviting her to talk more, to say more.

“I came here today to fuck.”

The bartender looked up, his face briefly red. “A lot of people do, I imagine.” He grabbed another glass, pretended to dry it as he stood closer.

“I met a man here last week, and we talked. Then, yesterday, he met me at the elevator and took me to his room.” Sylvie was not going to stop now. “He took me upstairs and pushed me down onto his bed. He took off my panties and ate me for a long time. He had his fingers inside me, inside me everywhere, and he made me come .. I don’t know how many times.. before we tore off our clothes and fucked.”

The bartender seemed to stagger a little as he stepped back, looked around the quiet bar. “Why are you telling me this?”

Sylvie smiled. “Oh, it was a…”

Suddenly, Sylvie felt an ache deep in her belly. The egg seemed to grow, move. Her cunt grasped it, and the sensation grew as Sylvie gripped the side of the bar. “Oh GOD!..” she shouted.

“Are you all right?” the bartender grabbed her arm, as tears streamed down Sylvie’s face. She was sure there was a puddle now on the bar stool where she was sitting, and she grabbed the bartender’s arm. The feeling faded, then stopped.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” Sylvie nearly burst into tears in frustration. She was here, so horny it hurt, ready to fuck the bartender himself. He smiled at her, his forehead wrinkling, the face of pity.

“Shall I call a doctor?”

“Oh, no. It’s just.. ” Sylvie could feel the sweat on her forehead, the need deep within her. She felt overwhelmed by her desires, by her wish now to have not only Jean-Paul, but any man, anyone.

Sylvie saw a shadow on the floor behind her. She knew the cologne. Jean-Paul reached around her, his hand grazing her hip. “Yes, I’d just like a coffee,” he ordered, placing the small remote on the bar as he reached into his wallet to pay. Sylvie stared at him as he put his wallet back into his pocket, and dialed the vibrator back on. She could feel her cunt suddenly seize, felt herself immediately on the verge of climax. Jean-Paul looked at her, winked, walked away to sit at a table.

“I’m sorry,” the bartender smiled at Sylvie. “It’s just?…”

“Oh.. yes.” Sylvie struggled to remember what she was supposed to do. The panties. Yes, the panties. Oh, and what she wanted to do today.

“Yes. I have to give you something.” Sylvie reached into her purse and grabbed the plastic bag that held her panties.

“What is.. But why?” the bartender seemed shocked, maybe offended.

“I am about to meet the same person here today, and he said I have to give you the panties I wore over here.”

“Oh.. well,” the bartender pushed the bag back to Sylvie “maybe you should keep…”

“Yes, and I am supposed to tell you what I want to do today.” Sylvie had figured out a way to sit so that the egg was not pressing into her most sensitive spot, so that she could make sense as she spoke.

“All right. So, I think I know what you want to do today. Why don’t you just say it so you can go play your game?” The bartender was annoyed, she could see, the butt of a joke she imagined. And he was. It was all so, so disgraceful.

“Look,” Sylvie arched her back. The egg continued to buzz deep inside her. “I am sorry. I came here because I like this guy, because I am bored and lonely at home, because I wanted an adventure, and I like telling you this…”

The vibrations became stronger. Sylvie moved to get comfortable, but each moment was torture, burning.

“What is WRONG with you?!” The bartender came from behind the bar, as Sylvie doubled over, no longer able to sit on the stool, her juices running down her legs. His strong arms pulled her up as the vibrations stopped, and Sylvie felt his cock, stiff as he brushed against her.

“I am just a little overwhelmed by all of this.” Sylvie stood, now her lust venturing into downright anger. “I’ll be right back.”

In the ladies room, Sylvie sat to retrieve the egg of torture lodged deep in her aching, drenching pussy. She knew this time how wet she was, how ashamed. Todd, Todd.. she flipped open her phone. Still no message. She dried the egg and put it into her purse, dried herself, and walked back into the hotel lobby.

Jean-Paul was standing outside.

“Ah.. well done,” he approached Sylvie, ran his hand down her arm. “The bartender seems quite distracted.”

“You bastard.” Sylvie wanted Jean-Paul to undress her now. She felt her cunt clamp down as he pushed her hard against the wall and kissed her.

“Yes,” Jean-Paul whispered, “but you like it. You come here because you want me to challenge you.”

“Oh…” Sylvie opened her body as Jean-Paul pushed his hips into hers. He stood back, and reached then for her hand. She hesitated, then took it.

Sylvie and Jean-Paul stepped into the elevator. The doors closed.

friday morning bath

In the morning glow, the chilly dampness clung to Sylvie as she quietly walked from the balcony past the bed and into the warm bathroom. The mirrors were fogged with steam, the entire room an oasis now as she shut the door and dimmed the lights, Radiohead. Languid luxury in the week, a lover still in bed asleep, one rousing now, but lazy, as his message said. Yes, Jean-Paul wanted her, again. A surge of lust jolted her as she thought of him, thought of his urgent yet thorough attentions the day before. Sylvie let the jacket fall from her shoulders, and she stepped into the water.

Hot baths on cool mornings. Sylvie’s brief moment of guilt at the feigned illness she reported to her work faded from importance, the everyday tossed aside. In days past, it was Todd who had reached for her sleepily, pulling her back as the alarm continued to ring in the morning, kissing her for the full thirty seconds until it stopped at last. It was Todd who had wanted her. Mornings lingering in bed, then the discovery of days, wandering through woods, along water, the quiet, the passion. Desire seemed so far away as he now only turned from her, from his thief of sleep, and then pouted later at her waning interest in him. Sylvie reassured him at first, encouraged his kisses with her own, led him back to her. And yet, the willingness of his warmth had seemed to vanish, sleep and distractions offered as excuses–walls to their closeness, ever-growing.

Sylvie’s feet and ankles were red as she jumped back out of the water–too hot. She waited as the water ran and stepped in again to the deep tub, and lowered herself carefully, gasping as her skin tightened, then expanded. Lower, the heat aroused her tenderness, awakened her senses in the hinoki. Calm, calm, and then not.

Sylvie leaned back into the tub, her hair wet now on the bottom. She leaned back farther and let herself go underwater. Submerged, free, yearning to swim farther, to float, to wash away. Her hair flew, then stuck to her shoulders as she stood and reached for the towel, the warmth lulling her back toward bed as she dried.

Todd was still fast asleep when Sylvie crept back into the room. Her warm flesh swelled as she climbed back into bed. Todd grasped his pillow and murmured, then rolled closer to the side of the bed.

Sylvie reached for the phone, flipped it open and began to text.

Yes, 1pm. Yes, your room, #504. Yes.

She shut the phone, and lay back. Todd seemed to move farther away as she began to extend her hand toward him, her breathing slowed, desire mounting in anticipation of Jean-Paul. Todd, Todd, she insisted. She drew her hand back and spread her legs wide, letting her fingers trace the edges of her labia, now soaking as she thought of the night, wished for his tongue in place of her fingers. Her fingers were his tongue now, now teasing, now spreading her lips apart, sucking her clit until her legs shook, her juices now soaking her hair, her sheets, her back arched, her lust irresistible, insatiable, irrelevant to Todd.

Sylvie moaned gently.

Todd coughed, and she startled. Caught. Would he…?

Not caught. Todd pulled the pillow over his head, snored, stayed.

Sylvie felt her eyes glisten, but only a little now. Only a little, as she grabbed her phone and walked to the closet.

“Yes, this,” she said to herself, grabbing the red dress, the stockings, the box of lingerie scented with flower petals, the jewelry box.

Sylvie walked back into the bathroom, still warm, still steaming with the water she had forgotten to drain.

I can be there at 11am.

Perfect.

Sylvie finished drying her hair and carefully adjusted her elaborate ivory bra, the panty, the garter. She rolled each stocking carefully up each leg and fastened each of the six fasteners, one by one. Yes, these earrings, this perfume, this shade of lipstick. She looked in the mirror, then back into the bedroom. Todd had not moved.

Sylvie looked back at the mirror, then slid into the dress

and out the door.

no. 25

I like my little space here, protected in many ways from the world.

But of course, things can get boring here if we are always restricted to my own little boudoir and fantasies. And today, I learned that the one nomination I received from the lovely Cheeky Minx (#19!) resulted in me being chosen on Rori’s blog, Between My Sheets, as #25 on the Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2011! What an honor!!

I love finding new, wonderful material, so please, look up all the fabulous selections.

  1. Guy New York (@quickiesnewyork) and The Dirty Gentleman from Quickies in New York
  2. Charlotte Times (@charlotte_times) from The Life and Charlotte Times
  3. Kendra Holliday (@TBK365 and @beautifulkind) from The Beautiful Kind
  4. Amie Wee (@crevicecanyon) from Crevice Canyon
  5. Riff Dog from Ashley and Me
  6. Catherine Toyooka (@Catcoaches) from Sex Spoken Here: Secrets of a Sexuality Educator
  7. Vineyard Road (@vineyardroad) from Vineyard Road
  8. David (@DavidinVegas) from A View from the Top
  9. Quizzical Pussy (@quizzicalpussy) from Quizzical Pussy
  10. Athol Kay from Married Man Sex Life
  11. Dick and Jane from Dick-n-Jane
  12. EA (@easilyaroused) from Easily Aroused
  13. Axe (@unspeakableaxe) from Unspeakable Axe
  14. Joan Price (@JoanPrice) from Naked at Our Age – Better Than I Ever Expected
  15. Oatmeal Girl (@oatmeal_girl) from Submission & Metaphor
  16. Dark Gracie (@darkgracie) from Dark Gracie
  17. Mistress Lilyana (@MistressLilyana) from Mistress Lilyana
  18. Kyle Jones (@butchtastickyle) from Butchtastic
  19. Cheeky Minx (@LoveHateSexCake) from Love Hate Sex Cake
  20. Adam from The Mind of a Married Man
  21. Dr. Marty Klein (@drmartyklein) from Sexual Intelligence
  22. Lady Pandorah (@ladypandorah) from Lady Pandorah’s Sanctuary
  23. Holly (@pervocracy) from The Pervocracy
  24. Brooke from Puppy Tales
  25. Lady Dragonfly (@miladydragonfly) from Lady Dragonfly
  26. nilla (@swirlednilla) from Vanillamom’s Blog
  27. Wilhelmina Wang (@wilhelminawang) from Heartbreak Nymphomania
  28. Holden (@packingvocals) from Packing Vocals
  29. 25 Things from 25 Things About My Sexuality
  30. Thumper (@thumperMN) from Denying Thumber
  31. Kake (@poeticerotica) from Poetic Erotica
  32. Lucas (@top2bottom) from Top to Bottom
  33. Ms. Diane D from Bi and Large – Cuckolding with a Twist
  34. Betty Dodson and Carlin Ross (@dodsonandross) from Betty Dodson with Carlin Ross – Sex Information Online
  35. Kat from Prowling with Kat
  36. The Gentle Nibbles Writing Team (@gentlenibbles) from Gentle Nibbles
  37. Pandora (@pandorablake) from Spanked, Not Silenced
  38. Molly (@mollysdailykiss) from Molly’s Daily Kiss
  39. Vixen from Secrets of a Blue-Eyed Vixen
  40. DDD from Dick Dyke Dick
  41. Jade (@piecesofjade) from Pieces of Jade
  42. Jiz Lee (@jizlee) from Jiz Lee
  43. Sin from Finding My Submission
  44. Kris from The Phone Courtesan
  45. SapioSlut from SapioSlut
  46. Rockin’ (@RockinwithaCock) from Light Switch
  47. Rachael (@rabbitwhite) from Rachel Rabbit White
  48. Neo Dom Tom from A Bedroom Dom
  49. Daisy Danger (@daisydanger) from The True Life Sex Adventures of Daisy Danger
  50. Violet & Rye (@UCAppetites) from Uncommon Appetites
  51. Kaya from Under His Hand
  52. Lilith (@lilith9465) from Lilith Land
  53. Lady Grinning Soul (@LadyGrinSoul) from Lady Grinning Soul
  54. Septimus from Dirty Art by Septimus
  55. Roxy (@sroxy) from Uncommon Curiosity
  56. Anakin (@AnakinDarth) and Padme (@padmeamidala) from Journey to the Darkside
  57. Dr. Charlie Glickman (@charlieglickman) from Adult Sexuality Education
  58. Lily from theblackleatherbelt
  59. Arabella (@askarabella) from Bombshells & Rockstars
  60. SN from Peel It Off!
  61. Bre from Owned, Collared, Loved
  62. Adriana Ravenlust from Of Sex and Love
  63. Delilah (@definingdelilah) from Defining Delilah
  64. Arthur and Annabelle from Lust and Confused
  65. Lorelei (@suggestive) from Suggestive Tongue
  66. Kitty Stryker from PurrVersatility
  67. Mollena (@Mollena) from The Perverted Negress
  68. Naughty Lexi from Exploits of Lexi
  69. Karen Blue (@kissinbluekaren) from Kissing Blue Karen
  70. Arti (@ArtiAbsinthium) from Absinthe Cocktail
  71. Figleaf (@talkingfigleaf) from Real Adult Sex
  72. Miranda and Aarron from The Swingers Attic
  73. Blacksilk (@BlacksilkBlog) from Blacksilk’s Boudoir
  74. Violet (@violetscreaming) from Screaming Violet
  75. Ferns (@Ferns__) from Domme Chronicles
  76. SlipperyWhnWhet (@SlipperyWhnWhet) from A Slut’s Memoir
  77. Fruit Taster (@fruittaster) from Fruits of Libido
  78. Mrs. Discontented (@DiscontentedMrs) from Mrs. Discontented
  79. Aisha from Being Aisha
  80. Ruby Ryder from Pegging Paradise
  81. Chrystal Bougon from Better Sex Radio
  82. Lipstick Lori (@lipsticklori) from Rarely Wears Lipstick
  83. CarrieAnn (@CarrieAnn_) from A View from the Floor
  84. Dangerous Lilly (@dangerouslilly) from This Could Be Dangerous
  85. Electronic Doll (@electronic_doll) from Post Modern Sleaze
  86. Jerome from Let’s Talk About Sex
  87. Dusk (@dusk_in_chains) from Dusk (in chains)
  88. Innocent Loverboy (@innocentlb) from Innocent Loverboy
  89. RHS from The Redheaded Slut
  90. Violet Blue (@violetblue) from Tiny Nibbles
  91. Amy (@AnalAmy) from Anal Amy
  92. Curvaceous Dee (@curvaceousdee) from Curvaceous Dee
  93. Jason Stotts (@Jstotts) from Erosophia
  94. Mistress Kay (@mistress_kay) from Kinky World
  95. Viemoira from Cavern of the Beast
  96. Lucid (@lucidobsession) from Lucid Obsession
  97. ♀ & sss (@sweatshopsissy) from Sweat Shop Sissy
  98. Kat from She Makes the Rules
  99. Yummy from Sexual Adventures of a Married Woman
  100. YOU!

Thanks so much to everyone who enjoys reading all of us!

e-lust 31

Welcome to e[lust] – Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #32 ? Start with the rules, come back in January to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

A Feminist Defense of Consensual NonconsentHow does a woman who identifies as a feminist reconcile her desire to submit to her partner during sex? Being somewhat new to kink, I had some trepidations about how submission seemingly went against my ethics.

IntimatesAs the evening drew on, I felt like the sexiest woman alive. It’s strange to describe it this way, but I actually felt brimming with a sort of sexual energy. A lustiness, a sexiness, an allure and a desire all at once.

Tightest SpaceI’m paying close attention to your moans, and I stop whenever it feels like it might be too much. But the incredibly tight feeling of your ass gripping my cock is so delicious that I need to get all the way in.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

An Open Letter to the Sex Toy IndustryI write this post not to just let off some steam but with the smallest glimmer of hope that maybe…….just maybe….some of these words will land on the right computer screen and be taken to heart. Maybe one change will happen.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

International #Fisting Day!!Beyond awareness and calling for action, I think International Fisting Day is a great day to celebrate fisting; an intimate, hugely erotic and often orgasmic act that doesn’t get the recognition it deserves.

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

A Bit about Crushes
Are You on the Pill?
How to Approach Your Partner with a Fantasy
Meeting New People
Sex And Disability: What Does the Literature Say?
Settling – Striving For Connections in Non-Monogamy
Sex and Heart Attacks
Training my rear end

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Getting Past The Word ‘Slut’
Private Pictures
The Fetish Fashion of l’Enfant Terrible

Kink & Fetish

Enough is Enough
Hands
In his hands the vibe was intensity personified
Live Well
Public Exposure: The Third Birthday Fantasy
Rope
Scammers come in different flavours
When Submission is a Dry Biscuit

Erotic Writing

A contrast in swinging
A Frightened Heart
6-Some Fun
Bent
Come Again
Emily
Her First Time
In the Bathroom
Move
treat