Archive for July, 2009

Sugarbutch Star: Green-Eyed Girl

July 31, 2009  |  dirty stories  |  11 Comments

Here is number 4 of 5 of the 2008 Sugarbutch Star stories! In case you need a reminder of the the Sugarbutch Star contest is reader-submitted outlines of fantasies which I then turn into full-length smut stories. I plan to run the contest again in August. Read up on the past stories at Sugarbutch.net/sugarbutch-star-contest.

This submission comes from Green-Eyed Girl – yes, the Green-Eyed Girl.

Sugarbutch Star: Green-Eyed Girl
THE STUDY DATE

I push her back against the door of the classroom the second she closes it, catching her jaw by surprise, my hand over her mouth. “Is this what you wanted? You want me up against you like this?”

Corinne’s knees go weak and her eyes widen, looking up at me softly under her short red hair which curled around her chin in a blunt bob, the bangs across her forehead making her look like a model from the thirties. Her ivory blouse is loose and silky against her skin, a bit fallen to one side, showing the edges of a lace camisole.

I bet she’s already wet.

“You’ve been trying to get me alone all semester. Did you think I didn’t know what you wanted, when you asked me to study with you after class?” I speak softly against her neck, let her feel my breath, hot, against her skin.

Corinne can’t speak. She had been taking up all the air in the room every day in our evening literature class, feisty and talkative, and I’ve finally caught her unprepared. I like the way she keeps glancing at me, then glancing around the room, at the windows, at the door, the small individual desk-chair sets in messy rows, as if she isn’t sure she wants to be here, now that she created this situation.

“You like the way I feel, don’t you?” I bring my hand to her waist, to the curve of her hip, to the front of her thighs, running it up her belly, to her breasts.

She gasps. Nods slowly. I let my fingers find the hem of her black pencil skirt and start tugging it up her thighs. She looks surprised and shifts her weight, her heels of her black pumps clicking on the hard classroom floor. She squirms and whimpers a little behind my hand. She’s breathing heavier and I have to let her have her mouth again in a moment.

“Getting shy now? I thought you knew who you were playing with.” Her skirt is tight and it’s hard to get it to move along her legs with just one hand, I don’t want to rip it or stretch it out, but I’m getting impatient. I push my hand between her thighs and spread my fingers to get her to open them, shove at the fabric. She sucks air in through my fingers, brings one hand to the wrist that is holding her mouth and the other to my shoulder, my chest, almost like she’s pushing me away but she’s not, she’s leaning into me. She wants more.

She sets her jaw, gets her footing, spreads her legs, locks my eye contact. Getting bolder. Caught off-guard for only a moment, she’s regaining that fierce self-resolve I’ve been fantasizing about for months: how I would unravel it, thread by thread.

I move my hand up her skirt for a surprise of my own: no panties. Her cunt is not shaven but trimmed, I can feel the soft hairs around her lips before I explore the inner contours with my fingertips. I want to plunge in. I want to catch her between my hand and the wall, feel her from inside, see how she shudders when she comes, if she can stay upright against this wall, right here.

I let up with my hand over her mouth and feather touch my fingers to her lips, red and full, her mouth gently parted, breath sliding in and out, hot, it’s getting warmer in here, I’m starting to sweat. I can feel it at the nape of my neck, on the small of my back. I’m in my favorite deep red tee shirt and broken-in jeans, but none of the windows are open and it was warm today. Temperatures are rising fast.

Her tongue is swelling in her mouth. She swallows, watches my face, I can tell my features are getting more shadowy as she’s started giving over. I tease her lips with my fingertips and slide inside her mouth and her cunt at the same moment, two fingers each, she’s wet and warm and strong and tight.

Shuddering just barely, she leans her shoulders against the wall and tilts her pelvis toward me, an offering.

You can have me.

I know.

Slow and deep, filling every inch as I move inside her. She opens and blooms between my hands, reaching into her as though I could pull some jewel out from her core, as if excavating a mine.

Show me those precious things you hide inside.

Corinne swells, clit and tongue; I wet my thumb to thrum against her. I’m holding her up and back with my hands, she’s pressing her weight into me, opening deeper. Her desire rises and I think she’s going to come, she tightens so strong around my fingers and sucks me in deep, I can barely move either hand inside her, but she doesn’t, she gasps, goes limp, releases, leans her head against the wall and opens her mouth, opens her eyes, slides them sideways to look at me. Swallows a few times.

I slide my fingers out of her beautiful tight body. We both catch our breath.

I wipe my hands on my jeans and run my fingers through my hair which is falling in my eyes. She rolls her shoulders forward and her knees together shyly, then straightens up, pulls at the hem of her skirt, and takes four swift steps over to the teacher’s desk in front of the chalkboard still covered with notes from our lit class and from the day’s use, ghostly outlines of letters.

Her hard heels against the floor click, click, click, click, and she balances perfectly on the thin tapered heels, effortless (or so it seems to me) black straps buckling around her ankles. Much too fancy for some night university class. She regains her poise and she is all grace, all pressure and granite.

Turning to look at me, she shifts her hips side to side as she works her skirt up her thighs and bunches it around her waist, watching my face as I try not to stare, then she turns, and bends over the desk with her elbows on it.
I don’t make a move. I barely breathe. I let my hungry gaze take in the curve of her ass, her pussy laid out for me, wet and open, her asshole pink, the lines of her shapely legs.

This girl knows what she wants. I love that.

She glances back over her shoulder at me hesitantly, a little shyly. I can see her wondering if she’s made a mistake, been too bold, or if I’ll give it to her.

Of course I will.

My brown loafers click too, but softer than hers, the leather warn down and smooth. I don’t go slow this time, easily shoving three fingers into her, hard enough to tip her forward farther over the desk. Her mouth opens with a quick “ah!” but she takes it. I grip her hip and slide out easy, slick, she’s so wet, so wet and easy, she guides me in and out, takes it hard, rocks against me.

In a flash she reaches down between her legs with her left hand and lays deeper onto the desk, breasts against the cool slick top of it. She lets out a moan as she flicks her clit and tightens around my fingers. I slow down, deepen, expand my fingers to fill her more. She gasps, yeah ohhh yeah yeah and I grin. There’s that tongue of hers working again.

I’ve got her perfectly at hip height and wish I had a cock with me – how was I to know she’d accost me like this? – her ass is luscious and I want to take a bite of her cheek, leave a bruise, wet my fingers and work them into her ass as I plunge my cock into her cunt. Maybe she’ll let me do this again. My free hand travels up, pulls her blouse free of her skirt and finds her nipples, one and then the other, smashing my hand between her and the desk as I keep thrusting and she keeps rubbing her clit, I’m closer to her and can hear her gasping, her hair is falling in her face and she is deliciously disheveled.

“Oh god oh god,” she mutters. No need to involve him, I want to reply, and bite my tongue thinking this is the most holy thing I’ve done in weeks, I can feel her expanding and enlivening under my fingertips, can feel her chest sweeten and swoon as her heart beats red and strong. The buttons on her blouse are popping open and her skirt is all twisted, her hair swings next to her cheeks and ears, red as the flush on her forehead and between her legs.

I want to keep her here, poised, open, fine-tuned and sailing over waves of breath and pulse. Here, it is nothing but bliss and beauty and possibility and healing, nothing but filling the cracks and broken-down machines that are our bodies, that run us, both her and I, I’m flooded with it too, she’s spilling out of herself and into me and I catch it, drink it, push myself inside her deeper to spill and capture even more. I love this part, this dance, this exchange, when we are no longer separated, one big electrical circuit, raising energy from our own bodies, flowing through us, picking up speed and momentum and density and purity as it travels between us.

But of course it doesn’t last. Like all moments of ecstasy, it is short-lived: it spills over and explodes and she comes, hard, gasping and thrusting back against me, pushing her clit so hard I can feel it inside, knees shaking, one of her feet lifting off the floor as she slides her body nearly all the way over the desk.

Her cries quiet, but I notice they bounce around the bare, hard classroom; I wonder if anyone has heard.

I’ve pressed hard against her as she collapsed and after a moment I disentangle, breathe, feel my own body attached to my own hand, contain myself again. She hums with pleasure and pushes herself up from the desk, pulls and twists her tight skirt back into place, sits on the desk and crosses her legs to rebutton her blouse and smooth her clothes. Her ankles touch and kiss, shoes barely held onto her slender feet, just a few fine straps and buckles.

She runs her fingers through her hair, tucks it behind her ear, in a gesture so sweet I stop what I’m doing and reach for her, slide my hands around her waist and she brings her arms around my neck as we kiss, soft and sweet and slow, tender, and I realize we hadn’t done this yet, am I so professional about my fucking that I don’t even kiss anymore? The kissing is the best part. I sigh into it and she grins, I feel her mouth move up at the corners.

“So,” she says, pulling back arms length from me, eyes sparkling. “No cock?”

I laugh, a low puff of air. “Caught me a bit unprepared, I guess.”

“Mmmm.” Corinne doesn’t press it.

I do. “I’ll bring it Wednesday. We are going to have to, you know, ahem, study, again, before the final on Monday, after all.”

She’s amused, still grinning. “I’ll be sure to wear a skirt,” she says, and kisses me again.

How To Begin Playing with BDSM

July 30, 2009  |  advice  |  9 Comments

Recently, this came into my inbox:

I’m in a relationship now with a wonderful person and I’m really intrigued and turned on by BDSM, but have very little idea of where to start. I’ve put up a plea on my blog for help from people who know more about these things, you can read my post for more background, but basically, where do we start? How can we segue into BDSM play? Dominance, submission, pain? How can we bit by bit, toe first, test the cold water and then gradually get used to it and then eventually just dive in and revel in it? I just have no idea. I live in San Francisco, so I don’t expect you to know of any local resources, but do you know anyone in San Francisco who I might be in touch with? Anything like that? Internet resources? Early blog posts of yours about your first forays into BDSM?
- Alphafemme

So I figured I’d write a little about it, tell you what I think, then also open it up to you lovely readers who might have specific San Francisco resources, your own stories, or more suggestions to share in the comments.

How do you start playing with BDSM? You jump in somewhere that feels exciting and hot, you talk about what you want to do, at least a little, then you do it. I don’t actually have any early blog posts about BDSM because I’ve been playing with it for a very long time – my first high school boyfriend and I used to do some light BDSM, like spanking, a little bit of topping & bottoming, and tying-to-the-bedpost kinds of bondage. My “kinky queer butch top” identity labels are roughly in order, actually, of when I came into them; I’ve been playing with kink (albeit lightly) for a long time.

I do suggest starting out light – though “light” for some people is heavy play for others, so just pick something that seems accessible and doable and try it out.

Some more specific suggestions:

  • Take a class on something (like spanking) from Babeland or your local feminist sex toy store. In San Francisco, I’m sure Good Vibes has events all the time.
  • Read The Topping Book and The Bottoming Book. Both of you should read both of them, even if you already know which role you are more likely to occupy, since learning about the other will teach you even more about yours. These books significantly changed and formed the ways that I think about dominance and submission and many incarnations of BDSM. Highly highly recommended.
  • Fill out the BDSM checklist and compare answers. Highlight the things you are most excited about and see what you have in common! (Hopefully you’ve already been talking about this kind of thing, you might even have an idea of what each other would like to explore.
  • Make a shared Google doc and brainstorm a list of what you’d like to try. (Kristen and I actually have one of these … )
  • Check out the BDSM section of the Sugarbutch Amazon store for more books you might want to pick up, or check out of the library, or borrow.

There are some more simple, less risky, very playful, and safe things you might want to try if you’re new to BDSM to begin to whet your appetite, such as:

  • Spanking. Don’t worry, your hand is WAY more delicate than her ass – think of all the little tiny bones in there, as compared to the lovely muscle & flesh. Her butt can take way more you’re your hand can give, actually – your hand will hurt and get tired and sore way before you will do any real damage. But, you still should be a bit careful – here’s how to start: 1. start out slow, make sure to warm up her flesh (and mind) so she can take deeper, harder slaps. 2. DO NOT slap or hit her sacrum, that triangle bone above the crack of her ass. That can bruise and be very painful. Keep it to her ass cheeks and thighs, the fleshy parts. 3. Make sure she is relaxed, and keep going softly until she starts writhing and moaning and liking it.

  • Bondage. Try some light bondage with whatever you’ve got lying around the house – clothesline, men’s ties, scarves … you can look up Two Knotty Boys on youtube for MANY great videos on how to tie knots, but really you can just tie with a plain ol’ granny knot, like you tie your shoes. Don’t leave her tied up for extended periods of time, however, and make sure to get the rope tied tight enough so that she can’t escape, but not tight enough to cut off circulation.
  • Dirty talk. Sometimes adding speech to your sex play is incredibly erotic, highly sexually charged, and very dirty. Sometimes you can keep going with whatever you “normally” do, but add some verbal descriptors of what you’d like to do, and it adds a great element of play and gets the minds going. Whisper in her ear while your fingers are inside her: “You know what I’d really like to do? I’d like to tie your ankles to the footboard so you can’t move your legs. I’d like you to struggle against the ropes so you can feel how you’re opened up for me. I’d like to feel how wet that makes you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Yeah, I thought so …” and ask her about it later, outside of the moment, and see if it’s something she’d like to perhaps try.
  • Power & Surrender. Hold her down, pull her hair, hold her wrists above her head, bite her shoulders, bite her breasts, hold your knees on her thighs to force her legs open, push her onto the bed, get a little rough with her. Maybe she wants to fight back and see if she can take YOU down, instead – wrestling for who gets to be in control could be fun, too.

For me, things like elaborate role play – and even dirty talk – was a lot harder than some of these basics. And these are practically endless – I’m sure one could play with various elements of just these four things and have a very exciting sex life.

A little bit about safewords: Unless you are playing with non-consensual play, you probably don’t need a safeword. That is to say, you can use, “slow down,” “wait,” “back off,” “hold on a minute,” “don’t,” and “stop,” and things like that to indicate that something’s going wrong, instead of negotiating one special specific word which would stop the scene. Unless you want “no” or “don’t” or “stop” to be part of the play, those words will work just fine.

So, what do you think? What is your advice for beginning to play with BDSM? Anything you’d like to add or correct from my list? Any suggestions you have? Are there resources in San Francisco you’d like to recommend? Let her – and all of us! – know in the comments.

Keeping a Leather Harness Clean

July 28, 2009  |  reviews  |  16 Comments

commando I recently got a new harness, the Commando by Aslan Leather, which has quickly become my new favorite (full review to come later).

Though I have reviewed and tried out many harnesses in the last few years, what I want and what I love to fuck with remains essentially the same:

  • as minimalist as possible, with as little fabric/leather as possible, because I like to wear it under clothes to have it ready
  • single-strap so it goes between my legs (and rubs perfectly on my clit while I’m fucking, which is what enables me to get off sometimes)
  • It should have interchangeable O-rings, since sometimes I like to fuck with large cocks
  • I don’t really care what material it’s made from, if it’s leather or vinyl or vegan leather or nylon
  • I don’t care if it’s locking buckles or D-rings

Really, it needs to be comfortable, relatively bare-bones, and able to get me off.

For some reason, I’m still in search of The Perfect Harness. I seem to have this idea that I just need one, really, and I’ll be able to use any dick I want, and fuck however I want. I’m not sure why I think I can get One Single Harness to do everything I want in a harness … it seems possible, when I lay out my requirements, but I have yet to actually find The Perfect Harness.

I really loved the one I’ve been using for the last year or so, which is a signature harness from Spartacus leathers . Unfortunately, especially with the last seven months and my very active sex life with Kristen, that harness has really seen better days.

[Warning: if you’re not the one usually wearing the harness, and prefer to keep the harness-perfection a mystery, I might ruin it for you with the rest of this post.]

The problem is, the leather has gotten very soiled. And I admit, I’ve been caring for the harness much like I usually cared for my nylon harnesses: washing with warm water and a little soap after using, unhooking the O-rings and using a nail brush to gently clean the leather and snaphooks, and hang it to dry. Here’s where the leather enthusiasts are probably laughing at me: yes, I know there is such a thing as leather soap, and in retrospect I probably should’ve been taking very different care of the leather.

So now I’m asking: how do you keep leather clean? Especially when it is, ahem, very close to very wet bits for very many hours in a week, how do I deep-clean it, get all the come out of it, make sure it doesn’t get that nasty musty wet smell so deep that it won’t come out?

Also, is there any way to salvage leather that is now a bit … dirty? Is there a way to deep-clean it?

Help!!

Kristen & A Spreader Bar

July 27, 2009  |  reviews  |  8 Comments

spreader bar

Kristen, featured here with the spreader bar, Liberator Throe, leather ankle cuffs, and Spartacus leather paddle. You can’t see it in the photo, but her hands are tied together and to my headboard.

Though I know photographs are worth a thousand words, I have one thing to add about the spreader bar: because it does not have attached cuffs, you need hooks (shown here with carabiners) and cuffs (or rope) of your own in order to secure a person to the bar adequately. This also means that she’s not exactly held in place, there is a lot of room for her to move around and does not hold her securely in place. If I bought another spreader bar (which I might, I really do love the immobilization) I would purchase one with cuffs included, so there wasn’t as much wiggle room for the person being tied down.

But certainly that doesn’t mean that it’s not beautiful to feel her strain against the force of being spread open.

Buy the spreader bar and other bondage and kink sex toys through sextoy.com.

Tachycardia

July 24, 2009  |  poetry  |  16 Comments
this is how I want you:

slow. deliberate. measured. languorous. torpid
bordering on excruciating, with kisses that
keep you counting the millimeters between
our mouths (six, four, three), counting
the breaths it takes before my hands
move from waist to shoulders up your
back (five), counting the heartbeats elapsed
to wrap my fingers around your upper arms,
tighten my grip, and press you back against
the wall (124 with occasional tachycardia). you

remember what it feels like to be overtaken,
don’t you, to become supple in my arms, to
struggle until you can do nothing but give over,
become empty for me to fill you everywhere.
because I know that’s what you want, that’s
how you forget yourself, that’s how I forget
myself too, perfect moments of being wrapped
inside you, safe, enveloped, protected, a return
to some place quiet and sacred where the red
burgundy sooths all with muscle and strength.

I will make marks on my wrist so I can measure
how far inside you I can reach, today, tomorrow,
now I can feel the underside of your heart, the
cellar door of it, I will pen the walls with beauty
beauty beauty until it radiates out of your pores,
graffiti seeping from inside. I’ve felt your fingers
thrumming my own atria, those upper chambers
of my heart with their glass doors and misting
humidifiers and weeping plants, I think you know

what it is you cultivate in my chest when your
knees go weak, when you sink your eyes
away from mine and slide back to check if I am
still holding you. I am, I am, my arms never leave
that curve of your shoulders, your hip, the way
you crush against me when I open wide, making
room for every inch of your skin against mine. you
quicken my heartbeats, not something I am used to,
but this means I can be stronger, pump more blood,
stay up even later, fucking and loving till dawn.

Review: Liberator Throe, “a moisture-proof playscape for sex”

July 21, 2009  |  reviews  |  5 Comments

libthroeblackI’ve seen the Liberator Throe on various sex blogs in the last year or so, and it’s intriguing, but I had no idea if it would be worth the hefty $80 pricetag. I mean, it’s just a blanket, right? And what if it was all crinkly or plastic-y, that wouldn’t be comfortable to fuck on top of at all.

But thankfully, that is not at all how this “blanket” really is.

The point of this is to protect your sheets, couch, floor, car seats, or wherever, from getting covered in lube and come. If you’re thinking, huh? Why would I need to protect my furniture and sheets from things like that? Then this probably isn’t necessarily for you. But some of us have very messy, juicy sex, or have lovers who ejaculate on a regular basis. And this has meant that I no longer have to worry about the big ol’ wet spot we often leave behind. Instead, we just bundle up the blanket, pull up the covers, curl up together, and toss it in the wash the next day.

I’ve got the Liberator Throe in black microfiber. One side is soft and slightly fuzzy, the other is smooth silk. The Liberator website says this throe is “reversible,” but in my experience if you have the smooth-side-down, it will slip all over the place, which is bad for both a) keeping traction while fucking and b) keeping the various liquids from getting all over everywhere. So I’ve found it isn’t quite as reversible as it claims to be. Also, the fuzzier side doesn’t particularly absorb liquids the way the silk side does. Not sure why – it’s not that liquid goes through the fuzzy side, it doesn’t, but it doesn’t absorb and wick away the liquids the same way. It’s 100% genuine polyester with a nylon “inner moisture barrier,” which really does work.

Kristen & I have been using this when we fuck for the last few months, and I wouldn’t want to be without it, especially with a partner who ejaculates. Though I really love the way she comes and squirts, I’ll be honest, I don’t really like thinking about the ways that it is absorbing into my blankets and mattress, or couch or car seats, and having this down means that that is just not on either of our minds anymore.

Just the other day, Kristen said, “I never thought I was paranoid about ejaculating, but this has really been a relief.”

It’s worth it. In fact, we’re going to order a 2nd one to keep at Kristen’s house.

Details:
Purple, red, black, blue, tan, white tiger, or leopard
Shag or microfiber
5’ x 6’
Machine washable
100% polyester (nylon interior barrier)

Buy it on the Liberator website, or at your local feminist sex toy store.

KinkForAll2 in New York City!

July 16, 2009  |  miscellany  |  1 Comment

KFA

KinkForAll2 is coming to New York City!

In just a few short weeks, there will be a reprise of the highly successful and incredibly fun KinkForAll, the unconference which first happened in New York this past March. I gave a presentation on Cock Confidence last time – not sure what I’ll do this time, but I’d like to come up with something fun. Perhaps it’ll be something more about gender this time, like how to enhance gender play for kinky purposes. Mmmm my favorite.

Any ideas or requests about things you’d like me to talk about? I’ll see what I can do.

So, mark 8 August 2009 on the calendar, and come to the Gay Center in New York City, and say hi. More information on a KinkForAll conference is available at KinkForAll.org.

KFA

A Butch Roadmap

July 16, 2009  |  on butches  |  8 Comments

Ivan Coyote (#6 in the Top Hot Butches list), has just released a piece on his column for xtra.ca called A Butch Roadmap, and it really is a must-read. Here’s a snippet (reprinted with permission):

The word for you is butch. Remember this word. It will be used against you.

The word for you is butch. Your history is one of strength, and survival, and largely silent. Do not hide this word under your shirt. Do not whisper it, or sweep it under the basement stairs. Let it fill up your chest and widen your shoulders. Wear it like a sleeve tattoo, like a medal of valour.

Learn to recognize other butches for what they really are: your people. Your brothers or sisters. Both are just words that mean family.

Other butches are not your competition, they are your comrades.

Be there when they need you. Go fishing together. Help each other move. Polish your rims or your chrome or your boots together. See these acts for what they really are: solidarity.

Do not give your butch friend a hard time about having a ponytail, a pomeranian, nail polish, or a smart car. Get over yourself. You are a rare species, not a stereotype.

Trim your nails short enough that you could safely insert your fingers into your own vagina, should you ever want to.

It makes me want to write my own butch roadmap, my own tips and tricks and suggestions and ideas for being butch and pursuing this identity. I’ll have to think on this idea for a while, let it percolate.

What about you – what kind of things would be on your butch roadmap? Or femme roadmap?

I’m On Vacation – See You Next Week!

July 7, 2009  |  miscellany  |  7 Comments

hotsprings
(Photo reprinted without permission from A. Clauset)

I’ll be on vacation for the next five days.

I’m heading to a tantra workshop at a zen center on a hot springs, and just writing down that combination of words makes my shoulders relax and my body loosen. I have never been able to afford or make time for a long retreat like this before, it feels so indulgent (and grown-up), and I can’t wait. It’s been a long time coming and I know I can really use some reflection and protection time for me. It’s not going to be purely a vacation, since I have no doubt that this will bring up some deep psychological and spiritual things in me, but I’m hoping I can use it to reground, to solidify so many of the things I’ve been learning about myself in the recent past, and come back with my footing a little more certain, with just a little more of the noise filtered out.

Which would be nothing short of bliss.

I won’t be writing much here for the next week. I might be updating things like my twitter account and my flickr stream, no guarantees. Hopefully I’ll have some interesting things to share when I get back on Monday.

“Can I come? Please?”

July 7, 2009  |  dirty stories  |  5 Comments

Kristen gets off easily. When we were discussing it last night, she said there’s a point after we’ve been fucking for a bit where she can simply tighten and it happens, so after a while she can basically come on demand. I start murmuring, “do it again, come for me, do it now,” and she does, almost every time.

It’s a bit of a miracle to me, as someone who takes a while to gear up and get off, and as someone who dated someone pre-orgasmic for four years (four years! We weren’t even open, I didn’t make any single person (except me) come in four years, it was torture). I have written about how it’s hard for me to get off around here somewhere.

I love that she comes like that. It is one of the things I crave most about sex: being able to give someone else that feeling of orgasm, of momentary loss of control, of la petite mort. I love the power of that exchange, the way she wants it from me, the way I keep her poised on my fingers or tongue or cock. I have tried to keep track, but I always get distracted, or loose count, or can’t tell when one ends and the next begins, sometimes she just goes and goes. I have asked her to count, telling her I’ll let her out of the ropes after she gets to ten.

Lately, we have been playing more with the torture of waiting, with making her beg for it, with keeping her writhing but not touched until she can’t stand it. She has noticed has orgasms are stronger and bigger the longer she waits, so that made us implement something else new: to make her ask permission before she can come.

This is mostly because I can’t always tell when she gets close, can’t even always tell when she starts coming, sometimes it’s a cry of ecstasy not unlike being bitten hard or fucked well and I can’t tell if she’s close or expressive. So she has to ask.

She waits until she’s so, so close, as if she’s forgotten she has to ask, then forces out the word: “Please?”

“Please what?”

“Please can I?” Gasping.

“Please can you what?” I don’t let up with my fingers thrumming her clit, my cock shoving inside her. I know she’s on the verge.

“Please, can I come!”

“… No.”

Seems I need to remind her that she has to ask if I want it to be ongoing, though, which I think I do. It is easy for both of us to skip over the asking and go right to the coming. And sometimes having one or two orgasms seems to open her up, make her able to take more, deeper, harder. So sometimes perhaps it’s best to let her come a few times before starting to deny her more, to build up to a larger release.

We’ve added this element of asking permission into sex on various occasions in the last few months, but I think it’s worth continuing to explore. I don’t really know how it’ll work yet, but I love the power dynamic of it, love the extra element of control over her body and her orgasm that I get to play with having. Love how she gives that over to me. Love how I can feel like I can sculpt her rise and fall of energy and release – no, not yet, not yet, keep it building, just a little longer, you can hold it in, hold it back, wait, wait … now: let go. This is what I love about being a top, too, at its very best – being able to sculpt someone else’s experience of their body, sensation, release.

Last night, I wanted her to wait until I was coming, until I came, to let herself come, but I couldn’t quite say that, I wasn’t quite confident of my own ability to get off. I wish it was more consistent for me. I can never quite tell when or if it’s going to happen, I can’t seem to make it happen. The factors all seem variable: sometimes I feel disconnected from her and I come anyway, sometimes I feel totally connected and can’t. Sometimes I don’t expect it and it happens, sometimes I do expect it and it happens. Sometimes I don’t try and it surprises me. I came twice on Saturday, that’s rare, but somehow I had the angle, or the harness placement, or the mental turn-on, and it worked.

Someday, that’s what I want. To use her like that, to be oblivious to her pleasure until I get mine. To take what I need.

That feels extremely vulnerable, because it goes against what I’ve been taught – to be respectful and conscious and interactive in our sex lives. But consent in this kind of play can sometimes trump what is “supposed” to happen, and perhaps will move me into new realms, to explore new interactions, to move into new personal realms, weave knowledge into our bones. And oh my god the very idea makes me so incredibly hot.

There is so much to explore here, with her, I still feel we’ve barely scratched the surface. And I just want more, and more, and more.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen, when we have sex,” she said last night. “I don’t know if it’ll be sweet and lovely, or some crazy tantric energy release shit, or if I’ll be your little girl, or if it’ll be dirty and kinky.”

We seem to be moving from one into another more and more fluidly these days, able to turn on a dime and make something that was full of dirty talk and name-calling and control and, occasionally, pain, into something sweet and sensual, or into some deep-breathing chakra release. We seem to have a little bit of all of it, all the time, and that is near perfection.