A Dangerous Fantasy

This time he restrains me. First with his firm hands as he moves above me, eyes locked with mine as he strokes himself deeper and deeper inside of me until my eyes roll back as I arch my neck in ecstacy. He kisses my mouth and neck, bites my throat, my chin, my jaw, my earlobes, all the while making these man-purrs that vibrate through to my soul like a the deep bass from a tricked out low-rider. Mmmm, I writhe sensuously and I hear myself moan with the slightest intonation in my voice signaling to him that I'm close to the edge of this carnal bliss.

Then he stops.

He blindfolds me. Tells me to relax, baby, I won't hurt you. Somehow he binds my hands together behind me. My nipples harden and I want to touch them. The prospect of being bound at the wrist and blindfolded is alluring, but very challenging to my will. I'm forced to give up control. Forced to use my imagination, use my mind's eye to witness his masculinity, the intensity and kindness of his eyes, the anticipation of his touch as I see him reach out to me. I see nothing, only the darkness behind the cloth that covers my eyes. I can't reach out with my hands to 'see'. I can't touch my body. Only my back, neck, and bent legs can serve as feelers reaching out to him, hungry for the touch of his skin.

He parts my legs and beginning with a kiss at my ankle, he slowly finds his way with his tongue up to the source of my heat just as if he's reading directions in braille raised upon my skin. He knows just where to lick, when to pause, when to continue. I'm just about out of my mind with want for him to be deep inside me, for his tongue on my clit, in my mouth, his gentle love bites on my hip and ass. I want so much to grab my breasts but I can't. I beg him to fuck me, to untie my hands so I can pull him down upon me and run my nails across his back as he plunges into my body. I'm pleading with him as he gently tells me he won't and begins to graze his fingers along my belly, around my tits, below my neck. I can feel his moist breath as he hovers over my right nipple, teasing me. I want him to lick me there, to suck and roll my erect nipple between his lips. I can only feel his breathing, and he knows I'm vexed with abandon. The wanton feeling of lust for my lover has over come me, and I cum, squirting a little, without him even touching me. He tells me I'm a good girl for not fighting it. The velvety tone of his voice instantly relaxes me. I can feel him breathing on my shoulder, at the top of my breast, down to my belly, down to my waiting pussy now raging hotter than ever, dripping and radiating with sexual energy. Before his mouth engulfs my clit, I can feel his breath on my engorged lips. A gasp excapes my lips, and I hear my lover purr with approval before he drinks me in.

tbd

Amorphous

I can't put my finger on it. But then again, maybe it's not meant for me to pinpoint. Sensuality is something that is tricky sometimes, illusory in nature. At what point do I cross the line between sensuality and sexual perversion? The answer must be subjective, however only up until a certain point, then it becomes obvious.

But then again, perhaps sensuality at its very essence demands the quality of being amorphous. Ever changing, ever re-defining, re-inventing, re-assessing what is sensual and what is not. Such is the pascal mystery of learning. But sensuality is the best subject of all lessons.

Being Oh So Naughty is Fun

There are times when I look back with shock at the mediocrity of my life and how emotionally invested I become in the most trivial of things. On this particular morning I am about to recount, I was toruturing myself over such an experience. I had stayed up the majority of the night working on spreadsheets that weren't worth the sleep I had given up. But yet I was compelled to complete them.

And so it goes when I'm in such dire straits that complete reversals of fortune smile upon my countenance: suddenly my cyber love was online. it was a good morning indeed from that moment on. We engaged in the most playful, flirtatious chat - alive and playful. I felt schoolgirl giddish and giggly, wanting in vain to be disobedient and naughty. And I indulged.

Spreadsheets forgotten, all concept of time vanished and I became enrapt with my online love, wanting terribly to please him the way he pleased me. My pussy was already wet, my mouth beginning to pout, and my breasts beginning to feel sensuously full and sumptuous. In my mind's eye, I began to undress him, caress his solid body luxuriously, making his nipples and penis erect, his mind racing with lusty thoughts of what corporal acts I would perform upon him. Again as I had imagined so many times before, I tasted his sex, his essence, loving him tenderly at first, kissing softly, licking delicately, delicously, then sucking with such a fervor until I hear him groan and we both cum in unison.

And as my fantasy plays in fast forward in my mind, my lover waits online as I take the pictures he's requested of me. I'm on fire. Goddamn this is the best fucking morning I've had in years.

Exposition

Taking pictures of yourself with your clothes on is one thing. Start peeling away the layers and the meaning changes depending upon the layer. When you get down to your underwear, you still have something to 'hide' behind (even if it's sheer). But once you decide to go bare assed naked there is only so much you can do to turn a blind eye to what you really are. You can cover yourself up strategically, but who the hell are you kidding? Why take it off in the first place if you're just going to cover it up with something else?

My lover requested me to send topless pictures. A reasonable request I thought, and another opportunity for me to challenge myself and the way I thought about my body. And actually, I realized I didn't really think about my body - and if I did, it was in negative terms. What clothes I could fit into, which ones were too revealing, made me look old or fat. I noticed that in around my house there were no mirrors that showed my body from the chest down, with the exception of my bedroom closet doors - and I never dressed in front of them. Looking back, I realized I had stopped looking at my body from the shoulders down sometime around the time I turned 30. What happened, I wondered to myself ? At this moment I'm still not sure, but somehow I began to discount the importance of that part of my body. And, in retrospect, I realize now that this only contributed to my current dispostion of insecurity, only strengthening that societal notion of self-image I detest and criticize so much.


Now was the time to reverse that hypocrisy, that inherited gene I unconsciously refused to remedy. As I set the timer on my camera, I briefly considered not going through with it. The deed was not yet done, the possibility of anything negative resulting was not yet a possibility. My mind began to posture and justify all sides. I let my physical body continue along its natural path. I began to undress and put mind over matter, paying little mind to the awkwardness of my body and the endless cacophony of cautious and critical whispering in my head. Frame after frame I continued on, until my perception shifted from the consciousness of my body, to the quality of the pictures. I became a photographed object, considering the angle of the camera, the play of the light on the contours of my body, the positioning of my hands and lay of my hair on my shoulders.

This continued night after night, and with each shoot, I began to challenge myself on my comfort level, the familiarity of my hands on my body instead of my eyes, and the feel of the bedding and furry pillows on my thighs and belly. By the fourth night, I'm wet even before I start to set up the camera. My mind raced with thoughts of lust, anticipating the ways I would provide visual pleasure to my lover. Before I knew what was happening, I undressed completely and began to photograph myself. As I reviewed the images, I gasped when I flashed to one dsplaying my body in full view,no panties. I had never photographed my privates before, and only a handful of times actually looked at my pussy in a mirror. Curiously, I wasn't horrified or shocked at all. Maybe I was becoming 'used to' the idea of being 'naughty'. But the reality spoke a much greater truth: I was beginning to rediscover my sensuality openly and freely, without reservation, or analysis.
Another great step toward opening up the doors to my sexual side, the sensual side, the part having been hidden for so long, thus leaving me incomplete as a woman. But not anymore.

Sacredness

He is who he is, someone I hunger for and dare to comprehend. I have not yet spoken his name out loud, due to the effect the actual sound would have upon my being. But in my head and heart his name is like a magical bell sounding, and I am Pavlog's dog, lips wet with anticipation of his awaiting cock. He is like a God to me now, in posession of my body as I act out his instruction to worship it. My hands and fingers become that of my Lover's and the channelling takes place. And even though I am the one performing the actions, I feel true excitement and exhiliration as if I have no knowledge of what's coming. He is magnetic, and now my body feels the pull of his energy drawing me nearer and nearer to him. Eyes closed the fantasy takes over, he pleases me in ways no man has ever pleased me. Tracing down from my parted lips, down my neck, between my breasts down to my pleasure place. Fingers deep inside of me knowing exactly the countours of my pussy and where to stimulate me to climax. With his other hand he takes my ample breasts one at a time, gently pinching and rolling my nipples until they stand hard and erect like soldiers at attention. My hair spills around my face and shoulders, my body convulses in orgasm as I cum violently over and over in waves, my eyes wild with lust and abandon. As they lessen in intensity, the image of his face floats before me like a vision. The hypnotic color of his eyes are like a stormy lagoon soon to be peaceful again. I am spent like never before, my pussy dripping with wetness.

I Am Haunted

Today I could only think of my cyberspace lover. Somehow my mind and body has been abducted, my thoughts infiltrated with questions and scenarios born of my own imagination. I am split in two: part of me waits like a gloating know-it-all, expecting the worse possible consequence as a result of last night's indulgence - being lured into a trap or otherwise taken advantage of. The other part of me longs to bring the cyber world into reality and contemplating in angst the various ways to achieve it.

This personal civil war continued throught the day, and between trying to look busy and not bewildered by lust, I sat at my desk and thought of our cyber chat. What struck me the most is not being able to remember everything that was said, but remembering everything I felt. How my heart raced, my fingers trembled, and the chill that fluttered through my veins like a frozen butterfly. Crotch of my black panties soaked with my own ample moisture and light sweat, and the way my clit pulsed with ecstasy, rippling through to my thighs.

Sitting there at work in my cubicle, I felt like Eve displaced and exposed after eating the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge.

But I wanted to know more. I tried to imagine a litany of things. The sound of his voice, the cadence of his speech, his solid chest, the temperature of his erect penis and the feel of his hand in mine. And how it came to be that his existence would permeate so throughly into my consciousness and linger. I was arrested by the notion that somehow this man reached my tome of hidden thoughts, scribed long ago and stored - nearly forgotten wants I never dared ask a lover for. But this man knew. Without ever having met me.

to be continued...

Cybersex

Up until now I thought cybersex was something that other people did. Well there is a first time for everything, and now I have crossed that line between me and 'other people'. Now I am 'other people'. Not sure what to make of this. I'll need to do the math on this and meditate to figure this one out. On the one hand it's not as complicated as it seems. on the other hand, the one rooted in reality, being married complicates things for me. Technically one could say I've ventured into internet adultery. That concept seems a bit silly to me on first inspection. That would make fantasy suspect, whether or not it was a secret fantasy or not.

But aside from complications...
It was exhilirating. And interesting. Obviously I knew what to expect, but how it happened was entirely new and unexpected. My internet lover guided me through nuances of our chat, asking me questions and getting to know me by exploring my sexual needs and wants. I felt out of place and skeptical in the beginning, but I chalked it up to inexperience and stayed the course. Soon I transformed from an unsure and somewhat uncomfortable disposition to a natural one, relishing in the telling of my technique for orally arousing my lover. It felt good, but not like the way being 'bad' feels good. Like taking the photos of myself, this new experience challenged me in ways I'd never considered. I felt naughty, but validated. I'm a deep well of intimate secrets, some that I keep hidden from myself, most notable my sexual appetite. I'm in recovery from codependency, so it's been easy for me to justify a sex life fallen shy of my expectations. But over the last couple of years, I've gotten better, and come to terms with my sexual needs. So in secret, that is without my husband's knowledge for the most part, I've been exploring internet porn, women's erotica, erotic writings and fleshing out my own erotic fantasy in prose.

So this cyber experience...hmmm.

to be continued.

Pictures of me

So today I did something that I've NEVER ever done and didn't really consider. I photographed myself and sent the pictures to someone I met on the internet. GASP! right? That's what the mother in all of us (men included) initially say. But I stepped back and really thought about it just for a spell, just to take it for what it's worth, an experience really. An entry on my secret 'bucket list'. Something that my inner Anais Nin has always wanted to do.

They weren't nasty, in my opinion. Just a little cleavage - enough for me to feel like I'd taken a bit of a risk just enough to be controversial enough for myself. I considered the recipient, what the action meant and if I really was going to do it so much so that I could hardly sleep last night. It penetrated my thoughts and wouldn't leave me be to rest. The entire prospect was exciting, sexually. And even though I had taken measure to alleviate my disposition in the cover of darkness, the next morning before, after and during my mini-photo shoot, the crotch of my panties, were drenched. Even through my jeans. That's never happened to me before. Through all my considerations the previous day, I had no idea the effect photographing my own body, or even thinking about its intentioned purpose would have this kind of effect upon me. It was dangerous and exhilirating, like the first time I rode a motorcycle. Felt forbidden, but triumphal.

Throughout the whole day, I felt beautiful, alive and wildly primal in that 'just been fucked' kind of way. I wondered whether people noticed me, if they could smell my sex underneath the perfume I wore. Could anyone tell how wet I was? I looked at other drivers and people on the street as I drove around on an errand wondering why people don't consider their own beauty for what it really is. We're taught that somehow, and as you go through the milestones age brings along, like puberty, adulthood, marriage, the meaning of self changes as beauty turns perverse with age. It becomes sexy - but only for a while, then it becomes sleazy if perpetuated. Fuck that.

So cross that one off my secret bucket list. I think Anais would be proud.

First Post

Writing erotica came to me rather naturally. I started when I was about 15, before I even knew about the genre. Back then it was an outlet, and I thought nothing of materializing my fantasies to prose. They were dreams, projections and possibly future goals of the kind of life I wanted. Promises of what could be -well maybe not promises...

So the name of this blog... My sun is in Pisces and my rising sign is Aries. Which means I'm a dreamer, lover of all things needy, and the best and worst of all the zodiac signs - I've heard it referred to as "the dust bin of the zodiac". But on the outside, I act like an Aries. I want to be first, to conquer and make the world right. I'm adventurous, compassionate and insanely jealous to a fault....until another muse comes along to lift my crushed spirit. Like a small child on a playground - that's me.

So this blog is my playground. I hope you have fun. :-)