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Tag Archives: bondage

I find it entertaining to read the search terms that people use to find me on any given day. There seem to be certain trends that stand out, and my inner academic constantly screams at me to dig more deeply into those trends. So this morning, out of curiosity, I hit the search terms “all time” summary button. The list is much too long to post here, and some of the things people search for that bring them here are genuinely disturbing (i.e., illegal). But the vast majority are amusing or simply interesting, so I feel compelled to share a few of the stand-outs here.

sexsomnia

I have an uncommon form of parasomnia often referred to casually as sexsomnia. It’s basically like sleep walking, or sleep talking, but instead of walking or talking, I fuck. This is seriously a thing. I’ve since learned that, as long as I’m fucking on a regular basis, it doesn’t happen very often, and when it does it’s usually limited these days to a little heavy petting and frottage. If it’s been a while, though…

Ashley sometimes likes to deny me sex for a few days just so I’ll fuck her with abandon in my sleep. It’s kind of sadistic, and slightly masochistic, I think, since I rarely remember anything of the event in question unless I wake up mid-coitus and am, supposedly, much more demanding when I’m asleep. (I can be woken up with a gentle push and a few words, so don’t think I’m all aggressive or anything. It’s just that my subconscious mind is a bit of a go-getter.)

“snake woman” wraps her coils around him

I get a considerable number of hits from this because of a folk story I once told to a couple of adorable little girls. I wonder, what the hell were they looking for?

beautiful sweater puppies

I am terribly fond of natural breasts. Implants just feel… strange. And they often look even stranger when the clothing is removed. I wrote a post on that subject for one MsTitty, before she went MIA. Which is a shame, because I liked her writing (and, frankly, she had an amazing chest). But I can’t blame her. After all, I pulled a similar disappearing act.

deflowering a virgin

There are so many combinations of this one–“deflower a virgin”, “deflower”,”qatar deflower”, “deflower stories”, “true deflower sex stories”, “teach me how to deflower a virgin”, and so on and so forth. It contributes the largest number of hits I get, by a long shot, because I shared a memory of having sex in a pristine forest. I hope that this search term is so common because people are trying to inform themselves as to how to help a woman have sex for the first time in as painless and enjoyable a fashion as possible… but somehow, I doubt it. My inner feminist weeps at that. (Also, I’m sure those few people who find me with “geocaching” also do so because of that post.)

cunnilingus

Ahh. My favorite bedroom activity, by far. I have written so much about this, but probably my favorite post on the subject revolved around Pretty Grad Student. (I just realized, she has no entry in my Players page. I need to fix that.)

young shaved head punks can really fuck

I really love the punk/alt-girl/suicide girl style. Aside from just looking fucking hot, I really admire anyone who can raise a mighty middle finger to modern definitions of style and beauty. That said, I once fucked a woman with a shaved head in my buddy’s bathroom. And yeah, she could really fuck.

bondage shackles story

My ex-girlfriend Kelly once surprised me with a wide assortment of bondage accoutrements before I was mentally prepared for such activities. It really didn’t go well, so I feel sorry for those people who clicked that link only to find a disappointing story.

handle him casual sex bad feelings help 2014

Someone found me yesterday using this phrase. If you’re still reading, feel free to shoot me an e-mail. Let’s chat about that.

I’d be interested to see what my regular readers have in their search terms, so I invite anyone who reads this to do this. If you do so, let me know so I can read them. I’m no sociologist, but I think this is some fascinating stuff!

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Wow, what a hectic week this has been.  Sorry I’ve been away for a few days, but I had to play catch-up with the backlog of work and research while keeping up with Ashley’s newfound sexual appetite.  (I swear, it’s like being married to a whole new person.)  But I’ve finally caught up, so regular posts should resume this coming week!

By request, the following is a retelling of my one failed experience with anything resembling BDSM.  Not my best ending, but this is just the way it happened.

——————————————————————————————–

I walk through the door to my apartment and hang my backpack on the coatrack.  The apartment is dark and quiet, but as I begin removing my outer layers, I notice the pungent aroma of sandalwood and catch the distinct flickering of candlelight from the slightly cracked door to my and Kelly’s bedroom.  It’s a clear indicator that she has something special planned for us this evening.  I grin and lock the door behind me.

“Kelly?”  I move across the living room to the hall.

“In here…”  Her tone is deep, sultry, and possessed of a certain quality that I can neither describe nor replicate.  It’s an inviting sound mingled with her own arousal and anticipation, something she’s perfected over the years we’ve been together, and she knows its effect on me.  My breath immediately quickens as my body responds exactly how she’s conditioned it to.  I push the door open and step into the bedroom, eager to see what she has planned for us.

I am immediately struck by the sight of Kelly sitting up on the bed, completely nude, her back against the headboard, her legs spread wide open, her knees up and feet planted on the bed.  The candlelight makes her already pale flesh seem almost porceline.  Her left hand slides up her bare thigh, across her stomach, to her small breasts, which are barely half of a handful, but lovely and soft to the touch.  The fingers of her right glide lovingly across her clit, and I can clearly tell how aroused she is by the glistening moisture around her open lips.  She has clearly been doing this for a while, waiting for me to come home and find her like this.  She gives me the slightest of smiles and nods to the rest of the room.  “You like what I’ve done with the place?”

I have been so caught up in Kelly’s inviting posture that all I have noticed about the room is the candlelight and thin wisps of incense hovering in the air.  Now I take in my surroundings fully.  And I am more than mildly surprised.  The candles and incense rest on several tables that have been set up around the room.  They seem out of place surrounded by more sexual accessories than I’ve ever seen outside of an adult toy store.  One table holds a selection of restraining devices–handcuffs, iron shackles with soft felt padding, a cloth gag, various clamps, and two braids of rope of different thickness and consistency.  Another holds a set of dildos ranging from large to monstrous, anal beads, and a plug.  Still another displays a collection of riding crops, paddles, and even a cat o’ nine tails.

Holy hell.  I’ve always known Kelly had a kinky streak, but I am overwhelmed by the vast array of bondage-and-discipline equipment littering the room.  I laugh nervously.  “Wow, this is quite the setup you have here.”

“I borrowed it from Megan,” Kelly says softly.

“I didn’t know Megan was into this kind of thing.”  I examine the padded shackles absently, but Kelly steals my focus as she slides off the bed and walks toward me, her steps slow and measured and possessed of a dancer’s grace.  She stops in front of me and lifts the shackles with her left hand, smiling down at them briefly before looking back up at me.  Her eyes shine, whether from the candlelight or sheer desire, I can’t tell.  When she speaks again, her voice is little more than a whisper.

“I want you to abuse me.”

I know I look absolutely shocked.  “Uh… what?”

“I want you to abuse me,” she repeats.  “I am giving you the authority to do whatever you want to my body.  Put whatever you want inside me, wherever you want.  Tie me up.  Hit me.  I don’t care.”  Kelly steps back and picks up a riding crop.  She puts it in my hand, and I’m surprised by how light it is.  She guides my hand, making the short stick draw circles around her nipple.  “I want to be your victim.”

Are you fucking kidding me?

She turns and walks back to the bed.  She lies face down, her lower torso hanging off the bed, and reaches behind her to spread herself open.  “This is yours to do whatever you want.”

I stare stupidly at her for a moment before my brain finally catches up with the situation.  She has given me permission to do anything I want.  To use her body in whatever manner is most pleasing to me.  But I know this isn’t just about me.  She wants to derive pleasure from her total submission to me.  She wants me to control her, to dominate her.  To hurt her.  The thought makes me feel queasy, and dizzy.  But I don’t want to disappoint her.

I walk toward her numbly, holding the riding crop in my hand.  Kelly moves her hands above her head, gripping the bars of the headboard in anticipation.  Tenderly I rub the tip of the riding crop across her bare bottom.  Her hips wiggle a little in response, so I let the tip trail down lower, across the backs of her thighs, then her moist center.  I hear her breath catch, and I breathe a silent sigh of relief.

Maybe I can do this after all.

I give the crop a quick flick against her bottom.  But I underestimated the flexibility of the thing, and that one flick bends the crop deeply and sends it snapping back against her ass with a loud pop.  Kelly cries out in pain.

Holy fuck no I can’t.

I practically throw the thing across the room, distancing myself from it as much as possible, and fall down beside her.  “Are you okay??  Oh fuck, did I hurt you??”

Kelly looks at at me with wide eyes, her confusion obvious.  “What the fuck?  Why did you stop?”

“I’m sorry, I thought I had really hurt you!”

“No!  Well, yes, but that’s okay, it’s what I want!”

I sit on the floor beside the bed in total bewilderment.  I look around at the tables, then back at her.  “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do this!”

She sighs in exasperation and stands up.  “Christ, don’t be such a pussy!”  She storms out of the bedroom, and I hear the bathroom door slam shut.  She continues to rant, though I can’t understand a bit of her tirade.  I’m too focused on the riding crop, which is propped up against the corner of the room, almost proudly.  I am again overwhelmed by the sheer number of bizarre and intimidating devices around me.

“Fuck this,” I mutter to myself.  I return to the living room and collect my coat and backpack.  I can still vaguely hear Kelly griping to no one in particular through the closed bathroom door as I exit the apartment.