Q:Would you ever do a masturbation video?
I don’t want to say “never”, as I’m quite open to exploring these things, but at the moment I’m not interested in doing that.
Q:Have you ever been recorded during sex?
Gosh, I don’t know. I’m going to have to ask all the imaginary men I’ve been having imaginary sex with.
Q:Please do! Looking forward to it. Also, love that you say hella.
We shall see. ;)
And, yeah, “hella” is one of my favorite slang-ish words right now. I don’t even know where I picked it up, but I like how it sounds. :)
Q:Would you ever post a sexy photo of yourself?
I’ve been meaning to do that for a very, very long time now. I take sexy photos of myself relatively often, and always consider posting them, but then I chicken out. I get shy, or I think that the photo’s not aesthetic enough (compared to the images I like to caption), or I find something that bothers me about it. Ultimately, those photos get deleted. :(
One day, though! Mark my words! One day I will post something sexy, because the exhibitionist in me is hella restless. She’s just not very persuasive. :P
Look at me while you cum.
Q:Most recent porn you've fapped to?
I haven’t fapped to porn in a while. I just haven’t had the time to seek stuff out, and my imagination has been stimulation enough. Not gonna lie, though, the audio porn is still my favorite at the moment. I was recently pointed in the direction of this short but very intense clip by Whiskey & Discipline. They have this amazing video, too. It has everything. Begging, denial, fingering, fucking, spanks, bondage, mirrors… I saw it a while back, and it’s been a new favorite, although I haven’t actually masturbated to it [yet].
I used to think collars were too hardcore for me, but that was a long time ago. That was when I associated all collars with thick black leather and massive buckles, before I knew that they came in such an extensive variety. Now, with an intense desire to look and feel and be owned, I can’t help but want such an obvious symbol of ownership around my neck. I can’t help but want to feel that weight against my vulnerable throat, fulfilling my desire to be perpetually reminded that I don’t belong to myself. I never want to stray from that knowledge.
I genuinely believe that wearing a collar would change my behavior. It would be a vehicle to help put me in a submissive mindset, to smoothly transition me from a day of public independence to a night of private servitude. I would be more pliable, more compliant, and more easily controlled, because the collar would immediately remind me of my place. It would be enough to make me want to sink down onto my knees and open my mouth to your cock, waiting patiently. Just thinking about it makes me want to crawl and kneel and serve.
Day collars might be my favorite, though. My day collar would be the inconspicuous one I wear to class or to work, the one I wear around unsuspecting friends and family. The day collar would be the one I absentmindedly run my fingers across when I’m chatting with a vanilla friend, secretly reveling in how wet I get just by touching it. Unlike bites and bruises, it’s the most visible reminder of who I really am. It would remind me that, just because I’m away from you, that doesn’t mean I’m not still on your leash. Oh no, you’re holding on tighter than ever. Your control is manifested in that delicate silver against my collarbones; your fingers are still wrapped around my throat, but you’re not suffocating me. You’re guiding me. You’re reminding me that I’m still going to be on my best behavior, that I still need to follow all my rules, that I still belong on my knees even when I’m facing the world on my feet.
Most importantly, the day collar reminds me that I’m yours no matter where I go.
I don’t want you to cum all over me, but maybe that means that I do.
It’s one of those things that I won’t enjoy, but not enjoying it is what would make it exciting. It’s some kind of erotic cognitive dissonance, the idea that I could be excited by something that always repulses me at the thought. I don’t see the appeal of wasting your cum on my tits when you could just as easily release it in any of my three holes, always open and ready. Yes, you’re marking your territory, but that’s what bruises are for. That’s why I’ll let you dig your teeth into my skin and hit me hard in all the right places, so that “mine” is hidden under my clothes. Your cum would be more temporary than that, just one big mess that I’d have to endure.
Oh, but there’s the appeal. The appeal lies in endurance, in surrender, in a total loss of control. The more I think about it, the more it seduces me. Maybe you’ll cum on me because you know I don’t like it. Maybe you’ll cum on me because you know how much it bothers me, how degraded I feel when you do it. That in itself, that cruelty of doing it anyway, is what sparks something inside of me. After all, it’s not a limit. It’s just highly disfavored.
So you’ll leave me there to stew in your cum, and I’ll start to think. I’ll think about how you’ve momentarily left me here, cum dripping off my skin and onto the sheets. It’ll start to cool and dry on my flesh, and I’ll want nothing more than to take a hot shower and wash it off. I won’t, though. I’ll just lie there like you told me to, and think. I’ll think about how dirty I feel, how completely and utterly used. I’d feel like an absolute, disgraceful mess, but I’d be your mess. You did this to me. You fucked me and then marked me with your release, and it was so mean.With that thought, my body will betray me. I’ll get hot again. I’ll get wet again. My nipples will harden again, and the line between “enjoyable” and “not enjoyable” will blur.
Perhaps that means I like being your toy more than I like being clean.
I can be a messy girl.
It’s inevitable when you’re so full of insatiable need. The desperation that wells up inside has to go somewhere. It has to be let out. Otherwise, it builds up and fills my head with hungers so potent that they take control of my fidgety little hands. And all I want to do is grind and rub and roll and finger-fuck, but sometimes it has to wait. Sometimes it has to wait a long time.
Once the waiting is over, once I’m free to shed all the fabric that restricts me, nothing feels better against my wet, throbbing, needy pussy than clean sheets. Nothing begs to be corrupted more than the sheets do. To deny them would be to deny my own longing for release, my own longing to create a slutty reminder of my wantonness. After all, I do love to be reminded of my whorish tendencies. It makes me feel alive. When my hips are gyrating against my soaking wet hand, and my thighs are sticky with my desperation, the intense pleasure gives me a high like nothing else. Using my body for its ultimate purpose electrifies me like nothing else.
And when I fuck myself, I fuck myself hard. I fuck myself as hard as you’d fuck me, with abandon. When I cum, I cum hard. I cum as hard as you’d make me cum, with loud gasps into the pillow and quivering thighs. It’s not a clean process. Oh no, it’s very, very dirty. But it’s fitting for a dirty girl to leave sticky wet stains on the sheets. It’s fitting for a dirty girl to make big messes, messes that tell her she’s ready to have all her slutty little holes filled.
One day, the mess will be much bigger, and it won’t just be mine.
Q:what do you think of being spat on during play?
Oh, I’m not into that at all. That’s a little too degrading for me. Being spat on would make me feel like a piece of trash, and while some women get off on that level of humiliation, I definitely don’t. I don’t want to feel like trash; I want to feel like a useful object. Degradation is already a very fine line with me, so being spat on would cross it for sure. It always turns me off when I see it in porn, too. So I’m gonna go ahead and say that’s a limit.
Q:I'm curious as to why lollipop sticks have been ruined for you. Story time?
I guess I should answer this, since I brought it on myself.
About two weeks ago, I was doing some long-distance playtime with a friend. Over the course of three days, he made me suck 6 lollipops and keep the sticks. I was then to take the sticks and cut them to a length that would allow them to fit inside my mouth. They were to rest on my molars, thereby keeping my mouth open in a ready-for-cock manner.
So, totally naked and on my knees, I was to masturbate this way. With the lollipop sticks keeping my mouth open. It was pretty hot, albeit ridiculously uncomfortable. In a good way, of course.
And that is precisely why lollipop sticks have been “ruined” for me. ;)
Q:Psst don't use Chapstick as a butt plug use something with a flared base so it doesn't go too far for retrieval. Love your blog and want you to be safe :)
Aww, you’re so nice for pointing that out to a newbie like me. Thank you, anon! <3
I’ve never had anything but a little bit of my fingers and my little vibrator up my butt (and even then never the whole thing), so I’m not about to go and stick other things up there. I am nothing but safe. Promise. :)
Q:Re: your most recent post about living and breathing kink... My office was trying to come up with an acronym for a new product we are putting out and the acronym my boss mentioned is basically kink code for some super dirty stuff... I almost lost it in the meeting. And they were saying, as an afterthought, "we've just gotta make sure it doesn't stand for something already..." Of course I could say nothing without outing myself, so I just stared at my notes, turned bright red, and shrugged. Gah!
Haha, I can imagine! Gosh, the real world is just SO hard for us kinksters. Everything is an innuendo. Like I don’t think I can go a day without turning something seemingly random into something kinky.
Case in point: I just looked up, and the first thing my eyes landed on was a backpack. The straps are brown leather, detachable. You could probably detach them and turn them into a makeshift collar.
Second point: There’s a tube of Chapstick on the desk next to me. You could probably sanitize it, lube it up, and use it as a butt plug.
Third point: Bright yellow highlighter. I could write “slut” somewhere very visible on my body, and not only would it be barely noticeable, but it would just look like random, accidental marks. Only I would know what it really says.
The list goes on.
DO YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN?
That moment when someone on your Facebook feed says they have a “little” and you don’t know if they’re talking about kink or something totally different.
This guy on Facebook made a status about how he finally has a “little”, and then proceeded to tag some girl. And I’m just sitting there like, “OH MY GOD, ARE YOU A DADDY DOM? WHAT? YOU’RE SAYING THIS ON FACEBOOK? WHAT?” People are saying things like “aww, congrats!” while I’m just confused as heck, contemplating if his girlfriend is into this kind of thing and beginning to see him in a TOTALLY different light.
And then I figured out it’s actually a fraternity/sorority thing.
This, ladies and gentlemen, is what happens when your mind is kinky as fuck.
Two holes are better than one.
I’m beginning to learn this. I learn this when I’m lying flat on my stomach, ass up. I always feel the inexplicable need to fill the tiny hole above my wet pussy, to give it some much needed attention. Then again, maybe the need isn’t so inexplicable. Maybe it’s just the result of being a shamelessly cock-hungry whore. It’s the result of wanting all of my needy holes to be filled.
One finger is usually enough. With one hand rubbing my aching pussy and the other reaching back towards my tighter hole, one finger up my ass suffices. My muscles clench around my finger, resisting the intrusion, but I’m too much of a whore to care. I push my finger in as deep as it will go, and it makes my pussy throb harder. It makes me wetter, makes me moan louder, makes me feel infinitely more depraved. What does it mean that finger-fucking my ass makes me so wet? What does it mean that it makes me cum faster? Probably that I’m going to love being mounted. I’m going to love when a thick cock fills me there.
Fucking my ass always makes me think the dirtiest things, too. I call myself a depraved little slut for doing it. I call myself a shameless, filthy, perverted little harlot. Desperate. Wanton. Naughty. So fucking naughty. I rub myself to orgasm with a finger in my ass and another in my pussy, reminding myself that this is really just preparation. It’s not just a fulfillment of whorish needs. This is preparation for cock, preparation for hard fucks, preparation for ownership. I can call it masturbation, and I can do it because I like it, but the truth is that it’s only happening because I’m getting ready.
I’m getting ready to be used.