Saturday, December 31, 2016

When Worlds Collide

That moment when you realize you accidentally invited all your kink friends to the vanilla New Year’s Eve “party”...

Wednesday, December 21, 2016

Christmas Break

Wishing all my readers a joyous and kinky holiday season...

...and I’ll see you all again next year!

Friday, December 16, 2016

Elust #89

Welcome to Elust 89-

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you're looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it'll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #90 Start with the rules, come back January 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

When the Tears Finally Came

The pure and simple truth

One Down

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Disabilities & Submission, Part 2: I Say No

UnRepentant Darkness

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Hoar Frost…

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
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 Kink & Fetish

Hold me down
Keeping me chaste
Say My Name
The Little Things
Learning To Truss
A New Use
My Mania is My Drug
Life as a Laissez-Faire Domme

Erotic Fiction

Candy, Caned
Jax and Rickie’s First Kiss
New Collar

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Why You Should Make a Sex Tape
And the winner is...doggy style!
Pleasantville: The Promise of Trump's America
Bdsm reasons for not hitting children
An Open Letter to

Erotic Non-Fiction

The Fun Of Being Stripped Of Wet Running Kit!
I want to lick your pussy some more
KIDNAP - a story of fear, pain and sex
Well, that's new...
Objectionable Hair - A Lady's Taboo

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

The Cub
I still have hope
A Baker’s Dozen #fucketlist



Wednesday, December 14, 2016

BuzzFeed Femdom

Inspired by Polthus, who found out the hard way that BuzzFeed is really rather prudish when it comes to kinksters and what we crave...

“13 Safe Words That Are Super Problematic”

“10 Most Hilarious Domestic Service Fails”

“Best Gender-Neutral Toys for Your Littles, and Why They Don't Deserve Them”

“7 FLRs the World Never Suspected”

“9 Best Ways to Top From the Bottom and Not Get Caught”

“Most Surprising Blackmail Fetish Secrets of 2016 -- Revealed!”

“12 Orgasm Denial Sublimation Techniques You Really Need to Know”

“8 Cringe-Inducing Stories About Chinese CB-6000 Knock-Offs Gone Wrong!”

“5 Unexpected Findomme-CPA Romances Will Make You Smile”

“The 10 Best Ways to Make Your Human Furniture More Ergonomic”

“He Texted His Dream Pro-Domme! You Won't Believe What Happened Next!”

“8 Power Bottoms Who Are Changing Our World, and Why You Need to Know Them”

Monday, December 12, 2016

That Black Widow Scene

I love that Black Widow scene. The one in the original Avengers where she’s tied to a chair but is actually interrogating her captors, gets a phone call, and then proceeds to go all “Black Widow” on the bad guys and escapes to help her friend?

You know, that scene.

I love that scene, even if in the real world it probably go more like this:

Oh, who am I kidding? I love both scenes.

Wednesday, December 7, 2016

Things You Realize at 2 AM

Or, “The Pivotal Week, Part III”

Written very late on Thanksgiving Night (or very early the next morning, depending how you look at it), and a few days after when the tears finally came...
My love, my wife, my owner,

So I woke up at 12:30 AM. With a raging hard-on of helpless frustration, of course. And I say “helpless,” because that’s exactly how it felt. As if my cock was ready to physically explode from all the blood trapped inside it, while also feeling stuck near the edge of orgasm. Not continuously, but often enough, and long enough each time, to seem that way. My hips just thrust at nothing, involuntarily, yet I didn’t even reaching down to grab hold of my (your) cock with my hand. Partly from fear that I might lose control and slip over the edge, and partly from fear that my hand wouldn’t make any difference.

An hour of that made me realize certain things, even beyond what we talked about in the car on the drive tonight, and here I am at 2:00 AM, trying to get them down. Partly because I wonder if I’ll be brave enough to actually send this to you, and partly because I wonder if this side of me has become so obedient that I’ll send it just so I won’t be able to backtrack on or deny any of it later.

So, things I’ve realized these last few days...

I’ve realized that if you or I or both haven’t already trained or conditioned me over the last six months or so to be unable to orgasm without your permission, that point is very close at hand. Earlier this morning (yesterday morning, now), the frustration was so much that I took myself in hand for one of the few times since we signed that contract. I just wanted to get to the edge, or maybe feel like I still had at least that much control over my own pleasure, and would stop once I reached that point just before the point of no return. Only I couldn’t get to that point, no matter what I did. I reached the point just before that point just before the point of no return, and then it was like my own body rebelled against me. I couldn’t get past it. No matter how long or how hard I stroked. And some part of me knew that if you had given permission, I would have exploded all over the place. But I didn’t have that from you. So I couldn’t.

That moment was as scary, arousing, and humiliating as when I melted, finally, in those first uncontrollable sobs of frustration the other morning. They’ve been quiet tears since then, early in the morning and late at night. And I’ve craved them as much as I’ve hated them, because they’ve been as cathartic as they’ve been humiliating. This whole thing is a paradox, in so many ways.

I’ve realized that it’s not just the teasing and denial, or even your control itself, that’s pushing a kink button deep inside me. It’s also the humiliation. The humiliation of having brought this on myself. The humiliation of sobbing over my own frustration while you held me and very matter-of-factly said this is simply how things are now. The humiliation of you demanding that I orgasm (when I do) in less “enjoyable” and much less “equal” ways compared to your own. And more than anything, the humiliation of that calm coolness you’ve been showing lately, even when I’m climbing all over you and desperate to somehow tip you into an arousal of your own. That you are completely and utterly in control in this sphere, both of yourself and of me, and that it’s going to be bad for me even if I fall in line and do as I’m told, but will be even worse for me if I don’t.

I didn’t know that it would hit me so hard. Or that I would crave these various humiliations so much. The selfish sexual imbalance, where even my topping you in a role play is on your terms. The cool cruelty of the sense from you that my own orgasm isn’t even a secondary consideration, but simply a reward for extremely good behavior or a fortunate whim of the moment from you. The warm sadism that my own frustration and tears and humiliation are things you enjoy on your own, independent of my having wanted all this back at the start, which I started believing in my gut and not just in my head while I was crying against you the other morning and realized that your heartstrings weren’t being pulled like they would have been even just a short time ago, and that the denial would be continuing. And has.

Maybe it’s just my own mind wanting to believe the “long role play,” but there’s a certain reality to this recently that’s beyond even the reality of it that I’d already come to believe. And it’s scary as hell, because the control itself is scary and I want it so badly and I haven’t seen you this “Domme-ly” since we were first dating and because, in the biggest paradox, I’m also seeing and feeling so many other good things from it.

I can’t speak for your side—and I want to hear it when we do that dinner check-in—but on mine, the more you’ve controlled and denied my release, the safer and more loved and more secure I’ve felt overall. The crueler you’ve been to me sexually as “Owner Diane,” the more I’ve wanted to be there for “Equal Wife Diane” and to measure up as “Equal Husband Declan.” And the more you’ve outright humiliated me in the bedroom, the stronger and more confident I’ve felt outside of it, whether at work or wherever.

And I’ve realized that the Dom side of my own switch-hood is still there, even if caged and buried. With no doubt whatsoever that it’s just waiting for a chance to leave you frustrated and denied and take whatever payback it can get, even if that’s in a role play that you engineered and designed and is still just really giving you what you wanted in the end anyway. The Dom side of me is frustrated enough that it doesn’t care, but not strong enough to outright rebel.

I think.

And that’s what I’ve realized, this long and frustrating half-night.

I love you.

I did send this to her that night (or that morning). And her reaction made all the pain and the frustration and the humiliation worthwhile. Again.

Monday, December 5, 2016

The Best Custom Fetish POV Clip Ever!

“Wait, he actually paid for renting this location, permits for filming, a day’s wage for all the extras, building that cabin, designing our costumes from scratch, Irv O. Neil to write the dialog, Sardax to storyboard the visuals, me to appear with you and make his POV fantasy a Double-Domme fairy-tale storybook experience, a composer for original background music, and a real cinematographer to shoot it all?”

“I know!”

“And it’s still only going to be six minutes?”

“Can you believe it?”

“Oh, this is going to be the best custom fetish POV clip ever...

Thursday, December 1, 2016

“Making the World’s First Male Sex Doll”

Like many kinky men who are also utter nerds, I’ve long had the fantasy of the Girl Robot. Especially the Girl Robot who for some totally lame plot-device reason goes out of control and dominates me with no way to shut her off. Of course, that would probably happen simply because I mistyped my safeword during the initial programming, so the command in her neural network wouldn’t match whatever word I was shouting. And then whimpering.

Hey, it could happen. How often do you mistype—or even remember—all of your passwords?

I might need that Domme Fembot soon, too. Especially once the Male Submissive Robot hits the market. No way even the best of us flesh-and-blood subs will ever match up to “him”...

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Invasion of Privacy

Or, “The Pivotal Week, Part II”

It was a little thing, really, but completely unexpected, both that she actually did it and in how I reacted.

She’s had me bound to varying degrees and tucked up against her a few times now. She reads, or she writes, or she surfs the Web, while I squirm and become increasingly aroused and frustrated. This particular night, though, she pulled out the leather cuffs, fastened together my wrists and my ankles, and then straddled me while adventuring and building up her settlements in Fallout 4.

This was not the little thing, even if this alone would have been enough to make the night new and different. She would grind against and slide over me every so often. Or glance down and say something she knew would push a button. Or reach down and play with or pinch my nipples. Or set the game controller aside and invade my mouth with her tongue, claiming it (and me) as hers. And then she would sit back up and reuturn to her game, as if I wasn’t even there except, maybe, as furniture.

And I would squirm, and I would thrust. I would moan, and I would reach up to touch her as best the leather cuffs—and she—would allow, at least until she would decide push my arms away. I would feel my breathing quicken, and then try to slow it down after her attention had turned away and I had tried (and failed) to regain her notice.

I was in submissive husband heaven, even when a too-forceful-and-aroused, verge-of-anger thrust of mine screwed up the elevator placement in one of her buildings, and she had to reload because the game’s Build Mode glitched. And I was in frustrated submissive hell, because this was just a short time before the morning I finally broke down against her and cried.

No, the little thing, which was actually the biggest thing that night, happened when my phone dinged.

My wife and I have always trusted each other. We’ve never felt the need to look over the other’s shoulder while online, or check search histories or e-mail folders while the other was out. We gave each other—and at some point simply came to expect—a certain amount of privacy. This was such a given, in fact, that we never even felt the need to talk about it. Ever.

Then that ding sounded. Someone had texted me.

“Do you need to see that?” she asked, as calm and collected as she had been from the start.

“Probably,” I managed, somehow. Because work, family, responsibilities. I mean, who knew?

She rose off me as I throbbed and tried to explode through my pants and follow her. And she went to get my phone. Only she didn’t come back and give it to me.

I needed a moment to realize that, too. Then I turned my head, wondering what had distracted her, and saw her reading the text herself.

No words came, not from me and not from her. She just kept reading, intently, and I shifted in my cuffs on the floor where she had left me. The padlocks holding the cuffs together clinked, and the seconds stretched on, and on, more than enough time to read even more texts or tap-and-swipe through to other apps entirely. I was shocked, stunned, and had that first inkling that my wife/lover/“owner” wasn’t quite the same woman I remembered from even just a short time ago.

My privacy, so long a staple of our dating and then our married lifewas being invaded. Blatantly. Right in front of me. With no apologies and, very clearly, no mixed feelings or second thoughts on her part, either.

Worst of all, I was actually getting off on her doing it.

It was so unexpected, so unlike the woman who first signed that contract me, that I felt one of my moorings disappear. This was a level of control I never dreamed possible from her—and mostly likely would have argued against including or acting out back at the start. And it showed a level of entitlement I hadn’t thought she would allow herself.

Especially when she put the phone down, came over and settled back on top of me, and started playing again. And all still without a word.

“Who was that?” I asked, finally.

“It wasn’t important.”

Her tone, her attitude, I knew better than to ask again.

I should say something, I thought. I should make certain, somehow, that this never happened again. Because letting this pass would be accepting it, setting a precedent even if only by default. And yet that one little action got deeper inside my head, and drove home the power imbalance in our relationship, more than all that time spent cuffed and being alternately teased and ignored beneath her had done. And it happened so naturally that the line between our kink and vanilla spheres was now blurred, and what I had given up to her (and she had accepted from me) in that contract gained a reality beyond playtime and the bedroom.

I had always wanted that reality, too, while she had generally guarded the separation between who we were in role plays or scenes and who we were 24/7. So this was like a long-time fantasy being dangled right in front of me. A scary fantasy-turned-reality, sure, but all kinks are scary to some degree, and that touch of fear and uncertainty, even with someone you also love and trust, makes it that much more satisfying in the end. At least if you’re wired like I am.

So I said nothing, squirming and losing myself in frustration and feelings I hadn’t expected as well as in feelings I had but were now at a whole new level. I stayed quiet, and I accepted it.

I would do the same again, too. And I catch myself hoping she will as well.

Tuesday, November 29, 2016

Monday, November 28, 2016

When the Tears Finally Came

Or, “The Pivotal Week, Part I”

She promised she would frustrate me to the point of actual tears. Less than 24 hours later, she did.

Early the next morning, I was pressed up against her, spooning my wife from behind. Most mornings are like that now, with the hour or so before my alarm spent enduring an erection I no longer own. I either throb against the loveliest ass on the West Coast, or I squirm futilely against the covers and my boxer-briefs, depending on whether she rolls onto her back and if I can then reposition myself against her thigh.

These mornings have been just short of tears. Sometimes they rose close to spilling out across my face, and sometimes they felt a bit more under control. But always in a two-steps-closer-and-one-step-back-to-mess-with-my-head kind of way. As they say in polling and statistics, the trend was not my friend.

I thought I would have a few more days, though. And that I would be stronger, at least for a while. But she barely even had to try that morning. All she had to do was say, “No.”

Maybe our conversation the day before had primed me. I can be extremely suggestible under the right woman’s guidance, whether involving an actual trance or not. Or maybe it was just the actual, visceral frustration. It had only been 10 days or so since my last orgasm, which some owned men proudly preen as being nothing to them. But since our contract, an orgasm is no longer a reset for me. My starting level of frustration ratchets up a bit higher each time, and the build over time climbs a much steeper, faster slope. So I was as frustrated and ready to break that morning as I was at any time in my entire sexual life. (At least up to that point. There’s a reason this post is subtitled “The Pivotal Week, Part I.”).

All I really know is that when I asked, in a voice probably more pathetic than it even sounded to me, to please be allowed to cum, she very calmly, very quietly, and also somewhat cold and gleefully, denied me permission. Again.

It wasn’t until I asked her a second time, and she responded with “I said no,” that the tears finally came.

They did take a few seconds to explode, to be absolutely honest. My breath hitched as I drew it in. My muscles shook. I felt a deep, tangled mass of frustration and need, regret and emotion, welling up inside. Not just in my mind, but like a physical thing inside my chest and heart as well. And then I was sobbing, loud and uncontrolled and with tears streaming from both eyes.

My head had already been on her shoulder. Her arms had already been around me. So I was in a very submissive and even somewhat powerless position to begin with. And not just symbolically, either. My wife is a strong woman, and she just held me more tightly then, not giving me any choice about pulling away or fleeing the situation. Not that I even could have, though, because any resistance or pride or “manly ego” I had just broke, then and there.

I sobbed and wailed against her. I clutched her with my arms and with my legs. And this woman who had controlled, denied, mind-fucked, and broken me also held, accepted, cherished, and gave me the safest place in the world to break down in.

With 15 years together, she knew how intense this was for me. Crying was something I’d been raised not to do. You kept control, whatever the situation. You thought before acting or even speaking, whatever you were feeling and whatever the provocation. Crying was failure. Crying was humiliation. And if you did break down, you damn well did it alone, and only after the situation or the crisis was dealt with and everyone you cared about had been taken care of.

But that morning, I cried like I never thought I could. And I cried because she had driven me to it, given me no real choice, which in one of those strange kink paradoxes allowed me to let go like that. Finally.

And she just held me. And told me, matter-of-factly, that this was simply how things are now.

That was the moment I sobbed even harder. Because I knew that just a month or even maybe just a week or so before, these same tears would have tugged her heartstrings, and she would have allowed a “mercy” orgasm. Maybe from worry about the frustrated mindset affecting my work, or about a kink line being crossed that would cause problems in the vanilla side of our marriage. Either way, though, she would have “given in.”

But this time, she didn’t. My tears, my frustration, my need, it all just crashed against her and washed away, like a wave striking a rock on the shore. A rock that loved and cared about you, but an immovable, impenetrable rock nonetheless. No chance of negotiating, or of manipulating. Just her decision and her way—and my acceptance and my obedience.

In that moment, everything changed. And my tears were from shock and joy but also fear after that. They were from catharsis and acceptance but also humiliation. Because in that moment, breaking down against her, I knew that our sexual contract, or female-led relationship, or whatever we were calling it, had stopped being some game or long-term role play where I still held a big handful of cards to play. It had instead become who and what we really were, and the engine driving it had now shifted from mine to hers.

So I cried because I had no manly sexual pride left. I cried because she had won while I hadn’t even realized she had started playing for keeps. And I cried because I felt owned and controlled on a level I never had before, and because I finally had exactly what I’d been craving for so damn long, almost my entire life even, and the force of that reality was humiliating in a way I’d never expected, only I was getting off on the humiliation in a way I’d also never expected, which just aroused me even more, which just frustrated me even more, which just humiliated me even more, which just aroused me even more, which just made the whole damn thing one big paradox we’re still both unpacking.

She was understanding this kind of a relationship more now, she also told me as I cried. She was growing into the role, and no longer feeling guilty about feeding that controlling, even sadistic darker side of hers, which had been so in the forefront during our early years together but had taken a backseat as vanilla life and so many other things got in the way, for both of us. It’s almost a fetish cliche that the guy begs and cajoles his wife to take charge of him sexually, only to have her find the joy in it and then take control of him for real, blurring the lines between their kink and their everyday relationship, treating him as a plaything, and reducing his own release to an occasional reward or gift at her whim.

I cried because she was still my wife, still my best friend, but also because that cliche had just happened. I was hers in the very way I’d wanted—and still do, now more than ever—even though what that now meant also scared the living crap out of me.

I’ve cried a lot in the days since that morning, too. And humiliation has never felt so liberating.

Friday, November 25, 2016

Kink-Adjacent Friday Filler

Anyone following my Twitter account already knows this was a pivotal week for the male chastity/sexual FLR my wife and I signed on for earlier in the year. A new level of frustration and control. Flowing tears and outright sobs (mine, and repeatedly). And my wife either understanding it all better, or growing into the role, or simply enjoying her control and my discomfort much, much more. Or maybe just now without any guilt. We’re still trying to figure it all out, and I’m going to need several lengthy upcoming blog posts to help do that.

For now, though, I was also promoted in Star Trek Online. And of course, making Rear Admiral on the Tactical track called for new, meaner-looking uniforms:

As well as a more powerful, more threatening starship:

The game is great for taking my mind off the seemingly endless frustration and denial I’m being put through right now. And blowing up Borg spheres and cubes helps ease the pressure for rebellion in my mind.

Which is good, because I doubt my punished ass would respawn as quickly as my still-gets-overwhelmed-by-six-to-one-odds starship does.

Wednesday, November 23, 2016

“How to Dominate a Turkey”

Not exactly how I’ll be preparing things tomorrow. Then again, I’m only responsible for the appetizers this year:

Some time ago, we actually saw Count Boogie and one other member of the Perverted Circus do a concert at a play space. It was pretty hilarious, at least for the niche audience we all were.

Tuesday, November 22, 2016

“Let Me Take You There”

Me: [curling up against her as tightly as possible]

Her: Frustrated?

Me: [nodding against her breast]

Her: Use your words.

Me: Yes. I’m frustrated.

Her: And it gets worse every day, doesn’t it?

Me: Yes.

Her: Good. Now tell me how it gets worse.

Me: Every morning I wake up, an hour or so before the alarm, and I’m hard. Like it’s just going to burst. Just explode. And you’re right there beside me, and I roll over and up against you. And that’s bad enough, just feeling you there and knowing I’m not allowed to disturb you or wake you up and just trying not squirm and grind against you so much that that happens. Or that I go over the edge and give you a reason to punish me again. And then you start squirming and grinding and pressing back against me in your sleep, and I’m just... It’s just...

Her: Go on.

Me: Each morning I get a little bit closer to actual tears of frustration. And a little bit closer to outright sobbing in denial and need.

Her: Let me take you there.

Me: I want that. And I also really, really don’t.

Her: But you don’t have a choice anymore, do you?

Me: No.

Her: And I am going to take you there.

Me: [squirming] Yes, ma’am.

Her: Good boy. Now go away. You have work to do.

Me: [sighing] Yes, ma’am...

Friday, November 18, 2016

“Cosplay Showcase: Yaya Han”

Among my many varied yet overlapping kinks is a serious cosplay fetish. Especially anything involving Yaya Han:

Admittedly, in some gaming and/or fandom quarters these days, you’re not supposed to admit to being physically attracted even to overtly sexy and alluring cosplays (or cosplayers) and are told to limit yourself to the physical artistry of the costumes and the character channeling of the players. Unless we’re talking about my “switchness” being deeply toward one side or the other at any given time, though, I’ve never been much of an either/or kind of guy. And at least five or six new potential fantasy/erotic stories come to mind each time I watch this, let alone any of the many others out there.

Which means I should probably stop watching, I know, and start writing...

Thursday, November 17, 2016

Wednesday, November 16, 2016

Elust #88

Welcome to Elust 88-

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you're looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it'll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #89 Start with the rules, come back December 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Heart stabbing

Redemption: The Sex Goddess Project


~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

An Open Letter To That Cunnilingus Post

I Found Myself Over His Knee

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Writing Sex Scenes With Less Cissexism, Pt 1

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
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!

Erotic Fiction

The Haunting of Iris Day
MERMAID??? Wicked Wednesday #229
Fear, Scents and Sounds
Lady Amore
love is love
Her Struggle
The New Principal

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Evolving Landscapes
Trust in Me
15 BEST Things About Giving Blowjobs!
With a rebel yell
What lie do you need to hear so we can Fuck?

Erotic Non-Fiction

The Brush
Tasked with asking for what I need
How Old Is Too Old For Wild Lovemaking?
Brass In Pocket
An Unstated Predicament
California Cuisine
Krystal's First Pegging

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

That Adult Bookstore Just Outside Town
Creature of the night
MISTRESS IN A DRESS - or out of it
Come Here. I want to Taste You
Terror of the cane! How to make caning sexy

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

11 Signs You Might Be a Side Guy

Writing About Writing

Writing Sex Scenes With Less Cissexism, Pt 1

Monday, November 14, 2016

Yesterday’s Game

The Rules:

“Today, and today only, you can dominate me whenever you want, however you want, and orgasm as many times as you want,” she instructed. “No restrictions. No permissions needed. Each orgasm you have today, however, will mean an additional week of denial starting tomorrow. Enjoy.”

The Original Game Plan:

Overindulge. In everything I’ve been “restricted” from for the last 7 months or so.

The Hurdles:

A) The Monday-morning deadline I was already behind on.

B) An already scheduled, city-related meeting with a local group I couldn’t cancel.

C) An unexpected allergic reaction. To something.

The Revised Game Plan:

Revel in the “meta” tease-and-denial aspect of it all.

The Final Score:

Christmas is coming somewhat early this year.

Friday, November 11, 2016

When Gaming and a Uniform Fetish Collide

Five reasons I’m playing Star Trek Online again:

And five more:

I’ve caught myself spending endless amounts of late-night time these last few weeks tweaking the uniforms of both crews to achieve maximum uniform fetish pervosity. And just stopping to soak up the occasional random, unexpected kink charge from an NPC:

Or the same from other online players, though in that case while also trying to angle my own avatar so I can at least pretend not to be staring:

The space battles in the newly released console version look glorious on the big HD flat screen, too. It’s still a game to be played, after all. And sometimes you just need to blow the hell out of a strike force of Klingon battlecruisers and Romulan warbirds.

Bonus terrified Original Series-type Klingon, just because:

Tuesday, November 8, 2016

An Election Day Blast from My Hypnofetish Photo-Manipping Past

In honor of our current choice between the best that America has to offer, some satirical hypnofetish photo-manippery from back in the 2008 Democratic primary:

And in case anyone thought my manipping mockery wasn’t bipartisan:

Simpler times, or so they seem today...

Monday, November 7, 2016

Oh, That Client...

“And you’ve memorized the script for my scene, yes? The entire thing? And the stage directions for your vocal tones and facial expressions? And practiced the one-page-per-minute pacing? And realize that you can’t use this script with any other client, because I own the copyright? Unless you torture me into signing it over, of course. I have a detailed script for that scene, too...”

Friday, November 4, 2016

Found on My Hard Drive V

Not having children ourselves, my wife and I are spared the minefield that would come with this particular conversation, given how we actually met...

“How I met your mother? I saw her profile on, which was my generation’s Fetlife. Then I wooed her by e-mail for months from the opposite side of the country. And on our first actual date, I watched her top three different people in public in the dungeon area of a certain club, all the while keeping a coat over my lap to hide my reaction. It was the greatest first date ever.”

Yeah, probably a good thing we don’t have kids...

Thursday, November 3, 2016

An Excerpt from “Non-Negotiable”

[The opening scene from “Non-Negotiable.” I have great sympathy for the lurkers, yes...]

I lurked, and I hated myself for it.

It didn’t matter how many dungeons or playspaces I went to, and I had been to all of them in my area, or at least the ones I knew about. Maybe there really was some mythical private space you could eventually gain entry to, if you proved yourself at the public ones. I gathered that took a kind of bravery I generally used up just getting through the door, though. So I stayed by a wall or in a corner, or on a chair or the far end of some couch, and was just another single guy, desperate to have a woman dominate him and terrified of coming off like some leering creep.

It should have been easier, I thought, especially in these Internet days. But I had been scammed online more than once already. And the munch cliques were as hard to break into as any circle of long-time vanilla friends. And the playspace poly families were as quick to take offense as the monogamous couples were, but with multiple angry partners dressing you down instead of just one, so that you found someone grimly determined to educate you about proper etiquette whichever room you tried escaping to that night.

A few months of this, and gun-shy didn’t even begin to describe me. But there was still that craving that never went away, no matter how many websites I visited or clips I downloaded, not since Kerrie the gangly neighbor girl had tied me up during that long-ago game of “Kidnappers and Feds.” All it took was an image, a tone of voice, or even a stray thought, and it was all over for me.

I was a submissive, so I lurked, and I hated myself for it.

The young, single women had it easy from what I saw. Everyone wanted to play with them. Even me.

So I lurked and tried not to. And almost always, these days, at Bordello de Sade.

Bordello was smaller than the other playspaces and usually less crowded, too. But the couple at the door always acted friendly as they took my mandatory donation, and the scenes were more serious, with the players wanting to control and be controlled, to hurt and be hurt, rather than hogging a station just to show off their latest outfits and look-at-me poses. The yelps and smacks echoed nicely without wall-to-wall people as well, and the regulars gave us lurkers our physical space so long as we didn’t crowd their headspace. It all just got to me more here than anywhere else, both in my head and in my pants. I’d even managed to graduate from the stage of awkward, accidental eye contact and then quickly looking away to having the occasional awkward, slightly embarrassing conversation with one or two of the other lurkers there.

Bordello was also the only place that had Lisabeth.

I’d thought she was a lurker, too, at first, sitting alone on half a love seat by the far wall. She never arrived with anyone, and she never left with anyone. She never got up to play or to sample the various snacks our mutual donations had bought. The couples and the poly klatches who considered Bordello their home dungeon—and they were easy enough to spot—never approached her, and the bravest—or creepiest—of the lurkers who did quickly found themselves rebuffed and wandering back to their corners.

She was always on that same love seat, though, each time I came. I never saw her anywhere else. And we lurkers were the type to move around, lest we actually be noticed like we always claim we want to be and then someone actually asks us to play in front of a large room full of strangers who would perv on us the same way we couldn’t help perving on them.

I’d thought she was a poser after that, someone just showing up to be seen. There would be less competition for envious gazes at Bordello, after all, and her simple-if-tight black dresses and not-always-high-heeled boots would have been overpowered by the look-at-what-I-could-afford corsets and too-expensive-to-actually-play-in leather on display at the other dungeons and spaces. I never saw that tell-tale glance to check if people were noticing her, though. And I spent more than enough time noticing her to have noticed that.

The curiosity got so unbearable, finally, that I actually started a conversation with another lurker. “Hey,” I offered, after approaching cautiously enough not to spook him.

“Hey,” he said back, not quite meeting my own eyes, like we were too close together in the men’s room or something.

I gave him a moment to calm his nerves—and for me to calm my own—then nodded in Lisabeth’s direction. “You know anything about her?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I wish.”

“Yeah,” I said, too.

“Her name is Lisabeth, I think,” we heard behind us then, in a voice like something from the throat of Master Lord God Sir—and then some. The other lurker and I both jumped, but at least I managed not to back away once I turned and faced what might as well have been a biker Santa Claus. Or to keep backing away, like the other lurker did, as Master Santa watched before finally pivoting his gaze back to me with a twinkle in his smile. “Son, I think you just got promoted to Alpha Lurker.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Especially when he winked and almost dropped the two bottles of water balanced in his right hand and the plate of cookies in his left.

“Lisabeth,” I said then. “Wow.”

“I think,” Biker Claus told me again, while rebalancing his load. “She likes playing mind games. The whole night is one big role play for her, from the minute she walks through the door to the moment she leaves.”

“Wow,” I said again.

“Wow, indeed. Takes a lot of effort to keep that kind of intensity going in your headspace, so we tend to leave her be.”

I glanced over my shoulder at Lisabeth, probably for the hundredth time that night and the thousandth overall. “So it’s a respect thing?”

“Or we’re just giving the crazy woman a wide berth.” My head whipped back to him, my eyes wide, but Biker Claus just smiled again and offered me the plate. “Cookie?”

[The full story can be found on Amazon. And someday, I swear, I’ll finally finish writing “Book Two.” Vanilla life can be a cruel mistress, sometimes.]

Tuesday, November 1, 2016

A Moment in Kink History

One of NiteFlirt’s earliest stars, Mistress Myrna (a.k.a. Mommy Mabel, Bertha Bastinado, Goddess Edna, and Ziegfeld’s Folly) commanded a whopping $0.03 per minute.

Unfortunately, the party line did make billing difficult...

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

“Grandparents Meet a Dominatrix and Her Gimp...”

The only thing that could make this even better would be the grandparents suddenly saying, “Oh, no! You’re doing it all wrong! Here, let us show you!”

The grandfather’s socks, though, are perfect.

Monday, October 24, 2016

The Big Blue Guy

“I lost a bet. What about you?”

“Posthypnotic sexual fetish implanted by my mistress.”


“I have to tell the truth to anyone who asks. It’s a public humiliation thing.”

“What floor are you getting off on again?”

“All of them.”

Thursday, October 20, 2016

Fetish Rewrite XXIII

“What’s that?! You wanted the schoolboy fantasy but without all the other schoolboys, you say?! Well, someone should have mentioned that in his pre-session questionnaire, don’t you think?!”

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

Impulse Purchases

Things you buy at IKEA when you have eight extra dollars burning a hole in your pocket:

The long-handled one is particularly nasty. Almost as nasty, in fact, as my PhD wife giving me a lecture on the physics and engineering that make it so nasty while simultaneously using it on me.

Still waiting for the after-“class” quiz I know will be coming...

Monday, October 17, 2016

Elust #87

Welcome to Elust 87-

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you're looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it'll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #88 Start with the rules, come back November 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

On Secret Identities

Dividing lines...

Ember and Ash

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Bdsm: Our pleasures are our obligations


~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Change your Cookbook: a monogamuggle’s guide to cookin’ with poly folk

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
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

When Love is not enough.
the fantasy and reality of my arrival


Shine a Light

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

When You're Bad
How Women Use Their Sexuality As A Weapon
Dear Fans: Quit Kinkbashing

Erotic Fiction

Big Daddy
The Front to Back Challenge
GAME OF TWO HALVES - role shift
no. 106

Erotic Non-Fiction

He's Cumming
Washing up
Chew Toy
So many friends with benefits


One Stroke
Early Morning Haikus

Friday, October 14, 2016

“Uncanny Lover: Building a Sex Robot”

Jon Davis, take note...

Hopefully, I’m of that certain age where I’ll still be around to see all of this really come to fruition.

Faster, please...

Thursday, October 13, 2016

The Literati at Dinner

Me: “You’re quiet.”

My Wife: “All I’ve got on my mind is gay porn.”

Me: “Ah, the porn-writing look. I’ve had that look.”

Her: “Like when you’re wondering what needs to go where?”

Me: “We’re talking about plot, right?”

Her: “...Maybe.”

Me: [laughing] “Yeah, okay, I know what you mean. And should there be an orgasm here, or is it better for the flow of the story if it happens later?”

Her: “Well, my characters always have multiples.”

Me: “I thought you said this was gay porn.”

Her: “They do other things while they refract.”

Me: “I love it when you talk sexy science. What are you writing, exactly?”

Her: “More Fallout.”

Me: “But of course.”

Her: “Shut up! It’s Elder Maxson of the Brotherhood of Steel and a male Sole Survivor. But everyone is a lawyer in an alternate universe.”

Me: “They’re all lawyers?”

Her: “In a class-action battle against the Institute.”

Me: “So does that mean everyone who was kidnapped by the Institute and replaced by synths ends up with $1.27, and all the lawyers get new Mercedes?”

Her: “Spoilers!”

[Cross-posted with tweaks from Kepl3rian.]

Wednesday, October 12, 2016

Fetish Rewrite XXII

When you accidentally click the wrong bookmark and show everyone that “special” video, not the funny viral one you promised...

“What’s a cashmaster?”

“I don’t see any kittens.”

“Are those his feet?”

“This isn’t YouTube, is it?”

Monday, October 10, 2016

That Adult Bookstore Just Outside Town

When I turned sixteen, like every suburban kid in America, I got my driver’s license. And as soon as I got my driver’s license, I did what every 16-year-old boy/man in my hometown did.

I drove to the Adult Bookstore outside of town.

Not the Adult Bookstore, but Jared Souney’s photo of Climax definitely captures the mood and the look of the place...

The Adult Bookstore deserved those initial caps, too, because this was the early 1980s. In the part of Pennsylvania those cosmopolitan, libertine sophisticates of Pittsburgh and Philadelphia looked down on then as well as now. So back then, at least for us, the Adult Bookstore might as well have been the only one that existed in the entire world.

Everyone knew what and where it was. First, you drove past the mills and then through the woods on that winding county road, which was of course bumpy because the county took care of it. Next, you turned onto that numbered state route, which was in an even worse repair because the state took care of it. Dodge the potholes for a few minutes, though, and there it was. A building like some cross between a house and a shack and a bar you wouldn’t go in even with all of your friends at your back, and sitting all by its lonesome in the center of a gravel parking lot/moat of potential obscenity lawsuits and rebukes of eternal damnation.

Every pubertal child-man I knew dreamed of the moment we could get inside the Adult Bookstore. It was a rite of passage, but one that was also fraught with danger. The Adult Bookstore owner and employees, who were like those dragons on the edge of medieval maps to us, might realize we weren’t really eighteen and throw us out. Even worse, someone might recognize us.

That was a real fear, too. Ours was a small town, even if it did call itself a city. And we had all grown up not just driving past the place, but also gleefully taking part in the Horn Game. That was when some hapless customer was walking into or out of the store as you drove by, and you begged, pleaded, and cajoled whoever happened to be driving at the time to honk the horn. The customer would immediately fear someone he knew had just spotted him. It was especially effective at night, when the poor guy couldn’t see your car and his imagination clearly ran wild. (My boss?! My minister?! My mother-in-law?!) And that brief glimpse of stark terror on his face as you shot past was like catnip to a eight-year-old. Or a ten-year-old. Or a thirteen-year-old

By the time you were fourteen, though, you were thinking about getting inside that place yourself. And starting to fear some other snot-nosed brat would someday do the same to you.

Or, worse, actually recognize you. And tell his parents. Who would then tell your parents.

No one honked when I went inside that first time, thankfully. But I did park around back, out of sight, in case someone passing by might remember my mother’s car.

And the inside? The inside was like reaching the edge of that map where those dragons had been drawn, and realizing that maybe you really should keep a lookout for, well, dragons...

Like I mentioned, this was the early 1980s. The very early 1980s. There were no bright and cheerful Pleasure Chests back then, no friendly and welcoming Good Vibrations. You went through that front door with a rusty spring snapping it back shut (loudly) like something on your Grandpa’s work shed, and you saw that crappy fake-wood paneling your friend’s scary dad had put up in his “rec room,” and you spotted that cashier who reminded you there were parts of Pennsylvania even more rural than where you lived, and you started to rethink the Adult Bookstore.

If not for the whole Rite of Passage aspect, and the utter mockery I would endure from my friends if I came back without a purchase, and the worry that I'd dodged a bullet by not being spotted getting inside but that someone driving past would probably recognizing me as I left, I probably would have bolted. As it was, I stood there, just inside the door, long enough for everyone inside to know full well that I wasn’t really eighteen. And that I obviously had never been inside a place like this before.

The Adult Bookstore didn’t care, though. Or the cheap newsprint swinger’s paper the cashier went back to reading was just more interesting in the end than me. Or at least enough for the cashier to pretend not be watching me.

So I stayed. And I wandered. The video booths called out to me with their low-res early VHS wonders (or maybe it was still actual film then), but the “cleanliness issue” overpowered that particular siren song (which is why I’m wondering if maybe it was still actual film then). I’d been raised by WASPs, after all, so even in the Adult Bookstore, there were standards I simply would not let slide. At least the thick-paged, glossy magazines looked clean, if not sterile, but the naked Swedish blondes didn’t pull my attention like they should have, and like they would have for all of my friends. Back then, vanilla was just a flavor of ice cream to me, but I was already realizing that “normal” sex didn’t have the same appeal for me as, well, other things.

Then I saw the wall of those other things.

An entire fucking wall.

Mistresses. Dominatrices. Men on their knees and in collars. Women bound and gagged. Slaves abused and dominated. Leather. Boots. Leather boots. One cover photo after another, and only partially obscured by the metal magazine holders themselves.

It was like the heavens parted, and the sun shone down on the promised land.

By this point in my life, I already knew that I wasn’t “the norm” sexually. And I was at least aware of most of what I would eventually make my peace with as “kinks,” even if I still fought the idea they were somehow actually “perversions.” And while I knew there were others like me, it had always felt like we were very few and very far between. So few and far between, in fact, that in those pre-Internet days, we would probably never meet as friends who could tell each other we each weren’t as weird as we thought, and that I would probably never find one of the exceedingly rare women who might actually be into this. We were needles in an America-wide haystack. But the wall changed all that.

Because it was an entire fucking wall.

The creepy cashier pretending not to be watching me over top of that swinger's paper no longer creeped me out after that. Because even at that age, I knew enough about writing and publishing to know that nobody published an entire fucking wall of these magazines without a market. And even if that market were small by mainstream standards, it was a lot bigger than I’d been imagining up to that point. I felt a part of something larger, standing there, even if I didn’t know exactly what that might be. But it didn’t matter. Because while I still might be just as alone in these, ah, "proclivities" in my hometown as I’d thought, I wasn’t quite as alone in them overall as I’d been before I walked through that ratty door with its rusty spring.

I bought a Swedish nudes magazine to show my friends, but I also bought three BDSM magazines that day. I still remember some of those photos vividly, too. The cashier did get a bit creepier with that knowing look as he rang up my change, and I started worrying that maybe he’d recognized me, and I half-ran out the door and around back to the car and then peeled out, spraying gravel as I pulled onto the state route as fast as I could, to allow the least possible chance of someone seeing where my mother’s sensible compact car was pulling out from.

Then I had to figure out how to hide those magazines at home from my mother, with her cleaning hands and prying eyes.

Not to mention all the others I bought during future trips to the Adult Bookstore. Because I had found “my people,” even if they were just in expensive, four-color pages only semi-decently bound together.

The creepy cashier even turned out to be a decent sort of guy, too, later on. And he never once asked if I was really eighteen.

Wednesday, October 5, 2016

Pop Quiz: Kink TV Bait-and Switch

Q: Which TV show produced the most kinkster excitement when first heard of, followed by the deepest crash of disappointment after I realized what it was actually about?

A: “Joanna Lumley: Cat Woman”

B: “Top Hooker”

I know. I should have known better, in each case. One is about actual cats, and the other is about fishing. Obviously. But oh, for that one, glorious, kink-fulfilling moment when I first heard each title...

Tuesday, October 4, 2016

A Kinkster Thought on a Busy Tuesday

When I’m doing something for or to the Top, I feel like I’m submitting. When the Top is doing something to me, I feel like I’m being dominated.

There is a difference. Discuss.

Monday, October 3, 2016

“The Librarian”

Because my “sexy” librarian fetish is long-standing, and never-ending...

...even after watching this.

Thursday, September 29, 2016

Fetish Rewrite XXI

That moment you realize hardware stores carry items for vanilla home improvement projects, too...

Wednesday, September 28, 2016

Wednesday Linkfest III

Valley of the Dommes: “Four and Twenty Blackbirds

Wife Led Marriage: “Five Food Groups

Oh, that phi: “Change Your Cookbook: A Monogamuggle’s Guide to Cookin’ with Polyfolk

SkinShallows: “Greedy

Male Chastity Journal: “Big Mac Attack

terranova0988: “Is Your D/s my D/s?

Her Subject: “Using FemDom Power to Have Her Vanilla Time

Yes, I’m a Submissive Man: “Femdom Dystopia

The Edge of Vanilla: “So, This Just Happened...

Domme Chronicles: “Dommes Have Orgasms

Friday, September 23, 2016

This Was Once the Future

“Elaine’s first sexbot wasn’t quite what the brochure had promised, but that didn’t stop Elaine...”

Thursday, September 22, 2016

The Canon Conundrum, Part II

Me: “Shall we do that Fallout 4 role play tomorrow night?”

My Wife: “Yes! Yes! Tomorrow!”

Me: “Tomorrow.”

Her: “Yes!”

Me: “Oh, I am so going to put you through your paces and check your performance parameters for optimal efficiency, Synth WN-37.”

Her: “...”

Me: “What?”

Her: “Nothing.”

Me: “I just broke canon again, didn’t I?”

Her: “It’s just... WN-37... The Institute always puts a number after the first letter of it’s synth designations.”

Me: “You are such a Canon Nazi!”

Her: “Is that like the Soup Nazi?”

Me: “Yes! Exactly! But with fandom canon instead of soup!”

Her: “The Institute has food paste, not soup.”

Me: [screams]

Her: “Just make me W9-37 or something!”

Me: “I am so reprogramming you tomorrow night. Top to bottom, head to toe, reprogramming!”

Her: [smiling] “Promise?”

Tuesday, September 20, 2016

A Kinkster Couple Discuss Being Tied Up

Me: “You don’t really like being tied up just to be tied up, do you?”

My Wife: “No. It has to be part of a bigger scene for me.”

Me: “You have to already be in subspace to enjoy it?”

Her: “Exactly. It does nothing for me on its own. And you’re the polar opposite.”

Me: “Absolutely.”

Her: “No prep work or scene-y foreplay needed for you.”

Me: “Yes!”

Her: “Just tie you up and leave you be, for however long I choose.”

Me: “Yes!”

Her: “Because you like being tied up just for the sake of being tied up.”

Me: “YES!”



[still waiting]

Me: “.........goddamn it.”

Monday, September 19, 2016

Fetish Rewrite XX

“Why yes, the male tenants especially do respond better to the estate’s utter domination over their lives when I’m the agent. Curious thing, that...”

Friday, September 16, 2016

Elust #86

Welcome to Elust 86-

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you're looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it'll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #86 Start with the rules, come back October 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

On Self-Objectification

Female Orgasms - Addressing Women's Sexuality

Migraine - A Sexual Spiritual Explanation

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Can You Train a Sub to Orgasm on Command?

Rupert Campbell-Black and me...

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Yes I'm a Sexblogger and No I don't care about your dick

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
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 Kink & Fetish

BUTTER FOR LUBE... Salted or Unsalted?
KOTW:Static on the line
Control Queen
Well, That Didn't Go According to Plan

Writing about Writing

A BDSM Vignette from Two Viewpoints

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Sex Negative

Erotic Fiction

The Cure

Erotic Non-Fiction

A Polyquad Squad Orgasm
Beautiful Birthday Fuck
Purpose of Tasks
Do You Trust Me
The meanings of "good girl"

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

How Long Is Enough
The Virgin. Unlocking Feminine Power.
The Other Day
Communicate! Communicate! Communicate!
addressing doubts one step at a time
How D/s has taught me to stick up for myself

Body Talk and Sexual Health

Against All Odds


Where I'm From