Lewis Hamilton

Photo by Nadav Kander for The New York Times

RCDILTF (race car driver I'd like to fuck)

Toy Review: The Pocket Rocket

The Doc Johnson "Pocket Rocket" is one of those toys I kept hearing about, but never thought to pick up. I've tried little pocket sized vibes before, but was never happy with any of them. The size of the vibe represented the level of vibration: subtle and discreet. They ended up deep in the bottom of my toy bag or the recesses of a drawer. The batteries would wear out and I never bothered to get new ones.

But I like the idea of having a vibe that's small enough to fit in any purse and doesn't look like a vibrator. I really like the idea of one that takes AA instead of watch batteries.

I wasn't all that thrilled when I opened up the package. It looked unimpressive and kind of clunky. Those brass nubs seemed suspect. It looked a lot like a prop from a SciFi movie from the 70's. But as they say, never judge a book by it's cover (and I often buy books based on their cover).

This little baby, is powerful. Surprisingly powerful. Because of the small size the vibration was more focused. Maybe that's why it felt so intense. If a Hitachi is a paint brush, the Pocket Rocket is a fine tipped pen. I wasn't expecting it. It made me groan out loud, squirt all over and left me with some shivering aftershocks (I may have held it there a smidge too long).

This might be my new efficiency vibe, the toy I use when I don't have a lot of time, when I just want to get off and go to sleep. The only draw back for me is that it's just as loud as a full size toy. So much for the ladies room at work.

To-Do list / item no.2

Device Bondage

Toy Review: Cotton Candy Dildo

I am a big fan of the dildo. You can never have too many penises, I say. I've never tried a silicone one (believe it or not), so I was eager to try it and find out what all the fuss was about. The Cotton Candy Dildo from Babeland was the perfect size for me and a nice non-fake-human skin tone, which I appreciate. So far, so good.

I opened the package up and was immediately enticed by a little insert telling the story of the toy company's name sake, Beate Uhse. Born in East Prussia in 1919, she earned her pilots license in 1936, transported and accompanied aircraft to the front during WWII until she flew herself and her son out of Berlin in 1945. She then became a birth control advocate and in 1962 opened one of the first sex shop in the world. I have never before been compelled to check out an annual report before stuffing a cock up my twat.

But about the dildo! The problem I have with most dildo / vibrator combinations is that the vibrator part is always lacking. I don't like a lot of multi-tasking with my toys: dildos are for fucking and vibrators are for... vibrating. But I was willing to give this one a go. The feel of the silicone was a little odd right out of the box and it seemed almost too soft, but as soon as I poured on the lube and smoothed it around, I could feel the difference and it was nice! I laid back on the bed, spread my legs open to the breeze of my fan and slipped it in.

Okay, now I get the whole silicone thing.

It was so smooth! It didn't have that obviously manufactured feel that other dildos have. It was soft, but firm and it's the only fake penis I've ever had that felt closest to a real one. I could cuddle up with this. It was just the right width and just the right length. The Zippy Vibe was nestled into a hole in the base and was easy enough to turn on and turn up (however, it did tend to slip out easily). But as with most combos, the vibe part was lacking for me. The vibration was muffled and felt concentrated at the base, not where I wanted it to be. It was more distracting to me than anything. Then again, I'm a Hitachi set on high kind of gal. I ended up taking the vibe out and putting it right on my clit. That did the trick. With my other hand I went on jack-hammering myself with my new best friend.

I'm keeping the Zippy Vibe out as a handy, little pocket vibe and my usual, everyday dildo has now been banished to the auxiliary toy drawer. This one is going by the bed.

Side note: I think I need a better lube. I know enough not to use silicone lube on silicone toys, but what I was using didn't stay as slick as long with this toy. Anyone have a favorite lube for silicone?

baby cried the day the circus came to town

I'm really bad at talking about my feelings and even worse at expressing them. I'm not going to do this very often, so don't get used to it. I apologize in advance for the emotional hemmorage, but I'm not in therapy. Don't worry I have some sex toys to review, so I'll be back in a little bit, I promise.

Cue the violins and smear the lens with Vaseline.

The personal lives and emotional state of my family weren't really a topic of conversation in the house. We'd gather around the dinner table and talk about school, politics, work, something we heard on All Things Considered or saw on Nova, the facts and figures of our day, but when it got down to talking about anything brewing on the inside, it was a quick, "Nothing's wrong, I'm just tired" and the subject matter was closed. 

My parents treated us a little like acquaintances passing on the street. You may ask, "How are you?" but you're really not expecting an answer and if you get one, it's all awkward and uncomfortable.

My siblings? They were problematic with epic dramas that warranted a regular slot on day time television. My parents would look at me with relief that I was so good and quiet and never caused them any (well, not to the degree they were used to) grief. I was a gift, a reward, for putting up with my brother and sister. So, you can guess what that meant. I had to be perfect.

I learned early to never admit when I was depressed or confused or in pain, because that would mean I was making things difficult and my parents had enough difficulty with my brother and sister. I didn't want to add to their stress.

Well, there's only so long that was going to last. After a typical angsty teenage period complete with lots of really bad poetry, some cutting, listening to "How Soon is Now" over and over and an unhealthy obsession with vampires, my folks realized that their daughter might actually be a human being after all and were completely perplexed as to how to deal with me. My father's way of easing my pain was to either one-up-me with his own suffering or use a kind of passive-aggressive blackmail to get me to talk about my feelings (or else!) My mother would get uncomfortable, take a few steps backwards and recommend I do some research at the library on the subject of my misery because there were sure to be experts who knew much more about it than she did. Things haven't really changed.

So, you really don't need to read any further. I'm sure there are more important or interesting things you could be doing than reading about me whinning about my "poor childhood". 

Sure, I allow myself a cry now and then, but then I shake it off, suck it up, walk it off, fix myself a drink and get back to work. I certainly don't burden other people with my problems! So what if sometimes I feel stupid, lonely and unloved, blah, blah, blah... who doesn't? At least I don't live in Sudan or have a terminal illness or was born with a conjoined twin.

I have nothing to complain about. In fact, I've got a whole lot to be grateful for and happy about. I am smart and I am loved (two out of three ain't bad) so snap the fuck out of it. Don't make a fuss, don't cause a stir, do not be difficult!

Don't say it. I know that I'm "entitled to my feelings" and all that. 

I still feel like a little pussy.

Now ladies and gentlemen, Miss Melissa Manchester:

i have nothing to do at work today

Why do I say "just" so much. Note to self: limit use of the word "just"

Wordle

This is your brain. This is your brain on love.

I knew there was a scientific reason why I'm so fucked up.

HNT

I know this one was just an accident, but I like it.

Thanks, Axe.

Paying for it

There's nothing wrong with it. They provide a service and if people are willing to pay for it, what's wrong with that? Nothing at all. It's just that I never thought that I would do it. I never thought that I would want to, never mind have to. But I was absolutely desperate and I could not wait until I got home. I wanted this, I needed this and I was perfectly willing to lay down the cash for it.

So yesterday at lunch I took a short walk from my office and paid a stranger to let me…

take a nap.

I had about an hour and a half of sleep the night before and I was sick all weekend. I felt like crap and I could hardly keep my head from slamming down on to my keyboard. I'd heard of these napping spas and checked it out on line. Yeah, I thought, I'm a "sleep deprived modern warrior", what with my executive lifestyle and all. I could have a 20 minute nap for $15 and it was just a short walk from the office. 

Fuck, yeah.

The place was a soothing pallet of deep pinks and oranges and, to my relief, there was no Enya or mating whale noises on the speakers. After filling out a short form, I chose from a menu of ambient sounds (I picked the rain storm) and aromatherapy smells (I think it was something with figs) and helped myself to some lemon ginger tea. I was escorted into a small, oval shaped room, its walls upholstered in crisp white. I took off my shoes and glasses and settled into the somewhat clinical looking, but incredibly comfortable chair. My host slowly eased me back until my legs were just slightly above the level of my head. She draped a blanket over me and asked if I wanted the lights dimmed or total darkness (total darkness). After adjusting the volume of the thunderstorm, she reminded me that they can not guarantee that I would sleep, and left me to my "powernap."

I was at that point of exhaustion where sleep is so close and yet so far it's almost painful. I concentrated on the sound of the rain and crickets and the occasional rumbling of a distant thunderstorm. I closed my eyes and exhaled.

Fuck it was good.

I could feel my limbs go heavy as my eyelids fluttered. I wondered if anyone ever masturbated in these rooms. I let the thoughts come and go out of my head and breathed deeply. I felt weightless, floating just above the wet grass in a cool, deep forest. 

So close, I was so achingly close. My head dropped to the side, my lips parted and then with a soft, gentle click, I could sense the light change through my eyelids. The room slowly and gradually became brighter and brighter. I hit the button on the side of the chair and resumed an upright position. I rubbed my eyes, slipped on my shoes and glasses and left the comfort of my little pod. The receptionist confirmed my on-line payment and wished me a pleasant afternoon. I walked out on to the street a little wobbly, a little frustrated and a little embarrassed for having done what I just did.

I was loose, relaxed, but still technically exhausted, since I didn't actually get any sleep. I was content but a bit unsatisfied, kind of a sleepy version of blue balls. If only I had 10 minutes more. 20 minutes more. 

I'd totally pay for it.

TESfest 08_Day 3

It's taken me a while to write all of this up, because along with the bruises and a renewed sense of my own awesomeness, I came back from TESfest with a wicked case of the flu. So, I'm just gonna wrap this up and go back to my zombie-esque state.

Got up bright and early for Master Larry and slave barb's 101 Ways to Destroy Your M/s Relationship. I always wondered what it would be like to be submissive 24/7. I don't think it's for me long term (I'm learning that I'm kinda switchy and I like bossing people around too much), but I'd kinda like to try it for a weekend, just to see what it's like to really let go, just to see if I could do it.

I saw part of Julia's Predicament Bondage, but had to duck out early to catch the start of the British Formula 1 (which is so appropriate given the circumstances). The guy at the bar gave me the remote and I settled into a chair while the staff prepared for the Tea Party. Another kinkster and racing fan (who's name I forget) joined me and we sat chatting about the race. Lewis Hamilton was way, way in the lead and it was raining the whole time so the race itself was a little boring. We both gave up mid-way at lap 31.

I did a little shopping: a starter kit of hemp rope from Venus Ropes and the Njoy Pure Wand.

After lunch was Felice Shays' Fisting for Perverts which was the perfect grand finale for the weekend. I think I'm going to establish a training regime of some sort for my vagina, because I really love being fisted when it happens, but I'd like to get there more often and with a little less... dramatics shall we say, on my part.

On the train platform on the way home, I sweated under long sleeves to shield my purple arms from the general public. The next day at work, I had to make up a lame ass story about falling down some stairs to explain my obvious difficulty in walking. One of my co-workers kept running it through her head, "So you slipped on a marble staircase and fell backwards..." Just believe the lie, I thought to myself.

Now, I'm completely capable of walking, the bruises are healing nicely and I'm making a brand new perverted to-do list, but for now all of this writing has made me weary. I'm going back to my hot toddy and The Postman Always Rings Twice.

Pretty please! I'll be your best friend...

Remember Me from Coco de Mer

I don't think I've ever wanted a dildo more than this. I would be willing to do filthy, filthy things for this dildo. Then I can add it to my dirty ceramic collection:

Erik Scollon butt plug

Oooms Milkmaid dildo

HNT / TESfest 08_Day 2

After breakfast with a familiar face, I caught the tail end of Pressure Points with Tomo and learned I can bring a man twice my size down to his knees in seconds.

Lolita's Water Bondage class was insanely hot. Terrifying, but hot. Felice Shays wrapped in black pallet wrap and soaking wet is a very good thing indeed.

Keep on Shooting! Five Steps to Better Erotic Photographs for Amateurs with Nayland Blake: I really appreciated this class. It's such a good idea! How do you take great photos in a hotel, under florescent lights with nothing but a little point-and-shoot? I got some good tips.

Also, have I mentioned that I'm an idiot?

Earlier on Friday, Boymeat came up to me and asked if I wanted to be Sharinn Spector's demo bottom for her caning class. "Sure!" I said.

Well, more like "Sure?"

But I might as well go for it. How often to opportunities like this come up? And besides, between the punching scene and this, I would definitely be leaving with some bruises and I always want bruises. She told me briefly what she had in mind with the class and I thought, "This might require some Pilates beforehand."

Oh, yeah. Remember that punching scene. The top of my left thigh was still red, puffy and tender from the night before. A perfect target!

She introduced me by saying, "We've never played before. All I know is that she loves canes, she's a masochist and can get loud." I warned her it was a possibility, but the big yells never materialized miraculously enough.

Wait a minute. A masochist? I'm not a masochist. I never thought of myself as a masochist. Yeah, I like a little pain now and then, but a masochist? No way. 

I listened to her talk about the different type of canes she uses and why and their care. I was starting to get a little anxious, that word rumbling around in my head. She thinks I'm a masochist, lord help me.

Finally it was show and tell time and I stripped down to my underwear (heavy flow day, right on time). She gave me a nice little warm-up on my ass, lying on my stomach, then gradually got harder and harder, switching out different canes causing different levels of sting. I have no idea how long that class was. She'd hit my ass over and over until I let out a gasp. She'd pause to talk about a particular stroke and I'd raise my ass up a little waiting for the next one.

I stood with my arms held out, palms up as she laid her favorite canes across my arms. "Don't drop them," she said firmly. I focused on breathing and keeping the canes level as she brought it down on my now active muscles. My back was to the audience and someone asked for me to be turned around. I turned slowly so not to drop the canes, showing off the huge raised and bright red lump on my left bicep that seemed to be growing bigger and redder in front of my eyes. I finally dropped my elbows down (but not the canes). Photos to come.

I stood on the stage, my heels dangling off the edge. I held on to cru, who looked into my eyes and said softly, "This is going to hurt. Bad." I lifted up on my toes, and lowered my heels down over and over again as she hit the backs of my calves. cru urged me on, saying, "That's it. You're doing good. You can take it." 

I squatted, leaning against the wall, as she canned the tops of my thighs, including the punched up one. "It will end when you hit the floor." There was no way I was going to wuss out on this one. I was going to stay up there until she had to push me down. I think 2 minutes was supposed to be the goal. I think I made it to 1 minute when I finally sunk down to the floor to the sound of applause.

Back on the table, the regular whacks to my ass felt nice, almost like a present for good behavior. I was bent over the edge and could hear someone in the audience say, "She's bleeding."

"Shit, my tampon is leaking," I thought. Ha! Yeah, right.

There was a fine sheen of sweat all over me. I rested my head in my arms, biting into my wrist and sucking on to my thumb, tasting my sweat. I heard someone say, "She's doing something really hot with her mouth." Sharinn switched to a whisk like cane, whipping my ass like they were scrambled eggs. Then... it broke. Little peices of bamboo were scattered on the floor and the table. I saved a piece as a souvenier.

The next day (and the day after, and the day after that) I would have that lovely "got hit by a truck" feeling*.  The best thing about the aches and the bruises is that it makes the scene last as long as it takes to heal. It's a lovely reminder every time I need to shift my weight when I'm lying in bed, when I walk through a turnstile, when I'm taking a shower running a loofah over my purple skin. I won't be wearing short sleeved shirts for a very long time.

But, I still don't consider myself a masochist.

* I'm going to stop using that phrase, since I know someone who really did get hit by a truck and there's nothing pleasant about it.

TESfest 08_Day 1

I worked from home today. I should have taken yesterday off, but nooo! I have to be a bad ass and get right back to work. I also was supposed to have my third zapping today, but rescheduled. I really didn't feel like explaining the massive bruises on my thighs to my dermatologist.

So, TESfest:

The first class was Rape Play with Tatsumi and I ran into Axe and his roommate there. Watching the sign language interpreter during that class was a whole other level of entertainment. Next was Speed Bondage with Lochai. It was interesting, but as someone who prefers to be the one being tied up, it was a little advanced for me.

After dinner, I hung out at the bar catching up with folks and having a few drinks. Viviane and I went to check out the fashion show and then the auction. I really wasn't planning on buying anyone. I figured I'd go, relax, be entertained and that would be it. Then I'd cruise the dungeon for a while and then head back to my room for some Knob Creek and my Hitachi. Then Master Larry was up and I thought, "He's hot. He's really, really hot." His offerings and services were being listed and I heard the magic word: punching. My ears pricked up and suddenly I listening to the bidding with a lot more interest. Nayland put in a bid and then suddenly my hand was in the air:

Me: $80
Nayland: $85
Me: $90

Silence.

I looked over at Nayland and around the room. Going once, going twice... SOLD!

Holy crap, I won. How the hell did that happen? What the hell did I just do?!

I didn't really know what to do after that. I followed some woman with a clipboard and I walked past Nayland (who totally let me win) victorious and met my purchase by the cash register. I put down my credit card and once the payment was secure, we moved into the hallway to talk. It was a little awkward starting. We'd never met before. He didn't know me. I knew of him, but I didn't know him. But after a little discussion, I made it pretty clear that I like getting punched. When should we have our date? Well, I wasn't doing anything. No time like the present. I went back in and said goodbye to Viviane and went off to cash in my chips.

I'll tell you right now it was a bargain. We picked one of the smaller dungeon rooms so it was a little more intimate. I stripped down and slave barb made herself comfortable on the floor near by. We hugged and kissed a little and then he went at it. He pushed me against the wall and slammed his fist into my chest over and over. I laid down on the massage table and he got on top, hovering over me hitting into my chest, my thighs and my stomach (that was new!) forcing out my breath with little grunts. Fuck, it was good, the thud of his fist into me, the smell of his skin, the sheen of sweat on my body. Then, he reached into my underwear to finger my pussy.

"Just so you know, I'm on my period. You don't care, do you?" 

I heard slave barb from across the room, "He earned his red wings long ago." I stood up, slipped the tampon out, tossed it into the garbage (that was another first). Gloves were procured, the table was covered and I hoped back up. With one hand he unzipped his fly and pulled out his hard cock. I gripped it tight as he ground his fingers into me with one hand and continued punching with the other. Some where in there I came, once, maybe twice, I have no idea. Every now and then he would look over at slave barb and smile. He asked me if I wanted more and I nodded.

"Good, because I'm not done with you."

I ended up on the floor, sweating, heaving, sore, delicious. I came again looking up at slave barb upside-down. I asked if she would kiss me and she did. Dungeons should come with an ice cream parlor. I always crave a milk shake after a scene. Master Larry and I cuddled on the floor for a while. I put my clothes back on and e-mail addresses were exchanged.

Best damn $90 I ever spent.

TESfest 08

I'm lying here watching Family Guy, drinking wine and icing my calves. That's about all I'm capable of doing at the moment. I'll write more later, but for the record, I had a much better time than I thought I would. I'm looking down at my left forearm and having flashbacks of Floating World last year.

My left forearm gets a lot of action.


FW_07: bruises by Lolita

Risk Assessment (or I'll manage your assets, baby)

I'd been scoping out the security cameras in my office for the past few days. I work in a large open space so there aren't a lot of places to hide. But the cameras are easy enough to spot: little discrete semi-circular mounds on the ceiling. You could easily miss these shiny, dark brown tinted globes if you weren't looking for them, but they seemed relegated to the hallways and there were plenty of empty offices and nooks and crannies out of their gaze.

If the worst case scenario were to happen and we do get caught and they do fire me (highly unlikely) I don't really care. Really. It's no big secret that I'm not particularly enjoying my current position at this particular company and I'm pretty confident in my ability to find work. I ran through the various examples of inappropriate behavior in the workplace we had drilled into us during orientation. I weighed all the pros and cons and decided that if I am to be fired, I want to be fired for the best possible reason.

I think the business folks call it risk assessment.

The thing is, I love office sex. It's a nice combination of the suit fetish and that streak of exhibitionism that peeks out every now and again. I like having sex in places where you are not supposed to have sex. Plus, I feel like I'm defiling the institution somehow and that's always good.

In my former company, my ex-boyfriend bent me over the conference room table and fucked me in the ass. The cool smooth marble was the perfect height (and clean up was easy). I sucked Liam's cock in an unoccupied office, both of us inching back slowly to the wall as he was inadvertently wheeled backwards in the Aeron chair. Once, he sat on my face on the floor of his nondescript beige executive suite in-between conference calls.

But my current workplace, this place, would be the crown jewel. Never have I worked in a place with more security, that was more conservative, where it would be more inappropriate. I've never worked at a place that had it's own bomb sniffing dog on site.

J. and I were going to a show and the theater just happened to be right across the street from my place of work. I did a little last minute should-we or shouldn't we as we made our way through the crowd. He had given me ample opportunity to back out. In fact, I think he might have been more concerned about it than I was. But at that moment, my only worry was getting him into the building after hours and on a weekend. I had this little fantasy in my head in which I would beg the security guard to let him through without a pass. With no luck, I would shyly admit that we really just wanted to fuck in my office. The guard would give us a sly knowing grin and let us through with a wink and a nod and watch the whole thing on the security camera. In reality, when the kindly old security man informed us that he did indeed require a visitor pass. We thanked him and politely obeyed.

Pass was procured, this time from much more authoritative and impressive looking guards and the elevator entered. Phase one was completed. I gave him a quick tour of the floor, pointing out the cameras along the way. I showed him my desk and the great view obliterated by the reflection of blasting florescent lights. I took his hand and led him to one of the empty offices. It was small with more-or-less the same desk and cabinet configuration as all the other offices. I closed the door behind us as a precaution, revealing a single empty coat hanger on the back of the door. The room was dark, the glass wall facing the corridor was tinted so the view into the building across the street was clear. There was nothing going on over there.

I sat up on the window sill and pulled him toward me and we kissed, my back against the glass. Earlier that evening, I noticed that the bottom button of my shirt dress had fallen off and all night long as I walked or the wind blew just right, my skirt would part a little more than a modest gal like me is normally comfortable with. But now it was definitely working to my advantage. He pulled my lacy underwear aside and played my clit. His fingers traced my labia and slipped easily inside my cunt. I ran my tongue along his neck and murmured, "Another one."

Soon, I had my right leg propped up on the desk and the left leg propped up on the armchair and J. on his knees with his fist in my cunt, churning it around with a sloshing, slurpy sound. Every once in a while, I would open one eye half way, just to make sure there was no one standing outside watching us through the glass. I felt the sharp, precise bite of his teeth on the inside of my thigh and I came growling into the top of his head, clamping my thighs against his ears and my pussy on his hand. He slid out of me and stood up holding out a glistening hand. I took it, all slick and gooey and brought it to my mouth. He brushed my face with my juices and I sucked his fingers clean. His hand fell to my chest, "Your heart's beating so fast!" I chuckled breathlessly, undoing his belt and unzipping his jeans and gestured to the chair.

He settled in to the standard office arm chair, and I knelt in front of him (I love it when you take turns being on your knees). I could feel the fluid running down the insides of my thigh and spread my legs, pushing out my ass. Time tends to stand still when I'm sucking cock. At some point I start mewing and moaning and pressing my thighs together. I rock my body back and forth with the motion of my head. I reach up and rest my hands on his chest or wrap them around his thighs urging him to fuck my face. I suck cock with my whole body (I think I have a kind of holistic approach to giving head, but that's really a whole other entry). After his pubic hair was sufficently soaked with my saliva he took my head in his hands and said drunkenly, "Should we go?"

As we gathered ourselves together, I took one last sweep of the room. I rubbed some spots of mystery liquid into the carpet, but other than that there was no evidence we were ever there. I continued the tour with the kitchen as we guzzled water from paper cups and he made a cup of office coffee from the weird single serve automatic coffee machine. I retreated to the bathroom to wipe off the saliva, semen, and/or pussy juice from the various spots on my dress. My face was red, my mascara smeared... nice! I pulled up my soaking, but now cold, underwear with a cringe. I would have preferred to not wear them at all, but I was reluctant to walk down the street, missing bottom button and all. We took the elevator down, exchanging knowing glances and crooked smiles and left the building, the security guards none the wiser.

I assumed.

Four days later, my boss would come to my desk and offer to buy me a coffee. He wants to have a little chat in one of the meeting rooms. He never buys me coffee. We never have "chats" in the meeting rooms. "Sure." I say, a little too innocently. My stomach dropped as we walked into the empty room, right next to the infamous office from four nights earlier.

"Ugh! I just had to get out of my office," he sighs with exhaustion (the way only people who don't really do any work for a living sigh with exhaustion) and I relax into my seat listening to him ramble on about a dinner party and bathroom renovations thinking to myself, "These are good blow-job chairs."