Monthly Archives: March 2011

The dominant submissive

Moriarty and I had our first video chat last night. We discussed various ideas for collaborative creative and social projects. I was rather taken with him lying, naked in bed, chatting freely about his experiences. I could only see his face and bare right shoulder. He could have been wearing pyjama bottoms for all I knew, but I like to think not. Really rather erotic.

Anyway…. that is not the purpose of this post. We chatted late into the night and he has persuaded me to try a little experiment. In his view, I would make a good domme. Apparently, I appeal to the inner boy in men and can use this to manipulate them or dominate them. This isn’t too far from the truth, as professionally speaking, I rather enjoy telling people what to do. Moriarty has suggested I place an ad, as a domme on a BDSM site just to see how many responses I get, i.e. just how easy it would be to set myself up as a domme with the potential of earning money doing it.

And so before going to bed, I created a profile on a site he recommended. This morning I turned on a personal ad on the site and already I have received a number of responses from incredibly polite sounding men. (I am assuming their emails are submissive-polite).

Now, what I am wondering is: am I in fact the submissive here and Moriarty the master telling me what to do? He has told me many times, BDSM is not his thing at all and no one can tell him what to do. He has also suggested to me that I might enjoy trying to play a more submissive role. So who is playing what role here? My sleep was filled with strange dreams of Moriarty, my brain unwilling to let go of these thoughts.

Regardless, I am curious and open to experimenting. Let’s see what happens.

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Featuring e[lust] #24 on Serial Adulterer’s blog

Here’s the latest e[lust] collection of erotic writings:

 

Photo Courtesy of Kitten’s Toys

Welcome to e[lust] – Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #25? Start with the rules, check out the schedule and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Women, Swinging, and Seduction – From Meeting to Fucking in the Swinging Lifestyle: “My wife wants to drop out of swinging and instead have an open relationship…” announced a good friend of mine..

The Scent of a Woman (Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love my Snatch): Years back, during a scene, I had my dominant lean in and whisper lasciviously that he could “smell my wet pussy” and I started to cry.

5 Kinky Toys from the Office Supply Store: If you’re a nerd like me, you find the idea of office supplies a little bit arousing already but Pet & I paid a recent visit with an even more focused purpose — finding the best pervertibles Staples had to offer.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

Two Fantasies in One: The sexting progressed from just spanking and fingering to fingering both my holes, to slipping a butt plug in to punish me for being a naughty girl. By the time Tuesday came around we were both very horny and on edge to get together.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

Ethics in Blogging: Ethics don’t always equal human kindness/respect for others. You can be a snarky, grumpy shit-stirrer but still be ethical. You can be sweet as pie on the outside and be unethical.

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

Barriers

Being a Slut

Bush. Confession #556

Effects of Effexor

Honesty and Courtesy

#LadyPornDay

Master and Slave?

My Experiences with Porn

Question Month: #1

Thoughts on Porn by Holden

What if His Is Much Larger Than Mine? – His & Hers Perspectives on Cock Size And Swinging

Wet Pussy

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Introducing the charity spanking anthology

Kink & Fetish

A Negotiated Spanking

Cuff Me to the Bed

Don’t Let Go

given

I Want In

Sexlopedia: Edge Play

Sex as a Tool

Sometimes

The cute checkout girl browsed my bare cleavage

Worth The Wait

Erotic Writing

Back to the scene of the crime

blood/lust [pt.one]

Deals

dirty me…

Hooray for Half Term

Honey, I’m Home

I Like Your Dream

Naughty Nurse Night At The Swingers Club

On Eating Pussy

Our Nectars

personal records

Returned

Short Dress. High Heels. Margaritas…

Sex With A Friend Part 1

Traditional Loving?

The fun of firsts

The Power of Seduction

We Begin With Talk Of Drink and Debauchery – Hazy Memories of Desire

Wet Wednesday

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Moments of abandon

Do you ever feel like throwing yourself into life? Not just life, but one particular moment, one instance of your existence?

Right now, I feel alive and in such need of expressing it in some way, in some form. Whether that is walking past a group of people drinking and smoking outside a bar, in the hope of finding an equal eye. Of holding someone’s gaze just long enough to know that they are the same. Recognition of the need to lose themselves. Reckless abandon. Or to stand on the edge of an abyss, a river, anything that makes you question/realise/ live what you have.

That is what I crave/need/desire. Now.

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A very special birthday party

As I wash the sheets we slept in together, discard the tickets and receipts, delete all traces of the photos I took of him, I feel a calmness, a tranquility wash over me. It was a magical few days.

The economist arrived around midnight in a taxi, having barely made his plane. Cancelled trains and delays in getting to the airport had threatened to ruin his secret birthday treat. I saw his taxi from the window and my heart skipped a beat as I recognised him stepping out. He rang the doorbell and I buzzed him up, watching him climb the stairs to my flat and felt a rush of joy. The last time I had seen him was after our shared lunch some weeks ago. The whole concept of him taking time off work to travel to see me, of spending his birthday with me here, had seemed so surreal for so long. We kissed passionately as the late dinner I was preparing for him bubbled on the stove. He looked tired, yet happy. I love those long, lingering kisses – the type you experimented with at school, when kissing was as far as you would go. It is incredible how erotic something so simple, so innocent can be.

We shared some wine and ate our midnight snack. He told me about his week, his travels, his work. We kissed, touched, embraced and moved to the bed with our wine glasses. I took my time unbuttoning his shirt and his jeans, enjoying the feeling of his warm skin and firm torso. I am mildly obsessed with his body. I could spend hours looking at him, tracing my finger along every bone, muscle, crevasse. He has a beautiful, uncomplicated body. I feel so terribly clumsy when I lie next to him. He pushed my legs apart and began to stroke my pussy with his fingers and tongue. Delicately, timidly at first, but feeling my body responding to his touch, he increased the pressure and speed, pushing his fingers deep inside me. Some men’s fingers are just the right length to touch my g-spot without even trying. The economist has the right fingers. As soon as he slipped them inside, I could feel the deep buzz, the flip, the leap of my cunt as he touched me inside and out. I let my mind go, tossed aside all the thoughts that keep me on the brink and felt the tide of orgasm wash over me. It was a much-needed, much-desired, much-craved orgasm. We fucked until 3am when we finally succumbed to sleep. I lay there, conscious of his body next to mine. I listened to his fast deep breathing, could feel his heartbeat through the mattress. He is a furious sleeper, he sleeps with such concentration, such dedication.

We woke early the next day – a day of work for both of us. He put his arm around me and I could feel his erect cock against my ass. I reached back and began to masturbate him. He pushed me face down onto the bed and entered me from behind. I loved the rawness of it, the feeling of being fucked whilst still half asleep. We shared breakfast in a cafe before I went to work. All day, my mind was distracted by thoughts of our night together. He had also told me over dinner that he has been seeing someone. I knew about her, I know who she is. It made me feel slightly sick to hear of their dates together. I was surprised at my reaction. Of course I have always known he will date other women, in fact I have encouraged him to do so. But it was difficult to accept nevertheless.

We met at the flat in the evening. It felt strangely normal to open the door and find him there, working at his laptop. He was exhausted from his run and so dinner was a simple, local affair. As midnight struck and it was officially his birthday, I bought him a special birthday drink in a little bar on the way home. We were slightly drunk and weaved our way home and to bed.

I had been thinking about how to make his 40th birthday a very special and memorable one. When the alarm went off, I got up and made coffee, placing a little chocolate truffle with a birthday candle on the tray with the cups and grabbing his present from the cupboard where I had been hiding it. He had a business call to make first thing and so I left him in bed to make the call. Freshly showered and feeling incredibly horny, I took a leather belt and silk scarf from my wardrobe. He had finished the call and was still lying naked under the covers. I sat astride him, taking his hands and tying them above his head with the belt. Then I gently tied the silk scarf over his eyes. I wanted to give him a birthday blow job he wouldn’t forget. Using a feather I touched his body delicately, brushing it over his stomach, hips and thighs, licking and nibbling at his nipples. I let my mouth wander down his body and teased his erect cock, letting him feel my lips clasp him again and again, but not allowing him to climax. He was so quiet, so relaxed and happy to be tied up, blindfolded, teased. I watched his timid smile as I took his balls in my mouth. He was so beautiful to look at. He was craving release and I took him in my mouth once again, sliding it in and out with a constant rhythm and pressure that made him even harder and finally allowed him the climax he had been searching for. I swallowed the hot jets. We lay naked, side by side and I cut him free of his ties.

We spent the day walking around the city, sharing breakfast, looking at some beautiful paintings, lying in the grass allowing the sun to warm our winter-pale skins. We found a quiet little restaurant for a late lunch, sitting outside, sipping cool white wine and enjoying that first day of spring when your body begins to awaken from the long winter months. I took him for ice cream, walking along the river and ending up in a rooftop bar where we watched the sun set over the city, sipping our cocktails. Light-headed and slightly drunk, we headed towards the restaurant I had booked for dinner, stopping to ride a merry-go-round on the way. I wanted him to let go, to feel free and happy. All day, I had taken photos of him and looking at them now, I love his laughter lines and the yellow hue of the merry-go-round. He looks so happy. Dinner was an intimate affair, followed by a club and some live jazz. It had been such a perfect day. As we walked home, he received a text message from his ex wishing him a happy birthday. He took it badly and I wish I could have erased that moment, to not let it cast a shadow over our time together.

We fell into bed, sleeping late the next day. We spent almost the entire day lying naked in bed, chatting, listening to music, behaving like adolescent students. It was decadent. We dressed an hour before his taxi arrived and shared a late lunch in a local cafe. I can’t quite describe my feelings. Tender is perhaps the best word. I wanted to keep him, to look after him, to protect him. It was a quiet hour, both of us aware that our secret sanctuary of the last few days was coming to an end. We kissed tenderly again, in the same spot where we had stood only three nights previously. So much left unsaid. He is back in London now, attending a birthday party Moriarty has organised for him tonight. I know that she will be there to toast him and I wrestle with how that makes me feel.

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One year older, none the wiser

I have just realised my blog turned one this week. It has been an interesting journey writing about my adventures in adultery. In fact, I can’t imagine not having this blog to express my thoughts, feelings and ideas. It has become my companion, my sanctuary and strangely, this is where I feel most comfortable, most like ‘me’.

One year on and these things I know:

– I love my ‘secret’ life. It is a part of me that no one else can influence, a statement of independence, of my own identity. I often wonder whether I would choose to live my life differently and every time I come to the conclusion that I would not. I simply cannot imagine it. This little sliver of my life is what makes me feel alive.

– I know that every adventure will end in a little heartbreak. They will always stay with their wives, be consumed by their responsibilities as fathers, husbands or find new girlfriends and not wish to betray them. And so I write about them, our shared moments, the frustrations, the feelings I cannot express to them. Because of course, I would not want them to leave their wives and families for me. Every new affair has a natural end, every lover a different chapter.

– I love learning a new lover’s touch – the initial infatuation, the tingle of anticipation, the pain of separation and the thrill of new physical sensations. Every lover has a unique touch, every lover draws a different climax, every lover consumes me in a different way.

– I am glad I ‘outed’ myself to Moriarty and grateful to him for being non-judgemental about my little adventures. It has been wonderful to talk openly with someone who knows me, to share thoughts, ideas, experiences with someone who leads his own double life. He has opened my eyes to a world I had no idea about. And he has made me incredibly curious about delving into this world.

– I miss my older lover. I miss his scent, his taste, his incredible touch.

– I wonder whether my marriage will last. The more time I spend as the ‘real’ me, the wider the gap between the ‘married’ me becomes. I wonder whether that gap is one that can be bridged, or one I want to bridge.

– I do not regret anything.

 

This is who I am.

 

 

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The joys of silence

At last, a Saturday morning to myself. No visitors, no husband, just me (and my laptop). A moment to enjoy a freshly brewed cup of coffee in bed, reflect on events of recent days and allow myself the tingle of anticipation for the coming week.

I have been making slow, but deliciously tantalising progress with the Russian. We have shared a cup of tea in a tiny cafe, enjoyed lunch between classes and we will be seeing one another this evening at a class outing to the theatre. These small, seemingly meaningless events have always been in the company of others who can interpret for us. It is the strangest thing to have a conversation with him. We talk animatedly with one another, maintaining eye contact, whilst the interpreter translates. The topics of conversation are, naturally, neutral, safe topics. Yet, our eyes are locked in a silent conversation. Frequently, I feel myself blush and have to look away. He has such an intense gaze. He does not look away. I am trying to read him. When he stands next to me in class, demonstrating this or that, I inhale his scent, examine his neck, the stubble on his jaw, his eyes as he focuses on the task at hand. And then there are his hands. Long, slender, elegant fingers. My mind is distracted by thoughts of what it would be like to feel his fingers inside me, to kiss his neck, touch his torso. I feel like a schoolgirl with a crush. Then yesterday, after lunch, we walked back together. The others were lagging behind and so it was just us. We attempted a conversation, cobbling together words from different languages into sentences that probably made no sense. But it didn’t matter. The Russian and I were alone. We walked in the sunshine, smiling at one another and ‘talking’. I longed to touch him, to let him know how much I desire to be alone with him, to ‘tell’ him things without words. But the moment was all too brief. The others caught up and we were no longer alone. I hoped my eyes told him all these things. Tonight we will see one another again, in a crowd of others. But sometimes, when there are many people, it is easier to share moments of intimacy…

So many delicate delights to look forward to – an evening with the Russian tonight and in a few days’ time, the economist will arrive for a brief visit. It is his birthday. Many months ago, I suggested jokingly that he come to spend it with me. And he is. I am thrilled at the prospect of having two nights and days together – a foreign city, no husband, no flatmate. I want to make his birthday one worth remembering… I’m thinking a sensory/sensual day of indulgences 🙂

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The fun of firsts

In the course of one mundane Monday afternoon, I managed to tot up a number of ‘firsts’ to add to my list of must-dos-before-I-die:

1. to experience a full-body orgasm

2. to be touched by a woman

3. to have paid for all of the above

The idea had sprung from conversations with Moriarty. We were discussing erotic massages and trying to find a suitable venue for him. After looking at some sites and harbouring a certain curiosity about what a tantric massage might entail, we agreed to go together, booking separate tantric massages at the same time and to swap notes over coffee afterwards. I can’t tell you how liberating it is to have someone to talk to openly about these things. The tantric massage was also going to be a first for him (though he has had plenty of erotic massages). We met outside the tube station in the early afternoon, both having dashed from various appointments to make it with minutes to spare. My day had been so busy that I had not really had time to think about what I was about to do or enjoy the full sense of anticipation that comes with trying anything for the first time.

The ‘parlour’ was in a non-descript flat a short walk from the tube stop. We were welcomed by two ladies wearing sarongs. They introduced themselves and quickly took us to their respective rooms. The air was filled with incense and I sat in an armchair opposite a young Australian masseuse. She had a very friendly and open manner and proceeded to ask me some general questions about my motivations and what I should expect. Once the money had been handed over, I had a quick shower and lay naked, face down on the massage table in the middle of the room. She began to pour hot oil over my shoulders, back and legs. She used her hands and forearms to massage my back and I felt her naked belly brush against my arm. Keeping my eyes closed I tried to block out all the distracting, day to day thoughts that tend to cloud my mind. I tried to concentrate on the sensations of her touch. Her hands circled my buttocks and would dip down, brushing past my cunt for the briefest of moments. It was a wonderfully delicate and light touch.

I lay on my stomach for the first 10-15 minutes, then she told me to roll onto my back. As I turned over I saw for the first time that she too was completely naked. I hadn’t appreciated that this was also how they massaged women. I closed my eyes again and she dripped the hot oil onto my chest, gently circling my breasts. Then more warm trickles on my stomach, legs and finally my sex. Her hands worked their way around my body, my arms, hands, legs and feet. Each time she moved up or down my body her hands would touch my cunt for the briefest of moments. When I felt relaxed and warm, her focus moved to my breasts. I have no idea how she did it, but after a few minutes of the gentlest circling and tugging, my nipples were erect and sensitised in a way I’ve never experienced before. Each time her fingers teased my nipples, I felt a jolt in my cunt. No man has ever touched my breasts in the same way, so lightly, so erotically. Gradually, her focus shifted to my stomach and thighs and finally her hands strayed to my pussy. I could feel her place two fingers either side of my clitoris, gently massaging the whole labia in a way that seemed to sensitise every fold of skin. I felt another finger slide inside me, touching me so softly, deeply. Slowly, gradually, every inch of skin became charged, I could feel my arms, hands and fingertips tingling, almost painfully, like having pins and needles. My limbs felt as if they belonged to another body, I could not control my facial expressions, my muscles spasmed, ripped me in two, only my mind floated above the scene. She masturbated me to an orgasm I will never forget. My entire being was consumed. It wasn’t just one point somewhere between my clit and my vulva, but everything, my feet, legs, arms, hands, fingers, face – all were taken over by a black wave. After climaxing for what felt like an eternity, she brought me back down gently, pressing her hand to my pussy in a calming, grounding way. I was shaking, shivering. She took each limb in turn and helped to relax the muscles back to a normal state. It didn’t feel like my body anymore.

Once I had ‘come down’, we chatted about the experience and she was incredibly open and pleased that I had enjoyed it so much. She left me to shower and dress. My knees were weak and I smiled to myself as I dried and slipped back into my knickers and bra. Suddenly, the door opened and Moriarty appeared with his masseuse. I was so utterly shocked to be caught in my underwear, that I held the towel to my body and shooed him out of the room. Mistakenly, his masseuse had believed us to be a couple and thought nothing of ushering him into my room. I was mortified. He seemed very non-chalant about it, which made me feel even more awkward. The strange thing is, that although I can be open, strip naked in front of lovers, pose nude for a painter, book myself a tantric massage, I am still incredibly shy. Given our modus operandi of not being physically intimate with one another (due to the economist), I suppose Moriarty seeing me like that crossed a boundary I had mentally drawn in my mind. He now calls me a prude. Perhaps I am. But at least a prude who has three new firsts to add to my list.

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