Just to Watch the Smile Fade Away

I’m constantly amused by the ideas put forth by terrible erotica, particularly when I end up shouting “That’s not how bodies work!” at a particularly erroneous piece. It’s actually interesting that recent reading brought me to a heroine mentioning that sometimes she and her partner have average, workaday maintenance sex. In context of the fact that it was in a novel and not a short story, I would have liked to see someone actually write the “main characters have sex that is just ok but nothing that they’ll remember in a few days” scene, but I can understand why that would not have made it into a work of smut.

Happily, I can claim that the sex I’ve been having over the last week or so has been at least slightly better than “just ok”; however, it’s also been markedly affected by how the last two months have gone. I caught a bad cold right before the end of November and was just recovering when I caught another cold. As I wasn’t entirely recovered from the first, the second one laid me out flat and ended up giving me a minor secondary bacterial respiratory infection. Combine that with the grey winter blahs and the fact that KillBoy caught my second cold and was miserable for the better part of a week, we simply haven’t been having sex. For the most part, if someone had offered me oral or a hot cup of tea with honey, I’d have asked for a very large mug of tea.

I don’t know that I’ve ever heard it said that extended sickness with the abstinence that may enforce can have lasting effects. In our case, it ended up that KB has had two unintentionally ruined orgasms. I don’t really do ruined orgasms for a variety of reasons, but it turns out that with his usual control having taken a serious hit, we’ve gotten to see that KB is so dedicated to my rule that he not come without my permission that his brain cuts off the pleasure of it, and I end up trying to stifle giggles at how deeply annoyed he looks. It may not be what I wanted, but I find it sweet that my control extends that far without us intentionally trying to make it happen. For me, I’m still not feeling physically back to normal, and it’s making a difference in how difficult I’m finding it to have an orgasm that really feels up to standard. The amazing thing is that the feelings of intimacy and of control are what elevates the sex to “pretty good, actually.”

On the other hand, we really need to get back into practice. I’d really like to dust off the toys now that my sex drive hasn’t been locked in a closet by a sore throat. It’s time to get back to the kind of sex that actually makes it into erotica.


As Natural as Rain, He Dances Again

I see so many people who have an all-consuming fantasy about how they want their life to be, especially those who want 24/7 d/s, who are clearly throwing themselves against the electric fence of failure again and again and again because they can’t admit that their fantasy doesn’t actually work for them. I worry a lot about being one of those people.

One of the things that makes being the owner and operator of my own brain difficult is knowing that many times, I will automatically process things in a negative light, as an act of maladaptive self-protection. I also will frequently refuse to see or believe that there is proof of my own competency.

It’s easy to ignore things like KB standing after a shower, shivering, waiting for the now-wet towel that I’ll pass over to him when I’m done with it. The stack of clean towels is within reach, but I don’t offer and he doesn’t ask. It’s not quite about the shivering or the having to use the wet towel. It’s because I can. It’s such a natural interaction that has happened a few times, without even any thought, that my brain struggles to get a foothold in using some aspect of it to undermine me. I can’t say it would mean anything at all in someone else’s relationship, but in mine? Well, hell, maybe he’s not asking because he’s trying to stave off doing the laundry, but that’s not why I’m not offering.

Instead of Air, You Are Breathing Melody

While still not a morning person by any means, KillBoy has been developing a morning routine that seems to suit him fairly well. This morning, since he wasn’t rushing around trying to get out the door in a hurry, when he finally started getting his clothes together, I suggested it would be a good day for him to wear panties for me, especially because we’d made erotic plans yesterday that had been axed by him coming home to find me stiff and cranky from hours of physical work in the heat.

One of the pleasures of the new routine is that there was time for him to show me how hard he’d gotten just putting on the panties and presumably being filled with expectation for his arrival home. Time for me to kiss him while he edged for me, standing over him with his work clothes pulled aside so he could quickly dance to that cliff for me. After I flopped back into bed, time enough for him to lean over me, wiggling his butt to invite quick swats before kissing me goodbye.

Now, of course, he’s at work and I don’t know how much thought he’s sparing towards this evening, but I do know he will be when he gets to read this. I adore it when I know he’s worked up and anxious to get home for whatever plans I may have for him. For me, it’s another way of getting to play with my favorite toy, another method of control. He may be a Real Boy, but I’ve got these strings, to tie him down. Come into my web, love.

Well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine

If I remember a dream upon waking, it usually quickly fades, as I’m told it does for most people. Few stay with me, and fewer still come back to me later.

It’s no shock that with the news and recently playing Fallout 4, nuclear war showed up in my dream. It’s the only time it’s been a theme of a dream that I can remember, despite my many many hours of playthrough of the previous Fallout game.

All I can recall is looking out a window and seeing what was basically a cartoon version of a nuclear bomb falling. I ran to Killboy and wrapped him in my arms, telling him what was happening. I knew that we would die, and it was the strangest thing, but in my dream my reaction was just to hold him and say it was ok; we were together. I was just grateful that in the last few minutes of our lives, we’d have each other.

I’m guessing that in reality (some reality where I had time to do anything beyond die still looking out that window, thanks wonky dream time-stretching), I’d be panicking and crying or just screaming in terror. So, I can’t say that the dream was realistic or about my fears. I’ll decline to further psychoanalyze myself in print, but thread of “it’s ok. We’re together.” is very similar to things I’ve been saying to KB recently.

In waking life, it’s been us trying to get through some rough times in regards to our professional and social lives, and it’s been “It’s ok, we can handle this together.” It seems we’ve come to a place where things have significantly leveled out, even if there’s no promise that things will be easy – but I’m not a real believer that many of us ever have that promise. Not everyone has the support that we find in each other. For this, I am grateful.  

Dance to Your Beat, Succumb to Your Treats

I’m looking down at him, as he attempts to hold perfectly still while still panting raggedly.

“How many days has it been?” I already know the answer. I know what date it was when I told him he was denied orgasm until further notice. I also remember full well the teasing, and the fucking session where I rolled off him and cheerfully told him that we were done until later. It wasn’t my intent to have him go a full week at that particular juncture, but injury and scheduling surprises are a more exacting boss than I am.

And so it was that he hissed out the number of days, his trembling effort music to my ears.

He’s much better than your average dude at edging, knowing just where that precipice is and dancing back from it. I use this knowledge to my advantage, bringing him to that place and telling him to go no further, regardless of whether it’s by my cunt, mouth or his hand; sometimes all three in one session. Sometimes I’ll remind him that it’s not out of the question for me to want a perfect blackjack of edged and denied orgasms in one evening.

This time however, as I begin to move my hips, riding both his wonderful cock and my pleasure at having him trying his hardest to obey against his desire to pitch over that edge and fill my cunt with come, it’s too much. He’s been denied for as long before, and teased more harshly, so it’s not beyond his usual capabilities. Whatever the reason, he gives me a wide-eyed panicked  look, moaning out

“I can’t… ahhhh I can’t stop ohgodimsorry….”

I smile down at him. I would accept no less than his full effort, and a refusal to obey would kill the moment dead for me. However, this feeling of being overwhelming, of being all too much for him to maintain his normal fine control? Well, it suits me just fine, and I am no gentle Aphrodite rising from the waves, but a horned Astarte, goddess of pleasure-seekers and soldiers alike.

And so it is that I respond with acceptance, telling him to let go and get swept away. He bucks uncontrollably under me, giving into biological imperative and flooding my cunt. It only takes me a minute to come to my own orgasm, riding him as furiously as a Equite after spolia militaria, simultaneously vanquishing him and taking him as a war prize.

As long as there is no failure in his effort, there is no failure in his obedience.

Midweek Media: Cirque du érotique

I am deeply loving Iron Circus Comics right now. I discovered founder C. Spike Trotman’s now-defunct webcomic ”Templar AZ” years ago and fell in love with the snappy dialogue, the art and the general weirdness of the setting. I was excited to see the kickstarter blow up for “Smut Peddler,” her erotica comics anthology written and drawn by women, and repeat the performance for the sequel. Recently I picked up two erotic comics from Iron Circus, “Yes, Roya” and “Iris and Angel” and I’m going to gush about how good they are.

For about a year, I’ve been hearing about “Yes, Roya” , particularly when Stabbity encouraged everyone to “Buy “Yes, Roya” right fucking now!”  I looked it up and was intrigued, but being not overburdened with disposable income and not sure it was pertinent to my particular kinks, I passed on it at the time. However, recently seeing a new round of twitter gushing from various people about how good it was, I decided to take a chance on it.

It is, in fact, hot as fuck. The artist, Emilee Denich, manages to handle drawing erotica without being either clinical or overdoing the positioning or reactions of the people involved. She’s very good at creating a sense of intimacy, something often missing from other erotic comics, and manages to capably mimic the various cartooning styles of the era. The comic is set in 1963, and I love Denich’s light touch with making the setting represent the time accurately without hitting you over the head with references to the era. The backgrounds are detailed when a sense of setting is needed, and faded out when there’s action going on. She also does good work knowing when to stay in frame, when to overrun it, and how to use framing to draw the eye across the page. She was clearly an excellent choice for the job.

I really enjoyed looking up the year to give the setting a little more of an anchor. It appears to be warm weather, though in California that only means “not winter”, meaning that it’s likely before the assassination of JFK in November, but likely after Dr Martin Luther King Jr wrote “Letter from Birmingham Jail.”, the same year George Wallace gave his “segregation forever” speech and Betty Friedan’s “The Feminine Mystique” fueled the beginnings of second wave feminism. Music? Oh hell yes, I looked up the music, and found a few I think appropriate to the feel of the comic.

The era of the girl group had been well established:

The Crystals – Da Doo Ron Ron


The British invasion had begun (we all know what the Beatles sound like)

Dusty Springfield – “I Only Want to Be with You”


And since she’s no teenybopper, a few selections I think Roya might be more inclined to be listening to at the time:

Johnny Cash “Ring of Fire”


Hank Mobley – “Three Way Split”


Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong – “Dream A Little Dream Of Me”


Lena Horne – “Night and Day”


Roy Orbison – “Mean Woman Blues”


Duke Ellington and John Coltrane – “In A Sentimental Mood”


Trotman’s writing is fairly light on characterization, but still manages to center Roya and the storyline working heavily centers on the year, moreso than than I originally thought. Without spoilering things, Roya is a woman (of color, even), and the events that unfold start not just from the sexualities of the characters involved, but also from how the various identities of the people would have been treated in the 60’s. The story doesn’t detract from the sex scenes, but it also doesn’t feel like unnecessary fluff framing.

The naked action is fully sexual, bondage gets a couple of visual nods but doesn’t come into play, and there’s no s/m. It’s pure femdom, though, as everything that happens is at Roya’s behest, including some m/m content. There is some inherent power dynamic predicated on age gap/inexperience which may bother some people, but it’s not something that came off as problematic to me (and I’m fairly sensitive to when that crosses lines).

Seeing Roya use her men to serve her sexual needs in ways that very much align with my own sexual kinks make this not only a fun, steamy read, but also one that I’ll be returning to again and again when I need a little … inspiration. The KillBoy assessment: “That was pretty damn hot.”

The other comic I picked up is “Iris and Angel.” “Yes, Roya” is a self-contained story of 146 pages, but this ebook is the first chapter to an ongoing story and clocks in at 16 pages. The first chapter is free, but the following will need to be purchased.

It’s also written by Trotman, but the artist is Amanda Lafrenais. I am so in love with the art. Lafrenais has a real flair for expressions and body language, conveying specific feelings of the characters that wouldn’t come across just in the relatively spare dialogue. Her backgrounds are minimal, just enough generally to give you a sense of setting, but in this character-forward comic it seems appropriate.

There’s nothing even approaching a sexual scenario in this chapter, but the sense of erotic anticipation is firmly in place. The adorable awkwardness of the leads is charming, Iris’ bestie and roommate Tate manages to stay on the “fun” side of obnoxious, and I’m incredibly eager to see how things play out. KillBoy allowed as to how it was pretty cute… and then a few days later asked me if the second chapter was out yet, and admitted he was looking forward to reading it too.

Also, did I mention it’s free? Go download it now!


Don’t Try to Hide the Perfect Mess

Going on new brain meds is like walking into a darkened room and hoping you remember where the furniture is. In this particular go round, someone moved the damn sofa.

It’s killed my appetite to the point where I forget to eat until I’m shaky, or KillBoy asks me about it and then proceeds to make sure I do eat. It has also been having negative effects on my libido, where for the first week I pretty much forgot sex was a thing. It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested, I just wasn’t thinking about it, until I realized I hadn’t been thinking about it. So, of course, I brooded over it for a day or so before talking to KB. It’s completely in character for him that he gently responded that not only had he been prepared for that particular side effect, but also that he had noticed both a lack of certain affections and that my wand vibrator hadn’t been lying on the bed when he came home since I had started on them.

However, he was surprised when I told him that his tactic of giving me space by not even mentioning it to me was not the correct course of action. I don’t do well with feeling like my partner has either not noticed disinterest, or worse, that they don’t care. I also don’t like him deciding on a course of action regarding changes in my libido without asking me if it’s appropriate. I need disclosure in order to advise or to make my own choices.

I also told him though I wasn’t feeling anything in the realm of spontaneous desire, I wasn’t feeling sex averse. I was worried that if I tested, responsive desire would also be a no-go, but it was valuable information either way. Without his acknowledgement that he was avoiding seeming to pressure me for sex, I would have assumed that the various stresses coming to bear on him recently meant he was not up for it. Especially because lately, there’s been a grain of truth in that for us both.

Unfortunately, while having that conversation put us on the same page, it didn’t fix the libido issue. While my responsive desire does indeed respond, the sex we’ve had since has been intimate and enjoyable, but a bit like trying to trying to type out this post with numb hands. Masturbation was… almost pointless. It’s not completely broken, but unless it starts to go away within the next couple of weeks, I’m going to have to switch. In the meantime, I intend to keep having sex with my KB. Physical responses may be lacking but it’s not a complete loss on that level and I still love the feeling of intimacy, of ownership and control.

Last night, I gave him a short but intense spanking. My scenes with him are nearly always overtly sexual; having his body at my disposal is a source of great lust. Stroking his reddened skin, looking at him sprawled across the bed, I felt hints of it, embers that could have been stoked into a fire. It was late, so I chose to merely satisfy the parts of me that enjoy hearing him yelp and seeing him tense. To fulfill my need to play with my favorite toy and remind both of us who holds the power.

I would prefer to get my libido back in full working order, but while I’m working on that, I’m both surprised and relieved to find that my desire for d/s and kink are still unchanged.