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.

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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.

I Walked into the Room Dripping in Gold

Reading something today about someone being stood up reminded me of something that happened almost a decade ago.

I had recently gone through a turbulent, traumatic breakup, and while I was starting to get over it, it still colored my feelings about sex and relationships. It did not, however, kill my libido. So, given that it was the new millennium, I decided finally to try my hand at looking for casual hookups online.

The results were a mixed bag; mostly drive by messages that amounted to “fuk now?”, one guy who rejected me and then messaged me again because he couldn’t be bothered to keep track of women he had already written to, women looking for threesomes to please their male partners, and one person I met and found there was utterly no chemistry with. Oh, and the one person who sent me an email by guessing that my email would be the same as my AFF username, asking if I was interested in a gangbang. Fortunately, I used a username I have never used before or since, with an email only used for that AFF account.

However. I did find almost what I was looking for. Smart, funny, capable of writing grammatically correct smutty conversation, looking for a casual fuckbuddy. Or, at least, that last bit should have been the idea. We emailed furiously for about two weeks of him putting off meeting for reasonable reasons (accidentally double booking me with going out with friends to see a blockbuster movie in the theater, work, finals) before I let go of hope that the reasonable reasons were real reasons, and that we would in fact meet.

I’ve no idea why he never actually met with me. Perhaps he was looking to cheat on a partner, or was only interested in the fantasy of a woman wanting to meet with him to fuck his brains out. Maybe he was afraid that the only sort of woman who’d be on a hookup site was nuts. I even pondered the idea that he had created a persona based on a friend; he dropped enough information, that as a single woman considering fucking a stranger on first meet, I went to find proof of who he was, or at least claimed to be. I sent the information to a close friend just in case, on the day that we were first supposed to meet.

I remember quite clearly an evening, when after emailing back and forth, I told him I would be at a particular coffee shop doing some work, and he should swing by. It was one of those make it or break it moments where I knew that if he couldn’t manage to make the time he said was possible, it would never happen. Obviously, the only thing that came of that night was my completing my work and finishing off a cup of coffee and a pastry.

Oddly, the incident, while annoying that I wasn’t going to get laid, buoyed me. I found it encouraging that I was confident enough to go after what I wanted, even if I didn’t ultimately get it in that case. I knew that what I wanted was out there, and obtainable.

My one regret is that that email address got deactivated, as I wouldn’t mind seeing if my memories of how hot the messages were matched up to how well they’ve aged.

Midweek Media: The Jacked-in Edition

Y’all want some hot, sexy story time? Too goddamn bad, KB and I have both been sick in turns for over a month now, and since neither of us have a snot fetish, the hottest thing going is chicken soup.

So let me awkwardly tie together some of the media I’ve been enjoying lately. I mentioned in a previous post that I picked up a copy of Neuromancer (while at a sci-fi/fantasy focused con, as I might also have mentioned that I am a big nerd) and have been reading it on and off. It’s pretty much meat and potatoes cyberpunk, with the requisite fetisization of Japan, sex, drugs, violence and cyberspace that sounds a lot like the Vegas strip with more people wearing leather jackets and mirrored shades. I only consider it better than Snow Crash because Snow Crash has some extremely dense, repetitive exposition, and I’m not all that nutty about how a lot of male sci-fi authors write rather creepily about young teenage girls. Which is a shame because YT is one of the best cyberpunk characters I’ve run across. If nothing else, the opening chapter of Snow Crash is one of the most amazing things I’ve ever read, and I love the uncomfortably close to reality franchise states and burbclaves. One of my great regrets of missed apparel is not having bought the Cosa Nostra Pizza shirt when ThinkGeek had it.

Coincidentally, I also recently ran across the NewRetroWave channel on YouTube, and I’ve been enjoying their focus on 80’s style retro electro, some of it more Miami Vice, some of it more Max Headroom. (1) One of the things from it I’ve really been enjoying the hell out of is Scandroid’s eponymous album. It is delightfully cheesy in a way that I find essential to good cyberpunk.

As a young lassie being trained for the technological dystopia rushing at us, I naturally played a lot of video games, and very much enjoy chiptune, the musical genre that fills of us who are old enough to remember 8-bit video games, with nostalgia. I can’t express how ridiculously delightful it is to see people making music by rewiring old gameboys, and that Kraftwerk once used a Nintendo Power Glove to make MIDI music. No, seriously, that last fact makes me as giddy as if I were in the Tour de France. (2) My current favorite is Chipzel, and I spend a lot of time listening to her album Spectra.

If you enjoy roguelike dungeons and beat matching games, Crypt of the Necrodancer has been really well received as a hybrid of the two, and Chipzel put out a remix album of the soundtrack.

I also really love the soundtrack to the game Open Hexagon. I don’t want to talk about the game. I REALLY don’t want to talk about Super Hexagon. *sulks*

I’ve also been replaying Final Fantasy VII (I’m pretty sure I scared off a twitter follower who followed for mean femdom and was like “WTF is this nerd shit?!”) and the beginning of the game is pretty classic urban dystopia. Shinra drops a whole goddamn section of the city on the slum dwellers for … some squiffy reasons about blaming the group trying to blow up their reactors. It’s a fun game, and generally emotionally effective, but the plotting is frequently silly and the dialogue is… I like to be kind and blame its general awfulness on the bad translation work. I’m really curious to see if they do a complete rewrite or just a better translation for the remake.

Finally, I’ve been watching a lot of Star Trek: Voyager. The Doctor is my faaaaaavorite. Neelix is the Jar Jar. Janeway is a fine captain whose sense of humor and warmth are lowkey but present. I always thought that Riker was a low rent Kirk, but it turns out that Tom Paris is a low rent Riker. Harry Kim is a precious cinnamon roll and also functionally The Redshirt Who Survives. B’Elanna is #lifegoals (given that Kira Nerys is on DS9). These opinions are 100% correct. I could try to something something utopian goals/dystopia sci-fi something something to tie it in, but I just like Star Trek.

(1)I had to pause here in writing to look up on IMDB what Matt Frewer is doing these days… awww dammit, I really am going to end up watching Orphan Black, aren’t I?

(2) I’M SO FUNNY YOU GUYS DID YOU GET THE JOKE BECAUSE I KNOW EVERYONE READING THIS IS ALSO AN ELECTRONIC MUSIC FAN.