Thundering on

Poor Slutsville has been slightly neglected of late - and I do apologise. This is the slip up that happens when you become super-smitten. And when you leave your favourite laptop (yes, I have favourites) in the back of a taxi.

Things with houseguest progress at a thundering pace. There is almost, almost a routine - affectiontely known as fuck yourself thin - which involves Friday night at his place. Where I stay until Sunday morning. Then on Tuesday or Wednesday night, at my place. It always involves red wine, plenty of sex, and an otherwise limited calorific intake.

I do not wish to write about the intimate details of my sex life at the moment. How unusual! It has been suggested that instead perhaps I could just begin to elaborate a little more than normal. I am going to give this some thought.

What I will say, is that I am having a very good time, and that when I peek in the mirror these days I am looking happy. It gives me a little shock each time. I have more to write, but perhaps tomorrow.

Scent

On Friday night houseguest came with me to the kinky party.

I like the idea of wearing colour at a party where the majority of the crowd are dressed in black.

I wore a wicked domestic style getup including a red-frilled wrap dress and some rather overexposed cleavage, black apron and rubber gloves (that honestly did not stay on that long), fishnets and the black patent leather shoes exclusively reserved for ballbusting. Think of it as the Cupcake Goddess look.

Houseguest whipped together a very suitable outfit for the occasion: a leather harness and kilt, polished and drycleaned respectively.

We left the party at 2am.

Houseguest never really makes any demands of me, but he did very firmly point out that the last time I was his houseguest I did not leave his bedlinen sufficiently infused with eau de Lis.

This time I went to great lengths to be certain that his bed was coated in that mix of my skin and scent. (Lolita Lempicka au masculin, if you're curious). Who of us does not love that tiny whiff of memory on the pillow at night?

I stayed that night. The next day. And the next night; arriving home at 8:30am on Sunday morning with a ponytail of matted hair and coffee in hand.

I had mostly lived on sex and napping. Fuck eating: sometimes it is overrated. I was a bit spun out.

Coronary Events

Last night the houseguest told me he had been racking his brains, trying to establish if he had said or done anything else punishment-worthy. He also told me that despite a sleepless night the evening prior, he had exercised supreme self-control and refrained from masturbating.

That was very thoughtful of him: I did not ask him to do it. He knew that it would delight me.

Is it any wonder I am becoming fond of him?

I walked him into the bedroom and slowly removed his clothes. Earlier, I had attached some rope to the bed just in case the fancy took me, but I did not tie him up.

After unzipping my dress, houseguest admired my black and gold striped bra, and I left it on for him - a visual treat - while I prepared to play with his cock. He moaned when I paused just a second longer than usual before touching him.

There is no denial with houseguest: he self-denies. So I just kept bringing him close to the edge of orgasm, and when the moaning intensified noticably, or his cock started pulsing, I would very suddenly let go. If you have never heard the sound a man makes when you do this: it is heavenly. I kissed him, murmuring words of approval and affection.

Houseguest was so hard, he found it painful. Unquestionably, this was the hardest erection of my sexual career to date. I discovered a new fetish:

Into: painful erections (everything to do with it)

When I tore myself away for a glass of water, I was dizzy. I was intoxicated with houseguest, spreadeagled on my bed, unrestrained but compliant. Bucking into the air - seriously, like nothing I have ever seen; wondering aloud to us both if it was possible to have a coronary event from foreplay like this.

I suppose it is possible. Although I told him it was unlikely. Fortunately for us both there is an excellent hospital nearby.

Things on the 'to get' list

I'm going to keep this post dynamic as I add things to the toybox.

1. A Horseland trip. At the very minimum, I want to pick up some horsey cohesive bandages in pretty colours.

HORSELAND FYSHWICK Unit 3, Shop 14 Ipswich St, Fyshwick 2609 Hmm... :)

(1/11 Went to horseland last weekend - and have about 8 rolls of cohesive bandage. Hooray).

2. A deluxe stubborn dog trainer device with remote. I saw one of these in action the other day. Purr.

3. Surgical scissors and a rope cutter.
(11/11 picked up a pair of surgical scissors, so just the rope cutter to go.)

4. Fishing weights.

5. More rope. Long lengths of nylon that makes the pretty marks.

6. A knife sharpening class and a sharpening stone.

7. J Lube

8. St John's Ambulance first aid course. Must stop putting it off.

9. The very lovely rechargeable lelo cock ring.

10. Pink pallet wrap.

A brief fall from grace

The houseguest invited himself over to my place last night. Yes, I know - two nights in a row - very very extremely bad of me. But he lives so close!

Despite being a very good man, we saw a little bit of imperfect last night when he confessed to having told me a porky pie about his age. I was - can I say disappointed - but not entirely surprised. However, I would never have guessed it outright. Snaps to him for finally being honest.

Of course that called for punishment (oh, how fast these things turn from vanilla to D/s) and I entertained myself with some rather fun tease and orgasm control. It did make me feel much better about the whole thing. I made him promise to never lie to me again. Admittedly he would have agreed to anything considering the predicament he was in, but a promise is a promise no matter how it is elicited.

Suddenly there is not much vanilla in the houseguest. I think my rope skills will be back up to scratch in no time.

Mitzi, MPP and cakelady - you will be delighted to hear that the houseguest shall be strung up to the fucking chair and tormented, and this will be his treat when he attends to a small personal matter that is long overdue. I promise to share every minute detail with you.

Irritating men

It's not often I decide it's time for mexican and a margherita. But
tonight, it's time.

Mr Wax begged me not to blog about him. It's interesting, you know, that only the really poor ones make this request. He failed his challenge. I know, he had a week, but he set an appointment, turned up to find out they would not service him, and then blamed me for making a recommendation. Noting there was no possibility of completing the task within the allocated timeframe, Mr Wax asked for an extension. I failed him.

Suddenly he didn't need a time extension! It was just a false alarm that he was too busy with professional and personal commitments!

*sigh* It's just too hard. Next.

Note to all: there's only one person I ever promised to not blog about, and I should never have done it. Don't ever ask. Come into my life, and behave, and expect that I will always be transparent.

Now: I am seeing the houseguest twice in one week! He is cooking for me! Pulses, I expect! And long Saturday morning mooching in bed. Purr, freaking purr. I am actually quite easy to please, you know.

--

P.S. I am now reviewing my superannuation. Over aforementioned margherita. I'd been dreading it, but over a salty, sour cocktail - it's not that horrid a task at all! I have resolved, in future, to only make major financal decisions over serious alcohol. So much easier! Xx

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Bound for more

Well, for those of you in the stands at home who were hoping ATD could last a week without biting his nails: he did it.

Today's post is going to involve a change of topic, though. I am going to write just a tiny bit about the houseguest.

Yesterday I started to re-read a book I downloaded when I was first investigating this wild world of kink. It's called Sexual Power for Women by Georgeann Cross. I remember perusing the first chapters and being aghast at the author's brazen domination of her partner. Months ago her behaviour seemed completely foreign to me and her lover's response quite unimaginable.

For no particular reason I opened the file early yesterday morning and read the first few chapters once again. My opinion had altered completely. How quickly things change.

The timing was remarkably good, because conveniently the houseguest came over last night. If you recall, he's sort of in my vanilla fuckbuddy bucket, although it is quickly becoming obvious that he is not really that vanilla at all. I cooked, we drank wine, the conversation was great. I was delighted to spend time with him again.

Later, on my suggestion - clearly I was inspired - I tied him to the bed. He was extremely agreeable. It has been a long time since I've tied someone to my bed. I felt rusty handling rope.

Once his wrists were bound, he sank into some beautiful place I've never seen. His breath became shallow. Butterflies skipped in my stomach. I pressed myself into his face, toyed with him, and then enjoyed several more respectable orgasms before setting him free.

I am not sure how often I will write about the houseguest. But last night was significant, and I felt the need to share it with you, because it has been a long time. xx

Pushing the envelope

ATD reported last night that he still hadn't bitten his nails. He's now on the homeward stretch. I have decided that if he does make it through until tomorrow night, then I will actually somehow get over his tardiness last week.

You might think that's a given, but in all seriousness I am not sure if I have ever forgiven someone for bad behaviour like that before. Normally I hold it against them indefinitely. (Ask me about my 'three strikes' rule some time.)

Yesterday I issued a challenge for another CollarMe hopeful. Hard, as always, but with a dash of humiliation this time - he likes spanking, and to demonstrate his genuine interest I have instructed him to have his crack and balls waxed. I even wrote a note for him that he could hand to the therapist.

Nobody has yet declined a challenge or punishment. They do these things of their own free will. I keep looking around for the powerful strong lady that makes these men co-operate and it's sometimes very shocking to think that it's me who is making these demands and having them met.

I suppose this approach has come about as a result of a few recent conversations and experiences. After MPP came back from Europe, she brought with her a very interesting book - The Mistress Manual. She rightly reinforced to me the importance of making a submissive prove themselves worthy.

The entrepreneur is adamant that men need to be forced to do what it is that you want of them.

And then, down at the kinky farm, I saw the lady in charge in fine form. She stood up to the submissives, looked them straight in the eye and told them to do whatever she wanted. I could see them waver, unsure whether to obey, knowing it was some admission of her power. But they always did.

In many ways it is self-fulfilling. The more I create tasks and punishments, the better, the more challenging, the more appropriate they become. The more I wonder what on earth I'll dish up next.

Naughty

I ate dinner with my family last night. Meanwhile, the rest of Sydney, it seemed, were out and about dressed in Halloween costumes.

I am normally used to seeing people half-naked in flashy bling, but this was different: it was voyeuristic dressups for the masses, and it was aesthetically fascinating. Of course, the slutty fashion statements provided inspiration for my own future kinky outfits.

At the station I was approached by a well-meaning but doddery old man.

"A watched pot never boils," he said.

He was referring to the time we would have to wait until the train arrived.

"A woman told me many years ago that if there's a single thing you should do every day it is to make someone smile," he said next.

Oh dear, did I really look that sullen?

He spoke to me about his new King Charles Spaniel, Mozart, and his hometown, Cootamundra, and why he catches the train, and providing financial assistance to his daugher to buy a house in Sydney, and his son's recent wedding to a brunette Norwegian who was 182 centimetres tall.

I spoke to him about Fatty and Gracie and he admitted he is not a fan of the feline.

He asked me where I was going. "Home," I said, "to Kings Cross."

"Where all the naughty girls are? I haven't been to that neck of the woods for a long time."

"Well," I said, "there's not that many prostitutes working the strip these days. And there are probably only four strip clubs in the Cross that I can think of. And there are only a few sex shops too, but generally speaking the entire area has gentified quite a bit lately."

We discuss the merits of living in my neighbourhood, the reason for the decline of the sex trade in Kings Cross (I blame the internet, for providing porn for free), and as we disembark the train he reminds me to not be a naughty girl.

I smile, and he notes it as the second one he managed to elicit.

"I'll have you know I am a very good girl indeed," I replied.

You have no idea how good.

"With a face like that I bet you are," he laughed. "Now you can tell all your friends about the crazy old man who gave his dog a silly name."

And I did.

Who woulda thunk it?

ATD is actually looking like he might survive his punishment. I know, I know, I'll believe it when I see it. He has until Tuesday night at 10:15pm.

X came over last night after a few weeks absence. I had to be up early this morning for a job interview (yes, I have a vanilla life, you know) and left him to sleep in. Instead he made the bed, did the dishes, and tidied up generally. In addition to giving me all-night snuggles and saying nice things to me. Much needed, really.

I have plans to catch up with the houseguest next Tuesday (note to self: don't have too many Melbourne Cup champagnes).

So it's looking very possible that the fuckbuddy situation, and the kinky play situation might be sorting itself out. (The houseguest responds very well to being held down and fucked so he's got A-grade potential.) As far as the actual slightly more formal relationship business is concerned: it's a disaster zone, but what's really so new about that?

After a day or two of text messages exchanged with plaything, I have resolved that I will not contact him again. There. Done. Now just to delete his number from my phone. (I have done it a few times before, for the record. I am sure I can do it again.)

In terms of what you should stay tuned for: MPP and I have been bouncing around ideas in the event that ATD survives the test. I think it will make for excellent reading.

My confession

There was another on the scene, but I promised I would not write about him.

Instead I am sleep-deprived, in shock, and perhaps grieving more than I needed to this week. I was very fond of him however sadly he kept an oversized secret from me.

I resist the urge to curse him and instead find myself completely demoralised on the sofa. He had my hopes up, you see.

Miss Universe is totally keeping up with the tricksy tricks.

Late, for a very important date

Last night I met ATD for a drink. He was supposed to collect me from
my apartment at 8.

I was coming back from the hospital, and running late, so I asked him
if he could arrive at 8:10 instead. By 8:25 I was wondering if he
intended on making an appearance and so wandered up to the local wine
bar for a glass of wine and some olives, figuring I was having that
drink whether ATD showed or not.

He did show, but I am afraid that he may not recover from that faux
pas. I was quite annoyed.

He also talked a lot. Miss Lis, very early on found herself wondering
if she could prevent herself from gagging him then and there. Lucky
for ATD, we were in public.

As punishment for being late, ATD must refrain from his habitual
pleasure of nail biting for a week. He will either do it, or he won't.
And if he fails, well, then he will have completely crashed and
burned. If he succeeds there is a good chance I will play with him at
some point.

As always, time will tell. x

--
Sent from my mobile device

On the way down

On the way down to the kinky farm, MPP and I decided that we needed to give our DoubleDomme team a name.

We threw a few ideas around. And finally settled on Iron Fist and Velvet Glove. We make a pretty awesome team.

The Kinky Farm was terrific. I saw sounds performed for the first time and I could not get the grin of delight off my face. The farm has some fantastic toys - which are very generously made available to the guests - and it's quite hands on. It was interesting that I could tell the difference between the scene in Sydney and Canberra depite the tiny distances involved.

Less protocol in Canberra, which means a much more relaxed environment, and of course the play changes in accord with that kind of vibe. It was also apparent how the people who I have learnt from have influenced my kink taste and skillset. I'm quite hopeful that I can pick more up from the players down in Canberra - they do some cool stuff - and that perhaps we can share ideas and fun in return.

MPP and whipslave did put on a very impressive physical workout performance, but I'll leave whipslave to tell you all about it - the room was silent, impressed, and unable to tear their eyes away from the events as they unfolded.

We ended on a high note. A while ago, MPP made some temporary branding toys - wooden spoons with our initials on them - so we could leave a brief reminder on our toy at the end of any scene. Noticing some of the temporary 'branding' implements on display at the party, MPP and I thought that the hostess might like to see these nasty little wooden spoons.

Did she ever. Talk about grabbing the bull by the horns - within a few minutes we had a suitable candidate. Bent over the horse, with his pants around his ankles, he was lucky enough to leave with our initials on his butt.

We'll be back.

Oh, I went to Horseland today, and now I have reels and reels of cohesive tape and an awesome new toy!

It's pink, it's rubber, it's a thick glove, and it works a treat.



I'm not actually sure what I'm more excited about playing with first - the glove, or the cohesive tape.. Possibly, both. :)

I need an alcohol IV line

Yesterday I was sent a note on CollarMe. It was from a 'Dominant' male, who had recently discovered his switch side. He's enjoying the blog, but I'm sounding a bit grumpy, he said.

I resisted the urge to reply and instead blocked the creepy little troll. If I am sounding grumpy, it's because my personal life has been shit lately. My grandmother was hospitalised this week having had a heart attack, and I don't know how long she's got. No comments of sympathy please, just be aware that I am a bit FUCKING FRAGILE AT THE MOMENT.

Last weekend, MPP reviewed and updated my CM profile. To weed out decent-sounding from the utterly terrible, she instituted a new rule: all applicants must list five things they would do to make my life more pleasurable. The whole thing needs to be correctly spelt, and creativity is what gets you over the line (assuming you meet the age and location criteria).

Anyhoo, there have been some doozies - utter, utter crap, riddled with really bad spelling errors, and that ever infuriating 'I'm looking for a dominate,' - some very dull responses (house cleaning, wearing whatever I want, providing me with oral servitude, and then maybe two other slightly more interesting suggestions). And then there was this:

1. I love pain and bondage and no matter how much pain I am in, I will take, it if it makes YOU happy. (i.e. I won't be using the word 'pineapple' anytime soon)

2. I live close to Darling Street in Balmain and have a car, so if it is windy and you couldn't ride your scooter to the city, you could call me and I would come and pick you up (unless that bus driver gets to you first).

3. I love going down on girls and have been told that I have exceptional oral skills. Of course I will let you decide when it begins and finishes.

4. I will give you twenty two orgasms in one go. Twenty one was a big effort by 'plaything' but I know I could beat that. FYI, I learnt to cum on command thanks to my ex who would severly punish me if I came before she gave me permission.

5. We could play dice games and if I lost, you could decide any punishment for me (actually regardless of who wins you could still decide that). Maybe some CBT, wax play, bondage and sensory deprivation could be a good punishment.

If he doesn't stand me up next week, and if we like eachother, I think we can be assured that there will be plenty of slutsville fodder for you to hear about. Cross your fingers for me.

Tonight I'm going over to the houseguest's apartment. He's going to give me wine, I'm going to bring olives, and then I'm going to make him put out.

Seriously, I'm very toppy when you get to know me

I was in Canberra on the weekend, so when my father called me to report that my paternal grandfather died I was a bit concerned that he sounded a bit.. sad.

I offered to go over to his house once I was back in town. I thought it might cheer him up.

On arrival at Dad's house, I was amused to find that he'd bought suitable ingredients for dinner. With great subtlety he inferred that I would be cooking the aforementioned meal. The inference of that inference was that the act of cooking for him would be the one that would cheer him up the most.

Smiling to myself, I walked into the kitchen...