A Little Tingle

When she first saw him she felt the tingle in her fuzzy. Some might call it a pussy or even beaver, or that other word that started with a C that she would never say, but she thought these words were crude and just wouldn’t use them especially that C one. Instead she said fuzzy, because that was really what it was. Well, except for that one uncomfortable month when she tried shaving it. That month she didn’t really have a name for it, she tried, baldy and even shiny but neither of the names made her feel proud of it so she grew her fuzzy back and was glad because shaving down there was an unbelievable embarrassment that made her pale skin blush splotchy pink.

She saw him and felt the tingle and didn’t notice the splotchy pink blush that rose from chest to cheek in the wall to wall mirrors. Well, she didn’t really see “him” in the wall to wall mirrors of the gym, she saw his hair. There she was doing squats, down slow, back arched just a bit, bottom pushed out so it was at its optimum angle, down a little lower with the bar resting on her shoulders until her thighs were parallel with the floor and her knees were just a bit apart and she could see his hair, long and flowing, longer than most men would wear their hair, there in the mirror when she looked up from looking at the wet spot that really bothered her at that spot right in the middle of her pink bicycle shorts right where it covered her fuzzy. Really who would have thought you would sweat there? But that was also where she felt the tingle. It had been some time since she had felt the tingle, there, down in her fuzzy. Not since the time a month ago when she was watching out the little window of her bathroom in her little one bedroom apartment, the window that if she tilted her head just so and peered between the two ginko trees she could just see the closest end of the apartment community pool. And that morning, looking out, she saw the nice, lean calves of the young Hispanic who cleaned the pool the first and third Saturday of every month. And watching his calves strain and grow taught as he reached to sweep the pool bottom she had felt the tingle so strong that she reached her hand down into that fuzzy bit of fuzzy and soon she found her fingers searching to find that little hidden bump that would make that tingle turn into much more than a tingle. That little bump she had never given a name because that just seemed to silly to name that, even though she knew the names other’s gave it, even the official name, but she just couldn’t name it, in her mind or out loud.

Now this morning, in the gym, she felt the tingle again as she watched there in the mirror. She watched him lie on his hard, flat stomach and curl the weights up towards his hard, round buttocks with one foot then another. She watched the muscles in the back of his thighs stretch and flex but mostly she watched the way he threw his long hair over one shoulder so it fell in a cascade towards the black vinyl floor. It was blond, his hair, nearly white, but thick in a way blond hair seldom is. She continued to squat, down and up, up and down watching him all the while in the mirror. She really wanted to go and lay herself down on his back covering the length of him with herself, grinding her pink bicycle shorts against the black spandex of his bicycle shorts. She wanted to bury her hands into his thick mass of blond mane, while she ground against him. But the pulse of a showerhead was all that she could use to relieve the tingle down there in her fuzzy when she eventually grew tingly enough to go into the shower and again search out that little bump with no name at least in her mind.

The next day at the gym she followed him around the gym making her way closer and closer to him, always just two or three work out machines away, always watching him in the mirror. Today his hair was pulled back into a ponytail the long length of it held tight by a thick, black rubber band. She grew bolder and when the opportunity arouse she seized it and took possession of the leg press machine right next to the ab-cruncher machine he was crunching on. With each crunch forward his ponytail would fall over one shoulder or the other and as he uncrunched back he would flip it back, forward and back, back and forward. She watched while pushing her own weights up and down, down and up. How she wanted to grab hold of his hair and pull him to her and bite some hard meaty part of him.

When the young Hispanic came to clean the community pool the next time she was ready and watching, desperate to find any and all release she could. Every day she had watched the man at the gym with the hair she had come to love and every day she followed his progress from one machine to the next. And every day she had grown more and more frustrated as he did not seem to notice her at all. When her eyes caught his in the mirror he would do that little chin lift that men sometimes do to acknowledge your presence but that never requires any real response and that was all. She grew tingly at the sight of him every time now. His hair was nearly all she could think about and as she again found a little tiny bit of tingly release watching the young Hispanic she was glad she could just see his lean, taught calves there from the little window of her bathroom, because she knew if she could see his short, dark hair it would be ruined for her and she would not be able to find that tiny bit of tingly release with that little bump with no real name at least in her mind.

At the gym the next day she couldn’t find him in the mirrors. She grew nearly frantic searching out the gym’s reflection in the mirror in front of the squat machine. Then she realized that was him there, directly across the gym from her, and to her horror, he had cut his hair. His once long, thick mane was now short, spiky and just plain horrible. She turned away, tears in her eyes blurring the reflections in the mirror. When at last she wiped her away her tears with her pink terry cloth towel she saw there in the mirror next to her doing pull-downs on the pull-down machine big, dark, beautiful hands wrapped around the shiny, chrome bar and she felt the tingle.

Pish Posh... Only a 5.4

Well now, that was fun.

It has been a while since we have had an earthquake of that magnitude here locally. 5.4 is a decent sized trembler. I do live in Southern California and this one broke, rocked, rattled and rolled not but 10 miles from where I am sitting right now.

I am not really the panicing type of gal though, so I just sat here at my desk and watched to see if the water in the goldfish bowl was going to slosh over the edge... it didn't so I stayed put (ok, not the most accurate Richter scale, but what I go by for my panic meter), but I did push my chair back in case I needed to duck under my desk. I did watch as several of my co-workers went running out of the building, not one of them stopped by my office to drag me along. Chivalry may be dead, but I am not!!! YEA!!

Sugasm #142

This week's Sugasms... I submitted Nude II



About Sugasm - The Sugasm is an easy way for sex-bloggers to promote their work. Each week participants review their blog and submit their favorite post. We distribute a list of links to all the posts and give our bloggers a chance to vote for their favorites. We publish the results and each blogger re-posts the list to their blog.



_____________________________________



The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #143? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form.



Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.


This Week’s Picks

Interludes - part 3

“He winds the rope around his hands, smoothing the kinks, and I stand there, breathing a little faster, conscious of all those eyes upon me.”


Hurts So Good

“I want you to wear the badges of sweet distress for days.”


Shower fantasy

“You don’t want to admit it, but you want me.”


Mr. Sugasm Himself

Sugar Bank
Editor’s Choice

Why I haven’t blogged about the Mosley case


More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm


See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

My boy acker Begging by Email

My sweet naughty boy acker is on vacation with no computer access for a time. But he does have a phone that sends and recieves emails... so if he wants to play with his little cock he has been told he will have to beg me that way. Here is the first of the begs (which he knew before it was sent that I would be posting), and only two days into vacation. Such a hot and horny boy, good thing I love that about him.
_________________________

Hi Mistress,
your slut has arrived safe and sound. I hope all is well with you. Please know that you are in my thouhts and heart. My last cum (that I allowed and watched via webcam) has been so great that I feel relaxed about that. I think that a begging letter will be inevitable however... Your slut is so easily aroused... Give marie a kiss and two for you.. Your feet maybe? Xxoo

your boy

~~~~~~~

My sweet boy,
I am so happy you are all safe and sound and I love that you are thinking of me my dear boy. I gave marie your kiss, she misses you too. I look forward to your first begging email...mmmm... I do like it when you beg for all that you want to do to please me. Do be a very good boy for me. I know you will make me proud always.

Honey

~~~~~~~

Mistress,
thank you so much for your lovely reply to my mail. I jumped when i read it.. And my little cock jumped too for you. Now your boy cannot hold it much longer Miss.. I feel so hot and horny right here. Your slutboy begs his Mistress to be allowed to spill his cum in the toilet by humping his cock between the lid and the seat of the bowl. Of course your boy will be a good one by cleaning the bowl first. Is your slut allowed to do this for you, please? I am all hard and ready here for you. X

~~~~~~~

Yes... you may. Be very naughty for me darling. I am posting this to my boy's blog so he will remember how he loves to beg me.

Mistress

~~~~~~~

Oh thank you so much Mistress. My orgasm was very good today. It was quite difficult to achieve but all so lovely when it hit me. I am very grateful to you for it. Hope everything is good over there. X your boy

A Mind Metaphor

Our exercise at my writing group today was to write a metaphor for your own mind. Some spoke of birds flitting about some mundane, some bright and exotic. Others of the sea rushing in and ebbing out ideas tumbling about like flotsam and jetsam. One of a muddy swap full of dark and dangerous places.

Me... this is what I wrote of my mind.

___________________________

Like cotton candy.

Fluffy, sweet,

will it be

something

special?

Perhaps, but it

always melts

much too quickly

on the tongue.

Ohhhh...

but the

exquisite

sugar rush.

________________________

What is the metaphor for your mind and how it works creatively or otherwise?

Why am I posting this…

In your mind am I, as a female dominant, wearing a red leather corset pulling me into a breathless 19 inches, a leather skirt cut just below my hoo hoo (it is mine I can call it what I want), thigh-high shiny black patent leather boots with laces criss-crossing up the back and heals that are 5 inches of devastation, and do I have a single tailed whip in one hand and a exquisite leather flogger in the other? Do you think that my lips are always juicily red, full and pouting, eyes rimmed kohl, hair flowing as if blown by soft and sensual winds, and is my skin milky white perfection? Okay boys, if you have a hard on now, girls if your sweet little pussy is wet… I do hope you will forgive me the next paragraph.

That 19” waist… not happening today, I don't think my bones are that skinny. Flip flops are on my feet, everyday, last time I wore heals was in Vegas going to a party and took them off after an hour. House security made me put them back on, damn them and their silly rules. I don’t own anything made of leather, no flogger, no whip (find my hand works perfectly well). My skin is tanned from being outdoors in the garden or from walking one of my three dogs or one husband and does tend to freckle… no, milky white perfection, alas. I have some red lipstick in the back of the makeup drawer, but I do think that particular shade makes me look slightly ridiculous. And my hair… it is a pretty shade of red. But seldom is it blown mysteriously by unseen winds. Okay... I have one perfection, I am vain about my fingers, they are long and have perfectly shaped nail beds and never have I even considered acrylics as my own are strong and shiny with just a little buffing and also proud of my pretty pedicured toes (forgive the alliteration)… which I have shared here in the past. But really, I am not some fantasy Domme. I am just me, Honey. Oh... I do have nice breasts... lovely cleavage I have been told, but those pesky freckles are quite abundant there.

I wear jeans and a t-shirt, or shorts and a t-shirt most days, well except for to work where I wear capris and a t-shirt. And probably wouldn’t consider changing into the leather (assuming I owned any) if I was going to put you over my knee and spank your bare bottom. My hope is always that if you came to me you would find my mind as sexy my physical self. That if you are ready to offer yourself, your submission it will be to the me that is real. And the real me... isn't that fantasy from paragraph one.

If you need all the accoutrements that is a fantasy Domme… that leather clad, ruby lipped, cinch waisted woman holding the flogger, well, I could probably dress up and play that part. But that is not my game, and would be for you. I have said in the past, what turns you on, turns me on and I can appreciate the wanting of something to fulfill a fantasy. Sharing a fantasy is a powerful thing. And so, if you need that… I might oblige. But understand it isn’t for me, it is for you. And is not the me that is here everyday. And in general this image, this stereotype isn’t 99% of those I have met that designate themselves as dominant or a Dominant (pick your capitalization and stick with it, Honey).

Why am I posting this? Why am I exposing myself as less then the perceived perfect Dominatrix? Because I hope that the reality of me, if you bother to get to know the real me, that you will find that is better than some kinky Barbie doll of a fantasy Domme. Maybe you won’t… and if not… I will try to cinch my waist another day. But today, you just get me… flip flops and all.

Nude II

Nude I

Sugasm #141

This week's Sugasms... I submitted Sam Bound


About Sugasm - The Sugasm is an easy way for sex-bloggers to promote their work. Each week participants review their blog and submit their favorite post. We distribute a list of links to all the posts and give our bloggers a chance to vote for their favorites. We publish the results and each blogger re-posts the list to their blog.


_____________________________________________________


The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #142? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.


This Week’s Picks

Comedy vs. Tragedy
“Are you on your period? What? Did he just say…”

Ian, or, Sometimes Sex is Hilarious
“In short, it isn’t sex blogger sex.”

A Wish
“I wish that you could know the indescribable pleasure of being enfolded in your warm, gentle wetness.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Sugar Bank

Editor’s Choice
Road Rage

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Serve Me?

would love to serve you

That was all he said, I didn't even rate punctuation. But how on earth could he do that, serve me? He didn't know me. He couldn't even serve me a cup of coffee, because he doesn't even know that I don't like coffee. Really... come on, I could be some psycho crazy Mistress who's favorite kink is to cut off his big toe and make him wear it around his neck on a chain. Or maybe I wear them. Maybe I have a whole necklace of submissive's big toes that I wear for special occasions. EWWWW

Okay... I don't. I am not psycho crazy. But maybe he is. And do you think I would want to get to know someone before I accepted any offer to serve. This was all I got... these few words. Doesn't really make me want to do anything but hit the delete button.

Now I know it is hard to reach out to someone blindly. As hard as saying hello in a bar or at a coffee shop, maybe harder. But, my point is this, if you want to communicate with someone, want to maybe consider offering yourself to them in any kind of relationship. Perhaps you might consider getting to know them first and allowing them to get to know you. Don't start out offering to serve me. I wouldn't let you serve me a coffee, let alone your pretty ass, without getting to know you.

Okay... fantasy hello letter here... I am not saying this is what he should have sent me... but come on something more than... would love to serve you

Sample letter to consider...

Dear Miss Honey,

I have read your profile at Fetlife.com. (Where he contacted me.) I have read every blog entry you have posted on your Honey's Hive Blog. You seem wonderfully articulate, talented, sexy and very naughty. (Flattery never hurts when dealing with any woman, this is a bit much, but hyperbole is often necessary to prove a point.) I know you have subs online and are not seeking any one new in a committed relationship, (See this proves he read what I have put up.) but was hoping you might consider a friendly relationship and maybe someday you might consider allowing me to serve you in some way in relationship to the D/s ways that you seem to love to share with your online submissives.

I am new to this life but am eager to learn more. I love to be told what to do and what to wear. I like to be told to stand in the corner. (Insert personal kink here.... come on entice me a bit, what do you like?) I have my own blog at http://www.genericnaughtyblog.com/ if you would like to get to know me better before you reply.

Yours respectfully,
John Doe Submissive