Wanking

I love to watch men wank (I know, you’re all shocked to hear that. But it’s worth writing about). I love to see their fingers curl around their cock, the caress of their fingertips on their own skin, the slide of palm up and down their shaft.

I like to relax, leaning on my side, our legs touching and torsos close, not interfering but watching instead – an invited voyeur, if you will. I like taking the time to focus on their face, their expression, and then looking down to the undulation that is the connection of their hand and cock.

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Bodily reminders

I stretch my arms, and wince as my shoulders ache. I flash back to Monday – kneeling on the bed, arse presented to Helios and head buried in pillows, bracing myself for the unknown, terrifying cane. I remember the tenseness in my arms, trembling as I hold myself upright and ready.

I sit down at my desk, and gasp quietly as the button of my trousers presses against the bitten, bruised flesh of my belly. I flash back to Tuesday – curled in bed with Adonis, conversation turning to kissing turning to violence as he abandons himself to Beast. I revel in the claws and teeth cutting into my skin, and purple bruises bloom in his wake.

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Do one thing every day that scares you…

I received my first caning today.

Canes scare me, and for a long time have been on the hard limit ‘do not want’ part of my BDSM checklist. But, as with many things that scare me, canes also have the power to intrigue me. When visiting expos and sex shops I’d find myself approaching the canes on display, brushing them gently with my fingertips, feeling their smooth coolness. I’d look upon the different styles, weights, widths and lengths, and all would sing siren songs of pain to me – but I would back away, unwilling to be tempted.

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Green-eyes

I’m terribly disappointed in all of you, dear readers. Here I was expecting derisive and inflammatory comments – trolls, even – in the comments to my post on swinging vs. poly, and instead everyone was thoughtful and had interesting things to say. Obviously I’m moving in the wrong circles. *shakes head in mock disappointment*

Anyhow. The Butterfly Temptress asked me a very interesting question in response to Apollo Sandwich, and it relates well to another question that Z asked in Social Intercourse (where I requested questions from anyone who cared to ask – and if you haven’t asked and want to, go for it! Want to know the colour of my favourite pair of knickers; why I say knickers instead of panties; the meaning of life, orgasm and everything? Ask away!)

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Poly – that’s like swinging, right?

It happened again on Saturday evening. I got asked the question that most everyone who identifies as polyamorous gets familiar with: “So, that’s like swinging, right?”

Well, no actually. (And still I tell people, and still I get asked the question. Maybe I should get a handout printed?)

Poly and swinging can cross over, like a Venn diagram with an overlap in the middle. But overall, it goes like this:

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