Octo-hedonism

I’ve been blogging as Curvaceous Dee for eight years today – the time has simply flown by, and been a whole lot of fun in the process! But what do you do to celebrate eight years? When I started pondering this a few months back I asked positively everybody – friends, lovers, munch acquaintances – for their thoughts. Coming up with an idea was far harder than I expected (good thing I started early).

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Spunk on Me

When I write a tweet like this:

 

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Cow Number 1 on Lambda Farm

Once there was a young red heifer, wandering across the fields. She had lost her herd: there was no farm she called home, nor any farmer’s whistle she recognised as familiar.

The cow was unaware that the sensation she felt deep below her stomachs, day after day, was loneliness – she had been weaned long since, and so all she had to do each day was amble and munch upon pasture grass (and wildflowers, when she came across them) for the long slow turning of the earth.

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Cleaning Day

Groaning under the thorough attention of

the maid slut, attentive to their needs:

getting deep into the crevices with

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Bites All Over

I love being bitten. By lovers, by friends, and by friends who are lovers. I love the bite. I love/hate the pain (and grin and grit through it) and giggle with the endorphins. I spend days smiling at the bruises that result.

Right now I have biting bruises on me from three different people. One of the first things I’ve learned to ask of new partners is how they feel about biting (and being bitten, too). And I am a very happy Dee when I find that they’re into it!

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Why Can’t I Have That?

After having the opportunity to thoroughly check out the newly refurbished cruise area at The Grinder, I have a serious case of ‘the envys’.

It’s not often that, as one who identifies as female, I’m allowed into one of these hallowed spots. Indeed, it was only that there was no one currently using the space that my friend and I were able to have a look at all (that and knowing the right person in the first place).

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In the Shed

Trapped.

The door swung closed, locked on the outside.

Hot.

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“Hark Hark”

(Fantasy, and dark. Not for everyone!)

Hark hark the dogs do bark

The beggars are coming to town

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Dark Desires

I told him my darkest fantasies …

I would be blindfolded, stripped, and my hands tied together. I would be dragged along, unable to see. I would be taken to a room, where I could hear other people, yet they seem not to hear my pleas.

I would be tied to a table, on my back, with my hands tied above my head. The blindfold would be removed and I could see above me a sign, saying ‘free for use’.

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Waiting at the Studio

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait out here. The red warning light is on.” I came to a halt as he pointed at the sign above the door that said Recording Quiet Please in large letters.

“Oh! I guess I’m here early. You’re part of the crew for the documentary as well?”

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