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Nine and A Half Weeks (erotica)
Posted:Mar 24, 2019 8:16 am
Last Updated:Mar 24, 2019 6:08 pm
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“How did you know… how did you know I’d respond to you the way I have?“ “I saw myself in you.”

9 ½ Weeks (1986)


I lay on the bed, flushed, sweaty, breathing like I’d run a marathon. My bound wrists were at an awkward angle at the middle of my back but I didn’t have the energy to move. I’d just experienced the first orgasm given to me by a lover and I was so blissed out, so undone, I just lay there in stunned, awed silence.

Finally, I turned my head enough to look at him, lying languidly beside me, his sleek muscles and tall frame stirring arousal again, even though I’d just come with an unholy force. He had a palpable air of pride that irked me, although I acknowledged it was very deserved. I slowed my breathing and forced my brain to work enough to ask him something very similar to that line from 9 ½ weeks. How had he known?

For years I had harbored secret fantasies. I had imagined being tied up, being kidnapped, being held down, being made to take pain and pleasure. I had thought about what it would be like to cede control, to be manhandled, to have no choice in how I was fucked. For years I had wondered what was wrong with me that I liked those fantasies, fed them, nurtured them as my own understanding of sex and sexual acts grew. I had read The Story of O in a fervent rush of adolescent desire, blushing hotly at the descriptions of what happened to O and secretly wishing something similar would happen to me, only to immediately feel guilty. I had my first kiss, my first boyfriend, my first lover - and while I enjoyed all these experiences and liked sex - I never came close to the physical pleasure my solo fantasies provoked. Until now. Now this man who had just laid waste to every single one of my previous encounters smiled, raised one eyebrow, and said “educated guess.” To this day I find a man’s ability to raise just one eyebrow both insanely attractive and tremendously annoying.

We met at work - which was awkward because our mutual attraction was off the charts. He was sophisticated, urbane but funny and charming. I could barely look at him without blushing, the energy in the room always felt charged when he was in it. For months we danced around each other - trading sarcasm and witty barbs as cover for the things we really wanted to do to each other. He gave me a hard time about my boyfriend (an earnest 23-year-old graduate student) and I ribbed him about his age (he was 13 years older than me) and the way his hair was starting to turn gray at the temples. We tempted fate with late nights at the office and happy hours after work until one night temptation got the best of us and I found myself pushed up against a wall of a bar, in that little corridor that takes you to the restrooms, with his hands pressing down on my shoulders and his mouth on mine. He didn’t ask nicely or start tentatively but swept his tongue in my mouth like he already owned it, licking, nibbling, sucking until I was mindless with the need for more. I wanted to claw at all the layers that separated us and feel his skin on mine.

I don’t really remember how we ended up at his place. But the memory of him pinning my wrists at the small of my back and binding them with his tie is seared into my brain. So is the first smack of his palm on my ass. It didn’t hurt exactly, but I shrieked as he told me that was for the crack I had made about how he liked shit movies. Then he asked me if I liked it. The flood of arousal his words evoked almost overrode my embarrassment but I still couldn’t answer him. Tell me, he insisted, or I’ll stop and untie you and send you home. I choked out an affirmative and was rewarded with another smack and another. In between he rubbed and gripped my sensitized flesh, turning the string into a burning throb that tightened the muscles of my belly and made my pussy ache to be filled. By number ten I was gasping and writhing on the bed, one of his arms pinning me around the waist to hold me still. Suddenly the hand that had been resting on my hot flesh moved lower, slipping between my parted thighs to brush against the wetness that had gathered, telling him more than any verbal clue about how much I liked what he was doing.

He slid one finger inside me, pushing into my tight, slick flesh and pulling out, mimicking what I wanted his cock to be doing. Without conscious thought I was grinding back on his hand, moving faster, a supplicant needing more, chasing the orgasm I could feel building. Then he pulled his fingers out, replacing them with his thick, hard cock before I could protest the loss.

Using my bound hands for leverage he thrust hard and fast, bottoming out on a few strokes, overwhelming me with the sensation of truly being fucked, the way I needed to be, for the first time. He urged me on with dirty words that spilled over me and made me burn hot with both embarrassment and arousal until finally, the tension snapped. I unraveled, contracting around him for the longest time from the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had. I think I was making noise, but I honestly don’t know. My thighs were shaking and my back was arched so hard it almost hurt. I vaguely heard him groan through his own release, his fingers digging into my hips before he let go and I slumped onto the bed, my ears filled with white noise and my brain completely offline.

~exoticeva
3 Comments
Random Thoughts
Posted:Mar 23, 2019 5:03 am
Last Updated:Mar 23, 2019 9:19 am
188 Views
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6 Comments
What’s In A Number?
Posted:Mar 23, 2019 3:32 am
Last Updated:Mar 24, 2019 10:42 pm
217 Views
Recently someone asks me if sex at 55 was the same as sex at 20. The question itself made me smile as if I was some wise old shaman who the unenlightened scaled sheer cliffs to question and, in turn, gain the wisdom of the ages.

But back to the question. In essence, what the OP wanted to know was “does sex get better or worse with age.” Such a simple question on the surface. Kind of like what it means to be submissive. Yeah. There are no simple answers to either of those questions. Trust me.

The act of sex itself has not changed since I was 20 years old. At least I am not aware of any changes and I do attempt to stay up-to-date. (My work ethic in play.) However, what I am both able to participate in within the physical acts and, more importantly, what I find most enjoyable have changed quite a bit in three and a half decades. My limbs no longer appreciate being held in awkward poses (with or without the assistance of bondage aids) for long periods of time and will now repay my erotic enthusiasm with pulled muscles and stabbing pains. On the other hand, I’ve learned to do things with my tongue that 20-year-old Ginger would never have attempted, much less enjoyed.

And let us not forget that sex is only partly about the physical act in the first place. Age, and thus experience, help us understand the true role of emotional connections without which truly amazing sex cannot occur. At 20, I was more about running my hands and mouth over a firm body. At 55, I am more interested in knowing what makes the mind of my man tick. And that knowledge when used properly gives me the ability to offer him more fulfilling erotic experiences than a mere hot tongue can ever achieve on its own.

By the way, this idea is the same in every facet of your life as you age. With time and experience, you change. This is not meant to mean that you are withering away and just can’t do the stuff you did as a kid. Trust me. If I WANT to slip my butt onto a piece of cardboard and slide down a hill screaming and laughing, I’m going to do it. If I WANT to pick up a 20-ish bodybuilder at a beach bar kissing contest and take him to the hotel for a one-night stand, I will. The difference is that now I realize it’s my choice. All of it. And with choices come consequences – some awesome enough to write stories about and some you’d love to wipe from your memories forever. Knowing enough to match consequences to actions BEFORE I do them is the beauty of age and experience. Not caring about them because you have a lifetime to get over it is the beauty of youth.

Be who you are. Revel in the glory of your experience – vast or shallow still. Live for the day whether you are 20 or 80. As long as it’s SSC (and your muscles allow it), the world is yours for the exploring.

In the end, we only live once. But if we do it right, once is enough. *winks*

thegingerpowers~
11 Comments
A Collar
Posted:Mar 22, 2019 12:39 pm
Last Updated:Mar 22, 2019 5:17 pm
238 Views
There is no simple road to complete surrender, it’s never black and white. It’s a journey, with ugly obstacles and quiet peaceful meadows. It’s beautiful, but I don’t think anyone ever said it would be easy.

The phrase ‘good girl’ is often coined as the ultimate thing 'us submissives’ crave to hear. And of course, I strive to be that good girl. But there are other words spoken to me in my life that mean, even more, much much more, like ’forever’ and ’Mine’. And there are times when I realize all the more just how much those words mean.

He sees my failings, my flaws, my pain, sees me fall apart, holds me together, even at times when I couldn’t possibly be the best I wished to be, no matter how hard I tried. And yet, I am still, forever, His.

His collar doesn’t mean 'good girl’, his collar means 'forever’ and 'His’.

~bepleasingalways
4 Comments
Why the Caged Bird Sings
Posted:Mar 21, 2019 7:36 am
Last Updated:Mar 22, 2019 7:19 am
372 Views
She feels safe and protected. Whereas some might view the bars of a cage as being confining, she sees them as a barrier constructed to keep out all of the negative and destructive influences of the world. Her cage is a cocoon in which she nestles as if in a warm blanket on a cold night.

Her needs are anticipated and taken care of. How wonderful to think of the one who possesses her as thinking ahead to all of the things she might need to make her healthy and happy…and then making sure those things are all readily available when she needs them.

She is no longer responsible for making endless decisions. As part of the outside world, she is bombarded constantly with the need to make decisions… some small and some of life-altering proportions. Within the confines of her cage, she need only worry about singing her song and with that voice letting her Master know she is content to live within his power and control because she knows He thinks only of her well-being.

Being owned means also being chosen above all others. And that sense of belonging to one who really wants her is a powerful feeling not easily replaced. Having his pick of all the singing birds in the land, her Master selected her to place within His home…and His heart. She feels honored to be so chosen and sings freely to show her devotion.

Freedom is a relative term meaning different things to different people. To this bird of song, true freedom to pursue her dreams and desires could never be found outside of her captivity…captive in a home specially prepared for her by the one who considers her His greatest possession. Her captivity by Him sets her free.

~gingerpowerserotica
7 Comments
Love .....
Posted:Mar 21, 2019 4:09 am
Last Updated:Mar 23, 2019 4:21 am
365 Views
~

7 Comments
His.
Posted:Mar 21, 2019 3:45 am
Last Updated:Mar 21, 2019 6:32 am
338 Views
I do not want to be the leader. I refuse to be the leader. I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness. I want a man lying over me, always over me. His will, his pleasure, his desire, his life, his work, his sexuality the touchstone, the command, my pivot. I don’t mind working, holding my ground intellectually, artistically; but as a woman, oh, God, as a woman I want to be dominated. I don’t mind being told to stand on my own feet, not to cling, be all that I am capable of doing, but I am going to be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a male at his time, his bidding.
― Anaïs Nin
2 Comments
Dominant Traits - Affection
Posted:Mar 20, 2019 3:36 am
Last Updated:Mar 21, 2019 2:44 am
437 Views
Tracing fingertips, a tender kiss, a contented sigh. Is this the act of a Dominant? Absolutely. Affection and care are hallmarks of Dominance every bit as much as bondage, spanking, challenges, and commands. Dominance and submission is not simply authority and compliance, command and obedience. It is a bond of mutual respect and adoration. Affection is a fundamental element of a D/s relationship and indeed, when combined with trust, is the bedrock on which the darker pleasures and interactions are built.

There seems to be a pervasive misunderstanding that to be Dominant one must appear overtly authoritarian, gruff, emotionally impenetrable, and fortress-like. Nothing could be further from the truth. The respect and trust that must necessarily be earned in order for a submissive to bare and surrender their heart, mind, body, and soul come from a combination of emotional accessibility on the part of a Dominant, combined with a level of power, balance, and control.

To be worthy of submission, a Dominant must be successful in their own right. This does not mean having a high net worth or achieving financial success. What I am referring to is a level of success and mastery of their own lives such as they are. Rich or poor, highly educated or streetwise, professional or laborer, for a Dominant to be considered a Master they must have some mastery of their own circumstances. Whether it is at work, in volunteerism, at home or a hobby, there should be mastery of some sort; having shown the dedication and integrity necessary to be very good at something. They must also have control over their own lives and how they care for themselves and those around them. But this is only part of the equation.

A potential Dominant may be successful in their own rite and worthy of respect for the way in which they conduct their lives, but still not be worthy of submission. For a submissive to desire to give themselves to another, they must not only sense dominance and mastery but also emotional accessibility and security. They need to feel not only desired but also loved, cared for, protected and above all respected. It is the combination of power and control, mastery and achievement, love and affection, acceptance and desire, trust and security, that allow a submissive to open themselves fully to their Dominant and fall into them completely. To be a truly effective Dominant, one must successfully strike the balance between all of these traits. Lose that balance and there will be tension in the D/s bond.

My Muse and I baffle people who encounter us. We don’t add up. They cannot figure us out and their heads seem to hurt when they try. It is actually amusing to watch. When we are out in public there are no overt signs that we share a relationship as Dominant and submissive but yet there is something in our interaction with one another that people cannot quite put their finger on. The first thing they notice of course is our age difference, followed by the obvious fact that we are not a couple who live together, and yet we are intimately affectionate with one another. We touch and make a lot of eye contact, we laugh easily and tease one another. Yet there is an underlying dynamic between us of respect and dominance, authority and deference that doesn’t quite compute to those who do not recognize or identify with the underlying D/s foundation. So while our relationship is noticeably different and the vanilla folk we encounter cannot quite put their finger on it, one thing that is often remarked upon is that we seem to be very happy. And we are.

The thing that stands out to others as a hallmark of our interaction is the very obvious and overt level of care and affection we have for one another and openly display. And for good reason, it is the underpinning of our relationship. The fact that we share this deeply intimate emotional bond that manifests itself overtly as affection is in large part the very foundation that allows us to go behind closed doors and act out the darker parts of our bond; bondage, service, challenge, and kink. It is the Yin and the Yang that is us. We cannot have one without the other in proper balance. Fire and water, darkness and light.

So is affection a hallmark of successful and competent Dominants? I absolutely argue that it is and cannot fathom achieving the sort of bond that allows me to express my darker dominant side without it.

~FTLOAS 2019
6 Comments
The Double-Edged Sword of Brattiness
Posted:Mar 19, 2019 3:14 pm
Last Updated:Mar 21, 2019 4:28 am
485 Views
“But I’m warning you, I’m kind of a brat.”
“No, you’re not. You’re just a girl who hasn’t had firm boundaries and desperately needs them.”

This was a few years ago, in my baby sub days. I had been kind of bratty in past relationships, but this Dom was not one to tolerate it. I worried he wouldn’t like me. But it turns out that he was right about me. I had always been bratty because I had a deep need for structure that had never been met. I was bratty because I was clawing for boundaries that weren’t there. I teased because it felt like the only way to be thrown down and ravaged. I intentionally broke rules because it felt like the only way I’d feel that tight control closing in on me. I wasn’t a brat; I was a submissive who craved deep and unrelenting dominance. Ownership.

Now that I understand what I need, I can mostly quell those bratty impulses. When I need to feel my Dominant’s control, I say so in a metatalk. I ask how I can serve. I ask permission for things (and sometimes hope for a “no”). I give my Dominant opportunities to lead. I find ways to feel those firm boundaries within my role, rather than stepping out of it.

But part of me thinks there is still value in brattiness—not in outright disobedience, but maybe in close calls. You approach the electrified fence. You hear the hum. You use something to test it. Maybe you get a quick zap, just to know it’s there and working. But you don’t barrel through the fence. Gently testing the boundaries can be a comforting reminder that they are there and strong. You are submitting to something, not just making it up in your head. A little brattiness can also signal confidence in the dynamic. It’s only when you know the leash is there that you can tug on it a little.

That’s the key—a little. There’s a rush of connection from being put back in your place, but it wears off. And then you’re left in a worse place than when you started. It can be tempting to push the boundaries, especially when you desperately need to feel them. But brattiness is not giving your Dominant opportunities to lead. You cannot disobey your way to firm boundaries and deep ownership. Playfulness is one thing, but intentional disobedience is toxic to the dynamic. Instead, you lean in. You ask permission. You have open, honest conversations about what you need and what is missing. Brattiness may make a spark, but it’s rarely enough to build a fire.

It has taken me some time to figure it out. But no, I’m not a brat. I like to say that I’m a good girl…96.2% of the time.

cherished-property~
6 Comments
Lies....
Posted:Mar 19, 2019 5:42 am
Last Updated:Mar 21, 2019 2:43 am
511 Views
Sometimes we lie because it’s easier than telling the truth. Sometimes we lie because we need to forget. Sometimes we lie because you don’t want to tell her she looks fat in those jeans. Sometimes we lie because fantasy is better than reality. Sometimes we lie because it’s too painful, to tell the truth. Sometimes we lie because we think it’s the truth. Sometimes we lie because it’s faster to do so. Sometimes we lie because you need to get out of something. Sometimes we lie because life can’t wait. Sometimes we lie because pain is not an option. Sometimes we lie because there is nothing better to do. Sometimes we lie because we need to turn attention away from ourselves. Sometimes we lie because we don’t know what else to do. Sometimes we lie because we don’t want to tell children there isn’t a Santa Claus. Sometimes we lie because it gives us a laugh. Sometimes we lie because sarcasm gives emphasis. Sometimes we lie because we need to prove a point. Sometimes we lie because everyone needs a break once in a while. Sometimes we lie because an alibi is needed. Sometimes we lie because a surprise is being planned. Sometimes we lie because we could lose money. Sometimes we lie because we want to keep a friend. Sometimes we lie because we are instructed to. Sometimes we lie because money is offered. Sometimes we lie because revenge is sweet. Sometimes we lie because we would like to hurt someone emotionally. Sometimes we lie because agreeing is easier than debating. Sometimes we lie because we are scared. And rarely do we ever tell the truth.

~Unknown

*re-boot
4 Comments

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