“I don’t care if you don’t get wet. I’m fucking you anyway.” has been heard a time or two over the past few days. And he’s done just that. And then he pulls out the cane, or a flogger, or our new Tantus paddle, and wales on my ass, and suddenly I’m dripping down my leg.

Maybe I should edit the list of potential reasons I’m having issues with vaginal dryness, and add “I need a different kind of foreplay”?

So yesterday, Master greeted me with, “How is Daddy going to hurt you today? Because we all know it goes straight to your pussy.”

My body reacted to the words, but still I wasn’t wet. Not until he walked over and slapped me a few times before grabbing my hair and pulling my head back so that I could look at him.

“I guess I’ll just make sure you’re wet before I want to fuck you,” he said, and then he slapped me again. Read more…

Photo courtesy of Behind the Chintz Curtain

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~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

This Scene Called Life
I Don’t Give A Fig
9 Reasons You SHOULD Have Sex on a First Date

~ Featured Posts (Molly’s Picks) ~

Firm
East Side Exhibitionism

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Threesomes: Being a Good Little Unicorn

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy! Read more…

The monthly monster has finally subsided. The Man and I are actively trying to find our way out of the discomfort no sex, kink, or exercise has brought us. We’re walking every day, fucking every day (M seems to be doing this on purpose), and trying to eat and drink better than we have been so that our bodies will have what they need to get back to the place we were before all this. And my pussy isn’t fucking cooperating.

It’s sofa king bizarre, and it’s obliterating what little bit of positive self esteem I’d managed to harness after realizing I’ve regained 15lbs since last year.

I’ve always had a tight, responsive, damn-near-constantly-wet pussy. A stiff breeze would get me wet. “Bend over, bitch.” was all the foreplay I needed. But lately, M can tease me till he’s blue in the face, and my pussy will still be dry as a bone. I mean, seriously, what the fuck?

So I’m going with a few assumptions: Read more…

There are lots of toys in that pic! The paddle is the Mahogany and Koa Frat Bat from Maui Kink. The rose is a feather rose Master bought me ages ago from Extreme Restraints or JT’s Stockroom. I forget which. The bluish purple background is the Liberator Throe. And that black thing they’re all displayed on is the Liberator Flip Ramp with cover. Read more…

For the rest of this series, and links to others who have participated, click here.

Full prompt: Tell us about a humorous BDSM/kink experience you’ve had. If you haven’t had one, talk about aspects of kink/BDSM you find funny.

In eight years, you know there’s a ton of things that have happened that are flipping hilarious. It just comes down to remembering them, and not letting the punchline fall flat, like it so often does if you weren’t there when it happened. So, let me just preface this entire post with “Guess you had to be there.”

Like the fact that my nipples still occasionally lactate even though my tubes are tied, and my youngest child is nine and a half years old. So even clovers have a tendency to slip off my nipples when we intend for them to stay put. And since I laugh off accidental pain, when M tugs, and the clover slips, and it finally catches again on the tiniest bit of flesh, I laugh hysterically, while simultaneously yelling “OWFUCKOWFUCKOW!”, and M laughs right along with me.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been all trussed up, hanging in the doorway, mouth gagged, blindfold on, and I hear, “Ow! Fucker!” “Uff ooo ooo?”  Read more…