Three Little Words

Was visiting my friend Thomas last night. A nice visit, with a little wine and dancing.

I even showed off enough cleavage to show off my tattoo. Not something I normally do with my want to keep a job.

The clock said 10:15 and my fingernails were playing with the cum I had just allowed him to spill on his own belly. At this point, Thomas decides to tell me that he loves me.

Really?

Thomas. Dude.

I’m your domme. The red welts on your ass are my doing. That penis has yet to be inside me and, massive as it is, after those words it is unlikely to ever visit my pussy.

I wake up this morning and realize just how stupid I was with this. After care is important, but dependent on the sub’s need. I so enjoy the cuddle after a session and even allow my hands to wrap around a guy’s cock or into a girls pussy, but was always thinking of my want at that point.

Thomas is too much sub for me, anyway. I am more switch than true domme, but I play the control part well. First bring the pain and then the pleasure. I throw out these words like switch and domme and the truth is I am only guessing at definitions.

He is a big boy and I thought long and oh so hard about swallowing his cum or even riding him in the end. So very glad I did not or the dude might think we are soul-mates or something.

Not the first time I have had to cut off a playmate like this. Will not likely be the last, either.

Steady Cam

Seems the camera he was holding was not quite as steady as I would have liked.

Orgasm Slut

Orgasms should help a girl sleep, right? Tire her out and help her get past the stress of a tough day.

I wish that were the case. They wake me up and drive me to the addiction of wanting more.

At least mine come easily. The stories of how difficult some women are to bring to orgasm make me amazed people have the patience. One friend of mine joined me with my boyfriend at the time and it took us almost an hour to get her off. Great fun, but holy shit. She is still in need of a patient dom to help her.

I just posted on Twitter that my pussy needs a good talking to and no one has volunteered as of yet. Being I am allergic to cats, they can draw their own conclusions.

I have decided that sex is an addiction. Generally a good addiction. When I hear of the word thrown around when discussing Tiger Woods, David Duchovny or even Michael Douglas I do not think it is being used right. The addiction of those men is to strengthening of ego through sexual conquest, not to the sex itself. Similar to rape, those men are addicted to power they feel from notching the bed post again and again.

The actual addiction to sex is a problem, however. It is still seen as taboo to be poly, and yet the world has become oversexed in its advertising and lifestyle. Sex all around us giving us ideas and temptations while telling us we can only get it from one partner.

Sometimes even one partner at a time is not enough for me. Guess that makes me a slut. A proud slut. A picky slut as my sluthood is not bestowed upon every Tom, Dick, Harry, nor Linda.

Inked Up

A Fucking Shovel

Do you know what the difference is between a man of 50 and a man of 19?

Not much when you’re sucking them off. They are all so focused on that little piece of flesh that flaps between their legs.

Sure they’ll go down on you. Sure they’ll try and please you. Only so long as it leaves them with their dick inside you somewhere. Pick a hole.

I do like guys, but let’s call a spade a fucking shovel. They are selfish.

Is it obvious I just broke up with my latest shit for brains lay? Pathetic stooge that he was.

This is what comes after three fucking days since. I figured I would have calmed, but what’s a girl to do?

Maybe I should just get an escort. At least they’re honest.

Fellatio and the Single Female

I like giving blowjobs.  Is that bad?

The salty skin and the bitter cum are tastes I just crave.  I feel powerful when I hold that piece of flesh in my mouth.  With me on my knees, I should be the submissive, but I am the one with the power.  Will I make him cum?  Will I lick? Will I suck? Will I bite?  Spit?  Swallow?  Forget the last two, of course swallow.

Being single, however, makes this craving harder to quench.

I could randomly blow a guy anytime, but that would not exactly be safe.

Being I have two friends who will endure this harsh need of mine.  I do know they hate it, but I am so thankful that they let me.  I will miss the taste of them when I meet my next relationship.  I will miss the feeling of their dicks as I hold them and slide them between my legs.

With a new date this week, the ending to this torture I perform on them could be sooner than later.

A Little Night Music

I wanna play.

 

After Midnight

I want you after midnight.

I want to taste you, hold you and to feel you inside of me. To ride, guide and hide your erection until I feel your cum spill free and lubricate my warm wet further and feel it dripping down my thighs.

I want for you to make me scream, pull my hair and spank me as the penis remains in me. Make my ass warm with your hand until my own climax drives back at you and spills my own. Feeling your balls smacking against my pussy as you push deeper and deeper, stretching my pussy as wide as it can.

I want for you to stroke my hair as I cuddle into your chest, tell me I’m a good girl, and tell me just what you want to do to me next. Then to do it, exactly as you describe. Using my body as your plaything, your toy, your whore.

I want your cum on my lips, between my hips, and all along my curves. I want to taste it mixed with my own and lick whatever drops splatter you off after swallowing the load. I want the entire length down my throat to taste that salty flesh, every inch, every millimeter, every cell.

After midnight, my body is your’s but your cock is mine.

Just a Peek

 

Not Your Mama’s Same Old Song And Dance

Hi, I’m Emma, and I’m a slut.

This is where you are all to say, “Hi Emma.”

That first sentence always leaves people wondering.  I read The Ethical Slut by Dossie Easton and Janet Hardy in its first edition and it spoke to me beyond my wildest dreams.  It introduced the ideals that I did not have to be trapped in traditional views I no longer believe in.

Like many, the traditional nuclear family was preached at me during my school years.  My father, however, would sit with me and discuss the ludicrous concepts that were being poured into the brains of me and my school chums.  He taught me how religious leaders had hijacked history books to be written in ways that favoured their own agendas.  He also taught me that no one person can fulfill all of our needs all of the time satisfactorily.

My dad, a widower, died in a car accident when I was 14.  I do not remember my mother as she died do to complications of my coming into the world.  Unfortunately I have had little contact with my mother’s side of my family.

The next ten years I lived with my grandparents.  Staunch Catholics who believed tradition made one prim and proper and that guilt was an important teacher.  When I completed my degree at the University of Toronto, I could not get out on my own fast enough.

I have been married twice.  Both came out of misplaced guilt at needing to get with a man and multiply.  I no longer feel that guilt.

Luckily, I no longer have that guilt, nor the men, nor the baby(ies).  I still think I will someday have the baby(ies), but glad I did not drag a child through either divorce.  With the ending of my second marriage I began to accept my nature was far away from the traditional.

Grandma passed away about ten years ago.  In the ten years since, I have gotten to know my grandfather better and now see where dad came by his strengths and his atheism.  Grandpa has become the caretaker of my condo which we share, my conscious and my big brother when it comes to relationships.

The main focus now, of these relationships, is trust in slutism.  Some might say I am poly, but not sure that term fits.  I have relationships, not random sexual encounters.  Lovers, both men and women, that I trust with my friendship.

This blog, this post being the first entry, is thanks to encouragement from a friend simply known online as Stranded.

I have been writing a lot but never published nor posted.  Most of it is in a stack of spiral binders I keep on my bookshelves.  Some of this will be fiction, some will be faction.  I have also been given a guest slot on Stranded’s site for some posts.