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.

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.