Ferietid..

 

.. En historie skrevet sidste år.. Om en fantasi - om et ønske - om lysten til liderlighed i ferietiden.. Enjoy..
Varmen rammer mig, som jeg åbner vinduet. Klokken er bare 0735, og solens stråler har allerede varmet luften op. Det føles dejligt, som jeg står der i solen - mærker varmen i mit ansigt, på mine arme, mine bryster... Jeg står foran vinduet nøgen. Synet foran mig er råt, bakket, tørt. Oliventræerne står spredt foran huset. Ude i horisonten ser jeg solsikkerne - girasole, drejer-mod-solen - som ser tørre ud, klar til at blive høstet. Det er slutningen af august - snart høsttid for solsikker.. Efteråret eller sensommeren som det er her i Umbrien - byder på travle dage for de fleste familier... Men lige nu byder solsikkerne mig velkommen med deres hoveder vendt mod solen.. Jeg kigger ud - der er stille. Bare en flok fugle på himlen.. Åhh - nattens vilde oplevelse, så intenst og vanvittigt mærkes stadigvæk på min krop. Han gjorde det igen... Og igen og igen... Forløsningen ville ingen ende tage. Min krop værker efter de gentagne orgasmer. Mærker hans hænder overalt på min krop. Hans munds grådige tag på mine bryster, min kusse, min røv. Begæret fik mig til at fortabe mig 100 % - jeg blev bragt længere ud end .... Hmmm. Tænk engang, at kroppen kan blive ved og ved.. At liderlighed kan medføre den slags psysisk overbærenhed mod de fysiske udfordringer... Burde ligge med en kande vand et sted, dehydreret som jeg blev i nat... Men lige nu føles det dejligt at nyde udsigten, at mærke varmen på min hud... Jeg stopper helt op.. Føler mig fortabt et øjeblik. Alene. Forladt. Ensom. Hører en puslen i baggrunden - mærker hans hænder om mine hofter. Bliver reddet. Samlet op. Omfavnet. Han er lige der, bag mig, nær mig, ved mig... Er tryg igen. Jeg vender mig om, glider ind i hans favn, mærker hans krops varme mod min. Mærker ham. Kigger op, og som en betinget refleks, jeg ikke kan styre eller har lyst til at forhindre, kysser jeg ham. Han er højere end jeg er, skoene der plejer at byde på højde-forskel i min favør - er kastet bort et tilfældigt sted i værelset. Føles dog dejligere, at være helt nøgen, bar, uden forbehold, uden "pretend"-looket, som normalt deffinerer min fremtoning. Vi kysser - kysser og kysser. Hans hænder glider over min krop. Han griber fat i mine bryster, klemmer dem, kysser dem, bider blidt i mine brystvorter.. Og hænder glider videre mod min røv.. Jeg mærker hans pik blive hård... Vi kan ikke lade være. Holde fingrene fra hinanden er en umulighed.. Jeg mærker hans fingre trænge op i min røv... Åhhh.... Lukker øjnene, nyder fornemmelsen af at blive taget ... Uhmmm. Hans mund er på min hals... Jeg drejer mig om - står med ryggen mod hans brystkasse... Hans pik mod min røv. Hans mund kysser min hals, mit øre altimens hans hænder spreder mine balder ad... Jeg læner mig frem - og han trænger ind i min røv. Årrhhhh. Jaaaa.. Ohh gud.. Det er umuligt at holde en ærlig tanke i hovedet... Jeg forsvinder ind i min krop. Mærker ham i min røv... Min vejrtrækning bliver tung, rytmisk aaaahhhh, aaaahhh, for hvert stød i min røv, udstøder jeg et luftpust... Jeg har mine hænder på balderne, og hans hænder er nu på mine hofter... Tempoet går op.... Jeg mærker orgasmen tage mig i besiddelse - mærker min mangel på kontrol. Mærker at jeg er i live, at min krop lever. Han bringer mig til live igen... Jeg kommer... Sprøjter mine lår til... Mærker det varme løbe ned af mine lår, mod mine fødder... Og hører ham stønne bag mig, at han kommer, at han fylder min røv op, at han.... Han stopper talestrømmen, jeg hører hans stønnen, som hans egen orgasme rammer ham.. Hans fingre krammer sig ind i huden på mine hofter. Han læner sig ind over min ryg... Vi er våde - klæbrige - svedige... Han kysser min ryg, hvisker "godmorgen skat" i mit øre, og spørger, om jeg har været vågen længe.. Vender mig om - og spørger ham, om vi ikke skal tage et bad.. Og peger på kaffen, som står på bordet. Mocca´en i det lille glas, lige kommet af komfuret. Jeg bevæger mig igennem værelset mod badeværelset. Væggene i rummene er rå, store kampsten som kendetegner områdets arkitektur. Rustikt og enkelt. Jeg tænder vandet - lader det løbe i badekarret, hælder en appelsinolie i vandet og salt... Finder flasken frem med saltolien købt igår på vej til huset... Lukker øjnene, lader appelsinens duft fylde mit sind - varmen fra vandet. Tænker et kort øjeblik på turen fra lufthavnen igår. Da først vi var kommet på motorvejen - og vi sad der ved siden af hinanden i bilen.... Kunne ikke holde fingrene fra ham.. Måtte røre ham, være i fysisk kontakt med ham. Hans hånd på mit lår... Nederdelen, der røg op.. Uhmm, hans hånd i min kusse... 3 fingre i min kusse, på min klit, spøjtede ham i hånden... Min nederdel blev våd.. Jeg lænede mig over mod hans pik, åbnede bukserne - lukkede grådigt mine læber over hans stive pik.. Uhhhmmm - lidt bøvlet med rattet i hovedet, men hans  pik fyldte min mund op - og de mange timers uforløste forplay i flyveren gjorde min opgave nem... Han sprøjtede i min mund i samme tempo, som han just havde forløst mig... Elsker BJs i bilen - så råt, når lastbilerne kører forbi - og chaufføreren kan se ens foretagende... Han kommer ind på badeværelset... Kalder mig baby.. Kysser mig. Jeg smelter, fortaber mig igen i hans nærvær. Ingen fornuftig tanke eksisterer længere i mit hoved. Jeg mærker, føler, elsker. Alt det rationelle, overvejelserne, spørgsmålene forsvinder ud af mit hoved, min krop tager over. Umuligt at forstå, at en mand har den effekt på mig. Jeg stiller mig selv samme spørgsmål igen og igen, når vi er adskilt - Hvordan kan det ske ? At jeg taber tråden, og kun står tilbage med fortabelsen.. ?? Får dog aldrig noget svar... Jeg kravler ned i badekarret - han kommer ned til mig.. Vi sidder tæt. Han ligger mellem mine ben, læner sig tilbage imod mig. Jeg tager salt-scrub´en i mine hænder. Fører dem mod hans skuldre, blid massage af nakken, frem mod brystkassen.. Må rejse mig lidt for at nå. Duften af appelsin er skøn, frist, sensuel. Nærværet - krop mod krop. Sanseligheden er i top. Sukker over øjeblikket... Fylder mine hænder op med mere, han læner sig frem - og jeg masserer hans ryg og lænd, rammer balderne, fylder mandelolie i hænderne... Kredser om hans røv, mere insisterende, rammer hans røv og lader min finger smutte ind... Hans sukker, hver gang min finger bevæger sig ind og ud... Olien gør arbejdet, jeg lader den ledige hånd gribe fat i hans pik. Han sukker nu højlydt... Jeg lader min finger forlade hans røv - finder den lille flaske, som olien opbevares i - den er med hjemme fra og fungerer som en fin lille dildo/anal plug - og lader den smutte op i hans røv.. Han sukker dybere, jeg har fat i hans pik, spiller den... Hans hænder støtter på væggen,  på stenene.. Hans underliv bevæger sig i takt med mine bevægelser... Og han kommer i min hånd, uden drama eller udbrud. Intenst og intimt... Han vender sig om - kigger på mig - kysser mig og siger, at det skal jeg satmer snart gøre igen... Han hiver mig op af karret - lægger mig på trinet med kussen blottet... Begynder uden et yderligere ord at slikke mig. Jeg lukker øjnene, mærker hans tunge på min klit - i min røv, i min kusse... Han slikker mig grådigt.. Jeg sprøjter ham i munden kort efter.. Hans forsøg på at sluge det meste, lykkes ikke.. Men han fortsætter... Stikker 3 fingre op i min kusse, ælter mig og jeg mærker min kusse udvide sig, som han presser alle 5 fingre op i mig.. Han presser på, jeg mærker min kusse give efter hans pressen... og mærker, at jeg... Jeg mister besidelsen, fokus, koncentrationen. Hans hånd forsvinder op i min kusse. Og presset føles enormt.. Jeg får næsten et black-out, altimens den ene sindsyge orgasme overtager min krop. Jeg er svimmel, rundtosset, mit hoved snurrer. Skiftet imellem orgasme, forundring, smerte samt det absurde faktum, at hans hånd nu er dybt oppe i min kusse... Jeg fatter det knap.. Min krop er i alarmberedskab. Mine bryster er stive, min røv er i oprør, jeg vil sprøjte, men det kan ikke komme ud pga hånden.. Han kommer op til mig, kysser mine bryster på vejen op, kysser min hals og hvisker i mit øre, "skat, jeg har hele hånden oppe i din kusse nu, det er så sindsygt frækt et syn, du er så porno-lækker" - men jeg hører ham knap.. Langsomt tager han hånden ud af min kusse igen - og jeg mærker safterne løbe ned af mine lår... Kollapser i vandet, han tager om mig, holder mig fast, kysser mig. Vi sidder sådan et stykke tid.. Vandet køles af, badet er ved vejs ende... Dagen er lige begyndt.. Frække oplevelser venter forud de næste 48 timer, vi har tilbage af vores rejse sammen....
Cum-Doll xxDark

How I Like You to Fuck Me

 

You lick a line clean from my soft inner thigh. Tongue tracing my pale flesh. I turn you on. It’s almost like I’m dangerous, like I could defend myself. You’ve reached that curve under my tits, you stop and admire. Big, you say. Like something from porn you watched last week. I sigh and giggle, as your mouth moves north. Pink nipples teased to full attention. Your hands work their way over my hips, gripping the extra bits that you love, that I loathe. Tracing more flesh with your fingertips. You want to know my story. Hooked, that’s what you might be. What happened here? You say. I reply with my usual, I’ll tell you later. I never tell you later. It’s the game, the one we dance over every time we’re naked. Your cock is solid, prodding my inner thigh, innocently. I’m the wicked one here, the damned, the forgotten. You get lost in my mouth, our lips meet in a hungry lock down. I bite too hard, you kiss me too wetly. It’s delicious and imperfect. I moan into your parted lips and giggle. You know I only do so when I want you to fuck me, to love me. My hips rock up to meet your arousal, you grin stupidly and then your eyes go evil. It’s time. That time where you pull my hair and kiss me gently simultaneously. Abuse me and worship me in one instance. Stretch me. Make me feel wanted, and appreciated. I lock my legs around you, and you feel how wet you’ve got me.­­ I’m melted, molten, weeping, tears of silky sticky sweet. Taste you, taste me. It’s addicting. You ruin the mood, patting my tummy, making a joke. I smack you and push your face down to my thigh. You moan and bite down, leaving a fresh mark amongst the silvery alabaster of my skin. Like I’m something otherworldly. Like fucking a vampire, the undead, something from the in between. It makes me feel powerful, I moan. You slide your tongue over the place my panties should be. Too bad I tore them off, right down the center when you weren’t paying complete attention. You grin, and suck on me. Pink and shaved. Inhale scent and exhale lust. Please me. You know I will make you drip. It’s what I live for.

by Sinister_Beauty

       

Fra boka:

 

“Stoler du på meg?” puster han.
Jeg nikker, med store øyne. Hjertet mitt hopper i brystet. Blodet pumper rundt i kroppen.
Han drar det sølvgråe silkeslipset opp fra bukselomma. Det sølvgråe silkevevde slipset med mønster som etterlater små merker på huden min.
Han beveger seg raskt. Plutselig sitter han over meg på sengen og binder håndleddene mine sammen. Men denne gangen binder han den andre enden av slipset til en av eikene på den hvite jerngavlen over sengen min.
Han drar i knuten, sjekker om den sitter. Jeg kommer ingen vei. Jeg er bundet fast, rett og slett, til sengen min. Og jeg er så opphisset.

I virkeligheten:
“Stoler du på meg?” puster han.
Nja, det kommer vel litt an på, tenker jeg. Men jeg nikker, med store øyne. Hjertet mitt hopper i brystet. Blodet pumper rundt i kroppen.
Hva er det nå han planlegger, tenker jeg skeptisk.
Han drar det rutete, grønne slipset opp fra bukselomma. Det grønne slipset som han aldri bruker. Et par rosa hårspenner som tilhører Lillesnuppa har viklet seg inn i slipset. Han river og drar i det for å få opp knuten.
Han skrever over meg med det ene beinet og setter seg på magen min.
Ouff, sukker jeg idet vekten av kroppen hans presser luften ut av meg.
«AU!» roper jeg og vrir hoftene unna.
«Går det bra?» spør han og løfter på rumpa.
«Ja da, det går fint», svarer jeg.
«Bare ikke sett deg rett ned på magen min», sier jeg og tenker på tacoen jeg spiste for en halv time siden. Jeg gjør en grimase mens jeg prøver å holde igjen luften som presser på i nederste del av magen.
Han binder håndleddene mine sammen.
«Au, ikke så hard da», sier jeg og vrir håndleddene.
«Går det bra sånn?» spør han.
Jeg tar armene ned.
«Hvis du bare løsner litt der…»
«Her?»
«Ja, der. Sånn ja. Når går det greit. Tror jeg» sier jeg og strekker armene over hodet igjen.
Hva nå da, tenker jeg og ser opp på veggen. Han holder i den andre enden av slipset og ser seg rundt. Sengegavlen vi har bestilt kommer ikke før om tre uker. Og den er uansett helpolstret.
«Vent her», sier han og skrever ut av sengen. Jeg hører han romsterer ute i gangen. Til slutt kommer han inn med en spiker og en hammer.
«Ligg stille, nå», sier han og holder den andre enden av slipset opp mot veggen. Han setter spikeren mot slipset og hever hammeren.
«Nei, men for pokker», roper jeg og kniper sammen øynene.
«Du kan da vel ikke spikre slipset fast i veggen?»
«Hvorfor ikke?» spør han og ser på meg.
«Vi har jo nettopp sparklet og malt de veggene jo», sier jeg frustrert.
«Men sengegavlen vil jo stå over når den kommer. Det er ingen som kommer til å se det hullet».
Okei. Okei, okei, okei. Jeg lukker øynene og kjenner hvordan hele sengen rister når han slår hammeren inn i den nymalte soveromsveggen vår så gipsen spruter.

Fra boka:

Han glir av meg og står ved siden av sengen. Han stirrer ned på meg med øyne mørke av lyst. Blikket hans er triumferende.
“Det var bedre”, mumler han og smiler ertende. Han bøyer seg over meg og begynner å knyte opp den ene skoen min. Åh nei… nei… føttene mine. Nei, jeg har jo nettopp løpt.
“Nei”, protesterer jeg mens jeg prøver å sparke ham bort.
Han stopper.
“Hvis du kjemper imot, binder jeg føttene dine og. Hvis du lager en enste lyd Anastasia, kommer jeg til å kneble deg. Hold munn. Katherine er mest sannsynlig utenfor og lytter akkurat nå.
Kneble meg! Kate! Jeg holder kjeft.
Han fjerner skoene og sokkene mine kjapt, og drar sakte av meg treningsbuksene. Oj, hvilke truser har jeg på meg?
Han løfter meg opp og drar dyna vekk. Så legger han meg tilbake, denne gangen oppå lakenet.
«Sånn». Han slikker seg sakte over underleppen.
«Du biter deg i leppen, Anastasia. Du vet hvilken effekt det har på meg».
Han legger langfingeren over leppene mine. Som en advarsel.

I virkeligheten:
Han glir av meg og ned ved siden av sengen. Han snubler på vei ned, men henter seg inn igjen før han faller.
Jeg kniser.
Han stirrer ned på meg med mørke øyne fulle av lyst.
Jeg kniser igjen.
Han bøyer seg over meg og begynner å knyte opp den ene skoen min. Åh nei… nei… føttene mine. Jeg har ikke dusjet i dag. Og det må være et halvt år siden sist jeg filte den sprukne, harde huden på helene. Minst. Og jeg har ikke hatt tid til å fjerne den flisete, røde neglelakken jeg la på for tre måneder siden.
“Nei”, protesterer jeg mens jeg prøver å sparke ham bort.
Han stopper.
“Hvis du kjemper imot, binder jeg føttene dine og. Hvis du lager en enste lyd Marte, kommer jeg til å kneble deg. Hold munn».
Kneble meg! Jeg holder kjeft.
Han fjerner skoene mine kjapt. Sokkene sitter klistret fast til føttene. Han vrenger dem mens han drar dem av og kaster dem på gulvet.
Så drar han sakte av meg de slitte, grå treningsbuksene. Oj, hvilke truser har jeg på meg?
Jeg saumfarer alternativene i hodet, og konkluderer med at jeg har de slitte, grå med rosa prikker. De med hull i linningen.
Han tar tak i dyna ved sengeenden og napper den til seg. Den rikker seg ikke. Han krabber opp i senga og står på kne ved siden av meg. Han prøver å løfte meg. Men han mister balansen og ramler forover med nesa i madrassen på andre siden av meg.
Han krabber opp til knestående igjen.
«Kan du løfte på rumpa», sier han og gjør en viftene bevegelse med hånden.
Jeg løfter hoftene opp mens jeg lurer på hvor mye jeg har lagt på meg i sommer. Nå må jeg begynne å trene, tenker jeg. Neste uke. Da skal jeg begynne.
Han vugger meg frem og tilbake mens han lirker dynen ut under meg. Til slutt ligger den som en klump på gulvet.
Aj. Og så akkurat der som treåringen stod og spiste brødskive med makrell i tomat tidligere i dag, mens har furtet over at han ikke fikk spise i sengen min. Jeg fikk aldri kastet de skorpene og tørket vekk tomatsausen.
«Sånn». Han slikker seg sakte over underleppen.
«Du har sånne rykninger rundt nesen igjen, Marte. Du vet hvilken effekt det har på meg».
Han legger langfingeren over leppene mine. Som en advarsel.

Fra boka:

Åh hjelp. Jeg kan nesten ikke beherske meg. Jeg ligger her hjelpeløs, mens jeg ser han beveger seg grasiøst rundt i rommet. Han er et berusende afrodisiakum.
Så tar han av seg skoene og sokkene, sakte. Åpner buksene og drar skjorten over hodet.
“Jeg tror du har sett for mye”, sier han. Han setter seg over meg igjen og drar opp t-skjorten min. Jeg tror han skal ta den av meg, men i stedet ruller han den opp til halsen min og drar den over hodet mitt så øynene dekkes. Bare nesen og munnen min synes under den.
Og siden den er rullet over øynene mine, kan jeg ikke se noen ting.
«Mmm», puster han.
«Dette blir bare bedre og bedre. Jeg skal bare hente noe å drikke».
 

I virkeligheten:
Åh hjelp. Jeg kan nesten ikke beherske meg. Nå må jeg virkelig prompe. Hadde jeg visst at han hadde slike planer i kveld, hadde jeg aldri spist den tacoen. Jeg ligger her hjelpeløs, mens jeg ser mannen traske rundt i rommet.
Så tar han av seg skoene og sokkene sine. Hopper rundt på ett bein da den ene sokken sitter fast.
Flere som har svette føtter, tenker jeg og flirer for meg selv.
Så åpner han buksene sine og drar genseren over hodet. Av gammel vane sniffer han kjapt under den ene armen i den samme bevegelsen.
“Jeg tror du har sett for mye”, humrer han.
Han setter seg over meg igjen, litt mer forsiktig denne gangen, og drar opp t-skjorten min.
«Hehey», roper jeg og vrir meg under han.
«Det kiler», ler jeg.
Jeg tror han skal ta den av meg, men i stedet ruller han den opp til halsen min og drar den over hodet mitt så øynene dekkes.
Jeg kjenner hvordan maskaraen klistrer seg utover øynene. Og linsene mine. Aj, linsene mine.
«Linsene mine. Det gjør vondt», sier jeg og kaster hodet frem og tilbake.
Mannens forskrekkede ansikt kommer til syne over t-skjorten mens han ruller den ned igjen.
«Går det bra», spør han forfjamset.
«Ja, men… jeg skulle gjerne ha tatt ut linsene».
«Skal jeg se om jeg får de ut», spør han forsiktig.
«Nei, nei, nei. Det går ikke. Jeg må gjøre det selv.
Det er ingen vei utenom. Han løsner knuten rundt håndleddene mine. Jeg kryper ut av sengen og drar t-skjorten ned over magen mens jeg løper ut på badet. Jeg tar av linsene og setter på vannkrana mens jeg lirer ut prompen som har ligget og lurt faretruende gjennom hele seansen.
Jeg løper ut på soverommet igjen. Krabber opp i senga og legger armene over hodet.
«Sånn», sier jeg og smiler.
Han knyter slipset på igjen, ruller opp t-skjorten min og legger den over øynene mine.
«Går det bra nå», spør han, og jeg nikker.
«Mmm», puster han.
«Dette blir bare bedre og bedre. Jeg skal bare hente noe å drikke».

Fra boka:

Han bøyer seg ned og kysser meg. Leppene hans er myke mot mine. Så forsvinner vekten hans fra sengen. Jeg hører den stille knirkingen fra soveromdøren.
Hente noe å drikke? Hvor? Her? Portland? Seattle? Jeg lytter etter han.
Jeg hører lav mumling og jeg vet han snakker med Kate. Åh nei… Han er jo praktisk talt naken. Hva kommer hun til å si? Jeg hører en svak poppende lyd. Hva var det? Han kommer tilbake. Døren knirker igjen. Skritt over soveromgulvet. Og is som klinker mot glass som om det ligger i noe flytende. Hva slags drikke?
Han lukker døren og trasker rundt mens han fjerner buksene. De faller ned på gulvet og nå vet jeg at han er naken. Han setter seg over meg igjen.
«Er du tørst, Anastasia», spør han med ertende stemme.
«Ja», puster jeg, og kjenner at munnen er tørr.
Jeg hører isen klinke mot glasset i det han setter det ned og lener seg over meg og kysser meg, samtidig som han heller en deilig, søt og kjølig veske inn i munnen min fra munnen sin. Det er hvitvin. Det er så uventet, så sexy. Christians lepper er kalde.
«Mer», hvisker han.
Jeg nikker.

I virkeligheten:
Han bøyer seg ned og kysser meg. Skjeggstubbene stikker på overleppen min. Så forsvinner vekten hans fra sengen. Jeg hører den stille knirkingen fra soveromdøra.
«Faen», roper han plutselig.
«Gikk det bra», roper jeg tilbake.
«Jada», hører jeg fra gangen.
«Men pokker og, nå må vi snart få gjort noe med den helvetes dørterskelen!»
Jeg lytter etter han. Jeg hører han banner lavt fra kjøkkenet. Åh nei… Han er jo praktisk talt naken. Hva kommer naboene til å si? Håper han holder seg unna vinduet i stua.
Jeg hører kjøkkenkrana suse. Hva var det? Han kommer tilbake. Døren knirker igjen. Skritt over soveromgulvet. Og is som klinker mot glass som om det ligger i noe flytende. Hva slags drikke?
Han lukker døren og subber rundt mens han fjerner buksene. Hører han hinker rundt mens han småbanner. Innholdet i glasset treffer gulvet i små plask.
Bare ikke på dyna, tenker jeg.
Buksene faller ned på gulvet, og nå vet jeg at han er naken. Han setter seg over meg igjen.
«Er du tørst, Marte», spør han med ertende stemme.
«Jah, jo… Ehm ja, jeg er vel kanskje det», sier jeg og kremter.
Jeg hører isen klinke mot glasset i det han setter det ned og lener seg over meg og kysser meg, samtidig som han heller noe kaldt inn i munnen min fra munnen sin. Vann…
Jeg skvetter til og halve munnfullen renner ned langs kinnet mitt og legger seg i øret. Mannen skvetter og. Jeg svelger feil og begynner å hoste. Samtidig kjenner jeg en våt dam bre seg under rumpa mi.
«Nei, for pokker», roper mannen og skvetter opp. Glasset veltet. Han løfter opp det tomme glasset, samler sammen isbitene og setter det på gulvet.
Jeg hoster fortsatt.
«Jeg…tror…jeg…må…få…komme…løs», hikster jeg mellom hosteanfallene.
Mannen løsner slipsknuten igjen. Jeg bøyer meg sammen over knærne mine og hoster. Armene veiver opp i været ut at t-skjorten som er rullet over hodet mitt. Jeg blir plutselig veldig oppmerksom på valkene rundt magen min som disser i takt med hostekulene. Jeg prøver å få tak i t-skjorta slik at jeg kan rulle den ned, men jeg får ikke tak i den.
Da jeg endelig er ferdig og har tørket tårene, blir jeg igjen bundet fast.
«Mer», hvisker Sjur.
«Ehm, nei takk»

Fra boka:

Han bytter stilling så han ligger ved siden av meg. Jeg kan kjenne ereksjonen hans mot hoften min. Åh, jeg vil ha han.
Så begynner han å kysse meg. Ha plasserer små stier med kyss nedover kroppen min. Fra halsen, mellom brystene og nedover magen. Han legger en isbit i navlen min sammen med en dam med kald vin. Det brenner langt inn i dypet av magen min. Wow.
«Nå må du ligge helt stille», hvisker han.
«Hvis du rører deg, Anastasia, vil du søle vin over hele sengen».
Hoftene mine spenner seg automatisk.
«Og hvis du søler vin, må jeg straffe deg, frøken Steel».
Jeg stønner og prøver desperat å bekjempe trangen til å røre på hoftene mine. Åh nei, vær så snill.
Han drar ned bh-skålene mine, en etter en, med en finger. Brystene mine blottlegges, nakne og sårbare.
 

I virkeligheten:
Han bytter stilling så han ligger ved siden av meg. Jeg kan kjenne ereksjonen hans mot hoften min. Jeg begyner å telle etter hvor lenge det er siden jeg hadde mensen.
Så begynner han å kysse meg. Han plasserer små stier med kyss nedover kroppen min. Fra halsen, mellom brystene og nedover magen.
«Ajajajajaj», fniser jeg og kaster meg frem og tilbake i senga.
«Det kiler», roper jeg.
Han legger en isbit i navlen min. Jeg skvetter til og padler med beina.
Jeg hører et dunk og kjenner hvordan det svir på kneskålen.
«Au», roper mannen.
«Åh, sorry! Hva skjedde», spør jeg bekymret.
«Du sparket meg i pannen med kneet ditt», sier mannen og sukker.
«Men, drit i det nå», fortsetter han, noe irritabel i stemmen.
«Bare vær forsiktig med magen min», sier jeg.
«Jeg er så kilen».
«Nå må du ligge helt stille», hvisker han plutselig.
«Hvis du rører deg, Marte, vil du søle vann over hele sengen. Og hvis du søler vann, må jeg straffe deg, Fru Frimand-Anda».
Hæ? Straffe meg? Hva mener han? Hvordan da? Skal han ikke lage middag i morgen likevel? Ikke hente ungene i barnehagen til uka? Slutte å sortere skittentøyet sitt?
Jeg stønner. Åh nei, vær så snill.
Han drar ned bh-skålene mine, en etter en.
Flapp, flapp. De skvetter umiddelbart tilbake.
«Det er kanskje best om du åpner bh-en bak», sier jeg og løfter hoftene.
Flomp. Isbiten sklir ut av navlen, nedover siden på magen og lander på lakenet.
Åh nei.
Mannen legger ikke merke til det. Han fører den ene hånden bak ryggen min og tukler med låsen på bh-en. Han river og sliter og til slutt får han den løs.
Brystene mine blottlegges. Og i stedet for å strutte pent opp i været, legger de seg slapt ned på hver sin side. Jeg kan formelig høre dem sukke i det de legger seg ned.

Fra boka:

Han lener seg ned og kysser og kjæler med begge brystene mine. Den ene etter den andre, med kalde lepper.
Jeg holder kroppen stille, selv om den har mest lyst til å bøye seg i en bue mot ham.
«Hvor godt liker du dette», puster han og blåser på den ene brystvorten min.
«Hvis du søler vinen, får du ikke komme», fortsetter han.
«Åh, vær så snill, Christian, vær så snill». Han gjør meg gal. Jeg hører ham smile.
Isen i navlen smelter. Jeg er varm og vilig. Jeg vi ha han, inni meg. Nå!
Hans kjølige fingre stryker meg nedover magen. Huden min er hypersentitiv. Hoftene mine spenner seg automatisk, og den varme vesken i navlen min skvulper over magen. Christian beveger seg hurtig og slikker den i seg med tungen.
«Åh, kjære Anastasia, du rørte på deg. Hva skal jeg gjøre med deg?
Jeg peser høylydt. Alt jeg kan tenke på er stemmen og fingrene hans. Ingen ting annet eksisterer. Ingen ting betyr noe.
Han smyger fingeren under trusestrikken min. Han drar luften hardt inn i lungene sine.
«Åh, baby», mumler han.

I virkeligheten:
Han lener seg ned og kysser og kjæler med begge brystene mine. Den ene etter den andre, med kalde lepper.
Jeg holder kroppen helt stille, selv om jeg klør på den ene rumpeballen. Han har ennå ikke merket at isbiten har ramlet ned. Jeg fniser inni meg.
«Hvor godt liker du dette», puster han og blåser på den ene brystvorten min.
Jeg åpner munnen for å svare i det jeg hører en lyd. Først svakt, langt borte. Så sterkere og sterkere.
«Mamma! Mamma! Mammammammammma!»
Tassende skritt når soveromdøra.
Mannen skvetter opp og presser dørhåndtaket oppover.
«Vent litt, lille venn», roper han og prøver å fiske til seg underbuksa fra gulvet med den ene foten. Han når den akkurat ikke.
«Mamma! Mamma!» roper det fra andre siden av døren mens små og forbausende sterke hender prøver desperat å dytte ned dørhåndtaket.
Jeg vrir meg i sengen og prøver å få løs hendene. Men det er nytteløst.
Mannen prøver å forhandle med treåringen på andre siden av døra. Til slutt får han den lille gutten til å gå tre skritt bak. Mannen smetter ut og lukker døra bak seg. Dunk. «Faen. Nå må vi få gjort noe med den dørterskelen snart», roper han inn til meg.
«Ja, det må vi», mumler jeg der jeg ligger, spikret opp til veggen, med t-skjorta rundt øynene og med den slitte, underbuksa med rosa prikker på.
«Ja, det må vi».
Resten av kvelden ble tilbrakt i senga mellom to sovende, snorkende barn.
«Åh, baby».

16. september 2013 casakaos

5 doses of Reality for Women

5 doses of Reality for Women who read 50 Shades of Grey

The extraordinary popular success of the book Fifty Shades of Grey has been the catalyst to inspire thousands of women to explore their sexuality more broadly, and investigate the BDSM “scene”. To be sure, that’s a wonderful thing. My own twelve years in this lifestyle have been the best of my life, and I strongly encourage anyone who was aroused by the book to continue your exploration in the real-world BDSM scene. Hats off to E. L. James (the author) for inspiring so many of you to undertake what may be the most important journey of your entire life. Seriously. This can be a life-changing experience, and you’re on the cusp of discovering parts of yourself that you never before knew existed.
Now, having said that, you need to understand that while those of us who have been in the scene for many years welcome you, we also can’t help but notice that “Fifty Shaders” (what we call you, often disparagingly) generally have an exceptionally poor understanding of what kinky sex and power exchange relationships are really about. I don’t mean to insult you, but I do hope to get your attention and show you where you can learn more than you know so far.
More to the point, I want to impress upon you that Fifty Shades isn’t a useful source for learning about the real-life aspects of this lifestyle. It may have inspired you, and that’s great. But the book and forthcoming movie are very seldom even taken seriously by people who are truly living this lifestyle, because they are completely unrealistic and what is depicted actually violates some of our most sacred rules of consent and negotiation.
So here are a few “reality checks” intended to help you begin to learn what this lifestyle is actually about in real life:

Reality Check #1: We haven’t read the book and we don’t intend to.

It’s wonderful that Fifty Shades inspired so many of you to come investigate our lifestyle. Welcome! But you need to know that the book is almost universally considered “a joke” by almost everyone who is seriously experienced in this lifestyle. An informal poll I took of the most experienced kinksters I know revealed that almost none of them had read the book. Those few who had were all BDSM educators who were forced to read it because so many newbie students are framing their questions around scenes from the book. And by the way, yes, we have a very formal educational system that includes both local classes and national-scale educational events. We even have a “title holder” system to recognize the educators who have done the most to advance the lifestyle through education. The educators who have read the book all seem to roll their eyes in dismay with its popularity given how poorly it depicts what we really do, but they also unanimously agree that it’s had a very positive effect in terms of inspiring newcomers to come out and explore our lifestyle.
So if you came here after reading the book, please trust me that the next important step you need to take is to get out of fantasy mode and into learning what the real-life version of this is all about. We have classes, books, and national events geared toward teaching you all about it.
The reason I’m bringing this up is that so many of you newcomers seem inclined to write online profiles that say nothing more than “Searching for my own Christian Grey”, with no further detail about what your interests are. Look, almost nobody who actually has the real-world experience in this lifestyle you are seeking has bothered to read that book, because of its universally negative reputation in our community. So this line has become a pretty strong turn-off for most of us, and we see it a lot.
Please consider instead introducing yourself with something like “I first came to this lifestyle after reading 50 shades, thinking that’s what it was all about. I now realize I have a lot to learn, and I’m seeking an experienced Dominant man who can teach me what this is really about”. That sits much better with us – it tells us you’re ready to learn what the lifestyle is really about, which isn’t at all the same as the fantasy novel you enjoyed so much.

Reality Check #2: This is much deeper and more complex than you think

A book or movie can’t even begin to convey how profound our intimate experiences are in the scene. Speaking from my own experience, the degree of trust and deep emotional connection I’ve experienced in power exchange relationships completely eclipses anything I ever experienced from vanilla relationships. (That’s what we call the stuff you knew about and had experience with before reading the book).
Perhaps you were turned on by the book and now you fantasize about having a strong, confident man tie you up with rope and give you a good firm spanking, perhaps using his belt as well as his big strong hands to show you who’s in charge? Ok, great, that’s a nice fantasy to start with. But when you start to actually explore these things in real life, you’re going to learn that for some women, it’s all about the man taking charge of you. We call that power exchange. For other women, it’s the feeling of vulnerability and loss of control you get from being tied up. For others, it’s entirely about the endorphin high you can experience from the spanking or strapping scene. And for others, it’s entirely about a phenomenon we call subspace, which is something akin to a hypnotic trance, which many submissives experience during kinky sexual play.
The point is, those are all very different experiences, and a key to getting the most from your experience with our lifestyle is to learn to articulate what about the activity turns you on the most. In real life, your partner can’t possibly read your mind (like in the book/movie) and know exactly what to do to turn you on. More to the point, we consider it unethical to just presume to know what you want and do it, as the book/movie depicts. I know, in fantasy, it's better if the wonderfully confident man just takes you forcibly and magically just knows what you really want deep inside. But in reality, there's just way too much risk of forcing you into a situation you truly want nothing to do with. Express consent is therefore an absolute requirement for this kind of activity between people. Leaving it out of the novel added to the juicy feel of the scene, but leaving it out in real life is nothing short of abuse, and we don't consider that a legitimate part of BDSM.
We therefore religiously follow a protocol of negotiation (talking out what turns each person on, and agreeing on boundaries and limitations before actually doing it), then and only then do we engage in kinky play (we call it a scene). After the actual event has ended, the Dominant’s role is to oversee the submissive’s return from submission (and subspace), and to reassure and comfort her should she experience something we call sub drop, which is a self-doubting emotional “hang over” that some submissives experience after an intense scene. We call that part after-care.
So the point of all this is that there’s a lot to learn if you really want to do this stuff in real life, and Fifty Shades was not a meaningful learning tool, even if you thought it was. There are dozens of books on the market introducing newcomers to this lifestyle, but Screw the Roses; Send me the Thorns is probably the most commonly recommended for newbies.
You also need to know that the book and movie, being a fantasy novel, are full of inaccuracies and misrepresentations about what we really do. For example, I laughed aloud when I watched the fan-conceived online movie trailer and saw the girl in handcuffs. Almost nobody plays with handcuffs in real life, except in fetish modeling where the goal of the scene is the photo that’s going to be taken. For real play, we use bondage cuffs (google them), not handcuffs, because handcuffs are not safe if rough play is involved. They can very easily damage the tendons in the wrist if the person wearing them is subjected to any significant physical stress.
But handcuffs look sexy in pictures and in movies, and that’s why you’ve been misled into thinking they’re a more significant part of our lifestyle than they really are.

Reality Check #3: We still haven’t read the book, and we still don’t intend to!

Please try to get over expressing your desires and fantasies in metaphors from the book… “I want that experience like in the movie, where Christian Grey took her and…” Again, the people who have years of experience in this lifestyle and are truly equipped to introduce you to it generally haven’t read the book, because most of us think it’s stupid. Please start by reading Screw the Roses, and talk to us using the terminology you learn there.
If you absolutely must think in terms of novels and books, try reading The Story of O, or watching The Secretary. Most of us think those are a bit unrealistic, too, but at least most of us have read and watched them, and will at least know what you’re talking about.

Reality Check #4: Finding the right partner will be harder than you thought

Perhaps you’ve already explored the online BDSM dating websites, and have already learned that in the “het scene”, so long as you are both female and breathing, if you post a picture in your profile you will soon be inundated by dozens if not hundreds of messages. At first it feels great to be so popular, but then you read the messages and realize that the vast majority of them are from sub-moronic imbeciles who have no clue what this lifestyle is about. Most often, they are losers who can’t get a date anywhere else, and have confused “submissive” with “easy”. They also frequently make the absurd assumption that because women here want them to be "Dominant", they should address you in a belligerent, demeaning tone. They foolishly think the BDSM scene is a place where they can find an easy casual lay. Sadly, although those people are not really part of our true community, they vastly outnumber those of us who are serious about this in the online dating forums. It’s going to take a lot of patience on your part to sift through all the idiots and make connections with the 3% or so of online “Dominants” who are actually living in the lifestyle, as opposed to all the idiots wasting everyone’s time on the Internet.
I wish I could tell you that problem is easily solved by skipping the online crowd and going to a “munch” or other in-person BDSM event. Sadly, I’ve seen this over and over again: self-respecting women who are sincerely attracted to power exchange show up at a munch and are so turned off by the people there that they abandon the scene forever. It’s a real shame. Munches can be a good place to learn more about this, but you have to accept that the people who are least able to find a date are the ones most likely to be attending all the munches. If you go, do so with an open mind and be prepared for the possibility that the vast majority of attendees will not appeal to you. Accept that many of the people in our community may be "weird" by your standards, and that we are an all-inclusive, accepting group that tolerates unusual personalities and characters.
Classes – either locally or at national events such as Southwest Leatherfest (Phoenix in January) or Thunder in the Mountains (Denver in July) are the best place to learn about this and meet men who take this seriously enough to recognize that they need to take formal classes in order to know how to engage in this sort of play safely.
But no matter how you slice it, this is likely going to require a lot of patience and you’re going to experience a lot of unwanted attention from people you’re not attracted to. Seriously not attracted to in many cases. I wish I could be more encouraging, but that’s the sad reality of this lifestyle. If it’s any consolation, the gay and lesbian communities are much more grown-up and sophisticated. Hopefully we straight folks will get there some day.

Reality Check #5: You don’t know anything yet. Really.

Look, I don’t mean to be insulting, but whatever got you turned on reading that book really didn’t teach you anything useful. You have a lot of learning to do if you want to pursue this seriously, and reading Screw the Roses is probably the best place to start.
You should also know that almost nobody coming into the scene accurately predicts what their own favorite kinks will be. Lots of people who thought it was going to be all about the physical sensation of the flogger or cane on their skin learn through experience that it’s actually the mental and emotional connection of power exchange that turns them on the most, and vice versa. It’s not at all uncommon for someone coming into the scene to feel absolutely certain of their orientation (Dominant or submissive), only to discover through experience that the opposite orientation actually suits them better. In my own case, many of the kinks that disgusted me at first eventually became favorites.
So my advice is, come in with an open mind, and explore what turns you on. Go slowly at first, and learn about subspace, sub drop, and the safety protocols we use (such as safewords) before you play with anyone.
Choosing a partner who is already experienced in this lifestyle and who can teach you all about it is what most women favor. But please be cognizant of the fact that by insisting on experience, you are creating an incentive for the newbie men to lie and overstate their experience. Beware that many “experienced Dominants” have less experience than they are admitting to themselves. Favor the ones who show an interest in attending classes and learning to do this safely. Taking you to a BDSM class on a date, as opposed to the traditional dinner and a movie, is a sign of a Dominant who has the right attitude.

In Closing

I sincerely hope this will help some of you find your way, and please know I don’t mean to insult anyone with the critical views I’ve expressed. It’s really great that this book came out of nowhere and has inspired so many of you to come investigate our lifestyle. We welcome you and want you to have the best experience possible. Really.
But if you want to have a positive experience, you need to start by coming to terms with the simple reality that nobody who is actually in the BDSM scene takes that book seriously! Please don’t take offense, and please do continue your exploration. It may be the best thing you’ve ever done for yourself. But please, start by learning something of substance before you proceed. Fifty Shades doesn’t count as learning, but Screw The Roses would be a good start.
p.s. I've written this from the Male-Dominant, female-submissive perspective, because that's the audience I keep getting "I'm looking for my own Christian Grey" inquiries from. Obviously, I mean no disrespect to gay, lesbian, or Fem-Domme orientations, where the pronouns would be different. Besides, let's face it, the ignorance is greatest in the Male-Dom het scene, and that's what I'm trying to dispel. No disrespect intended to my LGBT and Domme friends.

Addendum after this post "went viral"

I originally wrote this for the benefit of women cruising my profile, hoping to dissuade them from the "You're just like Christian Grey" intro line they'd been using. I never expected it to be so popular - over night last night it went from 50 likes to almost 800. And it seems to have attracted quite a few intelligent, interesting women to my profile. Yay!
But after reading all 200+ replies, I'm astonished by now many people missed the point, completely. To clarify: I am NOT disparaging the book - to the contrary, I went out of my way to compliment the author on a job well done. The book has done more to inspire newcomers to explore our lifestlye than all the efforts of NCSF, Janus and TES combined. So the fact the book has been so successful is wonderful.
The issue is not the book. The issue is that so many people who read the book jumped to the ridiculous conclusion that a fantasy novel that leaves out some of the most important pillars of our lifestyle, such as consent and negotiation, provides an adequate introduction to really understand what we're about and what we do. *My point was not to put down the book or insult its readers. To the contrary, my goal was to inspire them to read some more realistic books, such as Screw the Roses, to begin their transition from fantasy novel non-reality into our world of kinky reality.*
I want to go on record as saying I am extremely disappointed by how many members of the "Leather Leadership" have publicly disparaged the book as if it were a worthless piece of crap. That's a ridiculously short-sighted view. What it really is is an incredibly valuable piece of crap. It's spurred enormous interest in our lifestyle across mainstream society, and that's a GOOD thing, no matter how you slice it, and no matter how poorly written or inaccurately the book portrays our lifestyle.
The so-called "Leather Leadership" should be banding together to organize a series of seminars in every major venue across the land, targeted at vanillas who just read the book and got turned on by it. The seminar might be titled So you read 50 Shades of Grey; Now come learn how we REALLY play! Or something like that. The point is, there has never been a better time than NOW (and when the movie comes out in a few months) to launch a positive, constructive series of public seminars to advance the public understanding of who we are and what we do. But instead of seizing that opportunity, our "Leaders" disparage the book in their speeches (See Guy Baldwin's MSC keynote as just one example) and offer no constructive ideas.
I guess I should start writing on Fetlife regularly. Ladies, I welcome your suggestions and requests for future topics. I'm thinking maybe Sub Fever should come next. -Scott

Addendum #2 - Recommended Books, Classes & Conferences

I was surprised by how many commenters said they weren't even aware that we have classes and conferences that provide a safe, intelligent way to learn all about this lifestyle. Please see Recommended Books, Classes & Conferences for recommendations in those areas, and to add your own recommendations in those same categories.

– ScottH

one year...the first year...           

one year ago....
i had never been bound, or restrained...
i had never worn a collar, cuffs, or blindfold...
i had never received a spanking, caning, flogging or beating of any sort...
i had never experienced fire play...
i had never heard of e-stim...
i had never heard of predicament play or bondage...
i had never heard of a hitachi...
i had never worn clover clamps...
i had never experienced ginger or figging...
i had never used a cane or any other impact implement...
i had never tied up boy bits...
i had never enjoyed giving someone else the pleasures that i myself now
know i love in these types of play...
i had never been naked in front of others i didn't know...
i had never had an orgasm as a result of impact play...
i had not been made to orgasm by someone else in any way, for over 8 years...
i had never given control of my body to someone else...
i had never given up control period...
today i have done all of these things and more...and wait for the next
playtime when i can do them again!
one year ago...
i didn't believe i was pretty or sexy...
i didn't have a great self image, esteem or confidence...
i didn't believe anyone else would think i was pretty or sexy...
i didn't believe that others would want to know or play with me... i was
very shy, and scared to death of meeting or talking to other people i did
not already know...
i wouldn't or didn't know how to ask for what i wanted (though some of
that has been learning what i DO want)...
it was one year ago, the last friday in september 2012, i pulled up to
Susan and Al's home, took a deep breath and took action on a decision that
would bring about many changes in my life....
the decision - to visit them for a weekend of play, my first
weekend of play...
lets back up a few weeks.....
labor day weekend 2012, i was at a glassworkers symposium as was Susan, a
glass/lampworking friend of mine. her husband, Al, had joined her for the
weekend event. in one of my emails to Susan before the event i had made a
comment/suggestion/remark, that though could be taken as kinky, could
also be taken as not kinky. as the topic had never come up with her, i
wasn't worried that she would take it as anything more than the funny
playful comment it was. the last night in the hotel, they had come to my
room to discuss some of the things happening closer to home. at one point
i was asked if i was kinky. i was caught, and got bright red. we
happened to be in my room, and i was soooooo glad, that i was in jammies,
under covers, as i was nervous, feet wiggling, and shaking...i admitted my
desire and interest to Susan and Al, as well as another friend in the room
who kind of knew i was kinky-minded, but also admitted my total lack of
experience, maybe even hoping that would stop the conversation.
nope... i was offered my first spanking, which i declined. i was a bit
excited however, by the spanking Al proceeded to give Susan..only a few
feet from me. i honestly think he knew he had pushed my buttons. they
mentioned i should consider coming to visit them for a weekend and they
would introduce me to this play and world i had a definite interest in.
i made my decision.....
Al, Susan, and i then kept in touch, and within a few days a weekend had
been set, only 3 short weeks away. Al and i conversed
in text almost daily for those few weeks. some rules were laid out, and
not only was i beginning to submit to him, follow his instructions, but i
also began to learn about other important aspects of playing, things like
safe calls, which i made each day, safe words, negotiation and more.
during my drive to their house, we kept in touch by phone, so
they knew i had pulled in. i walked in the door, and without any other
discussion was told to take off my clothes, i was not permitted them until
it was time to go home, and immediately i was in a collar and cuffs for
the weekend. i am not sure i actually believed them when i was told this
was what would happen. i did as i was told and within 5 minutes i was
blindfolded, restrained and getting my first spanking, and beating....my
first taste of a bliss i had only dreamed of.
one year later.....
my thoughts on myself are very different.
i love who i am...
i am sexy and prefer my thongs and silky lacy bras to my old cotton
underwear...
i love going to parties and events to meet others and am doing better
meeting and getting to know others. i have no problem and even enjoy
losing all of my clothing in appropriate parties and dungeons...
i have no problem at all, asking for a good beating or figging and caning!
the one thing i really don't have words to describe are those about what i
have learned about trust...good and bad, and the wonders that can happen
when it is total and right.
i am working to continue improving in many areas...still much room for
improvement...but i am working on these things and will get there!
i also have no doubt that somewhere along my path,i will be able to find
and experiences all of the "wants" still on my list.....
it is amazing how much can happen in one year, especially a "first year"...
i am looking forward to the work and play of the years to come!
to Susan and Al, THANK YOU! i wish i could figure out what more to say,
but the words just aren't enough for all you have done, shared, shown and
given me over the last year. i am more than excited about the years to
come!
~ rose

Kun den dag gryr

Kun den dag gryr

Jeg mærkede det, da jeg åbnede øjnene. Mine tanker var et andet sted, båret af den drøm, jeg havde haft og som fyldte hele min krop og mit sind. Og det var en god drøm, foranlediget af noget, som skete i går. Ganske uventet. Drømmen fulgte med mig ind i dagen, den tidlige morgen. Jeg kunne ikke længere se den, men jeg mærkede den stadig og tankerne tog over. Jeg begyndte at planlægge, forestille mig, reflektere og så … Tilbage til nuet sagde den stille stemme i mig. Tilbage til dette øjeblik. Det, der nu fylder så meget, skal du give slip på.

Og det gjorde jeg. Jeg lod det svæve ud i den tidlige morgen, mens jeg trak vejret dybt og bragte min opmærksomhed tilbage til nuets øjeblik. Jeg mærkede søvnens favntag og gled lidt tilbage. Stunden mellem nat og dag, de første tegn, den mælkehvide tåge og den skarpe morgenluft. Det åbne vindue, stilheden og noget derude, som ikke var helt så stille. For dagen var vågnet. En fugl gjorde væsen af sig, et insekt summede i vindueskarmen, kæresten rørte på sig ved siden af. Lydene tog til og stilheden forsvandt. Forsigtigt. Men så mærkede jeg noget nyt. Den forsvandt ikke ud, stilheden, den gled ligesom indad. Og uden ord lovede den mig, at den altid vil være tilgængelig og at jeg aldrig mere behøver at lede efter den andre steder end lige her. Inde i mig selv.

Det er en gave at opdage nuet. At forstå at vi aldrig kan være andre steder end dér, hvor vi er. Lige meget hvor du går hen, er du der, siger Jon Kabat-Zinn. Og det er sandt. Eller som Thoreau har så poetisk har sagt det: Kun den dag gryr, som vi vågner op til.

Og jeg er vågnet op til en smuk morgen. September svøbt i tågedis, mælkehvid uigennemsigtighed så sart at kun et kærligt øje kan få øje på den. En dag, der er åben og fuld af øjeblikke. Livet udfolder sig i en række af nuer og hvis jeg tager på tur med tankerne, hvad enten jeg fragtes tilbage eller bevæger mig i fremtiden, så går jeg glip af det. Livet.

Og hvem vil dog gå glip af livet? Det liv, der findes lige her. I dette øjeblik. Kaffen og mælkeskummet. Mine fingre mod tastaturet, en stille hvisken af noget særligt og så porøst, at et øjebliks uopmærksomhed kan få det til at briste. Jeg koncentrerer mig, drikker forsigtigt af kruset, følger dets linjer med læberne, smager, sanser og er. Lige her.

Kun den dag gryr, som vi vågner op til. Og jeg er vågen lige nu.

Tekst og billede, Lene Megan, september 2013

The serenity prayer by Toner av tanker

Vi kjenner til den alle sammen - the Serenity Prayer.

God, give me grace to accept with serenity

the things that cannot be changed,

Courage to change the things

which should be changed,

and the Wisdom to distinguish

the one from the other.

Living one day at a time,

Enjoying one moment at a time,

Accepting hardship as a pathway to peace,

Taking, as Jesus did,

This sinful world as it is,

Not as I would have it,

Trusting that You will make all things right,

If I surrender to Your will,

So that I may be reasonably happy in this life,

And supremely happy with You forever in the next.

Amen.

Jeg er ikke religiøs. Ei heller er jeg med i Anonyme Alkoholikere eller andre organisasjoner som har adoptert denne.

Jeg bare liker budskapet. Særlig i den mest velkjente formen eller omskrivningen av den:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.

Det er viktige ord!

Vi er i dag alt for flinke til å klage over ting vi ikke liker. Vi er alt for flinke til å dømme andre ut fra hvordan vi oppfatter dem. Men, alt for sjelden retter vi blikket på oss selv. Vi er utrolig selvkritiske, men ofte på feil måter.

The Serenity Prayer er ord jeg ofte tenker over. Nesten daglig. Og det er ord jeg forsøker å leve etter.

Jeg prøver å finne roen jeg trenger for å akseptere det jeg ikke kan endre. Jeg forsøker å finne motet til å endre det jeg kan. Og jeg håper og tror at for hver dag, så blir jeg litt klokere og litt mer erfaren på å skille de to.

Det vi ikke kan endre, er det ikke mye å gjøre med. Vi må bare akseptere at det er slik. Og slutte fred med det. Enten vi liker det eller ikke.

Men, det er så mye vi kan endre. Hvis vi bare tør og vil.

Selv holder jeg på med en daglig kamp med å endre enn av mine store svakheter som menneske. Mangel på åpenhet. Manglende evne til å slippe andre innpå meg. Og ikke minst, redselen for å stole på andre i frykt for svik... Jeg jobber daglig med dette.

For de fleste ser kun de sidene av meg selv som jeg velger å vise frem. Med unntak av noen få, som ser tvers gjennom meg. Som ser meg for alt hva jeg er. Men, dem er det ikke mange av.

For jeg er ikke en som lett stoler på andre. Jeg er ikke den som slipper folk innpå meg med det første. Fordi jeg er redd for hva de ville synes hvis de fikk se. Jeg er redd for at de ikke ville like, og dermed snu ryggen til. Og det sviket er vondt.

Men, jeg vet innerst inne at redselen min er ubegrunnet. Det er bare så vanskelig å tørre. Det er så vanskelig å endre.

Jeg vet at ved å endre, så vil jeg oppleve svik. Men, jeg vet også at jeg vil oppleve mye glede. For de som ser tvers gjennom meg. De som ser hvem jeg er med hele meg. De møter meg med åpne armer. Med en aksept og forståelse som varmer. Og jeg er så takknemlig for det. Jeg trenger det.

Så jeg forsøker å endre. Selv om det er vanskelig. For det er urettferdig for de jeg møter og blir kjent med at jeg ikke lar de bli kjent med meg. At jeg urettmessig tenker at de ikke er til å stole på. At alt jeg gir dem er flyktige bekjentskaper når de tilbyr meg meningsfulle vennskap.

Jeg vil ikke være sånn. For jeg trives ikke med det. Men, det er et forsvar. Et forsvar satt opp i tilfelle et angrep. En overlevelsesmekanisme. Som jeg har båret gjennom hele livet. Jeg vet det er feil, men det er vanskelig å endre. Så gi meg tid!

Men, jeg prøver. Og jeg finner til stadighet litt mer av motet jeg trenger. Gjennom meg selv. Gjennom de herlige menneskene jeg har rundt meg.

For det gir meg roen til å leve en dag om gangen. Det gir meg gleden til å nyte øyeblikkene i livet når de er her. Og det gir meg styrken til å akseptere at livets vanskelige sti er veien til lykke.

Så selv om jeg ikke tror på det religiøse i the Serenity Prayer, så elsker jeg visdommen i ordene.

Toner av tanker | 25. september 2013 kl. 13:31

It's not about the Sex

So I have a friend who is aware of my involvement in the lifestyle, and whenever he finds out I have a play date or someone coming over he asks the inevitable question. "Are you going to get laid?"
His question usually gets the standard response of "Probably not, at least it is not planned." He always fires back, "Then what is the point?" I guess in some respects he has a legitimate question.
I have explained it to him a bunch of times but he still looks at me like I am speaking Greek with some Swahili and ancient Urdu mixed in for good measure.
It's not always about the sex.
It's about the feeling you get when someone trusts you enough to put themselves at your mercy. A feeling that is nearly impossible to put into words. For it is not a trust to handle just their lives and physical well being it is a trust to handle parts of their soul. Even with a simple beating in a club or at a party the person is bearing a bit of themselves that resides deep inside and trusting you with it.
The feeling of power when someone falls to their knees at your feet because you tell them to. It is the feeling of power that comes from knowing they obey not because you beat them into it, but because they deem you worthy of such obedience. The feeling you get when they walk in strong and confident in themselves as independent people only to watch them crumble as you get the look in your eyes that reminds them for the next span of time, they belong to you now.
The joy of watching someone revel in ecstasy at the pain you are causing them, to watch their bodies writhe in bliss as your hands touch them in intimate places as they are tied down and helpless. The mewling moans of pleasure they utter as you hit them just right. The yelps of pain that tell you that you have begun to break their resistance. The tears that fall from their face in the cathartic release of which you were the instrument.
The connection that comes when the scene is done and they are wrapped in your arms, crying or nuzzling up against you as you hold them in a type of love that was not discussed by any of the meanings of Aristotle. It is not always the love of lust or of family or brotherly love. It is a connection that goes far deeper in that moment. It will pass, in a few minutes they will be that strong independent person again. They will leave to their own lives but that connection was there and it can be far more satisfying than sex.
It's about the release that comes from all this, the feeling of being complete that permeates your being for days afterwards. When the connection with them has moved on but the catharsis of your soul still remains.
Are all scenes like this? No, some do end in some form or sexual gratification, yet for me that is not necessary.
It really isn't always about the sex.
 

She reminds me of you.
Creating herself becoming something so beautiful.
  

Trouble

Rori

This post is part of a series I’ve written called “Escort in Love,” about Frank, a sexual dom who recently won the lottery, and Gina, a submissive escort he hired for the night and subsequently hired to be his exclusively for the week.

“You’re trouble, you know that?”
Frank flashed Gina a smile from across his hotel suite. She was wrapped in a fluffy hotel robe, peeling an orange for breakfast, but he was lying naked on the bed. Frank wasn’t attractive in the way one might consider a movie star attractive, but he had a boyish charm, and his confidence as a dom in the bedroom made Gina instantly like him.
“I’m not trouble.You are trouble. You’re the one who is naked.”
“Ah, yes, but you’re the one to blame for this,” Frank said with a chuckle, as he grabbed his hard cock. “I haven’t been hard this often since I was in junior high.”
“It is rather impressive, considering we just fucked in the shower. And in bed right before that. Most men can’t go three times in one day let alone three times in one morning.”
“Awwww, is your pussy sore?”
“Maybe. But I like it.”
“So no complaints?”
“No complaints, sir.”
Frank beamed as she transitioned back into her submissive role by calling him sir, which meant that she was up for another round. Gina made it clear that she was his completely to dominate, but only during sex. He made have paid a high fee for exclusive access to her for the week, but she was not his sub. Not full time, at least. It was only play, for the bedroom. Her full submission wasn’t for sale.
She walked to the bedroom doorway and watched him stroke his cock absentmindedly as she ate sections of ripe orange. Her green eyes flashed with laughter when he reached over and switched to a cheesy porn movie.
“Come on, you have the real thing right here.”
“Yes,” said Frank, “but it’s good inspiration.” He patted the spot beside him on the bed and Gina joined him, feeding him an orange slice. The juices dripped down his chin and she kissed it away, softly, catching the drops with her lips.
On television, the couple was undressing one another. Frank slid his hands under her robe and loosened the belt. It popped open and fell from her shoulders, revealing her large breasts, still sore from the nipple clamps the night before, just as the female porn star pulled off her shirt.
“Into position, slut.”
Gina jumped up and put her hands behind her heard, spread her legs slightly. Frank admired her bare breasts.
“You’re prettier than her.”
Gina blushed, “Thank you, sir.”
“But can you fuck like her?”
On screen, the girl was pulling on her own nipples as the male character’s fingers founder her pussy. Frank reached over to slide a finger into Gina’s slit, finding it wet and ready for him. “Whatever she does in the movie, that’s what I want you to do to me. Understand? I want you to be my real life porn star.”
“Yes sir.”
“Good girl.”
Frank followed along with the movie too, fingering her faster, as he hungrily watched Gina sink onto the bed beside him and tug on her nipples. A moan escaped her lips as he thrust his fingers into her, exploring her wetness and nudging her g-spot, which made her tingle with excitement. God, his fingers felt so good. And then he was kissing her as the characters kissed on screen, and Gina was caught in his arms, holding onto him tight as she exploded on his fingers, gushing waves of her juices spilling from her cunt as she came. She didn’t know if the girl in the movie was cumming. She didn’t care. All she knew is that she didn’t want him to stop.
But he pulled out his fingers and spanked her pussy, slapping it hard and fast several times.
“Uh-uh. Bad girl. She didn’t come in the movie. I’m going to have to punish you for that one. What kind of whore are you, anyway, cumming before you get me off.”
Gina’s cheeks burned red. He was right. She rarely came with clients, but even when she did, it was never before taking care of them first. He paid for this, but his hard cock hasn’t received any attention yet. Well, at least not since their shower earlier. But as Gina looked up into Frank’s dark eyes, she saw them sparkle with amusement.
It’s part of the fucking game, she thought, angry at herself for feeling insecure. He would have stopped if he didn’t want me to come.
On screen, the couple was now fucking doggy style, so Gina got on all fours. “I think you should fuck me, sir,” she purred playfully, “we don’t want to deviate from the film.”
“Yup. You’re definitely in trouble.”
Frank positioned himself behind her and drove into her pussy, hard, making Gina gasp. Frank played the part, reaching around to tug on her breasts, just like the characters on screen, as he fucked her. Gina’s long hair fell over her shoulders, revealing a small dragonfly tattoo on her neck that Frank hadn’t seen the night before. It was beautiful, just like her. He grabbed a handful of hair to and pulled hard as he fucked her from behind.
On screen, the male porn star had slowed his thrusts, so Frank slowed to mimic him. Gina began moving back into his slow pumps, gripping her pussy tight around his cock. He pulled almost completely out and held at the edge of her pussy, watching her slowly sink back onto him, moaning, wanting him to fill her.
He felt powerful. Frank had not felt powerful in a long time. It wasn’t just his newfound wealth, though. It was her. He was with the girl of his dreams, fucking her, owning her. He didn’t care that he had to pay for it. She wasn’t faking the good time she was having, her gushing orgasms confirmed that, and that was good enough for him.
On screen, the male flipped over his partner, so Frank did the same, gripping Gina’s hips and tossing her on her on her back like a rag doll. Her left leg rested on his shoulder and her right curled around his waist as he began to fuck her harder.
“Fuck meeeeeeeeee,” she purred, her nails scratching his back.
Frank smacked her bouncing tits. “What was that? I think you’re forgetting your place.”
Gina pouted. “But sir, I want your cum.”
“Oh yeah? Then You better beg for it,” Frank said, fucking her harder and deeper.
“Pleeeease,” she growled, reaching up to hold onto the headboard, allowing her to push into his every thrust. “Please cum for me, sir. My pussy wants your hot cum. I want to be filled by you. I want to be your fucking cum whore.”
Frank groaned as his cum shot into her, then collapsed on the bed beside her, breathing hard.
“Definitely. Trouble.”

Jets

Rori, April 22, 2013

I arched my back and struggled to stop myself from crying out. The neighbors could be watching.
An hour earlier, I was sinking into my new hot tub for the first time since Cash left. I had a book. I had my huge glass of red wine wine. Life was good, despite missing him.
The hot tub was a major selling point for our new house. I’m not a huge water lover myself, but even I had to concede that it would be really nice to turn on the bubbles and relax after a long week at work. And that’s just what I intended to do. It was a lazy Sunday, and I wanted to really take this baby for a spin.
I tried out all of the seats and finally settled into the one corner that swooped down lower than the rest, allowing you to prop your feet and really lounge in the softly churning water. After a few chapters, I set the book down on the bench outside of the tub, closed my eyes, and leaned my head back. The jets felt perfect on my lower back and legs and the wine had made my head feel wonderfully loopy.
And then my pony tail hit the button that flipped the jets from low and lazy to fast and furious. I jumped, startled at the unexpected bubbles, but then giggled and sank back into my seat.
Except with the jets on high, the one leg massager wasn’t just hitting my leg anymore. I reached down. Did it…? Yes, why yes, I could slightly adjust the rouge jet to position it directly at my pussy.
It was dusk. The neighbors could look down into my backyard from their houses, but they probably weren’t. At least, that’s what I told myself. And even so, who’s to say what was happening under the agitated, swirling water?
I repositioned my hips a bit and moved my bathing suit to one side. The water splashed against my clit and my nipples were instantly hard. Thinking of Cash, I closed my eyes. If Cash was there, what would he do?
He’d force me to hold my clit against the jet. He’d tell me to keep quiet. Shhh, Rori, the neighbors will hear how big of a slut you are. You like that, don’t you? You’re like a bitch in heat. You want me to fuck you, don’t you?
But he wouldn’t fuck me. He’d plunge a finger in my tight pussy and let the jets do their job. You’re my slut and I want you to come. Do you hear me? This pussy is mine to finger-fuck. Keep your clit on the jet. Don’t fucking move. Show me how quite you can be. Show me how hard you can come without screaming.
The jets were starting to get intense. My orgasm was building, and I didn’t know if I could find that release with such direct stimulation to my clit. Oh god, oh fuck, I breathed, trying to control myself and keep my clit against the jet like Daddy would make me.
He’d hold down my hips when I’d try to squirm away. Cum for me, slut, cum for me, he’d growl into my ear, and I’d cum, over and over again, my body convulsing in the hot tub.
I came and I imagined it, with the jets loving my clit. It was so intense, I had to back away, and I turned the water back down to low, catching my breath in the chilling air as the last shivers ran through me.
Leaving on a jet plane has a whole new meaning for me. I think I’m going to like living here…

Self-bondage

My first real attempt at self-bondage.

 

by Foxy 200913

Everything went great! Almost everything. The night before I tied a string to one of my handcuff keys and placed in an ice tray so I could freeze it in a cub of ice. The only problem was it melted way to fast. It only seemed like five minutes and the keys was free. Other then that I enjoyed it. Especially before the ice melted and I was actually suck. Next time I need to find a way to freeze it in something bigger. But anyhow.. Sorry I'm not real good with writing so I may jump around a bit. lol

Anyhow ... I set a chair in the center of my living room. I was suggested I use one with arms. But none of our dining chairs have them. But I was still able to use one just had to change my hands from being in front of me to behind.

First off I removed all my clothes and grabbed the keys, cuffs and chair. I didn't have any rope handy so I used the waist ties from my bath robe. I used it to tie my feet to the legs of the chair after I set down. I the tied the opposite end of the string that was attached to the frozen key around my wrist. Which was already beginning to melt. I put my arms behind me and between the slats in the back of the chair and cuffed them. I totally loved it.

It wasn't perfect. If I tried hard enough I probably could have wiggled my feet free. My arms weren't going anywhere unless I broke the back of the chair which is actually pretty sturdy. Not to mention I was there but a few minutes when I checked the key and noticed the ice had already melted off. I think I can fix some things before next time.

The first few seconds after putting on the cuffs was insanely wonderful. That was before I test things and realized just how easy it was. My heart was pounding and I felt a rush. The thought of being suck there bound and helpless got me extremely aroused.

Even after realizing that it was possible to get out if I want I still enjoyed the fantasy of being bound. After the ice melted I was disappointed but set there for at least an hour or more just pretending. Was as much of a rush as believe you're actually helpless. But was still rather enjoyable.

The whole time I set there imaging I was surround by people poking and touching me. I closed my eyes for a while pretending I was wearing a blindfold. I even imagined that some one came to break in to realize I had left the door unlocked for my friend incase I did get stuck and took me instead. I even picture my friend showing up to find me helpless and using me as her slave. Inviting people over and forcing me to serve them as well. I actually feel a little ashamed of that one. She's like a sister to me. We're closer then I ever been to my real sisters.

I set there as long as I could until my butt went numb and I was so sexually frustrated I couldn't wait and had to do something about it. Just wish I could figure out how to satisfy that need while having my hands bound behind me.lol It was one of the best orgasms I've had in a while. I'm definitely doing this again.

Best part is my friend didn't know anything. I was even able to get some sleep before she got here. And what's even weirder is I had trouble looking her in the eyes at breakfast. I was like I was embarrassed and ashamed knowing I had other intentions for her. What makes it strange and a little confusing is the quilt was kind of a turn on.

 

Alfred Hitchcock Presents:
The DSM-5

Eugene Epstein

September 13, 2013
 

“Oh, that’s a MacGuffin.”

“What’s a MacGuffin?”

“It’s an apparatus for trapping lions in the Scottish Highlands.”

“But there are no lions in the Scottish Highlands.”

… So you see, a McGuffin is nothing at all.

- Alfred Hitchcock, explaining the “MacGuffin”

 

What does the new DSM-5 have in common with an Alfred Hitchcock mystery?  They both rely on a plot device, something Hitchcock called a “MacGuffin”, for their narrative power.  At least that is the story that my German colleagues Manfred Wiesner, Lothar Duda and I like to tell.
One assumption that the three of us have in common is that we believe our realities to be socially constructed, in relationships, through the stories that we tell.  This assumption has tremendous implications on the ways we think and act, and especially upon how we think and act as psychotherapists.  Adopting this perspective means giving up on the idea of universal “Truth” with a capital T, instead seeing truths as nothing more than temporary social and cultural agreements or stories, subject to change along with changing relationships and circumstances.
In his wonderfully creative novel The Life of Pi, Yann Martell illustrates this idea by describing the encounter between two Japanese insurance investigators trying to research the “truth” around the circumstances of a shipwreck, and the lone survivor of that shipwreck, through the following dialogue:

Mr. Okamoto:  “But for the purposes of our investigation, we would like to know what really happened.”
Pi:  ”What really happened?”
Mr. Okamoto:  “Yes.”
Pi:  ”So you want another story?”
Mr. Okamoto:  “Uhh… no. We would like to know what really happened.”
Pi:  ”Does the telling of something always become a story?”
Mr. Okamoto:  “Uhh… perhaps in English. In Japanese a story would have an element of invention in it. We don’t want any invention. We want the ‘straight facts’, as you say in English.”
Pi:  ”Isn’t telling about something—using words, English or Japanese—already something of an invention? Isn’t just looking upon this world already something of an invention?”
Mr. Okamoto:  “Uhh… ”
Pi:  ”The world isn’t just the way it is. It is how we understand it, no? And in understanding something, we bring something to it, no? Doesn’t that make life a story?”

If we give up our belief in (and call into question) a received truth — like the dominant mainstream biological explanations for human suffering, for instance — then we begin to create space for pondering new questions.  Instead of busying ourselves with how to change biologically and mentally “diseased” minds into more healthy minds, for instance, we instead confront more philosophical and political questions.  Like; how shall we continue to live together?  Or, what stories allow us to think/live/feel/relate etc. in the ways in which we would prefer to think/live/feel/relate etc.?
These are extremely important, though very complicated philosophical and political issues.  They touch upon the very core of our existence and values as human beings.  Whose story gets told in a psychotherapy session, and using whose language?  For which purposes do we advance particular narratives? Whose stories get negated?  And who decides which stories and purposes should be preferred?
Along these lines of thinking, we view the DSM-5 as but one of many possible stories that may be told with respect to human suffering.  Who and how was this narrative developed?  Who benefits?  What is gained and what is lost with the adoption of this “new” version of psychiatric “reality”?
To explore these questions we borrow a concept that the late, great film director Alfred Hitchcock described in an interview with Francois Truffaut.  Hitchcock described the “MacGuffin” as a common plot device typically woven into film scripts.  For Hitchcock, a MacGuffin was a certain kind of object, one which although largely irrelevant in and of itself, was at the same time essential to the film plot.  These MacGuffins, according to Hitchcock, were on the one hand “ridiculous”, “non-existent”, “empty”, and inherently without meaning, and yet, at the same time, the central point around which the entire story turned.
Should we begin to view DSM diagnoses as MacGuffins instead of discovered (neurobiological?) truths about the individual, they might begin to lose their superstitious power over our society.  Following the MacGuffin idea, questions arise about which narratives and characters are served by the diagnosis MacGuffin (like the pharmaceutical industry and mainstream professional psychiatry), and about whether there are other, perhaps more socially desirable alternatives to replace this particular plot vehicle?  And perhaps, more importantly, who gets to author narratives of self and who decides which narratives are to be considered preferable?  What new spaces and possibilities might we create for dealing with social, political and ethical questions, if we were to begin to develop other post-therapeutic vocabularies and discourses?
These are among the issues that are discussed in the current special issue of the Australian and New Zealand Journal of Family Therapy that was recently released as open access, in synch with the release of the new DSM 5.  From their beginnings in the post war 1950’s, the family and systemic psychotherapies have a long history of developing alternatives to mainstream medical and psychological theories, theories that challenged the individualizing, de-politizing and pathologizing  tendencies of the dominant medical, behavioral and psychoanalytic models.  And although the charge to achieve acceptance in the form of insurance billing rights has largely shifted the field’s emphasis away from critique and towards adaption and adjustment with the dominant medical model, the editors of this journal, Tom Strong and Robbie Busch, in gathering together this array of diverse perspectives, show that there is some critical spirit still alive and kicking within the field.  This collection of articles offers readers an alternative and constructive range of experiences, perspectives, opinions and practical approaches in the conversation between family therapy and the DSM-5.

———————————–

 

For a more comprehensive examination of the diagnosis MacGuffin as well as a call for new visions that move us beyond the therapeutic state, you are welcome to read the following article that we published here at MIA.
A conference touching upon many of these issues, “Beyond the Therapeutic State:  Collaborative Practices for Individual and Social Change,” will be held in June of 2014.