Feb 192013

ScalpelJust so we’re clear upfront – I’m going to be talking a lot about blood here, and how sexy it is. I don’t get off on hurting people, not really, not much, but blood… Blood is intense. Blood is personal, and beautiful, and full of life. Blood holds the codes to the body. Playing with blood in a sexual context touches all kinds of taboos and primal lusts, which is why, when I felt the need to reclaim Harold, we went for blood play.

I’m blaming my friend C. P. Foster, because of some posts she’s written lately about a scene involving blood. The ideas so tickled my imagination that I’ve been waiting for just the right opportunity to explore blood. Last night Harold and I were in a hotel to work on a project, so it seemed like a fine chance for some edge play.

Hearts on his assWe’ve played with blood before. Pretty much any time I’m menstruating is an excuse to get messy. It’s “free” blood – no pain required, but plenty of visual potential. I like the way blood looks, all shimmering droplets. I’m a little bit afraid of blood, of how much I like it, afraid of the darkness inside me that revels in blood. I’m afraid of other people’s blood contaminating me with their disease, but not of Harold. I know his body and his habits like I know my own. I know that he will take pain for my pleasure. So we play with blood.

Years ago Harold bought scalpels for all his loved ones. Some people thought it an odd gift for a person who has been known to cut from time to time, but it’s perfect. Another old friend of mine once said, “The pen is mightier than the sword, but I prefer the scalpel.” Precise detailed cutting is so much better in these cases. For precise cuts with minimal pain, disposable scalpel blades are the way to go.

bloody hearts and weltsLast night, Harold presented his ass. I very carefully and artistically carved three hearts across both cheeks. Immediately they started to bead and drip. Seeing that just makes me well up with love. His blood, freely given, is so gorgeous. But I wanted more.

I was afraid of getting blood on the sheets, so I took him into the bathroom and had him stand in the shower. I caned him, the supple slender rod spraying drops of blood in all directions. I stared at the spatters of blood on the white walls. I swung again, feeling a fine mist of his blood settle on my face. I felt wild with lust. I caned him until his ass was a mess of blood and welts. I kissed him.

We turned on the shower to wash up. Harold bent me over and started fucking me. It is my time of the month, so my blood was coming out as Harold’s cock pulled back and then blood was spurting onto my lower back as he thrusted in, mixing with water and flowing down around us. The whole bottom of the tub was bloody. It was amazing. Under different circumstances I might have been appalled, but it was simply incredible.

Cuts the morning afterLater, cleaning spots of blood off of the ceiling and the toilet, I imagined crime scene investigations. Blood can tell us so much. This was so little blood comparatively, but we made an impressive mess of it. We are the reason people are afraid to stay in hotels.

I feel like we made an offering. We gave our blood, mixed our blood in the crucible of fucking. Blood is the code of life, sex is the dance of life, and all together we are living. Isn’t it marvelous? Blood, life, sex. I’m still basking in the afterglow.

Feb 162013

Becks and Her Kinks

Photo courtesy of Beck and Her Kinks

Welcome to e[lust] - The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at e[lust]. Want to be included in e[lust] #44? Start with the newly updated rules, come back March 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

P.S. Thank you for your patience while we find our way around here at e[lust] if we have made any mistakes (and surely we have) we will do our best to get it right the next time around.


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

misconceptions of dating polyamorous women

Compromise in D/s relationships

Writing Challenge – The Journey


~ Featured Posts (Molly’s Picks) ~

To shave or not to shave?

Of Human and Whore


Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Non-Monogamy and Sex Toys – Safe Sharing Tips

A Man’s Case for Being an Asshole

Thyroid function and sexuality

Property Renewal

SilverHubby: “On Being Fucked by You”

Pain In My Ass


Think Different

Open vs Poly

Escaping the Individual

To shave or not to shave?


Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Is your sex toy review breaking the law?


Kink & Fetish

Good Boy



Erotic Writing

Take me in


A Naughty Nurse Setup!

Afternoon Delight

Sexy Single

Tender is the Night

Butch on Butch

A change of plan

Anal: The Final Frontier

When He Comes In My Mouth

Morning Surprise


Lolita Twenty-Thirteen, Part One


My dirty fantasy


The Peace of Wild Things

Camping Conquests

Collar & Lead

Eat Me

Shhh! Come Here!

The End of The World – Almost

Restraints For A Good Girl

Of Human and Whore

Silver Fox, Mynx, and the Hunter – Part VI: Take Two

A Story For Sir

Feb 142013
orgy of love

“Love is not singular except in syllable.” ~Marvin Taylor

This is a real illustration of our polycule’s love. We’re missing a member in this photo, but her love is still with us, entwined like our limbs. Love is not singular, I am blessed many, many times over.


To see other entries in this week’s Valentine’s competition, click below…

Sinful Sunday

Feb 102013

Perhaps it’s true that pity can get you laid. It certainly seemed to work for Joel today, when I felt so sorry for him that I was willing to drop everything and get him off. Except, that’s not really the story…

See, he had an accident yesterday. We were out on the road, playing around with the children. Joel had a pump scooter and he was racing one of the children who was driving the Green Machine. Suddenly, the handles separated from the base of the scooter and Joel took a header. I was 30 yards away and missed the fall, just that he was up one moment and down the next.

I was scared. He caught himself largely on the balls of his hands, but also smashed his glasses and scraped his face and his knee. He’s basically fine, but for a split second, I wasn’t sure if he had suffered a heart attack or what. It was enough to make me very, very grateful for what I have.

Today Joel’s hands are so bruised and swollen that he can’t do much with them. He’s walking around holding his hands up like a surgeon with sterile gloves. I spent the morning doing my normal busy things, ending half an hour later than I really wanted to get ready for an appointment. About ten minutes before I needed to leave, Joel casually says, “I have an embarrassing question.”

Now, embarrassment can cover a lot of territory, so I asked, “Embarrassing for you or me?” He owned as how it’s likely to be awkward and uncomfortable for us both. I was intrigued. I pushed for him to elucidate, but he simply asked me to go upstairs with him. There, he leaned against the corner and kind of looked at his shoes.

“Well,” he said, “I’m just really horny, and it hurts too much to get myself off. Would you be willing to help me…” He trailed off, but looked at me hopefully. I started laughing. I couldn’t help it. Joel is normally so dominant – sweet, but used to being in charge. Seeing him in this predicament made my love for him well up, but it also struck me as really funny!

Of course I couldn’t let the poor boy suffer that kind of overwhelming desire without surcease. Still chuckling, I took him into the bathroom and had him strip. I took my top off so he could see my breasts bounce because I know that gets to him. I leaned him up against the counter and started on his cock, Realizing almost immediately that lube would improve this experience, I ran back to the bedroom and returned with my hands all goopy.

hand jobIt was a lot of fun having him helpless in my hands, without him being able to reciprocate. I had one flash of being worried about being late and feeling annoyed about doing this, but it quickly faded in the face of his pleasure. Working my hands in various patterns and rhythms, I could soon tell that he was about to blow. I spread my legs so he wouldn’t hit my jeans, and angled his cock at the floor, just as he spurt all over the bathroom tile.

It turns out, I wasn’t late for my appointment, and I got to save the day. It wasn’t actually pity that I felt. I thought that Joel’s vulnerability in asking for what he wanted was very sweet and courageous. I know he isn’t always comfortable in that space. It allowed me to connect with him in a way that is somewhat atypical for us. I enjoy taking care of him. I get where he’s at. Maybe that’s really what is was – sympathy sex.

Feb 092013

His cock is erect and twitching before me. My hands brush along his thighs to meet in his groin and lightly trace his impressive erection. I am charmed, reverent. I take my time exploring. I run my tongue from the V of his frenulum, all around the base of the head. Pre-cum dribbles out of the tip – my favorite part, the sweetest taste. I take it with a nimble flick. My hands continue to explore and stroke. My whole world is this, right here, basking in his lust, drawing it out so slowly, letting it build. I take his whole cock in my mouth while I caress his balls. I alternate tempos, seeing what takes him to the edge and what boosts his desire. This is my art, he is my canvass. Together we create love…

Licking the head

Going down

Kissing your cock


What other sexy things are happening on the internet? Click below!

Sinful Sunday

Feb 072013

EvoëThis morning I had an epiphany: I am not treating my body with respect. I have worked hard to have a good body image and to listen to what my body wants during sex. I eat foods that are right for me and nourish me properly, but I’m terrible when it comes to not feeling well. When I have health challenges, I do my best to ignore my body’s messages.

I am reminding myself that embodiment, existing fully in the physical self, is not just about sex. To be sure, being present in your body makes for wonderful sex, but it should carry over to other areas of life as well. When I was contemplating that, I was suddenly able to see the patterns that surround my difficulties being kind to myself when I am ill.

As a child I was in a lot of physical pain. For example, I had constant ear infections and ruptured ear drums. Once I broke my wrist and wasn’t taken to the doctor. Because there was abuse in the home, I think that going to the doctor happened rarely, like going to the hospital when my sister almost died from pneumonia.

I was taught to ignore my body’s signals, keep them to myself, not tell anyone about them. I felt ashamed because I thought that anything wrong with my body was my own fault. I was afraid that I was bad for feeling pain, and no one wanted to know about it. I was convinced that no one would believe me if I spoke, and I’d be punished for causing problems. At the same time, I was also terrified that something serious might really be wrong with my body and no one would do anything to help me.

Many of these childhood messages around illness have been further reinforced by my later experience in the culture at large. We’re encouraged to “suck it up” and go to school or work even when we feel pretty bad. People with chronic illness and/or disabilities are often looked down on. They aren’t seen as strong in this culture where we revere the ability to endure pain. I cringe every time I hear a parent tell a child to “man up” or “be a big girl” instead of comforting the hurt. We are taught that pain does not exist, or when it does, it’s weak, embarrassing, or maybe even crazy.

I think some people are drawn to BDSM because it can provide a controlled, “acceptable,” form of pain. Experiencing or providing pain in this context is letting one pain stand in for another, or granting the release of built-up pain. It’s not a bad idea, kind of like going to therapy to work out emotional pain – setting aside time to hurt. Perhaps BDSM is often misunderstood because people do spend so much time denying their pain.

Ignoring pain and sickness is occasionally necessary, as when there are no other options to take care of children, but I have made a habit of it. No, I think I never learned how to listen to my body in this way. I’m trying now. I think being aware of my body around pain and illness is going to be challenging because it brings up a swirl of emotions that are hard to sort, but I know some part of me really wants to be heard, wants to be comforted.

This shift in my way of thinking will help my body get more of what it needs. It will help me negotiate better with unhealthy impulses, such as cravings for foods I’m allergic to. Being able to acknowledging my own discomfort will let my family support me better. I’ve often felt so ashamed and scared of my own pain or illness that of course people don’t know how to treat me, which plays right into my fears that I will be punished or at least derided for malingering. If I can admit to myself that I do actually have some chronic health problems, then I can give myself permission to go about seeking appropriate support and medical help.

I want to be in my body the way I can be during sex – unselfconscious and aware. I think this will make losing weight easier, being more fit easier, and improve my overall health and happiness. I do love my body and all of the sensations I experience in it, and I want to own it all. I’m ready now to accept being embodied.