Last Night

Last night I got a spanking. A good, sound spanking.

With the cuffs on my wrists and my arms pulled and chained behind me, I was led into the bedroom. There, in front of the bed, he pulled down my pants and my panties. He undid the chain on my wrists and positioned my arms to the front of my body. Pushing me forward so that the upper half of my body was on the bed and my bottom hanging off the edge, he began. A methodical, even, smack from one cheek to the other. Then he stopped. He spread me apart, my legs, my cheeks, my lips. He felt how wet I was.

"I think you like this", he said.

Oh yes.

And then he began again. More swats, maybe a little harder this time. Then he plunged his fingers into me. Pulling out the wetness that was now close to dripping down my legs.

Pushing me up on the bed he pulled the chain around the small headboard. He pushed a pillow under my abdomen, and spread my legs so that he could see me. More spanking, more fingers searching, probing, filling me up. Then he fucked me. And fucked me. Oh, so, good.

Later, as I lay on my belly with my head to the side facing him, still chained to the bed, going nowhere, we chatted. Talking about what other painful things he could do to me with the right tools (a flogger? cuffs that fit better?), the subject of the spanking came up. I don't remember exactly what was said, but it was mentioned that the spanking I got was mild. To illustrate, he gave me 3 or 4 swift, VERY hard swats on my bottom and the back of my thighs.

"This", he said, "is a discipline spanking."

The difference between what I got earlier and those few demonstration smacks was stark.

Today I wrote him to reiterate how much I enjoyed our time together -

"I can't help but think about the many things, both painful and restrictive, that might be in my future."

And he returned with -

"....painful and restrictive....good choice of words."

Party Time

Time for a little holiday festivity. Tonight I am going to a party. The likes of which I haven't attended in well over a year. I have no idea what might happen. Maybe lots, maybe nothing. Maybe just dancing and a few drinks. Maybe...well, maybe something else altogether.

We


shall


see.


Coda: It was a fun party. Excellent music, which for me can often be the primary purpose. To dance. And dance I did. People were particularly friendly last night, which isn't always the case at these fete's. There was lots of sex. I didn't have any. And that's okay. No-one, single or couple, took my fancy. They had a Sybian there which initially peaked my interest. Until I realized they had it only on vibrate and covered it with Saran wrap for each woman who hopped on (which, of course, made perfect hygienic sense). Being not very fond of vibrators, I lost interest. I gave it a go, though, just to see, but jumped off posthaste. Not my thing. No penetration, no Sybian.

And there you have it.

Dating? Did you say Dating?

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Bless me Father for I have...

It's been 6 months since my last confession and my sins are multiple.

I have had no sex in over a year. While I do consider dating again, the thought of another evening of vapid conversation, forced smiles and a quick life review leaves me cold. I have some small thought in the back of my head (which I know holds no hope) that somehow, somewhere, I will meet someone by some miracle of chance. I can only hope this can happen because I don't have the energy to search anymore. And I wouldn't know where to search anyway because I have given up the internet as even a remote possibility in granting me a life of happiness. Or even, at this point, a night of happiness.

I have masturbated infrequently, sometimes only 1 time in a month. I fear some months I have not masturbated at all.

I have been negligent in reading my fellow bloggers sites and, when I do read them, even the raciest, sexiest, hottest of posts leave me dry. Some of this arid response can be blamed on age, life changes and hormones (or so I'm told). And, blame I will.

I have no excuse for these transgressions. Actually, I have lots of excuses. Such as hormones, as afore mentioned. Depression and the inability to find a decent shrink. Now winter and the onset of darkness at 4:30 in the afternoon. All these reasons can be held as responsible for my inability to meet the expectation of being an attractive, middle aged, single woman. Or, put another way, my inability to get laid.

But, excuses aside. External (or internal, even) pretext cannot be all the blame. I know some of the blame must be cast upon myself and my apathy. And I know I must be held accountable. And punished. I must be punished for my sins. My sins of the absence of flesh upon flesh.

I can only hope that with punishment comes absolution. Or, at the least, orgasm.

California Girls?!?

Is this supposed to be the representative and role model for California girls?



A homophobe with fake tits?

Very disappointing.

Recognition

I'd just like to offer some recognition to the readers who still, unfailingly, visit this blog. With sporadic and, admittedly, boring updates, I admire your persistence and loyalty. And optimism, I suppose. Hoping for something juicy? You and me both.

Maybe someday, my friends. Maybe someday.

kisses....






Eve

Among the Banned

One of our favorite bloggers and writers, Remittance Girl, has been flagged as a potentially banned site in Australia. She's described as being, "a condensed encyclopedia of depravity and potentially very dangerous material".

I love this and so does she. So I thought I should give her a little extra promotion (since I'm not on the list and I know for a fact I have readers in Australia).

So, cruise over to Remittance Girls site and read her most excellent erotic fiction. It will enthrall, excite and expand your mind. I know it has mine.

Thanks, RG. You're an inspiration.

Monthly Report

It seems I've become a monthly reporter, as it were. Every 30 days or so I have something to say. Or, some need to check-in, I guess. Checking in with you. With myself.

I have no news. No racy or sublime tale to regale you with, I'm afraid. Just...nothing.

Winter, I suppose, brings this lull.

Or, maybe the reality is that middle age has finally caught up with me. I don't look my age. I was told this just the other day when I confessed the true number. But I am the age I am, nevertheless.

I could just fade into the middle distance. Maybe I am. In the middle distance, far from it all. Far from anyone.



memories like fingerprints are slowly raising
me, you wouldn't recall, for I'm not my former
it's hard when, you're stuck upon the shelf

hearts and thoughts they fade, fade away
hearts and thoughts they fade, fade away
hearts and thoughts they fade...

Essence of NYC: A Play in One Act

I found this over at the Vanishing New York Blog in the "Random Quote Overheard in New York" link at the bottom of the page. They're all pretty funny, but this one really gives you a mental picture of an average subway ride.

Bimbo tourist #1: Anyway, so when he pulled it out of me it made this farting noise, and I know it wasn't a fart because it didn't smell, and... It was just really embarrassing.
Bimbo tourist #2: Quip.
Bimbo tourist #1: What?
Bimbo tourist #2: A quip. The farting noise, it's called a 'quip.'
Bimbo tourist #1: Oh, they have a name for it? Wow.
Bimbo tourist #2: Oh, totally. It happens to a lot of people.
Stranger: Um, that's not right.
Bimbo tourist #2: Excuse me, sir?
Stranger: No, it's 'queef.'
Bimbo tourist #2: Wait, what?
Bimbo tourist #1: I think he's saying his name is 'Queef' or something.
Bimbo tourist #2: Oh, sorry. Excuse me, Queef?
Stranger: No... Oh, lord. The sound, it's 'queef.'
Bimbo tourist #2: Who's a 'queef'? What's going on?
Bimbo tourist #1: I think he's one of those crazy subway guys you hear about. I think he's telling us he's gay.
Stranger: I can hear you, and I'm not... What? That's 'queer,' you ingrate!
Bimbo tourist #1: Here's some money for you, sir. Buy your boyfriend a nice grocery cart or something.
Stranger: What?! Does it look like I'm homeless to you? I'm wearing fucking YSL over here... I ain't queer and I ain't homeless. You ignorant, you skinny, Paris Hilton-wannabe whores. All I was saying to you was that when your sleazy-ass friend over here pulled her boyfriend's dick out of her STD-ridden pussy, the word...
Bimbo tourist #1: I'm not following... Is he speaking Cockney or something?
Bimbo tourist #2: I don't know. Are you allowed to mace crazy hobos?
Stranger: ...I'm not fucking crazy!
Bimbo tourist #2: Of course you aren't, sir.
Passenger: Oh, shut your mouth, both of ya, or I'm gonna whoop both your scrawny asses, you hear?
Stranger: Thank you. All I was saying was...
Old lady: Ah, hell no! Can't you see this conversation has gone past anyone in this damn subway's comprehension? Know when to drop it, brother. Know when to drop it.
Bimbo tourist #2: [Mouthing] Oh my god.
Bimbo tourist #1: I know. That was intense.
Stranger, muttering to himself: ... Last time I ever take a subway... Unbelievable shit I put up with... Fucking Civics... Unreliable fuckers...

--L train
Posted 2006-11-28

Welcome to my world!