Eine kleine nachtmusik.

The cat beside me is startled off the bed as my eyes suddenly pop open in the black. Blinking, I slowly become aware of the familiar sound above me.

It's one of the women who lives upstairs. One of the women with a lover. Is it the sporty brunette who smiles knowingly at me when she passes me on the street? Is it the smiling blonde with the young, spankable ass? Is it the third one, the enigmatic one, whom I never see? I don't know who it is whose bedroom is just above mine, but I do know that our beds are placed at the same relative corner in the wall. And I'm certain that my entertainments have been heard by her, by them, before.

I really like knowing that.

But now, it's me who's listening in, listening in the solid dark as I hear her man's strokes by virtue of a creaking bed. I smile and doze as I listen to his technique, occasionally punctuated by a beautiful moan from a female throat.

He's stroking inside her hard and fast now. creakaCREAKAcreakacreakaCREAKA I touch the wall near my head and feel the movement. He's slowing down. Is he kissing her as he rests? Can she still taste his cock in her mouth? Then the bed stops shaking, but I can faintly hear some squeaks... he isn't taking her as firmly, but he's still stroking.

The squeaks become more rythmic, faster and shorter. She's on top, grinding into him, feeling him wiggle back to front as she takes him. Her moans become louder and I can hear a gasp or two. I can picture her closed eyes, her mouth open in quiet ecstacy, her joy as she feels his hardness deep wthin her. I drift in and out of sleep, enjoying the night music.

Their shower is being used when I'm up. I can picture her... the brunette? the blonde?... languishing in the bed, basking in afterglow, legs akimbo in the fragrant sheets, as her man cleans himself over my head. I smile.

Later, I drop a Mozart CD in the player as I make some coffee. It's going to be a fun day.

Saturday night at the movies.

Photo Essay: Shayne noir.

Almond and frankincense.

The scented oil seethed between my fingers, dripping slowly along the length of them in clear, pungent streams. My hands roasted as I pressed them together, working the oil into my palms and across the fingertips. The room smelled of frankincense and patchouli, and when my fingers gently grasped her at the shoulders, her skin began to glow as I clutched and kneaded her tense but yielding muscles.

Her spine shimmered as my hands caressed and tugged her there. Her arms glistened as I compressed her fingers together, massaging them to the bone. The curvature of her lovely, modest breasts made me smile as my fingertips passed over them, compressed under her chest. I squeezed the nape of her neck and withdrew tension from just under her head.

Lower, and the small of her back wiggled as I gave her attention. The sheer black panties she wore darkened at the waistline where the oil began to dampen them. My hands moved upward to her shoulders again, and back down to knead her coccyx, when I noticed her movements and slow gyrations. I was getting hot too.

When I began to peel the panties down, I swallowed hard as my breath began to quicken. Raising and lowering the tight, sheer material, I teased us both. Tugging her panties up high, I tightened the crotch against her shaven mound. Lowering them and putting them back to place, I gave myself a visual feast as I revealed and hid and revealed her beautiful ass to me.

When I finally lowered them, revealing her pert behind to my hungry view, my cock felt thick and pulsing hard against the edge of the bed. I pressed my face close to her skin, nibbling and biting her cheek just at the edge of her upper thigh, and felt myself relax placidly as her ass was against my face. There's a calm, a peace, that I find when I'm so intimately close to my partner, and there's a moment when the rest of the world just stops as I indulge in the sensuality of it.

I caressed her ribs as I nuzzled. She had already begun a quiet cooing as she raised her upper thighs into the air expectantly. Her ass opened like a flower when she did so, and her dark rosebud peeked at me deliciously.

By then, I needed to taste her. Tugging her backward from the hips, I raised her ass higher into the air until her tummy was off the bed and she lay there on knees and chest. A hand to each cheek and I parted her open, giving me access to her pink, smooth, beautifully creased mound. Her labia was compressed together by her thighs, but as my wet and warm tongue began to swab and probe her, I could feel it parting her petals just so. Her scent made me moan from deep in my chest, and her wetness soaked my chin and lips as I feasted. When I pulled my mouth away to rain open-mouth kisses on her behind, I could still taste and smell her clean and feral essence against my face.

For me, her scent fused in the room with the almond and frankincense. I loved it.

Cherry therapy.

I'm being domestic and getting ready to steamclean a rug when Shayne texts me from work.

Shayne: I'm being battered about today. My boss has been hyper all day and is bordering on abusive when she's on the phone with her own boss. Makes me sigh...

Me: Think of bouncy puppies, Wile E. Coyote cartoons, 90 minutes left to go, and my tongue trying to get maraschino cherries out of your cunt.

Shayne: Lol! And THAT is why you're the best boyfriend ever!

image Daily Painting Project

A rose and a bottle of whisky.

Last summer, I was packing for a camping trip to an island in the St. Lawrence River when I found myself exploring a dating site. I'm really selective about whom I might start contacting through those things, but when I happened upon her profile and saw her picture, I blinked a lot and literally stopped dead as my jaw dropped. It wasn't just her look, but the vibe I got as I read her words. I wanted to see her in a 20s flapper dress. I wanted to watch her bounce and jump on a bed as one of her images showed her doing in a Las Vegas hotel. I wanted to get drunk on her exuded happy energy, her healthy and free playfulness, her sensual and experimental sex.

It was already a very challenging time for me, the closing scenes to a long, slow, tragic opera. People, places, and things in my world were dying, and I was resolutely trying to learn everything I needed to while also defiantly adapting and overcoming to what possibilities could be ahead. Just being on the dating site felt like one tiny step toward a bigger picture of personal revolution.

The truth is, I never expected I'd actually meet her, but over the weeks and months that followed, she became my crack of sunlight.

The email I initially sent was just a word of praise and admiration.

"This is just a note to say hello and to tell you that I think you are dropdead gorgeous," I wrote. "No, I don't make a habit of writing that to women on this site. No, really. Your attitude captures my attention. You strike me as someone who is capable of being both scandalously electric and sensually feline, depending on your whimsy of the moment. You're articulate, have a keen eye with a wit to match, and you very probably have some serious cajones. Damn, but I like that. A lot."

She wrote back. We discussed the benefits and travails of being non-traditional people in a compulsive world, dancing in the rain, rolling down hills, starving to be around trees while also celebrating the decadence of city living. News of my camping trip left her breathless. The way she openly shared her sense of wonder and play melted my bitter cynicism.

"I wanted to be a fighter pilot, an astronaut, a poet," she replied. "I have skinny dipped and I like being nekkid in general. For wine it's cabernet in the winter, gewurtztraminer or pinot grigio in the summer. I'm a beer lover extraordinaire, but whiskey is the beverage of choice. Up close, belly buttons are SO bizarre to me.

"I love to drive fast. I say things like 'poetry is the burlesque of writing.' I love 50s pin-ups. I like to dress up as them and as lumberjacks. I know I really like someone if they'll go off the beaten path with me. I live for close human connections, I have a nice voice, I cook spicy meals, I examine plants, bugs and the sky all the time. I write down my dreams as often as I remember to. 'Licentious' is one of my favorite words and I like you a lot because you're encouraging my inherent narcissism. Oy."

But the big shift in our emails, the moment when our friendly and slow flirtation changed gears into a new and more heart-stopping direction, was when she posted something smarmy and I "threatened" her with a spanking.

"You really must be cautious when you say this sort of thing," I wrote, typing with a smirk. "Do you really want me to put on that particular air, that particular shirt, that particular presence? I mean, hey, I'm perfectly cool with being your equal, your potential new friend, someone with whom you're flirting with... and yet, you wayward lady you, you would elicit something even further, something even more intimate, and playfully sinister?

"I can't possibly believe that by writing something like "please sir, may I have another?", you couldn't possibly imagine the potential result? The nature of consequence? Are you suggesting that you deserve to be splayed across my lap, your hands gripping the legs of a sturdy wooden chair, your bobbysoxed toes barely touching the floor as you vainly attempt to balance yourself across my thighs? That your tender behind should be exposed to the candlelit air as the flannel pajamas, or delicate panties, or stonewashed jeans that you happen to be wearing are slowly peeled from your quivering skin? That you await the attitude adjustment that you so richly deserve? Desire? Is this what you are suggesting?

"You forgot to capitalize that 'S' in "Sir". You deserve something for that alone, hussy."

Ooo. Big moment. I already decided that I Really Liked this woman, and somewhere deep inside me I knew that I had opened a very intimate door. I had shown her just a hint, a whisper, of my Topspace, and had done so without preamble. My logic was simple and from the belly: this was a part of me, and if I wanted to be honest to both myself and any potential new partner, I had to share that sooner or later. That kind of self-awareness and acceptance had become part of a lesson I was grasping during those days in my relationship life, and so the opportunity having shown itself, the risk was taken.

Still, watching my inbox, it knawed at me that maybe I had overstepped a boundary and made her uncomfortable. Was she into this? I prepared myself for disappointent, for the possibility that she would stop emailing me altogether for being such a freak. It was a few unsettling days before she responded.

"I accept.

"Sir, you are too right. I must be more careful with my words. Not because I disliked your response: yes, yes, please, I do want that shirt, that air, that look. Playfully sinister, I'm happy to delve into, but you're right, more initimate indeed, and I should learn my lesson in the possible consequences of my waywardness. The result I didn't give enough thought to: I was naive in my dangling of this fruit. I was enticing something I knew not, something I foolishly thought I could handle. Thank you for smartly calling me to task. You are right, Sir, about my suggestion. Right, spot, on. I never could have predicted you. I never could have suspected what immensely strong desire would waltz unannounced into my life."



We started talking on the phone not long after that, and we would go on for hours. The phonesex was fabulous fun, and she boasted to her friends about it. The afternoon she jilled herself at the public phone in her office building as I listened to her cum remains one of her favourite early memories of our play. Her girlfriend at the time got playfully sick of hearing about me.

I was in a world of bliss when, later on, I enjoyed the site of her city's skyline approaching me as I cruised on the highway. With each passing mile and truckstop, I felt all of the angst that was in my world at the time slip away from me. I was moving forward in more ways than one. I felt free throughout the entire drive, eager to meet her in person.

The sun was shining bright through the trees that stood along her street. I sat in my car for a while, relaxing, breathing deeply as I meditated upon what I was about to do and listening to the birdsong around me. A rose and a bottle of whisky were grasped in my fist as I rung the doorbell, and all the weeks and months of sharing came to a beautiful, deliciously tense moment when I saw her coming down a set of stairs and open the door. I met her slate-blue eyes and her radiant smile for the first time.

What followed from there that day was pure, sweet, liberating gifts from Aphrodite.



Happy anniversary, baby. Love you.

Saturday night at the movies.

For Shayne.

Hm. I wonder if she'd enjoy some ballet lessons...

Cupcake does the shimmytittyjiggle.

The coffee hasn't quite made it to my brain as I struggle through the early part of my day. Leave it to Shayne to give me reason to widen my eyes and send a surge of adrenaline through me.

I had just sent her a textmessage saying a simple, loving hello. My cellphone responds with that telltake chirp that alerts me to an incoming picture message, and there before me is the delicious image of her lovely, pendulous breasts framed between her forearms.

Shayne: Hi! A belated HNT from the girls and me! :*

My eyes pop open and my belly laugh startles those around me.



Me: *boink!* Woop! Hi girls!! :)

Shayne: *shimmy titty jiggle* in unison singsong: Hi-eee!

Me: *slips a 20 in your gstring*

Shayne: Oh! Hey there sexy man. How come i haven't seen you here before? Wanna dance?

Me: My first time here, lovely lady. In town over the weekend on business, staying at the King Eddie. Youre really quite the dancer... is there a VIP room? What's your name?

Shayne: Oh i like a man who doesn't waste time. My name is Cupcake. *takes your hand and pulls you from the chair* You can imagine what THAT did to me in middle school.

Me: *led by you* Seems like its you who's eager, Cupcake - not that I mind. That skirt from your middle school days too? What are you drinking, sexy?

Shayne: A man on business? Hm. You have much more appeal to me than the usual business set. I like your beard.

Me: And I like the way you move...

Shayne: Bourbon on the rocks, why thank you. Here, get comfortable on this sofa. Ready for your dance? *lowers self to a squat, looking deeply into your eyes* :) Listen. I can dance for you all night, but that's only gonna take you so far. If you have the time, stick around til my shift's over and i'll get you to put that beard against my inner thighs back at your hotel.

Me: My, Cupcake... you really *are* eager, aren't you? ...It's the tie, isn't it? Damn, I'm glad I wore my power tie today...

Kay loses a bet.

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HNT with snake 2.

Hot Reads: The Leather Daddy And The Femme by Carol Queen

When Dr. Carol Queen's first publisher released The Leather Daddy and the Femme in the early 90s, her editors restricted her to produce "just a fuckbook." But, in its kinky, genderbending, proto-polyamorous style, what a fuckbook it was. After its re-release through Down There Press, Queen was able to offer her devout readers "the author's cut," including previously-purged chapters that clarify the headspace behind the hot sexplay that readers are escorted through.

This is important because Leather Daddy and the Femme is a sociosexually groundbreaking work, especially for sex-positive people to whom genderfuckery, kink, or alternative relationships might be new. Those already familiar with queer theory and gender politics may celebrate the work for its raw hotness and literary value, but the average reader of Hustler, say, might (happily) get more than he bargained for. With an open mind, that could be a liberating thing. What the Hustler reader might mistake for what could appear to be straight sex is really Queen's multi-layered demonstration in sex-consciousness, context, nuance, and paradigm shifting. For the uninitiated, this book offers insight into how the most powerful sexual organ is the brain.

Miranda is a San Francisco lesbian whose secret kink is to dress in boy drag and have sex with gay men. For fear of being discovered as a woman, she usually contents herself to cruising for anonymous blowjobs, getting soaked in her tight pants over the mindfuck that she's a 'boy' sucking thick, manly cock in the park. Her world becomes completely shaken (and for the better) when "Randy" encounters Jack, a hog-riding leather Daddy of the first calibre. The opening scenes of her tryst with Jack, and his response to the discovery that Randy lacks his favourite anatomy is itself worth the modest cover price.

It's a sexual debauch from there, with readers introduced to a sex-positive, queer-friendly, scandalously-imaginative, fearlessly-expressive San Francisco underworld tableau of bathhouses, dungeons, and upscale condominium palaces housing an exclusive bdsm elite. The visionary behind the Center For Sex And Culture, Queen straps one on and effortlessly fucks us into bliss with scenes featuring Daddy play, pegging, orgies, servitude, protocol, crossdressing, interracial fun, and places where distinctions and labels become a blur of human passion and ecstacy. Every character we encounter offers us a new element of powerful sexplay, opening the critical reader to possibilities within her- or himself that far surpass staid missionary positions after the Thursday sitcoms. Sculpted, BBC-wielding Demetrius... courageous, crossdressing Ariel... effiminate, obedient Peaches... orderly, commanding Sir Sebastian... and the imperious, high society dominatrix Georgia Strong are among the sexual avatars we meet who reveal to us the underlying consciousness that made them the sexually powerful people they are. Like lubricated fingers in a blackroom, The Leather Daddy and The Femme opens us up.

My lover Shayne introduced me to this book. Between sessions of her jilling herself to its searing pages, she would tell me how "transformative" it was for her. It's easy to understand why: in a straightforward "fuckbook" way, Queen breaks cultural barriers to show us nuances of sexual play and awareness, and in doing so, opens many of us toward broad new vistas of hot.

Morgan's birthday spankings.

She was perfectly relaxed and enjoying it. Prone on the futon, her breathing was just slightly staccato as my lubricated index finger very slowly penetrated her to the full and then slowly withdrew, pumping over and over and over again. I comfortably sat on the floor. I smiled to myself as I felt her sphincter grip me, and languished in the intimacy of the moment. As I casually probed her in the ass, I was reminded of childhood games of Doctor with my babysitter, those first moments in my not-so-total innocence when I discovered a passion for behinds, for lowering a girl's panties, and for the taking control of them as a partner lay on her stomach before me. I caressed Morgan's long, dark hair as my finger disappeared downward into her body.

"Hi. Well that was indeed an articulate and intriguing posting," she had emailed. Several days earlier, I had placed a Craigslist ad seeking a spanking partner and Morgan had pleasantly responded. "With my curiousity piqued and my poor neglected bottom tingling, I am taking a chance here and responding to you. I truly enjoy a proper over-the-knee spanking. It's my kink, what can I say."

"You can say, 'Please, Sir,'" was part of my reply. She liked that.

Morgan is a lovely, trim, intelligent, late30s brunette with the most charming freckles and sultry green eyes. She's both amusingly coy and passionately hungry. She possesses a balance between elegance and rawness that both intrigues me and keeps me guessing. She's new to dominant/submissive play, having had only one major partner in that territory that I know of, but that partner was not her spouse. Morgan is being a little extracurricular with her pleasures, and I'm respecting her choices as well as her need for discretion. She introduced me to a bohemian little bistro in my area that serves excellent tea. I introduced her to her g-spot.

My ad, originally placed before things with Shayne had begun to rekindle, had specified that I wasn't looking for sex. I wanted it clear that my priority was to find an intelligent, self-aware, sexually-sophisiticated bottom partner with whom I could indulge my Topspace and OTK fantasies. But it wasn't long before Morgan's emails elicited more from me.

"There's nothing quite like having made a bottom putty in my hands after giving her a sound spanking," I shared with her, "and watching her beet-red ass slink to the floor so she might service me and demonstrate her appreciation for having received her necessary correction."

"I happen to be a big fan of cocksucking," she replied. "I'm thinking some very salacious things... imagining the taste and feel of your cock for one..."

We met in the bistro for fruity sandwiches and Earl Grey. She was cautious when we spoke on the phone the day before, reminding us both that we might not clik after all, and that either one of us might not be attracted. As I strolled into the bistro and saw her smiling to me from her table, I sensed from her expression that she did not dislike what she saw. I liked her smile, and the hippie way her straight, dark hair flowed across her shoulders.

"Please share with me some of the fantasies that you have about being spanked," I had emailed.

"I fantasize being ordered to bend over and the various ways a proper spanking can be metered out, though not necessarily because I've 'misbehaved.' I like the idea of being taken over a man's knee and his firm hands kneading my flesh and various degrees of spanking. It's a pain/pleasure thing. I love the afterglow as well. The sensation lasts hours later."

Those sensations began in my parlor when she leaned in close for a kiss. She relaxed in my arms, her eyes half-closed, her breathing rapid as she held me and parted her mouth open passionately. I bent down, raised her shirt a little, and bit her tummy. I showed her around my place and we found ourselves in the den, enjoying my snake. We relaxed on the futon, and from our kisses, I soon slithered an arm around her and tugged her across my lap. The moment had come.

We were breathless, me feeling her weight on my thighs and knees, she still dressed in her black top and snug bluejeans. Her bottom was nicely shaped and perfectly framed in denim, showing strong lines and a sensual delve between her thighs. I paused to enjoy the moment, firmly wrapped my left arm around her waist, and made the first strike with my other hand. She wiggled as strikes followed, and squirmed when I would pause to simply squeeze her cheeks and caress her covered ass. It was fun, and my heart was beating faster. Reaching between her thighs to cup her mound, I could feel her warmth and excitement through her pants.

I tugged her by the belt and reached under her to undo it, the button, and the zipper to her jeans. I tugged them down over her thighs, revealing her pert behind covered in sheer black panties with cute black polkadots. She picked those undies especially for me, she said. How sweet. Sweeter still was my view when these were lowered as well, and the spanking continued as I throughly enjoyed the sight and feel of her delicious ass. Morgan's quiet gasps enriched me, reminding me of why spanking a partner turns me on, and her ass was gradually reddening darker and darker as I indulged myself at her tender expense. Her skin rippled just slightly, the occasional view of her winking rosebud heated me, but as she squirmed more and more readily, my cock hardened in my jeans and strained agonizingly.

I stood, peeling her pants and panties off. Kneeling on the floor beside her, I grasped her bottom in my hands and parted her open, revealing all of her secrets to me. She responded coyly, her eyes a little wider, just shameful enough to spur me on in possessing consensual control of her form. She went limp and gasped as she felt my tongue between her thighs and sliding deeper to probe and explore her.

Her ass was raised sexily in the air as I knelt above and behind her, gently feasting on her, pressing her lovely ass to my face, and tickling her rosebud with my tongue. This, I learned, was a first for her, but not the only one she would have that afternoon.

Morgan was panting and sitting upright as I sat on the floor before her, soaking my hands with Astroglide. She seemed nonplussed at my wanting to use lubricant at all.

"If I'm going to do to you what I'm going to do to you without this," I assured her, "I'm going to hurt you." She blinked and nodded. I smiled as I began to enjoy this privilege.

It's like being the man to take a lover's virginity. It's a privilege, sometimes an honour, and something that will always be remembered. As a man, I'm especially touched when I realize that I'm about to enter uncharted territory with a lover, and most especially when it's about a part of her own body that life hasn't given her previous opportunity to explore. Few other things could be so intimate.

I looked into Morgan's eyes as my dripping fingers began to part her orchid open. She had the cutest little dark racing stripe, barely wider than a lock of hair, her pussy otherwise completely bare and punctuated with a dark, adorable rose-bullet anus. Biting my lower lip in appreciation, I slowly entered her and gradually twisted first one, and then two, fingers inside her depths. Morgan panted and gasped, crying out when I'd surprise her with a few licks to her tiny button, but when I started to curl my fingers upward she completely melted before me.

Morgan's g-spot felt lovely against my fingertips, spongy and firm, and I held my hand in place as she got used to the sensation. Slow curling of my fingers followed, spreading them and closing them, wiggling them and stroking them, probing them and pumping them inside her tight and wet tunnel. Her eyes screwed tightly closed and she contained her screams as her chest heaved in her deep pants and gasps. I marveled at her sensual yielding, this woman who had been trying so hard to maintain some composure so far during our encounter. I twisted and pumped my fingers inside her as she rode the waves and sailed on currents she had not known before. She came in my hands and was in languid ruin when I finally withdrew from her quivering pussy.

We took a break. We talked. She lay along the length of the futon, nude before me as I sat, still dressed, on the floor. Her pretty ass was directly in front of me, and soon I was caressing and giving it light spanks again. Yet my fingers were still soaked with lube and her cum, and so what to do next only seemed obvious.

In the most relaxed, casual way, I touched her anus with a fingertip and slowly pressed to wiggle it there in slow circles. She rested her head on her hands and yielded to my touch, originally (and unecessarily) self-conscious about herself. Her eyes closed, her mouth parted, just as I began to feel her sphincter wink open and clutch the very tip of my index finger. Her warmth and the strength of her muscle moved me to probe further, and soon I was sliding into her tightness.

Very gradually, very slowly, but with more lube and eventually faster and faster, I soon had three fingers halfway inside her bum and was fucking her firmly with them pressed together in a cone. I twisted them and pumped them into her ass as she gasped and squealed before me now, but only for a brief while before withdrawing two of them and then slowing down once more.

"Well," she laughed after I withdrew two fingers, "I can safely say that never before have I been fucked in the ass like that!"

Morgan's body was relaxed enough, lubed enough, and had been opened enough, that my index finger alone was easily sliding fully deep into her now, and I enjoyed this little pleasure for some time. Her asshole felt heavenly.

Another break, and then we found ourselves in the bedroom. It was time I undressed, and still my attention was riveted to her bum. Things were stop-and-go for a while as we learned one another, and soon it became apparent to me that Morgan simply loves to be taken, no muss no fuss, no discourse no idle chitchat. She enjoyed my thickness in her mouth, and I enjoyed raising her ass in the air as I briefly fucked her there. But soon I had other ideas.

There's only one time when its perfectly reasonable to ask a woman her age.

"You told me it's going to be your birthday soon. How old are you going to be?" I asked.

She looked at the cieling and tried to stifle a laugh. "Um... thirty-two," she lied. I looked at her. She smirked.

"Um... twenty-seven?"

I looked harder.

She looked down and demurely whispered. "Forty."

I smiled wide as I yanked her across my lap again. I locked her ankles in a pair of leather restraints. It was time for Morgan's birthday spankings, and she squirmed petulantly as I held her fast in the crook of my right arm. Her lovely, bare ass was framed just under my shoulder, and my left hand rained smack after smack after smack as I counted off the previous years. Yet, unfortunately for Morgan, this was a moment when my gradeschool education failed me (seventeen does come after thirty-one, right?), so the poor, crying, whimpering dear likely received forty strikes with plenty of accrued interest.

She laughed when I took and showed her pictures. We relaxed for a while, and soon it was time for her to go. I've made a new friend.

Her spouse, the man who does not indulge Morgan in her wanton desire to be taken and spanked, forgot her birthday.



images George Nick, personal collection

Saturday night at the movies.

I'm certain that my father chuckled to some of these.

Delilah submits for the greater good.

Last month, I shared with you how fellow blogger Jefferson was fighting a custody battle that potentially has some legal bearing on the sex-positive blogosphere. In solidarity with his efforts, my FetLife friends delilah and her Sir at The Collared Coed graciously offered dear delilah's tender, delicious ass for fundraising. A stroke for every confirmed donation, Sir offered us all, with delilah demurely moistening her panties at the prospect of submitting to our collective generosity.

Far be it from me then to not be supportive... especially when there's some delightful Asian coed offering her pert heinie for an attitude adjustment. As delilah's Sir generously made such an offer, and as some of those final strokes were the result of my own kindness, I feel fully qualified to spread this wealth (and delilah's tender behind) with you.

Here then, my scandalously wonderful partners-in-crime, are the results.




Now, I ask you, is that not one of the most mouth-watering heinies you've ever seen? And the stripes... My goodness. Nice handiwork, wouldn't you agree?

"I saved the “donated” lashes for the end," Sir tells us. "Overall we owed six hard (additional) lashes to our readers. For these I added the blindfold and switched to using the metal and rattan canes." Mmm mm good.

And speaking of spankings, get your popcorn tonight for another installment of Saturday Night At The Movies. If you're really good and don't talk during the feature, I may tell you about Morgan, a new friend and playpartner who found herself submitting to my hand (and more) when she placed her freckled, brunette self across my knee last week...

images The Collared Coed

Shayne takes a bathroom break.

Shayne: I have ten minutes of lunch left. I'm going to rub my clit til i cum in the hotel bathroom next door. If you want to call me. Now. That'd be nice.

How could I possibly say no?

She's whispering when she answers. I can imagine her, cautiously checking the other stalls for occupants and then locking the small door behind her. I can picture her lowering her panties slightly as she bends foward to the metal support bar of the larger wheelchair-accessible stall. I can see her slightly splayed legs, one hand holding the phone to her head, the other beginning to explore her full and pillowy folds. Knowing Shayne, I am certain that she is already wet and musky with arousal.

I start to speak to her, telling her how I love to suck her, how I'd love to have her bent over in that stall and fuck her hard. Soon, it becomes clear that she'd rather I just shuttup and listen, enjoy the sounds of her jilling as she escorts herself through her own fantasy. In that fantasy, she later tells me, we've pre-arranged to play a little game.

I'm waiting in the hotel lobby. I'm looking for my prey, looking for her. She enters. She reaches the elevator. I will have her. I've chosen her.

Racing up the stairs, I catch the elevator as it makes the second floor. I've just missed her, but I know where she's going now. I take the elevator one more flight up. Once there, I see the door of the women's room just closing behind her pump. Now she'll be mine.

The light is bright in the restroom. She is alone, in the last stall, and she's foolishly left it unlocked. So trusting, so available.

"You entered the bathroom stall, she later shared. "I was there, facing the wall, holding the accessible-rail lightly and looking down deferentially. You shut and locked the door. My pants and panties were already around my ankles. I said nothing and neither did you."

Look at that ass, I said to myself. How demure she is, coming here and making herself available for me. For my cock. It's time to have some fun with this slut...

"You grabbed me, first taking my left ass cheek firmly in your grip, then biting me on the right side of my neck. The rough cotton of your denim against my bare ass and legs made me wetter. My cunt throbbed. You gripped both of my breasts from behind firmly and gave them a short but rough massaging, obviously for your own pleasure. You unzipped your jeans and the sound of it echoed in the silent bathroom. My wetness felt as though it would begin to run down my legs.

"You took your hard cock in hand, spread my legs a bit, and then slapped my cunt with it. You said nothing, but the intake of your breath showed me that you could feel my hot moisture. You teased me this way, slapping against my swollen lips for half a minute before sharply grabbing my hips, pulling me up and sliding your cock in. You did it smoothly but with a slowness that made me want to cry out."

Through the silence on the phone, I hear the faintest of gasps. It's followed shortly after with some quiet moans, and I faintly hear an echo. I'm sure her eyes are squeezed shut now, her body swaying a little, her fingertips speeding across her thrumming pebble, her back raising and lowering as she breathes deeply. I love listening to her cum, and I really enjoy these serendipitous moments of random play. It isn't long before she crests, and I'm listening to her moans and cries echo in a hotel women's room west of me.

"You built up steam and eventually were furiously fucking me this way in the hotel bathroom. Someone could walk in at any moment and we'd be trapped there - I liked the idea, but didn't want you to stop for anything. You fucked and fucked and fucked me, and I wanted to cry out at the top of my lungs with coming. I did not. I knew the consequences that might bring and wanted only your pleasure.

"Just before you came you then said the first words to me since walking in:

"'I'm going to come on your ass and I want you to rub it into your skin. Let it dry and wear it under your office clothes for the rest of the day, slut.'

"That made me come again."



I listen to her peak and relax. I can imagine the sparkle in her eyes. When she's finished and leaves the restroom, I listen to her giggle as she brushes through a crowd of conversing businessmen, then the sound of traffic around her as she heads back to her office. There's pep in her voice, and I have no doubt, a saucy smile on her rosy face.

She's such a lovely and fiery tart, this one.




images MerryToons, personal collection

Photo Essay: Lovers on public transit.

HNT on public transit.

Transit teasers.

Shayne's recent naughty antic of flashing herself on the subway train has had me smirking for days. That funny tart. She's a riot. She was going to lift her dress and flash her butt as she left the train, but alas, younguns were near.

While I've never been inducted into the Mile High Club or received a blowjob in the back of a Greyhound bus, it had me musing on similar naughtiness that I've enjoyed over the years.

o Lots of people likely have memories of make-out sessions in the subway system. My favourite was when I dated a sexy Puerto Rican girl, Mandy, while in high school. Riding the latenight N train in New York with her, the train stalled and the lights went black for a short while. We made out like the hot kids we were, she stroking my hardening teenage cock over my jeans until the lights suddenly flashed on.

o I have friends who work with public transit, and they've shared stories about the "bus bunnies." It seems that transit staff is something of a fetish niche for a certain class of women who get off on giving anonymous blowjobs to drivers at the remote ends of the their late-night runs. I've also been told that "back in the day," subway workers would enjoy latenight trysts with lovers (married, professional, or otherwise) in the hidden-away rooms and nooks of the urban underground.

o While riding a night bus in another city, a pride of laughing, drunken women boarded together after having clearly had a fun night out. Trying to fish her pre-paid travel pass from her bag, one longhaired blonde slurred to the driver, "Let me show you my butt pass."

Catching herself, she burst out laughing. She then turned, bent over, looked at the driver over her shoulder and said, "Here! This is my butt pass!" as she smacked herself squarely and loudly on her right asscheek. The driver let her on board.

o The night bus was crossing a city bridge, in the middle of which a couple were making out. Her back was to the road, and as the bus passed by, she lifted her short skirt to flash her brown bubble butt in black boyshorts. It was very yummy.

o She was a thin, athletic black woman with cropped, curly short hair. As her white male companion boarded the bus, she smiled at him and lifted her white shirt. She laughed as the bus driver smiled and as those passengers who were looking in their direction gawked while she flashed her pert, tiny breasts to all who would see. Her companion seemed to blush as he shook his head, smiling, and took a seat.

o "I always thank the driver as I illegally get off at the front of the bus," a friend recently shared with me. "I do this mostly so that the driver can get a glimpse of my ass as I exit."

o "Do you go all the way?" she asked the bus driver. "Oh, with my girlfriend, all the time," he replied, "but anyone else has to get her permission."


So, readers and fellow commuters, I ask you: What are some your favourite sexy public transit memories or experiences?



images Public Flash

Jane likes it forced against the wall.

Recently, the sultry and kinky Vamp at the coveted Jane's Guide sex review site poised her sexy specs over this blog, and I'm happy to share what she had to say.

"I am not sure why, but it is rare to get to read sex blogs from men that really discuss their own emotional and physical experiences in-depth. It is a shame, because I know that they have so much to say about sensuality! I was jaded when I saw this blog, expecting it to be full of some puerile commentary on porn pictures (as I've become unhappily accustomed to). Instead, I found this glorious diamond amongst the rough.

Rogue seems to be a man of real flesh, blood, and feeling. As I read his entries I felt moved by his longing, desire, confusion, and a whole host of other emotions. He is a deeply sensual man who effortlessly seems to discuss sexuality in a way that is truly hot and genuine. He has a heart, but he has a lot of frank lust as well. One moment I felt taken in by his romantic side, and the next I felt forced against the wall and taken by his gritty nature. All in all, I was seduced by this blog. I think that you might find yourself equally hypnotized. Lovely, hot, and interesting!

Thank you, Vamp. Please come back any time.

Train sneakery.

Shayne: You off work yet baby?

Me: In 45 minutes. I expect you nude and in bed, face down, legs wide. Have yourself lubed. That means your ass.

Shayne: Want to honestly but i'll be on public transit still. Can i do somethin until i'm home for you? Spread my legs and reveal my cunt to the train passengers maybe?

Me: And a picture sent to me now. (She opens her legs while riding the commuter rail in her city, snaps a picture, sends it to me entitled "Train sneakery.") You bad grrl. Is this fun? ;)

Shayne: Yes ;)

Me: I'm going to blog you. Youve flashed the world.

Shayne: Haha! I tried to get my panties aside. I wound up giving myself a wedgie.



Shayne: I'll be home in 8 minutes. Still want me in bed?

Me: You want to play?

Shayne: Yeah. I'm in the mood to cum in your ears. Figuratively speaking.

Do we love one another? Yes, we do. Do we miss one another? Yes, we do. Are we still playmates? It certainly seems that we are. Are we still boyfriend and grrlfriend? Well, perhaps not, or perhaps not in the same context, or perhaps we've grown a little in our relationship, or perhaps it'll get deeper again in time, or perhaps this is exactly how it is and how it's ok to be, or perhaps all of these things. But Shayne and I have continued to talk, and recently we seemed to have taken a big step with each other, where we're a lot more relaxed in communicating. Some weight feels lifted, and while we're still feeling some things out, it's a lot better than it was two or three months ago.

I poured myself a shot of whiskey and gave her a call. She was already naked, she said, sitting on a chair in her pad with her legs across a table.

"I'm sitting here, relaxing, slowly sliding my favourite blue dildo inside me," she cooed. "I want to have your face at my cunt."

I lay back on my futon as I spoke with her, reminding her of how I adore her amazingly large and round clitoris. I reminded her of how I love to snake the tip of my tongue across its hood, how I like to probe her slowly as I suck her. When she told me how her ass hung over the edge of the seat she was sitting on, she gasped as I conjured the image of me gently pumping a buttplug inside her with my free hand.

I told her how I've changed the shape and grooming of my beard, how it would feel against her inner thighs as I enjoyed her. She started to lose control when I said how I'd love to straddle that chair she was on, reaching behind myself to slide a hand to her while stroking my cock directly in front of her face. That sent her over the edge, and soon she was crying out into her phone as she came convulsively.

When she came down from her high, we talked more. She told me how she had forgiven me, and of how she's begun telling family and friends that she's back to feeling close with me. We discussed her frustration in meeting queer women in her city, mutual fantasies, ideas of when we could get together again.

It feels good.