And now for something completely different.

Nation's Girlfriends Unveil New Economic Plan: 'Let's Move In Together'

Sunday comics.

Dress code.

"If you're going to be teaching me about how you like your cock sucked," Kara recently said to me, grinning, kneeling, her mouth still puffy and wet from sliding on my dick as I hoarsely whispered instructions down to her, "then maybe I need a schoolgirl uniform."

The thought hardened me more and had me thrusting deeper into her mouth, feeling her widening lips closer to the base of me as my fingers tugged the back of her shorthaired head. Kara, the high school teacher in a schoolgirl uniform. Just the idea made me laugh from deep in my belly, definitely causing my cock to twitch and swell even more in her sensual, soft, wet, suckling mouth.

While cosplay as a hobby is far more sophisticated and imaginative than its psychosexual dimensions alone, when it comes to fetish play, French maid, cheerleader, and schoolgirl uniforms are so de rigueur to dominance fantasy that one can easily find cheap imitations of these costumes at any party supply store during the Halloween season. And how interesting it is that it is these costumes which are so easily obtainable from non-fetish-specific retailers, packaged and promoted virtually for the power-exchange vibe that people have instilled in them.

Schoolgirl uniforms are totally hot. Both they and French maid uniforms share a sensual undertone that bespeaks submission, obedience, compliance. But unlike the maid, the schoolgirl adds training and corrupted innocence to its vibe, which may also explain its prevalence in spanking and other corporal discipline related fantasies.

And God knows I love corrupting innocence.

I love to bend my pet over, slowly hike up her tartan, and reveal a crisp pair of white panties tightly framing the pert and vulnerable target of my attention. It's a unique, elegant, powerful moment to gradually bare your pet's delectable ass, drawing out the energy and the anticipation and the consensual shame and the frail sense of exposure to inspection and scrutiny before the raining of wrath. Mmm.

Here. I'll say that again. "To gradually bare your pet's delectable ass, drawing out the energy and the anticipation and the consensual shame and the frail sense of exposure to inspection and scrutiny before the raining of wrath."

Aaah. Thank you. Detention, anyone?

Shayne looked adorably cute in the uniform that her training began in with me. Diva, my first partner whom I introduced to kink, had later fashioned one for herself after we parted.

And now, as she bobbed her gorgeous head below me, here was my amazing Kara softly moaning around my girth and picturing herself in wool tartan, bright white shirt, smart little tie.

Someone's been reading the blog, thought I to myself. Someone smart who's learning what Daddy likes. Good grrl.

So imagine the small wince on my face when, over my tea, I read in today's paper how my local Catholic District School Boards are seriously considering shifting from tartans (skirts) to pants. It seems that the sassy li'l ladies, the real schoolgirls, have this habit of hiking their skirts so high to the thigh that "disproportionate amounts of time is being spent addressing the issue with students." Fifteen centimetres above the middle of the kneecap is the rule.

Why, those little hussies.

Some parochial schools have already changed uniform policy to pants, and others have adopted a so-called "x-kilt," which features bullt-in shorts under the regulation length. I wrinkled my nose at these when kinky, supportive, incredibly generous and understanding me purchased Shayne's.

Nice to know that some parents and students are aghast at this dire turn of unfashionable events, however. Tartans may be declining in sales and not as "in line with Catholic traditions and values" as pants (an historically debatable point) according to local retailers, but that's certainly not going to stop the students from desiring cooler clothing in summer, or the parents from wanting to perpetuate a charming life niche many of them remember from their own days at school.

Or prevent safe, sane, consensual kinksters like me from enjoying adult playmates in charming attire as we bare their wanton bottoms for palm, cane, lash, or throbbing, lubed-up cock.

Yes, Kara, you'll get what you want. I will dress you in a cotton shirt with emblems and stitching over the pocket, a handsome matching tie that I will use to bring you to your bare knees and bobbysocks. You will feel the sway of coloured wool around your tiny waist as we stroll through the crowd at the playparty, and you will feel this same as you find yourself bent over a table, swallowing hard as my strong hands hold your hips. Cool air will breeze across the back of your upper thighs... far, far higher than fifteen centimetres from the middle of your knee... as your exquisite, pert, round, firm and lovely ass gets revealed by the slow raising of it. Bare, or framed in panties, I will enjoy your bum as your man should. I will spank you. I will fuck you hard and deep.

Both the nature of your garments and the ways you are taken will have you understanding more of the deliciously submissive parts of you, and you will know how tenderly, how assuredly you are Mine.

HNT in an outdoor shower.

A shameless appeal accompanied with a nice tittie picture to help motivate you.

Recently, I learned that my ex-wife, Heidi, has developed breast cancer.

After lung cancer, breast cancer is the most common form of the disease, and is the fifth most likely cause of all cancer deaths. Treatment typically includes drugs, surgery, and radiation. Heidi has already undergone enough treatment to lose most of her hair, and while shorthaired women are a huge fetish for me, God knows I wouldn't wish this particular hairstyle on even my loopy ex-wife out of this as a reason.

You know, just because an ex and me might have some strong differences in our past, or, in Heidi's case, a poor choice for marriage, that doesn't necessarily mean that I'm unwilling to Be There As Best As Possible when Serious Stuff happens.

Breast cancer is Serious Stuff. I've brought it up before. And, to be perfectly Guy about it, now I'm talking about a lovely pair of tits that I've personally loved for crying out loud...

... So I'm going to ask you, shameless and dear readers that you all are, to cough up a little cash and support my ex-wife's effort in the upcoming Toronto Breast Cancer Walk. If you're one of my female readers, do it for a sister. If you're one of my male readers, do it for your love of healthy and happy titties. Just do it. Please.

Donate here. Donate now.

Seriously... even a little from each of you goes a long way. Help me sleep better tonight.

Oh. And here`s your gratuitous tittie picture.

The canoe and the knotty branch.

All was so still that we could hear the passing of dragonflies.

Gossamer wings aflutter, their tiny electric bodies skimmered over the quiet water as they hunted prey, troubled only with the random, splashy gulp of a fish at the same game. The summer sun gleamed upon the river, mirroring an expanse of bright blue sky. Robust greenery at either shore subtlely hid the wild eyes that quietly observed our antique wooden canoe as we gently ventured forward.

It was our second day at Lake Cashel. Our hosts were a pleasant lumberjack of a bulldyke, her femme partner, and the cat that enjoyed dropping by our cabin for morning treats and to escape the occasional rain. Apart from him, we had almost complete privacy from interaction with another living soul, and we relished in the peacefulness and calm of it all. We would wake in the morning, share yoga, feast, and embark on another day of pleasure together, our blood lubricated with hard cider, constant laughter, and shared passion.

Kara and I guided the canoe past rows of lilypads, birch groves, and the fluttering water surfaces bespeaking trout and crappie just under. Like dispersed toothpicks, old clusters of neatly cut logs lay scattered on the mud floor of the river, coated with moss and serving as testimony to the workers' barges that ran this river decades past. Submerged water plants swayed like dancing limbs.

As Kara steered the canoe upriver, I languished with the cool water against my hand as I paddled us on. It was easy to imagine the native Huron or Ottawa doing this very thing only a few hundred years earlier, before the days of Hudson's Bay, enjoying the sun and the still water.

Or to find a suitable place to tie a canoe and share more than just daylight and river, dragonflies and fish.

We coasted toward the small peninsula from an cozy little inlet that would be out of sight from open river, not that privacy would really be a worry. We had already paddled for about an hour, and were well away from any neighbouring cottages. As I tied the canoe to a birch whose branches reached high over the cold water, we carefully made footing on the slick rocks and climbed the steep, mossy incline to land.

Mosquitoes buzzed around us, and a bird or two called in the distance. As we strode uphill, we noted signs of deer in the undergrowth, and held one another's hand as we made our way over fallen trees and through bramble. The undergrowth was green and turquoise with lichen and oakmoss. The sunlight beamed through swaying branches. The air was crisp and vibrant with spice and growing things.

We stopped to kiss, standing amongst fallen branches and leaves in a shadowy canopy. Her soft lips were coupled by twirls of her curious tongue in that unique, broadstroke way she does when she kisses me. If blindfolded and subjected to the kisses of a dozen women, I would always know which one was Kara.

She reached under me and grasped me from over my hiking shorts, carefully clutching my balls as she squeezed and weighed me in her hand. I grasped the back of her neck, tugging her head into my chest so I might nibble at her nape, and listened toher quietly gasp as I did so. Her squeezes became firmer, and she ran her hand along the growing length of me.

I set her down on a fallen, mossy log. She looked up to me as she sat down, as I started to bring my hands to my zipper and lower it with a smirk. She reached to unbuckle my leather belt and I dropped my clothes to my bare feet, held the growing girth of me in my hands, stroking her new boyfriend's dick, and slowly brought my cockhead to her pouty, willing mouth.



I felt her lips slide over me, wet and curious. I felt her tongue tease my glans, wet and strong. I felt her take me into her mouth, and as I caresed her short, black hair, I looked up through the reaching branchs and enjoyed the scattered glimmer of the sun.

She sucked me gently, slowly. I felt myself thicken and lengthen more and more as her moist lips and tongue teased me. When we first began seeing each other, Kara was almost timid about having me in her mouth, but it wasn't long before she discovered her own centre, her own pleasure in pleasing me. I held her head gently, slowly sliding further past her swabing tongue, fucking her sensual mouth as she held my thighs tightly. I tapped my cockhead on her gorgeous face. I brushed it along her glistening lips. Among this temple of birch trees and stones, Kara rested on the mossy log and sucked my cock as I stood before her. Her bobbing head pleased me, as did the soft sound of her suckling, but soon I thought of a promise that I had made to myself.

Smiling, I stood her up and gently tugged the nape of her neck as I guided her toward the trunk of a tree. She obediently placed her palms against the old bark, her arms outstretched, her feet apart in the undergrowth as I returned to biting the nape of her neck again. Still tasting my cock, she melted as she felt my teeth and tongue, her legs weakening.

As I stood behind her, I reached around her waist and began undoing her pants. Lowering them to her thighs, I smirked as I enjoyed the sight of her heartshaped ass tightly clad in dark boys' underwear. Slowly, I revealed her lovely behind to me when I tugged the undies to her thighs as well. Kara sighed and rested her head against an arm, knowing what would follow.

I moved to stand beside her, my back to the tree, her small waist held in the crook of my arm as I coiled my hand back and around her. Clutching her tight, bent down slightly with her bare ass mere inches from my face, I restricted her movement snugly while she felt the first swats of my open palm. Her fine ass responded properly, faint ripples of her firm skin dancing before my eyes. Soon, my attentions turned to her thighs, and again to her ass, back and forth as my strikes became firmer and more demanding as best pleased me.

Kara enjoyed her spanking with tender groans and gentle swaying of her hips, stopped only when my grip tightened around her and my strikes becoming more and more centered. I focused on her left cheek alone until it burned red, then the right, and soon both with repeated, open-handed strikes. Her beautiful ass thoroughly entertained me.

As I gave her a moment to breathe, I spotted a fallen branch nearby that aroused my curiousity. Hardly firm enough for a proper cane, but it still amused me to deliver a few strokes across both of her reddened cheeks. A pair of knots in the wood were splayed apart at the perfect distance so as to let me fashion thin, white lines along her asscheeks as I held the branch to her bum and scraped it upwards slowly.

Swat. Scrape. Smack. Swat. Scrape. Smack.

I tossed the branch aside. I set my ground right behind her. I stroked my hard cock with my fist as pused her lower back down slightly while she continued to hld the tree. Gripping her left cheek, I parted her open and slowly slid my dick inside her tight, drenched pussy. I held her hips as I fucked her slowly from behind, her head alternately pressed against the tree and looking over her shoulder to watch me take her.

But soon dusk approached, and with it the carnivorous beasties eager to savage two sweaty lovers. Laughing, we dressed again and returned to the canoe, and soon were sipping wine before a wood-burning stove while we cheered the bats on as we watched them in the dusk.

She is my woman now.

So I'm hanging out with my therapist (and, yes, I think everyone should indulge... and I do mean "indulge"... in professional therapy from time to time), and as we discuss relationship issues it hits me that I'm actually, really happy.

My astrologer (and, yes, I think everyone should indulge... and I do mean "indulge"... in professional divination from time to time) tells me that I'm just coming out of a challenging Saturn influence in my life and world that began in September 2007. How ironic that is, when I think of what began and ended within this influence.

It occurs to me that after two months of dating, travelling, wining, dining, and fucking our brains out, I have no complaints about what's going on between myself and Kara. Not a one. Not a one.

That this feels really good. That it's taking virtually no effort. That I'm completely thrilled to be nurturing, supporting, listening to her. That seeing her blossom and unfold before (and under) me is scandalously delicious. That she is so goddamned cool. That I can barely understand, much less relate to, the amount of unyielding joy that I sense is before me.

"You have privilege and responsibility," she said to me this morning, said to me as our naked bodies were entwined on her comfortable bed. We had just indulged in a sensual quickie where I held her deliciously tiny ass as I slid my cock inside her sweet depths, bursting myself on her pert cheeks as she smiled and breathed deeply.

I've not known this much relaxed and unfettered sensuality with a partner in years. As she gradually finds herself in deeper and deeper bliss as well, witnessing her discover her feral consciousnes, to see her feel safe enough and nurtured enough to do so, leaves me beaming with pleasure.

I like this.

Ain't I a tease?

Blame it on me having an amazing summer, to being that distracted by a gorgeous, sassy high school teacher who rox my sox, and that I've been working hard at a planned move from my current pad, but I haven't had much time to write lately and the emails from some of youse guys are piling in.

It's good to be missed. ;)

Soon, friends. Soon.

Sunday comics.

Lake Cashel.

Kara and I are about to enjoy three days and nights in a deliciously secluded cabin in the Ontario woods. It's been way to long since I've enjoyed such pleasure.

A sauna, canoeing, a fireplace await us. I will roast cornish hen and bake salmon, and we will drink wine as we watch the sun linger in the dusk as we listen to beavers splash around us.

Grass will tickle our toes as I lean her against a tree and take her from behind. Mud will stain her hiking pants as she noisily nurses on my cock in the forest. Her cries will echo amid the trees as I bare her ass and spank her for my enjoyment.

In the bluelight.

The room was blue with morning light, and all was quiet and relaxed and sensual as we held one another with legs akimbo on the silk sheets. We smelled of the previous night's sex, the daquiris that still lingered on our tongues, and sleep. It was intoxicating.

My cock was alert and thick, strong against the warm softness of her thigh, as my body roused himself from slumber. In the distance, a cat mewled for breakfast. I coiled my arm around her waist and gently thrust my shaft against her leg as I held her back to my chest. She smiled in the bluelight and groaned quietly as she felt the tip of me softly poke toward the curve of her delightfully pert little butt. She turned around to face me, reached under the sheet, and with a small, warm hand, gently cupped and held my full and smooth balls. I love it when she does this, when she does this unexpectedly, when she does this because she desires to, and when he does this, it transports her from the slightly shy and introverted self she so often shows the world into that lustier version of her that I've come to treasure nurturing.

Kara stroked my cock slowly as I lay on my back. I felt thick and I was throbbing as she pulled the sheet down to look at me and her influence. I listened to her breathing quicken as her head rested beside mine, her tender mouth to my ear.

To me, the only kind of woman who is sexier than a completely confident and sexually empowered one is a curious and excited innocent who is opening herself up and on the path to getting there.

I groaned as she stroked me, her soft hand gliding along my shaft and firmly gripping my girth. I was straining. The muscles in my dick were beginning to tighten more and more, needing attention.

"Suck it, baby," I spoke into the blue. "Suck my cock."

She paused, and in the darkness, I knew she was smiling.

"Please," I added, with a chuckle.

She kissed me and her smooth, tiny body began snaking down toward my legs. Her adorable little tits grazed my ribs as she clung to me on her way down, and soonshe knelt betwen my opened legs, my full balls and straining dick in her view.

"Well," she whispered as she brought her face to me, "as long as you're saying 'please'."

It isn't that Kara dislikes fellatio, but I think she hasn't had to many expeiences with men who are willing to (much less enjoy) giving her the nurturing praise that she deserves. This breaks my heart for her, but I also languish in the opportunity to metaphorically hold her hand from time to time, and give her genuine, loving, hot and positive feedback. Doing that is part of my fun anyway.

I like to believe that, during one occasion when I simply invited her to suck my cock at her own pace and leisure, and for her own pleasure and exploration, that in that moment I began escorting her away from past baritone voices in her head that made demands without regard to her own fun. "I want you to have fun," I had often said to her.

On this morning, she had lots and lots of fun.

Her kissable lips parted to take my cockhead in, and I smiled as I felt my glans welcomed along her tongue. She bobbed her head slowly, feeling me in her mouth, coating my girth with her saliva as she gently held on to my balls. I squirmed.

"Suck it on the upstroke, babe." I whispered. "That feels so good." When she did so, her energy shifted slightly, and I knew she was tasting my hard and warm flesh even more so than before. She began moaning with my cock in her tightening mouth, and I screwed my eyes shut with pleasure.

She started bobbing her head faster, her sucking continuing, and it wasn't long before I was caressing her short hair between my fingers and thrusting gently upward and past her taut, wet lips. Feeling her wet and tightened lips pass over my glans, again and again, had me seeing stars.

"Let me feel your tongue too," I whispered breathlessly. As she continued to suck, she began darting the tip across the head of my cock, and my back arched as I thrust deeper into her not-quite-as-innocent little mouth.

She withdrew me to slide her tongue down the length of my shaft, and then returned t sucking and stroking me with a coiled fist around the base of my dick. I was drenched in her saliva and as she jacked me I felt her wet fingers grip tightly and direct my cockhead into the hollow of her cheeks. She slurped noisily, passionately. The high school teacher was sucking my cock as the morning sun crept into the bedroom, and she was well on her way toward earning a stellar grade of her own.

Suddenly, she withdrew, gasping, her face wet and contorted with passion. She rested her forehead against my thigh while her hand continued to blur as she jacked my cock, covered in her spit. She jacked me quickly as she gasped, her legs writhing as she felt her own desire swell her beautiful, feral cunt to rhubarb red. As she caught her breath, I tugged at her hair gently and listened to her as she marveled at how much she was enjoying this. How much she liked the taste of my dick in her mouth. How she liked feeling me thrust along her tongue. How she liked feeling her lips widen enough to take me.

It wasn't long before she was sucking me more, and it wasn't much longer after that before she was climbing on top of me to thrust me deep inside her waify body. But before she did, she made a suggestion that both surprised and elated my tawdry, naughty self.

"If you're going to teach me so much about this," she said with a grin, her mouth still puffy and wet from feasting on my dick, "then maybe I need a schoolgirl uniform."



As you read this, she and I are taking a trip to a cabin on a secluded Ontario lake. A sauna, the expanse of trees, and a fireplace await us there. We will do yoga and I will roast cornish hens. We will canoe. She already knows that I expect her to suck my cock in the woods. I intend to fuck her long and hard as she splays herself over a stone or a log or the desk rail of our cabin.

After then, a uniform could be a definite possibility. Oh, irony.

Sunday comics.

Kara.

The truth is that I hardly know where to begin. If I've seemed silent lately, believe me when I tell you that it isn't because I've been idle.

Clarity is a healthy and good thing, and while there will remain a great deal about what was shared (such as it seemed) between my last primary partner (such as it seemed) and myself that I still enjoy the memories of, I also know that sometimes it takes a complete redirection in the world before beginning to comprehend what was amiss prior to change. In these last few weeks, and in the last week or so in particular, I feel as though I'm getting fast-tracked into some bold, healthy, sexily glorious new awarenesses and opportunity. Aphrodite is being both kind and revolutionary. I have clarity, fun, and sextastic possibilities before me. Life is good. Really, amazingly, comfortably, finally good.

Kara, the Math Teacher, is a gentle, savvy, sassy, articulate, sharp, lithe, faerie whisper of a tomboi woman with short dark hair and eyes like small jade discs. I have to remind myself that she's in her early40s, because in both looks and spirit she is a woman of half her age and could easily pass for one of her probability students. Gracefully feline, I behold art incarnate when I hear her chant in the morning, or see her in natarjasana positions.

Her petite, dryad's form belongs on canvas adored by Waterhouse. With her shorn, straight hair, the nape of her lovely neck is always edibly available for me to feast upon (which she adores), and her skin, soft as oak moss in the wood, faintly tastes of almonds and spiced vanilla. Her deliciously charming, small faerie breasts are capped like candies with alert nipples standing proudly atop tiny, sensitive, pink areolae. Despite having brought a pair of excellent, delightfully golden children into the world, yoga and biking have left her with a taut, sexy tummy. Her beautiful, sensual ass is small, heart-shaped, and as pert as a split peach. A fabulously soft triangle of short, dark curls beautifully adorns her feral pubis. When aroused, her outer cushions swell and darken like ribald, wild fruit begging to be tasted slowly, its nectars a thing to be savoured.

It pains me that, as I am told, few past lovers have given her the bodily adoration a lovely waif such as she deserves.

This I have every intention to amend.

In my life, I've languished in the company of many bodytypes of women, and I've treasured them all. But if I were ever asked of what visage would make me happiest, as a man, as a lover, would I have no other choice for a playmate for the rest of my scandalous days, what I might share would likely surprise some people: mildly dykey, just slightly geeky, educated, shorthaired, petite brunettes. And I've found her in Kara.

She is the stuff of my fantasies.

But even more important than her appearance, and this to my own surprise, is the immediate ease in which she and I seem to be drawing closer to one another. There is no angst, no sense of struggle, no discomforts of note, no worries. There is no superficial narcissism or disconnects. There is no expectation for unyielding openness while retaining battened hatches. There are no hidden agendae. There are no yo-yos. We get along as easily as if we'd known one another since grade school, and every thought shared between us reminds us of the real, resonant, giving desires we each have come to learn about ourselves because we are each smart enough to have learned about ourselves.

Not that we don't have some differences. My sense of kink is almost entirely new for her, and that to the strong contrast to where my previous partner has since gone. But, much to Kara's delightful surprise, we're embracing this difference as a delicious opportunity rather than a liability between our sexual selves. My experience in kink offers her a pirate's treasure of sensual new possibilities that no previous man (or woman) has been able to previously share, leaving only in question of how deeply, how greedily she would wish to dig in the island sand... and her combination of curiousity and innocence delights my thickening cock with every fantasy I've ever had about corrupting young beauties down a wayward path to sensual perdition.

And for the first time in years, I'm not feeling a "need" to date elsewhere, at least for the forseeable future. Whether or not this new partnership will become monogamous remains to be seen (we both agree in the view that monogamy is fundamentally alien to the human animal), but for the first time in a long time, I'm much more interested in nurturing and exploring the possibilities ahead of me, building this foundation, rather than take time and energy away from that prospect. I suspect, if and when extracurricular play might happen, that it would more likely occur with us as the team we're becoming. That's a paradigm I've known and enjoyed before, and would be thrilled to see it in my world again. After all, adventurous sexplay is just so much better when it's shared with one's best and intimate friend, I think.

Kara's presence in my world is a fun, vibrant, feral, welcome change. I'm looking forward to seeing where the faeries take me.