(Ed. note: This was started the weekend of my birthday weekend, when we went to Gatlinburg. As usual, life has intervened in me getting this posted in a timely fashion, but, well, better late than never?) It’s 1 a.m. here,
“Kneel. Spread your legs. Now touch yourself. … What do you want? Say the words.” No… “Say them. Tell me what you want.” Please… “Please what? Say it–” No…please… “Please… Please, Daddy, may I come?”
(This morning.) Him: Are you in traffic? Me: (wondering why he wants a traffic report) A little bit, but mostly it’s moving along well… Him: Good. Hike your skirt up over your thighs. Me: Um. Okay… Him: Now put your
After reading Hy’s post about being alone on a Sunday – and relating to being alone this day – I thought I’d post my own Sinful Sunday image – though quite a different image it is. But, as these things go,
Is there anything better than, first thing in the morning before you’ve even properly awoken, being dragged down to the basement by your hair to have your punishment meted out with paddle and strap? “What did you do wrong? What
I joined – or rejoined – the ranks of adults returning to school tonight. For the first time ever I am enrolled in a university, as opposed to a community college. That’s right, I’m in with the big kids now,
This Scavenger Hunt goes back to the before time, when W was alive. As often as we planned our weekend rambles, we also took unplanned forays into the wilds of St.Louis, exploring different neighborhoods and places just because we happened upon
I’ve had these pictures for awhile now but haven’t found the time to post them. These were taken during one of our twice-yearly kink events here in the Lou, so they weren’t taken specifically for this month’s Sinful Sunday prompt, “taken
This is when I’m supposed to “lean into it,” right? Lean to the loneliness, accept being partner-less and alone here, even though, theoretically, I have two partners. No, not theoretically – I do. Two partners that love and appreciate me.
Adam and I have re-established what used to be a staple of our free time, when W was alive: the Weekend Ramble. It starts with an idea, a curiosity, an inspiration, and goes from there. I can’t adequately express how much