Tags: shon

xkcd sex

The joy of tumbling

So, I am slowly beginning to see the appeal of this "tumblr" thing.

It started with Good Shit. Erosblog linked, I followed, and I determined that it was *well* worth spending a few minutes a day there, admiring what pretties he had to unload. It was added to my growing collection of porn blogs that I read on a daily (or semi-daily) basis --one of the first picture based, rather than word-based things to do so (Besides ErosBlog, of course, which really was my original sex blog, and I'm very fond of it).

After a while, I came to realize that the wonderful Erotiterrorist himself had a tumblr. Shon Richards, whose tastes have come to somewhat influence my own, posting all the pretty pictures he finds in the world. I was willing to wander in and watch, and after a few goes of this, I found I had started to follow. Goddamnit Shon. You have far more sway over me than a simple porn writer ought to.

And then the other night, it happens! Bacchus linked to another tumblr he enjoyed, and, well, I really had to go poke around. For science, you know? Before I knew it, I had looked at all 49 pages of posts on Erectus, and squirreled away more than a few favourites --you know, for future browsing?

It made me wonder a bit though. Perhaps it's time for me to get in on this tumblr craze, finally. I do see a lot of pictures in the world --perhaps I ought to share them, or at least have a place where I can find all my favourites again. After all, the whole point of this identity is being able to splatter my shameful secrets across the web without ever reassociating with myself. You can learn an awful lot about a girl by knowing what she finds sexy after all.

In the meantime though...well, I've already got this blog that I neglect plenty. Who needs another?
xkcd sex

How did my night go...

I slipped into the bathroom with my tiny bullet vibe --tonight was not a night for the subtle sweetness of the Liv. Tonight was meant to be hard, dirty, and fast. It's a whore night, and I was ready for the role.

I sat down on the closed toilet, and pressed the vibe against my clit, rocking intensely at the sensation. As I began to hum, I felt fantasy begin, and all of a sudden, some sort of unimaginably cruel dom was there, having strolled straight out of the melding of Shon's stories and my dirty mind.

"Hello there." he said, and pushed me to the floor. One hand, which had been so busy pressing against my cunt, found its fingers thrusting down my throat, mimicking the cock I wished were there. I sank to the floor, my skirt askew, and looked to my phantom dom for further instruction.

"Your underwear" he hissed. "Now." I removed them, and was rewarded by my pulling my tits out of my bra and top, and pinching cruelly at the nipples. They were already tender, it hurt dearly, but the wicked smile of a man who never was kept me going.

I was forced onto my back, and the fingers I had so eagerly sucked now began to fuck. The bullet still pressed against me, I slammed my hand into myself, over and over, arcing my hips to meet the sensations I so desperately craved. I shuddered and spasmed and came, my back pressed hard into cold tile.

He started to fade as I returned to myself, but not before I popped the vibe into my mouth to suck it clean. As I slunk out of the bathroom again, I couldn't help feeling a loneliness. At least I knew it would not be so difficult to summon my dream dom again...
xkcd sex

Luck be a Lady tonight...

(Meta-note: I have been using a just wonderful website called 750words. It encourages me to write at least 750words a day, and so I have, for both Mesix and for my "real" identity. That's the site alluded to in the first few paragraphs.)

My normal self does not particularly have a ritual or routine to writing over here.

It's really just "okay, sure, time to write, let's do it." Which is great, and fine, as long as I do remember to do it at some point --She nearly forgot today. But when it comes down to the actual ritual of writing, there is nothing specific to be done but just write.

Mesix is a little different. See, at the very least, she requires certain moods in order to write. So, when writing my 750words, I tend to start by reading. ErosBlog, Erotiterrorist, Lily...whoever's posting, and whatever's good. Some days, I'll sift through the images on GoodShit, looking for that flush of inspiration (read: horniness). Some days I'll stop by Domai, to be knocked flat by the attractive girl of the day. But, unless it's been a very good day indeed, I need *something* to push myself into the proper Mesix mindset.

And then, when it comes to actually sitting down and getting the words done, I have a little bit of a ritual. A pre-writing exercise if you will. When I am ready to write, I start by opening YouTube in another window.

And watching Lady GaGa's "Bad Romance" video.

Oh sure, some nights I just listen to it, letting the hypersexual bouncypop wash over me in generous waves. Lady GaGa is an awesome soundtrack --she is enthusiastic and rhythmic and fun. Her music does not depress me, which is crucial to me being a good pornista.

And the music video for Bad Romance is sexy as hell. True, it doesn't necessarily always get my girly parts working, but there's a lot of absolute good in it. I enjoy watching the GaGa drop to her knees and crawl towards the man who wants to buy her. I like the way her eyes look out from her metal mask as she is posed among the diamonds. There is an appeal in the big eyed bathtub beauty being stripped, and the naked woman in the shower swaying her hips from side to side.

And then there's the dancing. And nowhere is that more interesting and powerful than the red lace outfit, who writhes on the floor, gyrating perfectly to the rhythm of the song, with a dozen background dancers doing exactly the same.

How often is rhythm alluded to in sex? A perfect rhythm, gradually increasing speed, of his thrusts inside her, his balls slapping in time against her ass. Rhythm is crucial, and as GaGa howls "I don't wanna be friends", her and her dancers make each movement in perfect synchrony. It's precise, and right on the beat, and sexy as hell. Too easy to imagine the bounce of the hips as they dance as an entirely different bounce, too easy and too fun!

I have the best sort of crush on GaGa, really. It's the kind where I can't decide whether I want to fuck her, or be her. Realistically, I know I don't want the second, but there's an appeal into becoming the next Fame Monster. As for the former, well... we all know the rumors. I'd love to find out which bits are true!
xkcd sex

Some bitches just need to be slapped

(Meta-note: I have been writing, quite a bit, although very little of it has been story, and I haven't had sex in a right age, unfortunately, so I've got nothing useful there. At any rate, I figure I'm going to make a handful of little short posts, since that's how I've been thinking lately --little three or four paragraph short posts.)

I am physically attracted to girls, much moreso than boys.

This means that when I look for porn, I look at places like GoodShit and Domai, where the soft attractive feminine form is ruler, and when I'm staring at eye candy in a crowd, the xx chromosomes catch me far quicker than the xy.

I'm pretty generous with my attraction. I will always melt for a good smile, or a lovely pair of eyes, or hair that tumbles to the waist. Like Shon, I believe glasses to always be a plus. I like a lot of different body types, and a lot of different forms of woman. Most of them, I don't wander into fantasy, but for the ones I do...well...

The girls who warrant fantasizing generally fall into two immediate categories. The first is the traditionally pretty, sweet-faced girls with generous smiles and open eyes. Charlie from Heroes fits this to an absolute t. Really, any strawberry blonde with lots of freckles is pretty likely to catch my attention here. The second category is any girl who I recognize as the type of shit who made fun of me in school.

The dark fantasies in my mind love the perfectly made up popular girls. I want to fuck the entire cheerleading squad, more then that. I want to take the head cheerleader and make her into my slut, be the sort of harsh mistress who rules by fear more than love, and has a harem of similar toys, to be used and abused. In my fantasies, the girls love it of course, they throw themselves to their knees to please me, let my hands pound on their perfect pert asses, or slap at their luscious breasts.

I'm sure some of it is an unhealthy bitterness, residual from years of being an outsider and a geek. I'm sure some of my lust for domination is a lust for revenge. But the rest of it? Let's be honest here --when dealing with the popular girls who are meant to be my peers, I have always felt more the stereotypically dorky *male*.

And what dorky male hasn't wanted the queen bee to throw herself at his feet, because he's just that good?
xkcd love

Here's to you, Mr. Richards

I have been reading the archives of Erotiterrorist, and I have noticed two things that the utterly amazing Shon Richards does to me.

The first is obvious. He makes me squirm, and whimper, and want. He makes my panties wet like nothing else. Half his stories I want to immediately send to my sir -that's FatherMaster for those playing along at home- and the other half I want to hide away to keep such terror from happening to my poor tender bits. There are good writers and there are *good* writers.

(And hell, have you checked out Still Alive in Atlanta? Even his non-porn is pretty damn good! Be still, my chirping heart!)

The second is a little less obvious, but a lot more interesting. He makes me want to write. He makes me want to write, and want to create, and want to journal, and invent, and document, and blog, and all sorts of utterly wonderful things. I haven't had such an inspiration fix since I last listened to [Title of Show] straight through without pause. It is, in a word, amazing.

And sure, his stories are nice, his words are nice, the images he conjures in my dirty dirty mind are oh-so-nice. But that's not why I want to throw myself at his feet and pay him back for what he's done for me. The desperate thirst to create, the understanding of how this is writing, damnit, and the only way to be a writer is to fucking WRITE, the impetus to just sit my sorry ass down and get some dirty words onto a clean page...mmm, yes please! I would pay him back for all that in a heartbeat.

Because as much as I love geeks, and as much as I love perverts, there is a class of person who I always have loved much much more.

What can I say? Writers get me wet!
xkcd sex

Regarding the Librarians of the Colette-Ashbee collection

I...words...I'm sorry, gah, *what*

*takes a deep breath*

Okay. So. There is this blog that BestFriend linked me to, called Erotiterrorist (Warning, link NSFW, also TITS). It's by a guy who writes dirty stories. He posts about the stories, and more importantly, he posts the stories themselves.

I have been following him for a couple weeks, enjoying immensely the stories. "Alright" sez I. "It's time to get serious. To the beginning of the blog!

And the beginning of the blog is quite boring to the layman. He talks about his process, and about the news, and about occasional other things. I find humanity fascinating, so I was quite alright with continuing to read, but it certainly wasn't the amazing erotic thrill I was anticipating.

And then I get to The Librarians of the Colette-Ashbee Collection.

If I had to custom order an erotic story for myself, this very well may have been it. It is incredible.

Oh dear lords, it is incredible.

It's also 47 pages long, according to the word file I saved it in, but I salivated over every word. Shon Richards, you are my new hero. I need a smoke.