Welcome to Elust #67 -

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust.

Want to be included in Elust #68? Start with the rules, come back March 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

For our UK readers, we would like to make a special request that you take a moment and fill out thispetition to repeal the new censorship laws.

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Yes, Squirting is Real (And it’s not pee.)

These men make me SO angry

Still Kinky After All These Years

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

When It Rains
You want me to read what?

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Due to technical difficulties there is no Readers Choice selection this month. However, here are links to a couple of my posts.

humiliation-of-an-ex-nazi-submissive-33/

humiliation-of-an-ex-nazi-submissive-34/

humiliation-of-an-ex-nazi-submissive-35/

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

How to Make Time for Kinky Fuckery
Submissive Power Is Hot Stuff
Topping from the Bottom
Daddy
Property Milestone
Dead Heat
Submissive power and the storms of life
I Talk A Lot, But Not About That
I Just Want To Be Me
What I Get Out Of Locking A Man in Chastity
BDSM and pick-up artists <– The Jerusalem Mortimer post for this month!

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Socks and Sex
Marsala? The Color of My Panties? Who Knew?

Erotic Fiction

Short Strokes: Molasses Makes Me Horny
12 Step Homeopathic Remedy for Scorned Lovers
Alice’s Wonderland
Feel His Breath On Me
Out For A Walk
Playing in the Band
Braille
Coming Pretty
The Fall
Erotica After Hours
Dancing in the Dark

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Make Love to Me
I Used to Fake Orgasms. This is Why I Stopped

Poetry

Brigitta – A Lusty Limerick

Erotic Non-Fiction

With a very sharp knife
black bra and g-string
Debut
Meeting Slave Olive for a Cash Point Meet
LachrymoseWhen Two Doms Play…Fuck Tender!

I’m running a monthly meeting for bdsm people, to talk, drink, eat runny smelly cheeses, and other things, and meet each other. 

Initially I started an on-line group for people in my mountains, simply because there wasn’t one. It didn’t take any work to set it up, and get it started with a couple of posts. After a while people wanted to meet for real, so I called a munch in a local, rather grand hotel. 

It had a turnout of maybe ten people, which is okay for a start. But the venue was a problem. The food was pricey (and very ordinary), and, because I’d put the munch in the foyer, near the fireplace, you could only order drinks from the champagne bar. So they were expensive too. 

But the real problem is that assorted families were in the foyer too, and they’d brought their kids along. Kids love watching fires. So one of our group would be discussing, oh, let’s say, the electrification of nipple clamps, and a couple of boys aged ten and twelve would suddenly turn up to stare into the fire while listening to the adults.

And then, I expect, go back the the family and ask, “Mommy, what’s a butt plug?” 

So we’d fall silent whenever kids showed up. A lot of kids did. It was awkward. 

I said I’d find a private venue next time. I did some hunting around, and found that any hireable meeting space or social space was hideously expensive. It was far too much for me to pay just out of generosity, but if I charged people who turned up a share of the cost then no-one would show. 

So months passed while I refurbished my library, which had been flooded in the spring. That wasn’t just a matter of getting new carpets and shelving. It also meant digging a trench below the level of the library floor and putting in piping to take any water away. And doing various other drainage and water management things that involved sink holes, pipes, gravel paths, and so on. 

Finally, late last year, it was done, and I had the first bdsm library munch. 

Which I’ll tell you about in a couple of days.

I live in a village of about 7,000 people. I checked some demographic information when I was thinking of buying a place here. The population is mostly people of Scottish and German descent. I used to find it weird, after living in the city, how seldom I see brown or black people round the village, except those who’ve come up to the mountains as tourists. I’ve got used to it, though it does mean there’s no decent Indian, Thai, Vietnamese, Chinese or Lebanese food for about 100 kilometers in any direction.

Yoga and yoghurt in the mountains

A really high proportion of the people up here are single mothers. The single mothers are here because of the property prices: you can afford to live up here, with a bedroom or two for the kids, after a divorce or separation. And there’s a single mother’s mafia, a network who get each other bargains, and swap garden produce, clothes and that sort of thing, to keep living costs down.

Also, according to Neil Young so it must be true, welfare mothers make better lovers.(It’s a great song, by the way, and I recommend the version on Weld. If you ever wondered, “how much noise can Crazy Horse really make?”, this demonstrates that the answer is, “More than you could ever imagine, in your wildest dreams.”)

There’s a temptation to go all man-of-the-world when you hear bumper stickers like that: ah, yes, that welfare mother, the colours her face turns when you’re in her bed and the kids are in theirs, just a wall away, and she’s trying to suppress orgasmic screams. Her sexual abandonment and need, when you’re just got an hour left before the kids get back from school.

She has various kinds of wisdom, that come from having loved and had to leave a man, and another kind that comes with responsibility for children, that lead to a willingness to see the world and people as they are. That’s sexy too.

The man of the world says something like this, and he sighs with pleasurable reminiscence. He has a sip of whisky, breathes out and says, again, “Ahhh, yes.” I could do that. I’ve even got a library with a leather armchair.

But it’s bullshit, of course. Not because single mothers aren’t great lovers. But then, you could make up just as reasonable a story about nurses, or teachers, or librarians making better lovers. It’s one of those statements that sounds like knowledge but doesn’t really mean anything.

I’ve never known a woman bank middle-manager, or travel agent or public service policy writer, who wasn’t a brilliant lover. I guess I’m just not a man of the world. 

Anyway, I started this train of thought because I was going to write something about running a bdsm meet’n’greet group up in these mountains, and what that’s like. But I’ll come to that next time. 

Raylene bent neatly at the waist and placed her forehead on the fourth step, her hands on the second step, taking her weight. After a second she turned, resting on her left cheek so she could look back at me. “Is this how you want me? I mean, specifically how you want me? Sir?

She was beautiful, posed like that, but there was room for improvement.

“That’s good, but I want your head on the next step up. You’ll have to lean forward a bit more. Keep your legs apart, but straighten out just a bit. And keep your arse up. It’s called presenting. Oh yes. That’s a good girl.”

I watched Raylene make these adjustments, presenting herself enticingly for the razor strop, and other attentions she might invite and require. I hoped I had those condoms. It seemed uncool to check at this exact moment. “No, don’t turn your head. I want you face down, so you rest your weight on your forehead, not your cheek.”

“Oof.”

This was difficult, but Raylene awkwardly did as she was told. The tension was coming back. It was welcome. “Now arch your back, get your bottom right up.” 

Raylene complied. Her “yes Sir” was a little breathless. It was not a comfortable position, and the only reason to be in that position was to present oneself to be whipped and fucked.

Holidays are over. I’ve got projects, including at least one where I have no idea how to do what I’ve contracted to. But they wanted me, so that’s that. 

I’ll learn how to do the job, and I’ll get a nice transfer of funds, with love, from them to me. (Cue mouth organ break.) 

Anyway, here’s what happened yesterday. A pretty girl I’d been flirting with, months ago, sent me this:

 (It’s just an internet image, which is why I’m prepared to reproduce it here.) Anyway, we’d called it off, but ended on friendly terms, so I thought that was an encouraging sign: she missed me and wanted to pick up where we left off. I felt very cheery. She’d expressed some interest in the leather, semi-flexible instruments, so I sent her this:

“Have case, will travel.”

Anyway, she sent me another message, which went, approximately, “WTF? Nice to hear from you, but why you just text me? & why that?” 

So I realised she’d been texting some other guy, and she’d accidentally sent the picture to me. She’s the sort of girl who’d be horrified to realise she’d done that, so I decided not to embarrass her by explaining. (She doesn’t read this blog). I just apologised. Rush of blood to the head, or something, I said. So there you are. 

Raylene looked back, considered me over her shoulder for a second, and laughed. “Well, if you say it’s what I meant, then it must be. If you say so. And, well, I suppose I can’t really complain that you’re bossy, can I? Sir.”

“Well no. Um, we’ve, ah, bounced back, have we?”

“Yes, Sir, no, Sir. Sah!”

“Fine, fine. That’s good. Anyway, no: you can’t complain that I’m bossy. I don’t think I’m going to let you complain much about anything.”

She said, “Um…” and turned around to face me, and wriggled her way into an embrace, placing my arms around her. She had her hands on my chest, for a few seconds, like a little woman saying “you brute!” in an old movie, then put her arms around me. We stood together and swayed.

Time passed. It was Raylene who said, “You were saying something. Something that I needed to do.”

“Yeah.” She’d missed a Sir. I thought, Fuck it, who cares, and let it go.

It’s odd how what’s important changes, moment by moment. Calling me sir would be important again soon enough. I kissed her again, and put my hands on her arse, enjoying the warmth of that stripe, still bold and hot, though obviously not painful any more. She smiled. She liked the touch.

“Um. Sir?”

“Nn?” 

“Do you have condoms? I should, but …”

“Yeah, I have. Dib dib dib.” 

“Dib dib dib? You were a boy scout?”

“About half an hour. Scouting and I went our separate ways. Tell you about it some other time. I still like starting fires and tying knots though. And condoms come under the Be Prepared rule.”

“Well, good for Baden-Powell.”

I thought there were three in my wallet. I usually thought that was a generous supply. At the moment I worried we might be skimpily provided. “Yeah. Enough to be going on with. You, pretty love, you were going to turn around.”

Raylene turned for me. But the tension was gone and this was mock-obedience. I liked her playfulness, but at that moment it was in the way. It had to go. I didn’t want her to feel playful for long.

I put my hand, my hand holding the razor strop, on her left buttock, and squeezed her hard. Then I slapped her firmly. It wouldn’t hurt, but I wanted her to remember the strop was there.

“And spread your legs. Wider.” That ‘wider’ was spoken in a gritted-teeth voice, the voice that promised razor strops.

“And you’re going to bend forward and put your head on that step. You have to sort of lunge forward. I’m afraid that I like the idea of you not being able to get up.”

My Pinterest page has been taken down. I thought it was pretty innocent, but anyway, someone at Pinterest doesn’t like mild bdsm imagery. 

I saved it only a couple of days before it went down, so I’ll be able to retrieve the images and captions. Though right now there’s some tech stuff to solve, about that. 

I’m busy at the moment, so I’ll just run a picture of rope marked thighs. I think I like the body-marks bonds leave, afterwards, more than I like bondage itself. 

Welcome to Elust #66 -

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #67? Start with the rules, come back February 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

For our UK readers, we would like to make a special request that you take a moment and fill out this petition to repeal the new censorship laws.

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Small Breasts

Watching Her Cum

An Ode to Blow Jobs

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Of Skeletons and Secrets
Would you be bored?

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

jerusalemmortimer.com/silent-night-some-christmas-thoughts-on-gags/

Lust Fish

Erotic Fiction

Unbroken by Oleander Plume
A Meal And A Show
Fucking Snow
Getting Off Is So Much Fun
Wicked Wednesday – Merry Christmas
Advent Calendar 24

Erotic Non-Fiction

Christmas Drinks At The Y
Nothing But Mouth
The things he does
The First Submission
Canadian Mist, Eggnog, Ginger Ale and You.

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