I'm a housewife expressing long withheld passions and exploring new lusts while remaining deeply in love with my husband

e[lust] #47

Posted on June 15, 2013 by Scarlett DuBois

Photo courtesy of Behind the Chintz Curtain

Welcome to e[lust] - 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 e[lust]. Want to be included in e[lust] #48? Start with the newly updated rules, come back July 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

This Scene Called Life

I Don’t Give A Fig

9 Reasons You SHOULD Have Sex on a First Date

~ Featured Posts (Molly’s Picks) ~

Firm
East Side Exhibitionism

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Threesomes: Being a Good Little Unicorn

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

-Scarlett

Beneath your Beautiful

Posted on June 10, 2013 by Scarlett DuBois

There are moments in time, an hour, a week, a month—which ever stands out–that you feel the luckiest, the most loved, and highly desired by one person. It feels right; cosmic in the sense that you know you belong in this moment and no one else could have taken your place. That love and fondness can exist in a moment of such global and personal sadness; and although you know what awaits for you when you fall from this cloud, the view was worth the climb…

Poor Henri hadn’t been in the gym for almost two weeks, so when he finally went yesterday, he came back sore to the point of losing his appetite. Despite that, he continued snatching at my tits and grabbing my ass, smacking it from time to time. When we put our son to bed, I went to take a shower while he relaxed and watched a movie. As per proper pussy care, I do not put on underwear immediately after washing up unless I’m in a rush to go somewhere. I basically let my pussy air dry. Most of the time (like right now as I sit here typing) I don’t wear any panties under my pants at home, again, unless I am going somewhere of good distance. A quick trip to the grocery store (right down the block) does not count. So, there I was splayed open on the bed, opposite the fan, carelessly airing my cunt and watching some unimportant television show.

“Mmmm, that looks delicious,” Henri said with a twitch of his eyebrows and broad grin. I jokingly rebuffed him, thinking that I was doing him a favor and it wasn’t only because his body was in pain. In the past, we have had less than successful pussy eating sessions. I am not one to fake anything; there have been times where he has eaten me out and I just lay there, not entertained, not enjoying myself. It may be harsh, but I either end it and go to bed or change positions and take over to avoid hurting his feelings. So last night, despite the fact that the last time he ate my pussy it was quite amazing, I brushed off his comments, even telling him “I don’t think you can physically handle this tonight” and putting shorts on. He looked at me with an “Oh really?” look on his face and pushed against me, causing me to fall on the bed.

He spread my legs wide open, moving my shorts to the side, and went in wholeheartedly. He was vicious, and in a few minutes time I felt guilt for doubting him. I grabbed at sheets, and held my legs open wide, assisting him by holding onto my shorts, so he could just focus his tongue lapping up my juices. His fingers probed my ass, and there was no second guessing from either one of us. In shutting down for almost a month, I hadn’t had any anal sex or anal play, until about four days ago. It wasn’t the same by myself, I quickly realized, his fingers awakening the rest of my lethargic libido. I’ve missed it so much.

“I’m…I’m ssso…” I couldn’t get the words out. They lodged in my throat upon every thrust of his finger. “I’m sorry…I won’t say that ever again.” The apology was genuine and flew out of my lips before I could process it in my brain.

He stopped abruptly and mockingly said, “Nah, I can’t handle it tonight.” He faked disinterest while he walks to the other side of the room, but I ignore him and remove my shorts, assuming the position (doggy) in the middle of our bed. The talk meant nothing; in one smooth movement, he had taken his briefs off and was inside of me, pumping away and adding more hurt to his sore abs and muscles until he couldn’t bear with it anymore and had to stop. Propped up on pillows, he rested, catching his breath. He looked so beautiful; sexy as hell, and just an overall specimen of a man. My heart hurt with love and passion. I knew he was tired, but I didn’t want to stop. Cock in hand, I returned the oral favor, in hopes that he would cum in my mouth, and that I’d take out my Rabbit to finish myself off, ensuring that we’d both be satisfied by the end of the night. But his hunger for me was stronger that I gave him credit for (probably due to the work out) and he was soon on top, my pussy singing and my eyes rolled back. My response is different now when I have sex ever since Sir Dre came into my life. I used to make sounds to fill the silence; I thought being vocal meant I was enjoying myself. But, when I am truly in a state of utter lust, I am quiet, speaking only when the chords of pleasure are plucked internally and the need to release sound is automatic. After reaching orgasm, he assisted me while I buzzed away with my rabbit. I came almost instantly, his finger in my ass and my tit in his mouth.

Kinky sessions with Sir Dre are always fascinating. Sex with other men, well that was like having a sandwich for lunch: nothing special but it’ll do for now. Sessions with Henri, which would be considered as vanilla, are needed and valued. He still makes me feel like a fuck toy, which I love, but there are times like yesterday, where there was no hesitation and I was 100% myself. He was so confident, comfortable, full of love, and I felt so sexy and turned on around him and by him. It is rejuvenation, and the high from yesterday will hopefully help hold me over for the next few days since Henri is working late this week as well. We won’t eat dinner together again until Wednesday night. I don’t like it, but I wait for it like an answer to a prayer.

The song that inspired the post and title for Masturbation Monday

-Scarlett

Want to be my benefactor and send me to Eroticon?

Let’s get xxxesty

Posted on June 10, 2013 by Scarlett DuBois

I’m finishing up my post for Masturbation Monday, when this commercial comes on. I’m not usually one to get turned on by corny commercials, but this was made me tingle a bit. Am I wrong?

The way he rubs the dough, the spank, and that bum and chest isn’t so bad to look at either. And now, I want to buy that dressing, and make that pizza.

-Scarlett

Want to be my benefactor and send me to Eroticon?

Seismic stress release

Posted on June 9, 2013 by Scarlett DuBois

We were lounging on our bed, Henri waiting for his brother Pierre to pick him up in his new pre-owned car. Brothers always competing. While we waited, he slips his hands in my shirt, as he always does, to fondle my braless nipples, which they are always free when I’m at home. My chest is his spot for his fingers to relax.

First he starts off by just rubbing them, grasping the whole breast and massaging. Eventually, he signals in on my nipples, rolling them between his fingers. He pinches and pulls, getting into a rhythm. While I’m experiencing waves of feel good chemicals and squirming in my obvious arousal, he continues, like a child comforted by his soft blanket.

He has lulled himself to sleep this way plenty of times. Some people have stress release balls to squeeze, he has my breasts, which are always available.

See who else is being Sinful xxx

-Scarlett

Want to be my benefactor and send me to Eroticon?

Be my Benefactor?

Posted on June 9, 2013 by Scarlett DuBois

So, how many of you out there have read Great Expectations? I have been contemplating posting about this; mostly because my pride tells me not to. But my heart, she ultimately decides on the passionate things that go on in my head. And right now, I have no choice but to let her take the wheel (or the keys, depending on what metaphor works for you).

I briefly made a reference to my less than ideal financial issue before, and that was one of the reasons I was afraid to pitch any ideas about donation. But lets face it, this is not unusual in the time we live in. What does seem to be a regular every day occurrence is aspirations disappearing because of circumstance, and I don’t want to let that become my outcome. I’ve been writing since the age of 11 and a lover of the written word since I learned how to read at the age of 6. I’ve secretly wanted to be a published author long before I had personally acknowledged it during my teenage years. I didn’t believe I ever could do it. Instead of majoring in Creative Writing in college, I took “Literary Specialization.” I read a lot of books, and wrote a lot of essays, none of which helped my true passion, but still the dream didn’t fade away. I graduated, got pregnant and married. But my fingers itch all the time, and my brain thinks of stories, passages, and stanzas that I should put to paper, and sometimes don’t. This blog, so far, is the only thing I’ve ever dedicated time and written creativity to. I’d like to continue expanding, growing as a person and writer.

Here is where I bat my lashes at you…

If you haven’t heard about Eroticon, then go visit the link and read up! It is a convention, originated in the UK, where erotic bloggers and writers network with each other, and more importantly learn from one another. My writing, according to some of you out there who are way too kind, is said to be good; but I know it can be better, and I want it to be. For the first time, Eroticon is coming to the United States in October, and I am dying to go. I’ve spoken to some friends (who know about my blog and what I write about) and they have told me they will try to help if they can. Now, I am reaching out to you, the people who encourage me to write in the first place. The personal, the obscene, fiction and truth, I put it all out there so I can connect with the real people I am not surrounded by, going through the same things, using them as lessons or wishing for these desires. I also do it because if I captivate one person with something I write, it feeds coal to a my dreamy fire, and it’s nice to hold on to an old wish when it still has the possibility of coming true.

So, with that said, I have set up a donation page at GoFundMe to help raise money to send me to Eroticon. This is, quite honestly, a last resort. Henri and I have spoken about it, but the wedding and other unseen circumstances have left us unable to fund the trip. It would be nice to go, but I am prepared not to (if I did, it would feel like a Lifetime movie ending). Still, anything that you can contribute, if you are able, will be greatly appreciated. If I could scrape up the money to go (both from what is donated and my own), prepare to read about my visit to what will hopefully be history in the making. I have confidence that Eroticon is only going to get bigger and I’d love to be apart of it. But, if you can’t, I’m just glad you stopped by in the first place. Honestly.

“Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching, and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be. I have been bent and broken, but – I hope – into a better shape.”
― Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

^Clickity click^

-Scarlett

June 7th 2013 is Boobday!

Posted on June 7, 2013 by Scarlett DuBois

Once again, I am late for my Boobday submission to Hy’s blog. But, I am still participating, sick and all!

The weather in New York as been wacky. Currently, it is a wet and chilly 61°, while less than a week ago, it was a high of 92°. Due to the changes, my son and husband got sick with a cold. While I took care of them and they have completely or partially recuperated, now I’m sick with the addition of some bad back pain and cramping, and there is no one here to take care of me. C’est la vie, right?

Anyway, I am currently in my fave, comfortable gray shirt that I usually wear without pants. My plan is to wear this shirt all day today and tomorrow, rest up, and try to get better by Monday. Here I am this morning, after taking my son to the bus, with my comfy ass shirt on, no pants, and the only time today I wore a bra.

I hope everyone has a great weekend!

Click to see more lovely boobies!

-Scarlett

The Wonder of Weddings

Posted on June 5, 2013 by Scarlett DuBois

Did you know that the two events in life that can either break apart a family, or bring them all together, are weddings and funerals? Perhaps it is not a scientific fact, but from experience, I know it is true. My mother-in-law went into full ‘bridezilla’ mode, in a way I never thought this sweet woman could, for her wedding that took place this past Saturday.

When Henri and I got engaged, I began looking up information on the cost of a wedding: location, dress, ceremony, flowers, and tuxes. I did eight months of research when I came to the reality of the situation: weddings are expensive. And with no help from our parents, we were doing this on our own. We found out I was pregnant, and decided to make plans to visit my brother who lived in Florida at the time. It was going to be our first out-of-town vacation and we were stoked. About two weeks before we were to leave New York, we discussed getting married in Florida. My brother and sister-in-law had gotten married there the previous year on the beach, with an intimate gathering right after. I had already settled with the idea that we were getting married at our nearest City Clerk’s office. But the thought of getting married at a court house basement somewhere didn’t appeal to me. When my sister-in-law told me that getting married on the beach was free, and that she would help pay for the marriage license, we figured, why not?

I was in the beginning of my second trimester in my pregnancy, and I wasn’t showing much yet. The next day after arriving in Florida, the rings we ordered arrived; we found the perfect cocktail dress, in an apple cider color that I adored; and two days later we got the marriage license, which allowed us to get hitched immediately, if we wanted to. A day before we were to come back to New York, we decided to get married. It had rained the whole day, and we weren’t sure if it would take place outdoors. But at around 3 pm, the weather began to ease up. An hour and a half before the scheduled sunset, the sun made its appearance for the first time that day. Henri left to the beach before me with my brother, while I met them there accompanied with my sister-in-law; we figured it best to stay slightly traditional and not have him see me or my dress until we were to be wed. Perhaps because of the weather that day, the beach was empty. It was only us four and the officiant, who happened to be an acquaintance of my brother, and had also presided over their wedding. The beach was perfect; no extreme hot weather or mugginess; no birds flying or nipping at us; no people that we didn’t know staring; the sun was up but not burning; and even the ocean was at a perfect temperature, warm and pleasant. Everything worked out. Under the divine open air, in the presence of two people who truly loved each other, one person as witness to a moment in the making, and among the most natural of places, we became man and wife.

I had made my bouquet from silk flowers and these little purple plant stems. The best part is that I still have the bouquet.

I saw the love in his eyes, an attentive look of which I have never seen until that moment. I could see and feel his love emanating so bright that his eyes seemed lighter in color. It looked like he wanted to cry but he couldn’t because he was so happy. It became a moment where I couldn’t physically stand still; I was rocking on the heels of my feet, giddy and giggling like a little girl. We spoke our own vows, choosing not write anything down, and speak what was in our hearts and minds at that moment. We didn’t have a room of guests to see it; but the love was there either way. I felt a super natural power at work, and a love that was overwhelmingly explosive. That is what a wedding and a marriage should feel like; an event full of love.

While my special day was simple and cost efficient, my in-laws wedding was your typical traditional wedding. Church ceremony, 100 guest reception, and wedding photos taken alongside a castle. It was what she wanted. Since the New Year began, I have been a person on the outside looking into the stress of planning a low key and budget friendly wedding. While I love and adore my mother-in-law, I never knew how much a woman could change when she’s planning a wedding. It made me grateful to have gotten married that way I did. No stress, no inviting people I didn’t really want to invite, no running around and losing my mind or money. Our wedding was smooth, idyllic for us, and no less full of love, which always stands to be the most important thing. Even though she had lost her mind and manners for the past few months, her wedding was full of love: between her new husband and herself, her now newly extended family, and even the air around her. I’ve noticed that when there is love that pure and unfiltered in one space, time and nature change. You smell love, drink it in along with the oxygen and champagne. You see it in everyone’s eyes, of people that you know and those you’ve just met. Sadly, I am not used to open emotion like that. It is love I give and don’t usually see returned other than through my son, husband, or sister. But I felt it this weekend, especially from my husband, who gave me that same look from the day of our wedding; full of love and pride that I was his wife, from the moment I put on my burgundy and lace dress for the special occasion, until long after I took it off that night.

“I couldn’t have married anyone else, you know that? There is no one that I could think of taking to my father’s wedding, past or present, that isn’t you. You know what to say, when to say it, how to act. You’re amazing, and I’m happy you’re my wife.” He laid in bed and the haze of lime Coronas still wavered in his eyes. This was truth he was telling me; the beer just helped him say it without second guessing himself. It was an honest moment, between him and me, the ones people can’t see behind closed doors.

“I could feel all eyes on us, Scarlett. We were the perfect couple out there. Shit, we are the perfect couple.” He reached his arms out and I lay on his chest, his heart beat pounding in my ear and eventually falling in rhythm to mine. And then we made love that night, the next day, and the day after that.

Happy 1 year Anniversary!!!

-Scarlett

Summer Green

Posted on June 3, 2013 by Scarlett DuBois

Summers in New York are killer. Not much because of the heat, although that is never comfortable. The humidity envelopes you the second you step outside. It is the closest thing to being back inside the womb. But, the only silver lining that comes with this season is the skin that comes out of hibernation. Men and women alike wear close to nothing in efforts to alleviate the disdain of the heat. Men mostly choose not to wear shirts; with the ladies, skin knows no boundaries of reveal. But sometimes, less is not more. A micro skirt or barely there shorts do nothing for me. I’m a woman; I know what breasts and a pussy looks like. What I prefer are the things left to the imagination.

It was a summer day where the weather easily approaches the mid 90′s. People scramble about, toting water bottles, racing to run inside a store with an air conditioner to take the heat off momentarily. It was a Saturday morning, and while most people were sleeping away last night’s bar hop or getting ready to go to the beach or pool I was here, waiting for the subway train on my way to an ill scheduled doctor’s appointment. If there was anything worse than summer on the concrete streets of New York City, it is the underground subway during a wretched heat wave. I head toward what will be the back of the train, the last car, once it gets here. Other than myself and one other woman standing yards away, the platform was empty. The familiar echoing begins as the clatter of wheels against track approach the station. I was utterly relieved, the full knowledge that in seconds I will be submerged in cool air.

The doors open with a ding and to my delight, the train car was empty. I chose a spot in the very middle, my behind instantly satiated by the coolness of the hard seat. The ding that signals the closing of the door rings, when in runs a girl, wearing a flowing white dress with roses decorated all over. She stood for a second to catch her breath and looked around the car, her eyes falling on me immediately. She smiled and plopped down at the bench across from me, closer to the car doors at my right. I returned the smile, and we nodded in unison, acknowledging the relief from the hot subway cave.

“That’s a pretty dress,” I told her, continuing to admire its design and vibrancy.

“Thank you. I bought it from a small boutique near Church Street. By the way, I love your earrings. Very cute.”

We continued to exchange compliments, what stop we were getting off at, where we were heading to, and then touched on the obvious hot weather. The next stop came and no one entered. Off the train clattered, and the conversation had wavered. I looked away; I tried at least. Her dressed was beautiful and the colors grandly offset the tan on her skin. The cotton grazed her thigh, and I felt the need to touch her thigh, to see if it felt as soft as it looked. To place my finger between the dress and her skin and feel the delicacy of both simultaneously. I did my best to keep my eye on the list of stops above our heads, counting off how many were left to reach mine. 2. Not many.

We emerged from the underground to above ground, the sun shine pouring into the train car. At first glance, her hair is a dark, chestnut brown. But in the sun, it shone a deep burgundy, the color of wine. My fingers tingled to be entangled in her hair and drink her in…I had to remind myself to look away. But it was too late. She saw me glaring at her thighs, and the sun in her hair. And she blushed, and smiled at me. The next stop came and went and again to my surprise, no one came in. But I knew that would be short lived, as the next stop was a major hub and people are likely to get on and I had to get off.

I tried to read the advertisements and keep my eyes off of her. But even the scent of her perfume entailed my sense, and I felt a thudding below my waist. I imagined her sitting on me, her chest so close to my lips I can smell the roses on her dress. Our scents and sweat fill the train car, her burgundy brown curls in my hands, skin against sticky skin. I snapped out of my fantasy when I heard a ‘psst!’

I blinked in rapid succession, my cheeks reddening instantly. I hadn’t noticed that I was staring at her chest or that I had clenched both my legs and my fingers. But apparently, she had. The automated voice came on over the speaker to announced the next stop, when she said

“Were you thinking about this?” She pulled up her dress and lifted her right leg, revealing a green thong underneath all those roses. Her hand adjusted the tiny piece of cloth and she quickly put her leg down, the train slowing to a crawl. At first I said nothing. Then I looked at her and smiled.

“That was pretty too.”

I stood up and in one step sat next to her. I took out my pen, lifted her dress and wrote my phone number on her thigh. I fixed her dress, smoothing it over with my hand, fleetingly caressing her skin, and stood up, facing her, reaching to out to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. The doors opened and out I went, looking back at her and smiling, her hand over her right thigh, her face flushed as the people began to filter in.

-Scarlett

A Masturbation Monday Post

Pussy Whisperer

Posted on June 2, 2013 by Scarlett DuBois

My husband is amazing, but I’m pretty sure that is relevant from my previous postings. Yesterday, we went to my in laws wedding, and it was fun, romantic, and we had an amazing time. We danced, laughed, kissed, met family new and old, and even my son found a little girlfriend. The best thing we heard from last night was “Every time I see you guys, I think there is hope.” That was in reference to relationships/marriages that don’t last.

This morning I awoke to a new award. I have gotten a few in the past two weeks, and while I appreciate them, please understand if I cannot re-post immediately, or possibly ever. My time at home is already taken by a rambunctious three-year old. Now, while I adore the person who gave me this award because he is a fantastic writer (no, seriously, I envy his writing. I want to write like him when I grow up), he included the word ‘cuckold’ in his nomination to me. I don’t like that word. While everyone has a different definition for it, here are my reasons for abhorring that word:

This Tumblr page (OH. HELL. NO!);
Cuckold would imply that I am allowed to fuck whomever I please, and my husband is to stay home and wait for me like a good hubby should. NO. Henri is allowed and encouraged to have sex with other women; however, he is very selective and has not found a woman who reaches up to his standards;
Henri is not turned on by the fact that I have sex with Sir Dre (seeing he is the only other man I am having sex with). He just respects the fact that I have other needs that he does not know how to meet, yet. (Which is why we wanted to have Sir Dre over for dinner; it’s a learning experience for all of us)

Fuck this man turns me on!

Do you see this man here? He is the sexist man on the planet to me. What I have with Sir Dre is completely overshadowed by my love for Henri, and Sir loves that about me. He is the only man I know who can play with a kitten and make my pussy purr. I am severely over protective when it comes to him, and I never want anyone to get the idea that he is a wimp, chump, pathetic, or anything that might imply that he is less than what he is in my eyes. I don’t mean to sound bitchy, and I apologize if I do. But, if there is one thing most haven’t noticed yet is that I am not one to withhold my views or opinions. Especially when they involve the core of my existence.

And yes, this is for Sinful Sunday. Because I am going to get sinful with this man right here. Well, once he is done with that kitten first; then he can play with mine…

-Scarlett

Underneath a broad umbrella

Posted on May 29, 2013 by Scarlett DuBois

I sit in bed as I begin to type this, the windows wide open at the opposite ends of my apartment, a magnificent cross breeze inspiring these words. It has just begun raining here in New York City, a beautiful rain that leaves pleasant bubbles on my window screen, and falls straight down, the wind never over powering a person’s grip on their umbrella. I remember past days like this; I would plug my ears up with music, my favorite black umbrella in my hands, big enough to fit two people, and venture out under the gray skies, enjoying the time to be in deep thought or have day dreams of my future. Still, I hadn’t imagined anything that has happened to me in the last four years.

I haven’t written because I figured there was nothing to write. Sometimes in my state of shutting down, I do have moments when I want to write out what is really going on, but I seem to talk myself out of it, thinking that people don’t really want to hear about the normal things that happen to me, only the sexy ones. It takes some time, but I do eventually remember that this blog did not start off as a place to solely express my sexual experiences. It began as a place to expose the things they don’t teach you about after you grow up to be an adult. Nobody tells you that there may come a time when the check you work for isn’t enough for food and bills; that even though I am a very expressive person, there will come a time when I would have to hide my tears because I shouldn’t ever break down in front of my child. I was also not taught that there would be so many sacrifices, though from some perspectives they may seem very small. Before, I barely saw my husband due to his work and gym agenda, and now I only see him an hour a day while he works 15 hours straight to make ends meet. And I miss him so much. The only silver lining from this situation is that at least we’ll be able to pay our bills and put food on the table. Then, there was a blow from the core of our existence: Family. My father in law had a toe amputated last week; he is also getting married this Saturday. None of this comes at a good time. Still, because we get through things with pride and humor, we’ll endure. He had texted me yesterday when he arrived home from the hospital with “I’m home, minus a toe :->.”

Sir Dre had requested we meet last Wednesday; but due to the aforementioned dilemmas, and the fact that I am honestly not 100% myself yet, we chose to reschedule, and he completely understood. I don’t meet up with Sir only give half of myself, and he knows this. It is another side to this new relationship I didn’t see until now. He is a friend, more than I thought. And it has cemented the fact that this is not something merely passing by in my life, nor is He.

I was able to see my sister, Sienna, whom I’ve missed so much, and didn’t realize it until she was here. Unfortunately, she was only able to visit for a little over two hours. But, she did my hair, we spoke, and caught up with things that was going on in our lives. Gave advice, laughed, and relaxed. Things we couldn’t do when we were younger, when we were supposed to but didn’t due to other people’s intrusion and jealousies. I had told Chloe that Sienna is our love child; she was influenced so much by us, it was like we consummated our friendship and somehow created another little woman. I am very proud of her, and I think her visit did me better than I thought it would. It had me thinking of a line I heard from Sex and The City, about the women being each other’s soul mate. I like that concept; different soul mates of any and every kind. Lovers, friends, and family members that are meant to be around, especially in times when your soul needs mending. I continue to count my blessings, while I tolerate the rest.

Am I back? I can’t say that for sure. But I am around. And I’ve missed you guys.