Spring Boobday

So, this week Boobday is running one day behind schedule. But who the hell cares as long as you get to see beautiful busts?

This week Hy’s theme is Spring. Now those who live in or around New York know that Spring season has been slow to arrive. We go from beautiful 64 degree weather to torrential freezing rain in a matter of hours. For the past two days it has been raining, and today is foggy and cloudy with the news saying it’s going to be reaching a high of 80 degrees. I’m not loving this weather to say the least, so I wasn’t planning to participate in this weeks Boobday.

However, in the afternoon I had a midday masturbation session. My Fuck Buddy adventures have not been as fruitful as I have hoped–meaning I haven’t been fucking anyone. But I’ve been doing plenty of talking, messaging and picture-taking. I’ve been talking to a freak lately and I love it! Photos and videos turn him on, so I take some during private moments to send to him, especially if he has ‘inspired’ the moment somehow. During this session I decided to kick it up a notch. I haven’t been able to put clamps/clothespins on my nipples, but yesterday I was feeling brave and so horny. This man knows just the right amount of dirty to get me wet and wanton.


After taking the photos (and orgasming twice in a row), I looked back at them and thought Clothespins have springs. Would that qualify? Talk about thinking outside the box (or the frame). I love these photos. For one, I was able to accomplish having my nipple clamped, which felt so amazing. And getting two (and a third later on after the fact) orgasms because of it definitely doesn’t hurt.


Enjoy my Spring themed photos. I know I enjoyed taking them. Have a great weekend, and keep it wet, keep it sexy, and most importantly, keep it dirty.



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Train of Thought: Weekend Edition

  • I’m listening to a song Henri and I fucked to earlier.
  • Such a good quickie. Damn. I missed those.
  • Last night I gave Henri his first blow job in our brand new car, parked near an overhead highway. Surprisingly uncomfortable for me, but such a turn on to see him enjoy it.
  • We drove around, almost aimlessly and it wasn’t bad. Afterward, we went to meet up with someone I’ve been talking to.
  • It was awkward, at first. But then, it was fine. Honestly, just two adults meeting each other.
  • But in the back of my mind, I thought about giving them both a blow job at the back seat of our car.
  • It felt rejuvenating, like momentarily shaving off the past ten years or so, when we used to do naughty things in public.
  • I’ve lost my touch, but I think with more practice I’ll get my sense of daring back.
  • I’m already thinking about summer scenarios.
  • And the sooner I learn to drive, the sooner we can expand on whom we can share those experiences with.
  • In our effort to be more adventurous, we quickly snapped a photo of my boob while touring a New York City and National Landmark.


  • I want to try Dee’s Scavenger Hunt. I think it will be a lot more fun now with the car.
  • It will also add some extra spark, and give our camera new usage.
  • I wish we could have taken a better photo. We were rushed, there was a group of people coming, and this was our first time.
  • But thinking about it gets me extremely excited.
  • I am so glad you can see the people behind us…
  • I’m getting kinda’ open.
  • I’m back to being super damn horny. I have a “meeting” coming later this weekend with someone whom I’ve been speaking to and have hung out with a few times. Even Henri has met him, and thought he was a “cool dude.”
  • When I saw him Saturday, I asked if he was ready. I hope he is.
  • I’m not sure what he’s like in bed, but I’ve already told him I’m will to work with what he gives me.
  • Even if that means tying him down on the bed and using him as a fuck toy. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy that idea.
  • His cock is a thing of awesomeness.
  • His veins look like lightning bolts beginning at the base and rippling through the shaft, stopping a bit past half way. I’ve masturbated to thought of tracing each one with my tongue.
  • Oh the things I want to do to that man. If he could see inside my head…
  • I’ve masturbated twice today and I want more.
  • My body is on the brink of desperation for this week to pass quickly by. I can’t wait to suck his dick.
  • I’m wet. I’m going to fuck my husband now.


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Boobday: Before and After

Today’s Boobday prompt stumped me. I’m in a position where I can’t have sex this week, so a titty shot taken before and after coitus was out of the question.

Before and after a shower? Ehh. I wasn’t into that option. And then on Twitter someone  mentioned covered/uncovered. And eureka!

I chose two images from the my last meeting with Sir Dre. I usually take a photo on the day we are going to meet, either on the way to the hotel or on the way back home. Once we meet, we become so immersed in the session, that we take few photos or none at all. Recently, we’ve gotten better at remembering. Also, Sir has been evolving my limits. I don’t say push because it doesn’t feel that way. He has been increasing my threshold for pain, which for a woman like me who hates getting a paper cut, seems extremely ironic.  Our meetings are becoming a bit more intense than the previous, and honestly, much more comforting.

I didn’t realize how nervous I would get around Sir until our meeting in January. I had so much on my mind and my heart was a bit heavy. I ached more with the desire to not feel the pain than anything else. And my Sir, he knew it all. I had confided in him the whole thing. I entered the hotel room unsure if I could even fully enjoy myself. He was patient, but firm, and I complied with the hope that this would take my mind away from everything. This time, instead of being told to assume my usual position upon the bed (on my hands and knees), he created a yolk from rope, my wrists wrapped and attached to my neck, my hands on each side of my head, but unusable. It was solely my mouth that had to assume all the work that day.

I half-heartedly began, the thoughts in my mind swirling in the mists of the past days events. With every forward motion, I tried to concentrate on Sir and the moment at hand.

Forget about that. He’s here, you’re here. You’ve missed him. I really did. I hate that we don’t see each other more. That meeting was the first for us in four months. Then Sir, so connected he is to me and my body, began to run in fingers through me, our personal sign of encouragement. That was his way of saying Its okay baby-girl, you’re doing alright. I felt an overwhelming sensation of comfort; the kind you feel when you take your favorite blanket and wrap yourself up on a crisp night and everything feels warm, safe, and inviting. I pushed the thoughts and away with every thrust of Sir’s cock, as it was also the first time he had fully face fucked me. I had, for the first time, looked him squarely in the face when we were intimate. I could see his passions reach fulfillment in his smile, that bordered between happiness and mischievousness. At the end of our session, which had been cut short unfortunately, I had reached a subbie high that I hadn’t felt in almost a year. Sounds were soft, my body felt pliant, and I could not and did not want to speak. Had we been able to continue, I would have achieved full subspace. But I was content with what was a beautiful session and one that brought us closer.

It’s been a little more than a month since our last meeting, but we were both lucky enough to take some photos, anticipating that it could be an indefinite amount of time before we see each other again. Here is my before and after of that day, with my Master, my Sir.



I miss him dearly, especially since he had to go out of town for a family emergency and we went a week with no communication. However, I feel that I may see him sooner than expected. If all goes well, I may have a very interesting post to write…

Check out other luscious photos by clicking the button below, and enjoy your weekend everyone!




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“Patience is passion tamed.”

I’ve had some troubles finding a no strings attached/friends-with-benefits situation.
And now, I think I have found someone who fits the bill.
But making time to see each other is almost close to impossible.
However, we met up at 2 o’clock, Saturday morning, and witness the burning of a new star through the blue hue of dusk after a night of rampant conversation. It was the most fun I’ve had in a while.
And, where I usually just give up during an issue like this, I’m intrigued enough to keep moving toward his light.
He seems worthy of my fragile patience. And because he also makes me feel beautiful, I feel brave enough to share this photo.

photo (16)

A photo I took to send him, while I waited for his phone call that night.


See who else is being Sinful today…


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The Perfect Drug (2)

“Hey you,” she opened the door and stepped through an erotic wormhole. Where only moments ago she was submerged in dark light and rancid thoughts, here emerged a merciless sexual predator, whitened teeth ready for the first taste of his skin. But she had to keep her claws retracted, at least for now.

“Hey.” His eyes were cast down to her bare feet, and slowly trailed up wards as the door widened. His smile was subtle and admittedly adorable. It was moments such as this when she had to try her hardest to keep her composure. He looked at her with the eyes of a child visiting his favorite place in the whole word; she saw him as a means to a momentary distraction, medication for the pain. Even so, his lust for her was just as enticing and beneficial for her emotional sustenance.

She went about the social casualties that one would in this situation. As well informed as he might be, she was still slightly considering of his feelings. Poor thing, she sometimes thought. He knows why he is here and he is still willing to go through this pain. He must be more fucked up than I am.

She kissed him on the cheek and ushered him inside the apartment. He sheepishly stood in the middle of the living room, looking around and taking it all in. He was like a puppy in a new home. His eyes wandered from the small kitchen to the wall that held all her family photos. He inhaled deeply, smelling his surroundings. Trying to smell him; but she had made sure that a thorough house cleaning and plenty of scented candles would do that. As she closed the door behind him, she felt the blood rush and pulse in her finger-tips. For a brief moment she heard the swell of the ocean in her ears and she could see the top of her right breast rattle from the rapid beating of her heart. I can’t believe I’m doing this…I can’t believe I’ve taken it this far.

“So, did you eat?” A question just to break the silence and steady her breathing. The moment was here already, no sense in delving into guilt.

“Yeah, I had a little something earlier.” He responded, hands in his jean pockets. He stood like the solitary tree in a bad storm, wavering side to side. One good gust of wind, and he would come toppling over.

“I mean, did you eat dinner?” He shrugged his shoulders, still wavering. She knew that he had not. Just like her, his nerves had made it impossible to focus on anything else but him coming here.

She smiled as she walked toward him. For a moment such as this, many women would have preferred to wear lingerie or perhaps greet their lover with nothing on. But she was not like most women. After having showered, she chose for her ensemble the simplest of things: a pair of black spandex shorts and a teal cotton camisole. Her hair was still wet when he had arrived and when she helped him take off his coat, some drops of water fell, prickling the hair on his forearm. She gently pulled him down to sit on the sofa, before scampering away to the kitchen to fix him a plate of food.

In a moments time they were seated on the sofa together, with more than half of the food gone from the plate, two gulps away from finishing the first bottle of beer, and music playing from her portable media player. She just couldn’t help herself; she found the best fried chicken recipe she could find only to tweak it to his personal taste. As he licked the fork of its last remnants of mash potatoes, his groans of satisfaction told her that she had executed his favorite food with perfection. The beer was a given. He needed to calm down, and she was already buzzed; it was time for him to catch up. After quickly wishing his dish, she brought two shot glasses in one hand, a bowl wedged in the crook of her arm, and bottle full of golden liquid in the other hand along with another bottle of beer.

“Trying to get me drunk?” He let out a chuckle as he reached for the beer.

“Who said I was ‘trying’?” She placed the glasses and the bowl on the end table near him, where he could see the salt shaker surrounded by lime wedges seated on crushed pieces of ice. Straddling him on the love seat, she removed her top, her bare breasts inches away from the tip of his nose. She poured the liquor into one glass, and grasping the glass with her left hand she reached for a piece of ice with her right. His eyes were unwavering as she swiped the cold crystal across the tips of her nipples until the ice had melted upon her skin. With the same right hand, she sprinkled herself with salt.

“Lick,” were the instructions he was given. He took his hands and grabbed both breasts, squeezing them together until both areas of salt touched each other. His tongue came down like an iron to smooth out the waves of salt until her nipples were once again bare.

“Don’t let them go; keep your hands right there,” she purred. His eyes were level to the deep crease of her chest that he’d created, and with his mouth at the bottom of her fleshy ravine, she poured the small glass of spirits down the center into his awaiting mouth. Once the glass was empty, his tongue continued to lap up the remnants of alcohol on her skin, a man inebriated with the taste of her skin and with the knowledge of fucking her.

She realized then that the only one who needed the elixir was her; to numb the thoughts and the guilt about him, the one out on a trip, oblivious to the event unfolding in the home they shared together. It’s too late…oh fuck it’s too God damned late…

She poured another glass while his lips moved upward to her neck, catching the drop of liquor she missed as she swallowed it down. Gripping the bottle by its neck, she reached out and grabbed the throw pillow nearby, tossing it behind her and sliding down to the floor, wedging herself between his legs. Her left hand unbuttoned the copper fastener and her teeth clasped onto the zipper, exposing the cotton navy boxers he wore underneath. Her lips rubbed softly against the bulge of his erection, and the smell of soap and men’s cologne filled her nostrils. She began to hear the words and thoughts fizzing out.

If he found out, I’d be dead. He would be so hurt…why am I doing this? He doesn’t pay attention to me like I want him to…but he doesn’t deserve this, he’s a good man…what the fuck am I doing? I need this…just someone to please me, touch me, fuck me…

She placed two fingers over the opening of the bottle and sprinkled it over his exposed member. With the rise and fall of her head, the images began to flash across her mind faster and faster, a reel set to fast forward. She could feel herself dampen as she shoved the thoughts away with the tip of his dick at the back of her throat. He took the bottle away and drew a long swig, a small drip descending on the corner of his mouth. She flicked it away with her thumb and placed it on her tongue, savoring the heat of both substances.

She continued until he grabbed her hair and jerked her mouth away from him. Her right hand reached out to grab it once again, but he was faster. He swung her arm behind her and pinned it there, his body so close that she could feel the faint vibrations of his heart beating.

“I think you’ve had enough fun,” he whispered, his voice ragged and rough. “My turn…”


Part 1

Posted in Erotica, Fantasy, Fiction, Sh!t Happens, Writings | Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Morning View

How our body parts say good morning to each other,
Once my beloved has finally chosen to open his eyes.




Posted in Henri, Life, Marriage, My story, non-fiction, Sinful Sunday | Tagged , , , , , , | 18 Comments

I’m soft

Yes, I am.
I have curves, ranging from the mounds of my breast to the Everest of my thighs. 
It took so long, and still is, to love the softness of my body. 
But, as challenging as it is, I won’t stop until I see the beauty in every centimeter of my skin. 
The uniqueness of a scar. The exact coordinates of every tiny dark mole. 
I am soft, and squishy. Slippery when wet.
If your hands are cold, slip them between my thighs. Constant radiators of heat. 
And beware of lying your head on my thighs or bosom.
They are better than any sleep aid. 

Enjoy my softness.



See more softness…


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Play with your food

We need food for everyday survival. But how about using it for fun every once in a while? Food and sex for me go hand in hand, because I need both of them to survive. So why not combine them every now and then?

I’ve used donuts, chocolate, ice cream–I’ve even had Henri’s dick in my cereal! Having normal vanilla sex? Add some vanilla ice cream and Bam!!! Kinky shit will ensue.


There is something dirty about it, as is with most sexually exciting things. Please believe that once he dipped his sweet cock into my chocolate crispy cereal, I devoured it with extra gusto. See, it’s what Sir calls the Slut Factor. Take something normal, everyday, and add an element to kink to it, and there I go, panties wet and pussy aching. Adding to the moistness is the fact that he is there, watching me eat cereal graced by his manhood with a flinch. It gets the horny hormones pumping and I’m on my knees in-front of him in no time. Married couple looking to spice up the bedroom without adding bodies? Try food! You’re bound to already have something in the cupboards that you can spare to have fun with.

As great as it is using food together, it’s just as fun using food alone. I admit, I have fucked myself with a vegetable or two (maybe three?). The first one for me was a large steroid injected looking carrot that Henri had bought home for my homemade chicken noodle soup. I left it out of the fridge to come to room temperature, took a knife and sculpted the vegetable into the closest resemblance to a penis, and sat on my bed to watch some porn and masturbate. Henri had come home and saw the phallic carrot discarded in the garbage can, while the soup simmered away and I lay peacefully quiet in bed, smiling knowingly at me. He said “looks like you had fun,” and went about his business.

I’ve also used food to emphasis my oral abilities. In the beginning of  our relationship I used the most accessible objects: lollipops, popsicles, my finger, his finger, ice cream cones, etc. Whatever was free or could be bought for pocket change at the corner store would quickly turn into an edible blow job session. As the years grew (and my oral skills developed), food foreplay grew into cucumbers and carrots. But my all time favorite has always been bananas:

Playing with food creates great intimate moments between two people. The picture with the cereal was meant to be just a personal moment that we happened to capture. But even Henri thought it was too good not to share. Please share with me either good food ideas or some kinky food related events from your history. I’d love some food for thought fuck ideas.


This is what happens when I eat yogurt



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A Different View

When life gives you a different view
Take off your glasses (if you wear a pair).
Squint your eyes until they water.
Distort your vision and paint a portrait.
Move your head, from left to right,
Spin upside down, tilt your head
Until it hurts.
Put glasses on (if you don’t wear a pair)
And do the same.
When you feel that you have seen every angle
And have felt every possible emotion
That this one chance has given you,
Savor it.
Life rarely lets you look twice.


Here we are, Sir and myself, resting after an intense orgasm denial moment, inflatable anal plug inside of me.

He is taking pictures of me, taking pictures of us, grateful for a moment to breathe.


More Sinful Sinners


Posted in Life, My story, non-fiction, Poetry, Self-love, Sex, Sinful Sunday, Sir Dre, Submission | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

March 21st, 2014 is the First Anniversary of Boobday!

On this Boobday, we celebrate the one year mark of this special weekly meme, brought to us by the lovely and boobalicious Ms. Hyacinth Jones!!! At the time that Hy created Boobday, I had yet to display any photos of myself, minus one photo I had taken of my own breasts the year before on National Cleavage Day. I thought, “I showed my boobs once, I can do it again.”

And it was that simple, at first.

Then, as the weeks went on, I noticed that ladies began to get really creative with their weekly submissions, and it forced me to try and think outside the rectangle of a snapped photo. But up crept my insecurities. I didn’t want to show any other part of my body except a convienently cropped photo of my breasts. After awhile, that can get boring, so I just stopped submitting for a few months. I went three months trying to figure myself out. When you spend a lifetime not loving yourself, it can take almost a whole other lifetime to change it. Luckily, I have some good, honest friends.

But the one thing I learned, beyond anything else, is that no one can make you feel beautiful. They can do it for awhile, for a moment, but the person who can make that feeling last is yourself. Sir, Henri, the men I’ve flirted with or fucked, they can only make me happy with myself just long enough until I wake up the next morning feeling like a pile of dog shit. I didn’t post pictures here sooner because of those very reasons and so I had to shift, change and stop being so afraid. I had to understand the cold hard fact and that is big or small, I still wouldn’t be attractive to everyone. But I didn’t need to be. I had to feel myself as beautiful first; the rest would eventually follow. 

I have a sexy husband (seriously, I wish I could share his facial photo because my husband is a hottie); a difficult to attain Dom (who put me through the bondage ringer earlier this week and left me wet and wanton for the remainder of it), and no matter what I say or do, a few fellas who keep messaging me and telling me how they miss me and “God must have broke the mold when they made you!” which, as much as I can complain, I don’t. Its a massive ego boost to say the least.

So with this weeks’ prompt, I make another bold photo submission. My legs have always been an area of debate. They are the biggest part of my body and are either absolutely adored by men or looked over. It gave me the lifetime moniker of Thunder Thighs, and no matter how much weight I lose, they will always be the most dominant part of my body. Now, I don’t mind it that much. When Henri gets cold in the winter, he tangles his legs in mine and warms up. When my son is sick, he lays down on my lap. When Sir and I play, my thighs recieve the brunt of his slaps. And when I’m bored and lonely, I carress my creamy soft thighs, just because I can.


Hy has a knack for pics in jammies and I’m always in jammies.

Boobday for me is more than boobs. Its acceptance of the female form, by women, for women. As is written the first paragraph of Hy’s State of the Boob Union:

I created this meme for the women out there who felt ashamed of their bodies, who struggled to feel beautiful or sexy.  I wanted to make a space for women to share images of their bodies that they had crafted with care and which imparted a part of themselves.  Then we, their community, would answer back that Yes, you are beautiful.

And so, I submit this photo for Hy’s first Boobday Anniversary, and for all women who have yet to see that we are beautiful. All of us.



Posted in Boobday, Life, My story, non-fiction, Self-love | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments