Results of the Anal Sex Poll

The question posed was thus:
Before anal sex, does the dick get lubed, or the asshole?
A whopping 75% of you voted "both".
Of those who picked one, the asshole got double the number of votes as the dick.
A handful of you voted "neither." To which I say…OW.

The reason why I asked is because Husband never lubes up his dick. I don't know why. Periodically over the years, I've asked him to, and he never does it. I think it has something to do with him not wanting to go to the trouble of rubbing his own dick when an available hole is right there, warm and inviting. But I might be wrong.

It definitely has something to do with the fact that lubing my ass can be a hit-or-miss thing, and in Husband's mind, this adds to the sadistic fun. Oftentimes, Husband's not too careful about it. He'll tip the bottle over my ass crack, let some lube slide out…and if it lands on my cringing sphincter, great! If not, I'm out of luck. He might be kind enough rub the lube around if he missed his target completely, but if the slippery stuff manages to get on one side of my ass, but not the other, Husband's mentality is usually something to the effect of Oh, well. This is gonna pinch her a little. 
Tee hee.

If he's feeling magnanimous, he'll spread the lube around the sphincter area…with his dick. This is also a hit-or-miss thing. Sometimes it feels like he's spreading the goop all over my butt cheeks, everywhere but on the asshole itself. Sometimes he'll tease me with it, rubbing his dick along my crack until it feels like the lube is starting to dry, and I'm filling up with fear.
More often times he's just assuming his pumping will managed to smear the lube everywhere it needs to go—eventually, anyway—and there's no reason to hold back.
Yes, the lube gets everywhere it needs to go…eventually…usually around the time I'm trying to crawl away from him to escape the agony and he's pinning me down and ramming into me and the tears are pooling in my eyes and I'm crying and he's pulling the hair away from my face so he can see my expression of torment as he laughs in my ear.
But he knows I enjoy the pain. More importantly, he enjoys my pain—and my subjugation.
That is why he does it.

And yes, sometimes he'll use his fingers in me, sometimes he'll use a butt plug first, sometimes the anal vibrator comes out…and in those cases, I get lubed up nice and deep before his dick comes anywhere near me. But I never know when that's going to happen. I never know what kind of foreplay he has planned in his head unless he tells me, which is not very often.
And the thing is, he's not using his fingers or plug or toy to help get me lubed and relaxed. He's using them because it's fun and he feels like it.
If he doesn't feel like it? Oh well. This is gonna pinch a little. Suck it up, anal slut.

I think I might bring this poll to his attention. Look! I'll say. Most people lube both! Not just the asshole! You can lube your dick you know! 
Then again, he may just choose to become one of those people who uses no lube at all.
OW. And OH. And…I'm totally getting turned on right now.

Jewish Christmas

Yesterday, Husband and I followed the long-standing Jewish tradition of going out for Chinese food on Christmas.
We had planned on going to a nice Chinese restaurant; what we hadn't counted on were their jacked-up prices. So we took a walk to Panda express, which was only a short distance away.

As we walked side by side, Husband took my hand, and entwined his fingers with mine.
"I'm so lucky," he said, looking at me.
I looked away and grumbled, "I'm not wearing enough makeup."
"You're wearing too much clothes," he quipped back.
My eyes went wide, my cheeks blushed, and my mouth opened in a wide O—which, by the expression on Husband's face, was exactly the reaction he was hoping for. He smiled and squeezed my hand.

Unlike the nice Chinese restaurant next door, Panda Express was comfortably empty. We ordered our food, took the containers to a corner table, and sat. We talked about our kids, our parents, our work, and the mundane going-ons of our week in review.
We talked the way best friends do.

I opened up my fortune cookie first. Kindness makes for happiness, it said. "It's true," I had to admit. "When I'm kind to you, you make me happy."
"I thought I always make you happy."
"You do, but…you're nicer about it when I'm kind."
"If 'being kind' is your euphemism for blow jobs, then yes, I agree, I'm nicer. I let you come, too."
"Shh!" I said, glancing to the right. "There are children at the next table."
Husband smiled devilishly.

Then he opened his fortune cookie. You take criticism as an opportunity to grow, it said. "It's surprisingly accurate," Husband said. "You criticize me, I punish you…and I grow. You can literally watch me grow." His eyes danced with lecherous glee. "I guess they skipped the middle part."
"You are awful," he hissed at him, trying to stifle my smile.
"Are you criticizing me?" He asked with raised brows.
I couldn't hold back my laughter.

We walked back to the car, hand in hand again, and started the drive home.
"This was nice," he said.
"Yes, it was," I replied.
The rest of the drive was passed in cozy silence.
Someday—if we're lucky—we'll live long enough to see our parents gone, our kids away, our work forgotten…but we'll still have each other.
And, for that, I am blessed.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Here's some Christmas porn to make you smile. My gift to you. :)

Conversations with My Mother

(I posted this yesterday on Fetlife, and it's #1 on Kinky&Popular right now, so I thought I'd post it here, too.)

Conversation with my Mother

Mom: Shelby-leh, you write sexy stories, right?
Me: Yes, Mother. I write sexy stories.
Mom: Can you answer a question for me?
Me: I guess….
Mom: Why do all these writers, when they're writing sexy scenes, all use the same words?
Me: What do you mean?
Mom:…
Me: Can you give me an example what you're talking about?
Mom (quietly): Like "he put his finger in her sweet wetness." Why would they write it like that?
Me: It's called purple prose, Mother. The writer doesn't want to get too graphic, but they still want to get the image across, so they use this flowery kind of writing.
Mom: I see it all the time now. It's weird.
Me: Well, writers are putting more sex in their books, but they don't want to make them too graphic.
Mom (after a long pause): Why would he even want to put his finger in her 'sweet wetness,' anyway? And why would she want him to put his finger in her 'sweet wetness'?
Me: Mother…you've been married over forty years. If you don't know, I can't explain it to you.
Mom: Well, it's better than that 50 Shades of Grey book. I mean, that thing was just unrealistic. A girl goes on one date with a man, has sex with him, and has three orgasms?
Me: …..

Later, after telling Husband of my conversation with my Mom

Husband: I don't understand how you came into the world. Were you fucking adopted?
Me (grumbling) I wish I was.
Husband: She really doesn't know a woman can come more than once a night? Why didn't you tell her?
Me: I wasn't going to say anything. What was I going to say, 'Your son-in-law makes me have multiple orgasms on a regular basis'?
Husband: That would have been interesting. How many times did you come last night, anyway?
Me: I don't know, you tell me. You were the one with your fist in my cunt.
Husband: I'd say more than three.
Me: Well, there you go.
Husband: When I had my fingers in your sweet wetness.

New Book is OUT

As of now, the book is out in ebook format.
It's available on Kindle here, and on Nook here. Please go check it out!
(It should soon be available on Kobo, Apple, and in print. It's a-comin'.)

News, and A Poll

First of all:
My next book is coming out in the next few days! And here is the cover!

I am loving the fuck out of this cover. Best of all, it's all mine. Nobody else owns this image. It's not from photo stock; it's from a photoshoot, and the only person who will ever own this photo for use is me. 

Second of all, I've added a poll on the right, about lubing before anal sex. Take a minute to click on an answer, yeah?

Motivation is everything, I guess

Husband came home yesterday in a good mood. Thursdays are generally slow days, but yesterday was particularly sedate.

"R's girlfriend was in the office today," he told me. "She hung around for a few hours. She borrowed a desk to get some work done."
"That's nice," I said.
He looked away and smiled. "R and she kept making smoochie-smoochie with each other," he said.
"What?" I said, shocked. "They were kissing in the office?"
"No, not really kissing," he said. "But you know, telling each other 'I love you,' kissing each other on the cheek, that kind of thing. Sweet smoochie-smoochie stuff."
"Aw, that's cute."
He shrugged.
"If I visited your office, would you make sweet smoochie with me?" I asked.
"No," he said.
"Why not?" I asked, upset.
"Because I'd fuck you in the bathroom!" He said, smiling devilishly. "It's why I don't want you visiting my office at all."

Um…thank you?

The State of Porn Today

A couple days ago, as I mentioned in my previous post, I attended a kinky winter Holiday Ball. It was very festive, great fun, and wonderful to see all my kinky friends in a more elegant setting. The hosts of the ball set up a "drawing"—for legal reasons, they couldn't call it a raffle, so I won't either—for the attendees to buy tickets and win prizes. The prizes were gift wrapped, so nobody knew exactly they were trying to win, but everyone had fun guessing.

I bought extra tickets, and I won three prizes. (I give all the credit to the "lucky cuffs" I was wearing at the time. My Lady Vicki had bound my wrists together in beautiful and stylish metal cuffs, you see. I think some people got a kick out of watching me claim the prizes with my wrists bound.)

One of the prizes I won was a collection of porn magazines.
I can't remember all the names of them…I remember there was at least one Playboy, a Hustler, a Pethouse, and a Swedish porn magazine. The Swedish one was the worst of the bunch.

I brought the magazines home together with the rest of my loot, laid it all out on the kitchen table, and showed it to Husband.
"Wow, you got Godiva hot cocoa? And Macadamia Nuts?…What's this?"
"I got porn magazines."
"I can see that. Um…they smell weird."
"They're used."
"What?" His lips curled in disgust. "They're used porn magazines? Oh my god. Look at this one, there are pictures cut out of it."
"I guess the person couldn't bear to part with a few of his favorite photos?"
"Oh my god, ew." He dropped the magazine he was holding on the table. "I'm washing my hands."
"That might be a good idea."
"You should wash your hands, too. But first, put those magazines in a bag."
I put the magazines in a shopping bag and washed my hands. Husband finished washing his hands, and scrubbed down the kitchen table.
We eyed the shopping bag of magazines.
"What do we do with them?" He asked.
"Maybe the kids want 'em?"
"You'd give this to our kids? Used porn magazines?"
"They might not care."
"Ask them, then."

I called them both upstairs. Son2 came up; Son1 was in the bathroom.
"Do you want some porn magazines?" I asked.
Son2 sighed. "Let me see them," he said, in a tone that made it sound like he was doing me a favor.
"They're in the bag," I said.
He took one out and started flipping through it. "It smells weird," he said.
"It's used," I said.
He dropped the magazine. "Ew," he cried. "Why would I want this?"
"Because it's PORN?" I said. "Don't you guys WANT porn?"
"Mom, we can get all the porn we want on the internet," he said.
"So you're telling me you DON'T want it?"
"I'm saying, I don't need it. But if want me to have it…fine."
"Well, you have to be normal about this. Hide it under your mattress and pretend I don't know. And don't tell your friends! I don't want to get into trouble for giving my kids porn!"
"Oh I am totally telling my friends about this."
"THEN NO PORN FOR YOU."
"Fine. I didn't really want it anyway."
"Go ask your brother if he wants it."

Son2 went downstairs, holding a magazine in his hands. A moment later, I hear through the bathroom door:
"Wait. What? WHAT? WHAT THE WHAT?"
Son2 trotted back upstairs, laughing. "I slipped it under the bathroom door," he said with glee.
A moment later, Son1 came upstairs, the magazine in hand. "What the hell is this?" He asked.
"Porn," I said. "I won it in a ra—drawing. You want it?"
"It smells, and there are pictures cut out."
"It's used."
"EW OH MY GOD NO."
"So you don't want it, either?"
He gave me the same incredulous look Son2 had given me and said: "Mom, we have the internet now. THE IN-TER-NET. With TUM-BLER. I don't need this."
He slapped the magazine back on the kitchen table.
"God damn it, I just washed there!" Husband yelled.

So there you have it. Neither one of my older boys wants a collection of porn magazines. They can get their porn safe and sound on their smartphones and computers, hassle-free, mess-free, evidence-free. I don't know what this means for the state of porn today. All I know is, things are a lot different from when I was a kid, hiding magazines in my closet.

Anyone want some used porn magazines?

NEWS! NEWS! (Read: Some Major Self Promotion Going On)

Two things!

First of all: I was named in Rori's famed list of Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2013. Yes, I am pleased. Yes, I am grateful. Yes, I am horny…and I'd like to think, with this insane blog of mine, I make a few of you horny, too.

Second of all: My next book is coming out soon! Its title is Blood and Desire, Seduction and Murder: A Hotel Bentmoore Romance. I've added it to the list of my books, right at the top. It should be out in the next few weeks; I hope you like it.

That's all for now. I'm off to a kinky Winter Ball. My life is good.

Edited to add: I put in the link for Rori's list, because, duh, you want to see it! Also, there's a button on the right, if you want to get to it by clicking over that way. 

Thank You for Walking Away

You guys know I can be a brat, right? (Okay, stupid question, you can stop rolling your eyes now at me now, STOP LAUGHING.) Here's the thing: for me, bratty behavior is not the same thing as prey behavior. Husband responds very differently from my bratty vibe to the way he does my prey vibe. Bratty behavior is insolent, saucy, a little bit defiant…but it's all done in the name of fun. Prey behavior is on a different level of consciousness: it's a primal challenge of an animalistic sort.
Maybe this issue deserves its own post.
But what I want to bring up now is this: Husband's reaction to my behavior depends (at least somewhat) on whether my behavior stems from my bratty attitude, or my need to be taken down like prey.

The other night, we were in bed, and I was being a brat. He was wrestling me across the bed, and it was all fun and games…until I bit him.
Now, I have bitten Husband before. When I'm in prey mode, I bite, scratch, kick, pull…but I have my limits, of course; even on that level of consciousness, I don't want to really hurt someone.
(I guess I'm really not a sadist.)
But Husband is prepared for my tricks and (futile) attempts to fight him when I'm prey. He's into it just as much as I am.
The other night, when I was being a brat, and I bit him? Not so much.
I bit him a leetle beet too hard. Hard enough to break skin; hard enough to make him bleed. He yelled in surprise.

He bounded off the bed, swearing loudly. For a moment, I was in shock: I had no idea I'd hurt him so badly. But it was soon made clear to me how badly I had bit him, because he was not getting back into bed.
Husband went into the bathroom, washed off his finger…and then he came back in the bedroom, got dressed, and left the room. Didn't say another word to me.
Didn't even look at me.
Left. The. Room.

I lay there wanting to cry.

He came back about five minutes later.
"You bit me really hard," he said.
"I'm sorry," I whined.
"Never do that again. Understand?"
"I understand."
"Lean over the bed."

The punishment was harsh. His disappointment was worse.
But you know what would have been worst of all? If he hadn't left the room to calm down. If he had hit me in anger, instead of calm, deliberate punishment. If he had acted in a moment of fury, instead of regaining his composure first.
If he had tried to lash out at me without consideration for me.

I often act recklessly, on impulse. It's a problem. Husband has tried to train me to do better, and believe it or not, he's had a lot of success. (I know, I know, stop rolling your eyes, SHUT UP.) But I still have my moments.

A Master who has control over a sub/slave, who can manipulate his/her emotions, his/her sense of self-worth, who can strike him/her physically when necessary, can never strike out of anger. It is not fair to the sub/slave, it is not fair to their relationship, and it proves the Master still has a lot to learn.

Those five minutes Husband spent out of the room to cool down were horrible; in my mind, they were worse than the punishment itself. But Husband knew staying in that room with me would have been worse for both of us, so he walked away.
For that, I thanked him.