blistered lips

she scratched her blue crotch
shedding enamel doctors
then rowed towards God

I thought you wanted me. Show me you love me and put these on.

I have my reasons. Now put on the panties like you were told.

Because that was before and this is now.

Here, I am just going to run my nail under and around your balls while I tell you, honey. Does that feel good, baby?

Ewe…you’re dripping onto my wrist. Here, lick it off, you nasty boy.

Christ, Sabrina.

Thursday night was before you flirted with Callie. Now, lick it off or I’ll dig these French nails into your balls. DO IT!

Don’t worry about that right now. Would you like me to play with your cock? Rub it and make it feel good?

Then put on these panties, and I’ll give you a nice treat. You want a treat don’t you?

You heard me. If that cock wants my attention, you better do what you’re told.

Almost. Awe! Your cock looks so pretty, pressed against that satin. How do they feel?

They’re kind of tight.

I guess I will have to buy some in your size. Now sit in this chair and close your eyes.

You want your treat or not?

Shhhhh… Be a good boy. There we go. These handcuffs aren’t too tight, are they?

This is crazy, let me go. Aghhh…

See, baby, I love you sooo much! Doesn’t my hand feel good, stroking that fatty of yours through the panties? Oooh… You are so hard, honey. And you’re leaking!

Damn it! Unlock these handcuffs! My balls are aching! I need to cum!

Here, I am just going to lift up my skirt and straddle your lap. Mmmm… That big dick feels so good rubbing up against my pussy. Maybe I should take off my panties so we can get it inside. Oh, you are the one in panties, not me. Tee Hee.

No, darling, there won’t be any cumming for that hard dick of yours today! Maybe not for a long time. But it’s what’s best. I promise.

You need to learn to behave and not flirt. We know it’s not your fault. Of course it isn’t. You love me, after all. So we need to train that nasty little pecker of yours. Then everything will be fine.

Why, me and Callie, of course! She should be here any minute. She’s offered to help me with the training. She’s such a good friend.

Just get comfortable, honey. You are going to be eating a lot of pussy tonight.

koko eats lipstick
YUM! babydoll heads! and sings
square apple carols

As well as being the title of Elise Sutton’s long-awaited and well-received book, Female Domination is rapidly becoming the sex du jour for an ever-increasing number of mainstream couples. Along with other out-of-the-closet carnal intimacies such as fetishes (feet & toes, nylons, leather, smoking….), homosexuality (Shhh! Don’t tell the republicans!!), masturbation (mutual and solo), strap-on sex (Surely, dear female reader, you knew this?), and the widely embraced metrosexual phenomenon (Google “sissy” or “feminization” or “panty boy.” I dare you!), the male desire to surrender control to an erotically powerful woman is no longer the “dirty little secret” it once was.

Being currently (and ever so blissfully!) immersed in Ms. Sutton’s book, and having a certain proclivity toward Dominant Phone Sex, I find this to be a singularly delicious expansion of the ever-evolving sex games boys and girls like to play. In other words, this is not your father’s phone sex any more! In fact, this is not even your father’s (or even your mother’s, Goddess forbid!) wet dream! The playing field has not only been leveled, but, irrevocably, skewed. And the allure of that sexy umpire-ess ordering you, a lowly bat boy, to crawl to third base and kiss her leather boots, is just too intoxicating to resist.

While I would never lay claim to being an expert in human sexuality, I am in the business of creating fantasy. More than occasionally I not only find myself with a front row seat from which to purview the conventional and not-so-conventional desires of the submissive male but am the privileged Phone Mistress who will mind-fuck him into subspace. Submissive men come in all shapes and sizes and flavors and perversions. What I find so delightfully disarming about these exquisite creatures is that they are –nine times out of ten– men of serious substance and quiet dignity. I can always count on them to be polite, congenial, accommodating, quick-witted, and downright, intoxicatingly clever. These men, over-all, are a sweet breath of fresh air. They have no hidden agendas. They dwell confidently and authoritatively in their every day and relatively well-balanced lives. And it is, indeed, a good life: Fulfilling, successful, accomplished…perhaps, even self-actualized. In fact, if we daughters had been raised by fathers like these, there would be no need for Jungian therapists, motivational gurus, self-help books, or Twelve Step recovery programs.

And, therein, beloved kinksters, lies the rub! When one is perceived as “in charge” in his everyday life, where does he go to find that sexual rapture that only can be realized when we give up control? While, courtesy of the Internet, we are all experiencing an expanding sexual consciousness (Even if to simply know, “You are not alone”), the submissive male has somewhat of a quandary on his hands. Most likely he has presented himself to his inamorata as, at the very least, a vanilla lover, and even more likely, an aggressive one. After all, that is what is expected of the “normal” man, right? While he and the rest of us are realizing that our nasty secret desires are neither as nasty nor secret as we once thought, he finds himself unable to bring this au courant flavor to the sexual table he, himself, has set. How does he tell his dinner partner (Perhaps, his cherished wife of 10 or 20 years?) that his palate now craves spicier fare?

I often tell my submissive callers that they are really just romantics on steroids. Even after a lifetime of pursuing, courting, loving, fucking, and perhaps marrying women, a man continues to be both perplexed and enamored with the ever-illusive Feminine Mystique. Not to torture a cliche’, but as has been the case since Eve bewitched Adam (Honestly, how much sweet-talk do you really think it took?) into eating her forbidden fruit, women have been dragging men around by their dicks. This really isn’t anything new; its just been “super-sized,” so to speak. Even in a situation where the guy is supposedly the dominant, let’s not fool ourselves, ladies and gentlemen. If his lady friend does not concede to dressing in evocative slut-wear, painting her lips cock-sucking red, donning the proverbial ball gag, and submitting to a bit of elaborate rope binding (not to mention some delicious bottom spanking), “Master” is not going to have an orgasm anytime in the foreseeable future!

There are as many variations to the D/s (Domination/submission) relationship as there are enthusiasts. This is the party of the season, and it seems everybody from the bootblack (male) to the CEO (female) has shown up. So here we are, all at the same party, just wearing different party hats. From the sensually sublime to the viscerally extreme, name your poison: Body worship, face sitting, bondage, forced feminization, cock and ball torture (cbt), orgasm denial & control, cuckolding, erotic hypnosis & mind control, humiliation (verbal &/or public), toilet training, objectification, and more, so very much more…it’s here for the taking.

Wallflower type? Looking for a little objectification? Grab your dick, take a seat, and don’t you dare move a muscle! So you think you’re the life of the party and wanna be Mistress’s party favor? Dangle that pretty pink lampshade over your head and jump up on the coffee table for some contemptuous browbeating while you squeal like a pig. What? You’re looking for the buffet? Right over here, darling! Now, put your head back and Mistress will just take a seat right here on your face. Mmmm…. Yes, it is a nice spread! And you? You say you’re not a guest, that you’re the pinata? Oh! They’re waiting for you in the dungeon. Just crawl down those stairs and around the corner. That’s right. Follow the smell of leather. No, it won’t hurt much.

Not much into parties? More of the homebody type?

Well….

If you have been a reasonably well-behaved partner in the course of a long-term relationship and think your ladylove is ready to meet the new & improved submissive you, you might want to start with some user-friendly (pun intended!) reading material. Elise Sutton’s book, Female Domination, is an excellent starting point. Because the author practices the FemDom lifestyle (she is married to her submissive) and regularly counsels female-dominant couples (her educational background is in psychology), the material she presents is backed by both personal and professional experience. Giving readers an intimate, firsthand peek into the everyday lives of “normal” couples who just so happen to be ardent practitioners of female domination, she presents an eloquent argument for the logic of the female-dominant relationship. Combining passionate commentary with a quiet spiritualism, Elise shares her personal history and evolution, examines the continuing social trend toward female empowerment, and explores the psychological “rightness” of male submission. This is a book from an intelligent heart that will speak to you and your lady’s emotions, intellect, and (keep your fingers crossed!) libido.

Need I say more? Now, go buy that book before I have to bitch-slap you!

his sinewy frame
outlined in cream moon shadows
defined her dusk dreams

The gossip around the water cooler has it that, contrary to popular consensus, intercourse is not the cardinal sex act of human beings.

The Chatty Cathy gleefully imparting this particular tidbit went on to say that the ultimate sexual act is masturbation, because, after all, it is a “one hand operation,” and we don’t need anybody around to “pull it off.”

“You know what they say,” Scuttlebutt Sam snickered in agreement, “Ninety-nine percent of us masturbate and the other one percent is lying about it.”

“Yeah,” Flibbertigibbet Frannie chimed in, “You know what Woody Allen said, ‘It’s having sex with someone you love.’”

You have to admit that — jabber jaws that they are — Cathy and her buddies do have a point. Let’s just hope they don’t point it at us! Of course, being a Phone Sex Operator gives me a kind of a “fly on the genitalia” perspective on this sort of thing. (The beat goes on, if you know what I mean.) But I’m not about to share it with these gossipmongers. While they flap their jaws and chortle and titter, let’s you and me sneak off to the coffee shop around the corner for a Frappuccino, and I’ll give you—but only you—the real scoop.

Make sure to bring your wallet, darling, because you’re buying, of course. You know, I always did like you.

*****

There we go. Comfy? Good. No, don’t sit too close; scoot over just a tad.

Yes, that’s much better. Now where were we? Oh yes, masturbation.

Let’s face it, mi amigo; you’d have to be dumber than ditchwater not to figure out that self-gratification is the favorite sexual activity of Homo sapiens. What the water cooler gang failed to mention when they were busy wagging their frivolous, pink tongues is the brain-work that goes into a feisty little round of masturbation. Don’t look so surprised. Surely, you knew this?

In comparison, fucking is the easy stuff of sex—at least it is once you get past the butterflies, general ambiguity, and extra five pounds you’ve recently acquired. Ok, I’ll admit that there is a bit of a “catch 69” with the hanky-panky of conjugation; but once the little peccadilloes have been dealt with it’s pretty much easy sailing!

After all, everyone needs and desires a measure of tummy-tickling now and then. We hunger for the intimacy of flesh on flesh. Not to mention, the kissing part is pretty nice. All we need is two bodies, a fair-to-middling amount of willingness, and a mutual attraction to get things started. Sometimes, we are so eager for a bit of the bouncy-bouncy, we even (shame on us!) forgo the mutual attraction part.

But singular sex is an “intercourse” of a different color. The glib patter and off-handed remarks of our water cooler pals just doesn’t do it justice. When it comes to masturbating, we are much more than naked apes. We are fully-realized human beings using every God-given brain cell, because that is, after all, what will get us from here to there. And we frantically want to get to there.

And just what are those busy little brain cells up to, pray tell? Well, they’re up to the beeswax of fantasy, of course! They know what we want, know what we need, and are hell-bent on getting the job done. And getting us done! This is us-focused and us-blameless unconditional love. Why not wallow in it once in a while? And we better appreciate it, because—in lieu of a hot-to-trot lover beside us, atop us, behind us—these little eggheads are all we’ve got. They’ve got us by the balls and the tits, and we’re loving every minute of it.

These little cerebral prodigies know us better than we know ourselves, and certainly know more about us than a hot-to-trot lover ever could. Tenacious and constant, they feed on our deviant fetishes and profane desires (Talk about brain food!), and then serve them back to us, delicious and dirty with a cherry on top. (Yum! Yum! Dessert always was my favorite part of the meal!)

What I’m trying to say, as I finish off this Frappuccino, is that we all need the magic, the thrill, the escapism of fantasy. It starts with Mother Goose and never goes away. We look for it in the books we read, the movies we see, even the dreams we dream. What’s wrong with looking for it in a steamy round of solo sex from time to time?

So, when it comes to sex, why not let our brains do the work once in a while….while our fingers do the walking?

Go ahead and rack your medulla oblongata! It’s begging for it!

Now, we need to get back to the water cooler.

Oh…and don’t forget to leave a tip.