Sleeping in the Wet Spot

It was late last night.

After a marathon reading session, I turned off the lights and turned into bed, contented. Or, not quite. It felt like there was something missing. My cunt felt empty and yearned to be filled.

Sighing, I untangled myself from the comfort of my duvet to get out Gigi. It was a different kind of comfort altogether when I nestled her between my pussy lips. She purred and purred and left me contented.

Again, not quite true.

I decided to luxuriate and explore myself. Because one can never get enough about fondling her own junk, right?

Letting my fingers twist and turn between my lips, I felt my nectar drip dropping out on to my fingers. I imagined not being alone. One set of lips gorging on the wet folds of my cunt, feasting. I slithered between the sheets.

I knew I needed another kind of release tonight.

Hence, Ella came out.

And I thrusted that bitch into me like my life depended on it.

It was worth every exhausting inch.


So, with a massive wet spot on my sheets, I soldiered on and managed two or three orgasms. Needless to say, I`m still bloody knackered.

I slept with my throw covering the spot. Still didn`t stop the wetness from seeping through and nuzzling against my thigh. But that`s okay.

I`ve mentioned before that I always get unusually proud of my wet spots. And I`m definitely proud of this one. So I had no qualms with sleeping in it.

Because it felt bad.

In a good way.

A very wordy Sinful Sunday presentation…

Sinful Sunday

Good Morning, Eejit

This morning (or rather, an hour ago) I woke up feeling quite playful. Tired, but in the mood for a fiddle, with something extra. The “something extra” in this case was an entirely new toy for me. At the LFF, I got my hands on a little Wartenberg Wheel. It`s plastic, black and I am oddly fascinated by it.

I think I quite like sensation play. The pinwheel was oddly arousing. So arousing, in fact, that I immediately made a bolt for my Ladyfinger vibrator. It was going to be an excellent orgasm.

Until I fucked it up.

I have NO idea how I did it, but I suddenly felt a sharp sting in my finger. It wasn`t wank cramp. It wasn`t a spasm. I had, effectively, sliced my finger open with the pinwheel.

It is not a good way to start your day.

Believe me, I tried to soldier on. I tried to forget about the little hue of crimson appearing in the cut, as I let Ladyfinger buzz away on my clit, but fuck me if it didn`t hurt like fucking fuck.

I got dressed, decent and flew into the kitchen, plastering up the gash.

Good morning, eejit, indeed.

Still, I`m having a wonderful morning so far.

Good Morning, My Vagina

I`ve been making plans. Big plans, huge plans, plans that I am dying to get started. They involve a list, a day routine and a hell of a lot of writing.

I found myself unable to sleep from the sheer excitement of this list. Yes, that`s how awesome my plans are.

This morning, I woke up too early. Six bloody AM is not made for getting up to. I turned around and lay on my stomach, wriggling. Almost… grinding into the mattress. Blame the excess amounts of horn I`ve been coping with. Blame the simmering undertone of this summer. I was aroused.

And so I figured. What would be a better way to start a day than with a wank?

I lay on my belly and reached down my shorts. Stroking my clit felt incredibly good, but my arm was in danger of going absolutely numb. So, I turned around and got Grey out of the closet.

Again, Grey saved the day. The vibrations felt like a wake-up call to my vagina (as if she needed to be any more awake), and soon, Grey was inside me. Fingers on clit, stroking myself to bliss, I truly enjoyed my wake up call.

I decided something at that point. Why not wank every morning? And every night before sleep? It`s good to wake up to and good to fall asleep to.

And I like a fondle in the morning.

I mean, who doesn`t?


And the quest for my Something More continues…

I’ve been reading Barbara Carrellas’s excellent book Urban Tantra. You may remember that I interviewed her a couple of months ago, and ever since then, I’ve been keen to delve into that world.

So when I finally got my greedy book nerd hands on a copy of her book, I delved in. Granted, with some distraction at first. I mean, who the fuck can concentrate when you’re staying in a dorm room with seventeen other people? But I digress.

Last night, I was in the middle of a marathon reading session, which included Urban Tantra. In the chapter I was reading, Barbara suggests some fun things to do to get sexual energy flowing through the body. Breathing is very important during this, and it’s something I really can not focus on during anything strenuous. But, weirdly, as I stood in the middle of my bedroom, shaking and gyrating, it felt okay.

And I actually felt… aroused.

I don’t know if it was the movements I was making, or the breaths I was taking, but it felt magnificent and weird.

The next part was a list of ideas for masturbation.

Let me tell ya… this woman has some good ideas. She suggested breathing and rocking, which involved rocking your pelvis as if you were having sex, and breathing deeply throughout. Again… surprisingly effective.

I ended up with my glass dildo inside me, and my Lady Finger on my clit. Barbara suggests that you try holding your vibrator against your dildo.

This worked. My God, did that work.

The weirdest thing happened. It was an entirely different sort of orgasm than the ones I’m used to. I could feel it floating through me, and I… I think I shook. My head spun and it felt like something lifted inside me.

All three of my orgasms were intense, and I couldn’t really move a muscle afterwards. Nor anything else. I mean it when I say that I couldn’t even speak.

I can’t put into words how good this experience felt. Even this post doesn’t do it justice. It’s definitely on a par with the out-of-body orgasm that made me cry from a few months ago, which I chose not to write about for personal reasons.

I hope I get to meet Barbara, just to tell her about all of this. I have this desire to learn more about Tantra, to delve deeper into what turns my switches. I just don’t really know what to do.

Keep breathing, I guess.

Glass Houses and Glass Toys

I am very proud of myself.

Which is a change from usually being very disappointed and slightly aggravated with myself, with a side of self-loathing. The reason for this sudden pride is the fact that I have successfully managed to bring two new toys home. One of which is a beautiful glass dildo. I fell in love with it on my last day in London and spent what few pounds I had left on it.

Considering that I came back from London in a fit of raging horn, it seemed natural that I… do the business with myself. Fuck, I just felt so aroused…

I scrambled the house for a spare battery for my new Ladyfinger vibe (which I won from the gorgeous Mz. Blacksilk) and, once located and installed, I settled in front of my portable DVD player and popped in Dylan Moran.

Not that Dylan Moran is especially arousing (although a very good comedian) but do understand that I needed some background noise.

The Ladyfinger was… well, effective. Either that, or I was just that fucking aroused. I’m guessing it’s a hefty combo of both.

I writhed happily under its vibrations, feeling myself sink into a state of serenity and bliss, as I pictured fingers and tongue and cock and warmth.

At some point, the new glass dildo came into play. It was a bit of a shock to the system (the system being MY VAGINA) because, oh Gawd, cold, but it felt nice. The texture would take some getting used to, but for now, it felt good just leaving it there.

Again, I have no clue how things progressed. Eventually, I ended up with Ladyfinger inside me and my fingers working my clit until… well, something happened and it happened three times and I’m sticking to that, yes I am.

Afterwards, I felt blissful. Silent and happy, thinking of things that made me smile.

And also listening to Dylan Moran talk about monkeys and Jason Statham. Which I’m presuming is the same thing.


We shall close on a random!

He wants your buttery biscuit base. Also your soul.


Dance Among The Stars


Late night, early morning.

I’ve cried about five times tonight, over the most trivial things. Convinced there’s something wrong with me.

I don’t want to go to sleep, but my body is urging me.

Hands roam for my i-Pod. I want music. Distraction.

I search for something that I don’t immediately find.

But I find it anyway.


Mz. Danger.

I listen as her sensuous and lyrical voice coaxed me into an unexpected calm.

She entrances me, tells me about being a good little girl.

And the arousal pools between my legs.

This is the point where I get less lyrical and more factual, by the way.

Picture this (as I’m sure you are). I’m in the dark, specs off, wildly grabbing for my vibrator, while trying to keep the cord attached to my i-Pod.

This works. Somehow.

I’m amazed at my arousal, which becomes clear when the vibrator hits my clit. Writhing and moaning, I listen to Daisy recount another story on her podcast.

Which involves a speculum and an arse.

Making a mental note (because I am one to take mental notes during times of extreme ecstasy) to try the Bootie again soon, I luxuriate in feeling my wet lips. It feels lovely. Just flesh and warmth and wetness. Bliss.

From there on, it gets blurry.

I just know that I need a different kind of release. Stumbling out of my bed, in a daze of ecstasy, I rummage my toy box for the one thing that is missing from this wank.


The perfection of the minutes that followed was unbearable. I lay on the bed, fucking myself with her, listening now to Kayar Silkenvoice telling a story about lesbian vampires.

My face felt flustered, and I was aglow with sweat and lust. I could hear my own moans through my headset and my God… that was something else.

I gushed.

And again.

And again.

And I don’t even know how many times. I don’t know how many orgasms. I can only remember my negligée and boob-tube bra hanging around the middle of my belly, and the sodden sheets sticky against my skin. I am lust and I am ecstasy.

I am fire.

I rage and burn bright.

I didn’t get enough sleep after that. Luckily, just enough to finish my work for this week.

A good wank can do wonders. A great wank can do even more.

But a fucking amazing wank?

Yeah… that can make you dance among the stars.




If Only

I don’t know what happened last night. After the whole EL James on Newsnight malarkey, I was trembling with weird feelings. Anger, frustration, sadness… was this all due to one woman?

Either way, I raged. Twitter tried to calm me down. A vigorous wank was suggested to me. But to be honest, I genuinely wasn’t in the mood for that. It was apparently one of those nights where I wanted to sucker punch someone in the balls.

And then…. things happened. Words happened. All said by one man, one friend, in one DM. 

I didn’t know whether to freak out, laugh, cry, run away. I opted for crying. And anxiously waiting for more words. You know that feeling when you need more words?

I got my words. Words that so unexpectedly struck a chord in me. I felt so broken, and it built me up again.

After trying to gather my senses, I went to bed. And I realized that, more than ever, I needed the release of tension I so badly craved.

I got out Grey. I put on a DVD, to calm me down. And I buried my hands down my pants and pressed Grey against my clit. Hard.

The sheer force of my arousal only hit me when that first buzz did. I was completely taken aback by it. But it worked. The knots in my body, all caused by the tension in my life, started to loosen. It felt like my clit, that tiny knot of nerves, was untangling before me.

I pressed Grey in too hard. The buzz felt uncomfortable, and I had to revert to my fingers, with Grey buried inside me. It was the height of tension, relieved only by thoughts of words. I wanted that climax so badly. Fuck. I NEEDED it.

(author’s note: I should point out that, in my enthusiasm for this particular wank, I very nearly pushed Grey in so deep that I couldn’t pull her out. Yes, try having a panic in the middle of a wank. It’s really not relaxing!)

I could feel myself teetering on the edge, constantly between falling off and remaining put. I cursed to myself. Cursed him, the fucking cunting twatting bastard, for his words and what he’d so unexpectedly done to me. 

And when I came, I cursed him louder than ever.

In the process of trying to come back to my senses, something amazing happened. Everything flowed out, and, for the second time in a short while, I cried.

I momentarily felt ridiculous. Here I was. Clothed but still naked. Paralyzed. Smelling of blood and cum and sorrow. And I was having a cry.

But it felt so good.

And in that moment, I cursed those two words. Those fucking words that I wished had never existed.

If only.

The Logistics of My Panties

I’d originally written this a few weeks ago, after a wanking session, the details of which escape me completely. Well… thank fuck I’ve written it down then… I should do that more. Anyway, enjoy… (sorry if it’s a piece of piss. Wank-brain and that.)

After my adventures with Ella and Bootie, and my out-of-body orgasm, I had promised myself to take it easy. But yeah, I don’t tend to keep such promises. After all, what better way to start off my week than with a wank?

At least, that’s my philosophy.

After a day filled with sleep and books, I retreated to my room and delved into “Luscious”, an anthology of anal eroticism. Y’know. For research.

And what arousing research it was. I can’t deny that anal is something that arouses me a lot. Which reminds me that I should really do a post dedicated to the wonder that is bum-fun. At least it gives me an excuse to experiment with it more often. Anyway, reading the stories spurred me on to delve into another anthology, called “Caught Looking”. That one is all about another kink of mine, namely voyeurism.

I read the most marvelous Thomas S. Roche’s opener, “Curtain Call”, and the intense friction that it caused between my thighs was enough to send me a bit gagging for a wank. But not really, because then I put on some porn.

I couldn’t really decide what I should go for. Do I go for a quick rub to Steven St. Croix and Jada Fire in Chemistry vol. 3 (you know… because cumshot)?

I eventually got out an Anna Span classic (Anna’s Mates, if you’re wondering) and watched a scene about people leaving for a Halloween party. The wetness pooled between my thighs, and Ella came out. After softly rubbing her on my swelling clit, I dipped her in. I was determined to make this a squirting orgasm (then again, when am I not?) and when the familiar oh-shit-I-need-to-piss-sensation turned into an oh-shit-I’m-gonna-make-the-bedsheets-very-wet one, I knew it was going to be good.

I felt gone. Drifting off into the pre-orgasmic netherworld. There’s not a lot that can get me that relaxed and empty-headed. I hadn’t felt that way in a while.

My pussy felt wired. D’you know that electric tension that ebbs and flows through you when you’re scaling the heights of pleasure? Fuck, so good. I fucked in time with guy on my screen, thrusting hard into me. In my mind, Ella was a cock. Any cock? No. But that doesn’t matter. It was a cock, and it felt fucking amazing.

I felt it come. I had to push out and when I did, I gushed. Into one massive, wet stain on the bed. Why is it that I’m always enormously proud of how big the stain is? In so much so that I always check how big it is? And maybe take pics? Just me?

I needed to come properly. Grey came out, for the sake of my clit. It required extraordinary dexterity on my part, but the orgasm that followed made me melt.

Also, I think I hurt myself. Just a smidge.

Momentary panic took over, as I searched for my little compact that I have tentatively titled “The Sex Mirror”… and… inspected the goods. It did hurt a bit, but in the end, there was no visible damage. If it still hurts tomorrow (author’s note: it didn’t, in the end) I’m booking an appointment with the doctor.

You may think there is not a tricky bit left after you’ve successfully accomplished orgasm. But aha! There is! Apart from losing all ability to speak coherent words, you lose a sense of awareness. I always seem to forget how my panties work. Which is crazy, because pants are simple, right?

No! Post-orgasm, nothing is easy. You completely forget how to be a normal human, and for a moment, you think that you are a superorgasmic, otherworldly being. I do. Thus, I forget the logistics of my panties and struggle with putting them back on.

No worries though.

That just means it was good.

PS: After I wrote this, I went to the bathroom and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Smiling, with rosy cheeks. I wished someone was there to see this. It was the healthiest I’d looked in a while.

So, this was a few weeks ago. I think I since managed a couple of wanks, but they weren’t that memorable. I did have one a few days ago that was quite intense. You tend to go into your own head, and at that moment, I was so far into my own head, I was completely taken aback by what happened. The orgasm was too intense.

Every wank is different, I guess.

Woman of Leisure, Woman of Pleasure

So, I was thinking. It’s been a while since I indulged you in a tale from the bedroom, right? Well, that’s because I’ve been living like an unusually chaste nun for the entire duration of my holiday. But I’m home. And coincidentally, I, as recently as this afternoon, experienced something quite lovely. In the bedroom.

You all know where this is leading, right?

Right. On y’ vache.

I woke up unusually early this morning. Like, 9 am early. I was convinced that someone was calling for me, so you can imagine the dissapointment when, upon arriving downstairs, no-one was in immediate need of my company. Bollocks.

I know this all sounds quite boring. But stay with me here. It gets good.

As the cleaning lady and mum worked on mum’s room upstairs, I (as is my wont) started fumbling with my right nipple. Sometimes, just for giggles, I try to get myself to have a nipple-gasm. It never really works.

Apart from today.

The pure ecstasy from just… touching and teasing my nipple was just brilliant. I felt that familiar electric buzz shoot through my cunt, through my belly and right through to my breasts. It was perfect arousal.

And it also warrented my first ever attempt at a dangerwank.

A dangerwank, for those of you that do not know of this delight, is a sneaky wank when you are at risk of getting caught or being strapped for time. Since the cleaning lady and mum were upstairs, I figured I could risk it.

I slid my hand down my pants and carefully started frigging myself. However, the least bit of noise in the general vicinity of the stairs made me leap up and retreat. I realized soon enough that, just this once, it wasn’t worth risking.

Horny, and deciding to make the best of it, I delved into my already crinkly copy of “Yes Man” by Danny Wallace (which I managed to finish a few hours later). Unfortunately, I am still suffering from post-holiday-theft-frenzy-fatigue and it hit me this afternoon. I decided to have a lie-down.

A very sexy lie-down involving my lovely pink g-spot vibrator…

I soon decided that, seeing as no-one could hear me, I could go all out and have a very leisurely wank, naked and wet and open wide. Well, not exactly naked. The tank top was kept on.

In the process of rubbing my g-spot raw, I noticed something pretty amazing. I can now actually see my pussy whilst lying down! Wehey! That meant I got full and glorious view of my swollen clit for the first time, without using a mirror! Success!

It was a good day for squirting, by the way. Fingers made way for the nubby curve on the vibrator, which I pressed in hard. And… well, yeah. I really, really, really wish some prick hadn’t stolen my camera. The sight was…. truly epic. It was weird to keep going like this. After… what, four or five major gushes, I was pretty exausted. I still managed a pretty epic orgasm though. One that left me completely and utterly paralyzed for a good few minutes.

My clit wanted more, because of course. But after a few cautious frigs, I realized that my body was rebelling. I got dressed, studied the wet spot (and did a little “WHOAAAAAH”) and crawled under the covers for a nap.

As I said, I later finished “Yes Man”. With still-wet thighs.

Did I mention I kinda missed this wanking thing? It makes me excited to try out the new rabbit vibrator I won. If only I could still find it!

I shall close on this chapter of the bedroom tales with a note. Every delegate at Eroticon was given a 50 pound Lovehoney voucher, and I used mine last night. As of next week, I will be the proud owner of a FunFactory Bootie (My First Buttplug™) and a shiny Lelo Ella….

31 Seconds of Bliss

Right. Once upon a time, I had a very wet wank. Now, I nearly always have very wet wanks. But this time, I done videotaped it! Check me out, I’m squelchy! There’s a picture of my bits up very close under the cut….