Ground Beef

You ever have one of those days?
 
You’re down. You’re stuck. You need help.
 
Someone comes along and you breathe a sigh of relief — finally, a helping hand.
 
And then…

 

Turning the other cheek

There I was: on a boat with the most powerful clients my company had, drinking wine, mingling, making important conversation with Mr. Bank President and Mr. Creative Director. And then I felt a breeze.

Someone dropped his cocktail napkin, and I graciously bent to pick it up (I now distinctly recall that movement). I flitted between groups of my own clients and introduced myself to others, imagining myself a great hostess on this trip around the lake as I networked with the mostly male big wigs. And then I felt a breeze.

Finally, after wondering about that “breeze” for far too long, I reached a hand back to double-check my bottom. My cheeks were still encased in the fabric of my brand new, bun-hugging pants, but….wait a second! I felt bare flesh down the middle. LOTS of bare flesh!

I quickly moved to the railing and pressed my back against it, knowing my face was infused with that tell-tale blush I often wear. Mind racing, I sorted through my purse hoping to find safety pins or something to close my pants and restore my modesty. Nothing. I contemplated jumping ship.

Instead, I worked my way over to the lower deck, careful to keep my back to the railing, engaging in polite conversation here and there. Scurrying down the steps to the lower, vacant bar I caught the eye of the female bartender and crossed my fingers.

“I have a problem,” I announced to her. “I’m hoping you have a sewing kit or pins behind that bar!”

She stooped to check and stood up with bad news. No sewing kit. No pins. “Why do you need it?”

“Ummm…look!” I said, turning around so she could see. I only had an idea how exposed I must have been; I had specifically chosen an extra-skimpy thong to avoid panty lines so I imagine a great deal of naked flesh was exposed. I heard her gasp and, turning back to her, noticed she was swallowing her laughter.

“Oh, my. Hmmm…,” she said, rummaging through more bar paraphernalia. “I have duct tape!”

“Duct tape it is!”

I excused myself, tape in hand, to the ladies’ room to inspect just how bad the situation was. It was bad. The whole back seam had come unsewn, leaving a gaping hole where the material met. I had shown a lot of cheek and nearly all of my thong-filled crack. Swearing to myself, I got to work, taping the inside of the pants so the repairs were hidden, I managed to close it enough so that I could return to the upper deck.

First I had a shot of whiskey. Well, two. Armed with liquid courage and a plastered smile on my face, I rejoined the gentlemen clients upstairs.

I only have so much confidence, Readers. And I have even less confidence in the strength of duct tape. So I hope you understand when I tell you that for the rest of the trip, I remained mostly seated, hiding my mortification with lots of wine and an embarrassed silence. Surveying the audience I realized just how many attractive older men had seen me in my compromised state. And yet, no one had said anything, including any of my colleagues.

The only positive thing I can say is that my cheeks were unmarked, not having been spanked for quite some time. Had my cheeks been pink…well, let’s just say that jumping in the lake would have been a far more viable option.

Oh, and on follow-up calls the next week to some of those clients, I closed a few rather large deals. Anything for the job.

Oral thanks

Almost the entire month has passed with no mention from me about oral sex.

Forgive me for neglecting “Oral sex month“. I swear my oversight is not indicative of my attitude behind closed doors. Well, okay, sometimes I believe ’tis better to receive than to give (as with spanking and money), but I give “thanks” often enough that blowjobs should be on the forefront of my brain.

I’m open about most subjects, but I don’t go into the hairy (or not) details of face-fucking, deep-throating, and going down. Let’s just say that I do it, alright? I hope that everyone does because the joys of giving and receiving good head cannot be underestimated.

As an appetizer or dessert, as a “thank you for finishing” or a “please keep going”, giving head rightfully takes center stage during playtime or even, *sigh*, after discipline.

Some people, both men and women, are absolutely clueless and uncomfortable about what to do when lips and tongue meet cock or clit. So, in the spirit of the month, I’m attaching some links that might be helpful.

Fellatio:

Is “snake charmer” even possible?
Sage advice from robotic voice
Even with the typos, some sound words of wisdom

Cunnilingus:

Ear muffs!
A man who gives good head is a treasure (so says the robot)
AskMen.com answers

Go forth and have a suck-tacular day!

Farewell to E.d.

I should be embarrassed about what I’m going to admit, but I guess I’m past the point of shame with you, readers.
 
For the past few months I’ve been having trouble with my DVR. The problems only occur at night when I’m watching my recorded shows in bed. The DVR locks up and I need to reset the whole thing, only to have it happen again minutes later. I’ve been a pretty dissatisfied customer.
 
Last week the good folks at AT&T came out to examine their equipment but could find nothing wrong. The bewildered technician stayed for awhile trying to recreate the issue, but eventually shrugged his shoulders and scribbled down his cell phone number, telling me to call him directly if the problem persisted.
 
That same night, the issue happened again. A few nights later found me yelling at the box and stamping my feet, pondering the tech’s cell phone number and thinking about calling him in the morning.
 
Well, last night, it finally dawned on me.

I was watching my recorded “How I Met Your Mother”, and the DVR froze. So, I turned off my Hitachi Magic Wand (yes, this is the embarrassing part) to get out of bed, and it unfroze. I laid back to enjoy the show and the lulling vibrations, and it froze again. A few more clicks of my vibrator, and I started to notice a correlation. Vibrator on, DVR malfunctions. Vibrator off, DVR functions.
 
After checking another outlet, I realized the power of E.d. (Electric Delight, aka the Hitachi) was too great to enjoy TV and get off at the same time.
 
So, E.d., here is your notice: you are officially shelved. I am reconciling with B.o.b. (aka Battery Operated Boyfriend) immediately because missing my HIMYM episodes is too great a sacrifice.
 
It’s been fun, but a girl must have priorities.
 

Ready to pop

I’ve been taking advantage of the amazing weather here to tend to my new yard. The flowerbeds had been neglected for so long; they were overgrown with weeds and grass which I have been steadily pulling out.

I am not a gardener (odious job), so I really don’t know anything about plants. However, there was one that everyone said looked like a giant thistle. I was inclined to agree, but it had buds that looked ready to pop. So I waited.

And this is what emerged. Poppies. Their tissue paper petals surround intricate centers, adding a burst of much-needed color to the outdoor space.

Anyone versed in gardening probably could have identified them as poppies. But to me, they honestly looked like an ugly weed. The benefit of waiting, letting them open up to me, revealed the true beauty within.

And not to be all deeply philosophical, but the same can be said for relationships. Take someone who isn’t your example of physical perfection, let them bloom for you, see what kind of color they add to your life.

As of now, these poppies are the pride of my garden. I can’t imagine how blank my flowerbeds would look without them.

Mid-afternoon delight

For a girl who loves men, I sure spend a lot of time looking at girl-on-girl spanking.
 
But isn’t this picture lovely? It’s pure fantasy in photographic perfection.
 
Look at that Domme, bending the crop while eying her target, a target who just might be wearing the sexiest heels and stockings I have ever seen. Seriously, I could conquer the world in those stockings.
 
I’m not sure which of these delicious outfits I’d feel more submissively at-home in: the simplicity of a sexy black garter and stockings, or the complicated musings of the sub’s waist cincher. Either would be fitting; either is absolutely lick-worthy.
 
And the intensity of the Domme’s gaze? Yeah, I’ve seen that look in my Dom’s eyes just before feeling the crack of the crop. It’s a look that has me trembling in excitement and just a bit of fear, a feeling tangible even now, from a black-and-white photograph. That gaze has power.
 
And don’t think I didn’t notice what’s on the night-stand. Do you see? Is that a ridonkulous black plug, or just my wishful thinking? And don’t miss the cuffs dangling from the drawer, or the slimline vibrator standing in wait.
 
Many, many pleasures to be had in this scene. And my imagination is off and running on this Thursday afternoon…