FetLife

I've decided that it's alright that my blog address is so obvious. I've decided it's okay to not include my blog on fetlife, aside from posting occasional things as notes (depending on time and will, of course.) What if I want to rant or rave about someone ON that site? Certainly I wouldn't want them reading it, regardless of whether they know my real name or have seen nowhere about my jawline in the photo collection. Thus, I am calm and glad.

Sky was bored, so I wrote her a snip bit out of an imaginary erotica. It is pasted below, so as to not have it disappear into infinity. I don't know whether I was imagining myself as the top or bottom. Well, that's a lie. I tried to be in both perspectives, interchangeably. I just don't know which ones were the ones that got me all tingly and dizzy and disoriented. Might be the time (late!) and the sugar rushes (multiple of these is worse, unlike orgasms). Might be the shiny, spiky boots I was imagining; and the smell of leather. Or the slap, and the harsh words. Perhaps the femme connotations of a black skirt, requiring some effort to get down over the hips and thighs. ...


*
She whispers slowly: "drop your skirt."
The female softness of the voice confuses you, but she moves and the smell of leather surrounds you. Specific, strong, promising. You inch the already unzipped skirt down your thighs, and receive a harsh slap.

"Too slow," comes a cold threat. You jump out of the skirt on this command, eyes welling with disgust. Embarrassed and scared by the swelling of your cunt, you look up only to hear her delighted, proud chuckle.

*
I feel like I missed something here, between the disgust and the embarrassment. But I'm too much of a lady (at least in type) to feel her up without first telling her I will; and got way too distracted by my family at that point to continue an effective dialogue, spoken or silent.

I'm off to not sleeping, then sleeping. Cheers.