Tag Archives: SJ

The End. The Flap. The Interview.

Good morning, my freaky darling. My kinky miscreants.

I have some good news, and some bad news. The good news is, I’m doing an interview! With SJ! The bad news is, this’ll be the last blog post. The good news: There’ll be a new one! You see, the Just Adult Blog site is almost up and running, so we’ll be doing the blogging thing on that site instead. This will mean a whole new blog, a new name, new writers, new content. We’re doing this because the Just-Kinky site is almost ready to open again, and will have a new logo, just as the JE will have a new theme and logo. Not only this, but the story site will be taking new submissions and publishing them. We’re also currently half way through transferring all the old stories, and we’ll be finished with that at some point in the near future. So, really, this blog can’t do all of that justice, and thus the move over to the JAB site. And, remember, that for all these sites you only have to register one, and that one log in will work for all three sites.

Throughout my time on this blog I have worked hard to avoid doing one thing, something I view as quite heinous. I’ve attempted to avoid nepotism. I’ve strived to be as neutral as possible, and I think I’ve succeeded (apart from a time or two where it was suggested to me that I do a post that allows me to divulge my nepotistic side). This post, however, is very special, and I thought I’d give in and just embrace it. So this post is dedicated to my wonderful SJ, author of the blog SJ’s Journey. I was lucky enough to sit down with her for an interview, where we talk about her blog. So, without further ado, here it is, smilies and all.

JV: Okay, well, let me start with the first question (because it’d be wholly revolutionary to start with the second question). Are you wearing any panties?

SJ: Ha! At this precise moment? No, I’m not. First thing I did after walking home was change, and the panties were discarded with quite a gleeful flourish. It was hot, you know.
JV: *Checks* I’m afraid it feels quite hot, down there.

SJ: The weather, I mean. You know, summer.

JV: *Looks outside, at the overcast sky and wind-blown tree* Yes. Summer. Ahem. So, let’s start (for the second time) with a bit of history. How did you get into blogging?

SJ: Oh. Goodness that requires some remembering. Well, I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember, and posting stories and poems to websites for … 7 years or so, I guess. A few years ago I was a regular visitor to an erotic blog written by a British fellow, and I used to correspond with him quite a lot and discuss his blog. That was when I had my first thoughts of trying my own blog, but I was far too much a scaredy cat to make it happen.
JV: So what changed?
SJ: Jules. She’s a bossy fuckin’ thing, isn’t she? The idea was always in the back of my mind, and after a while Jules brought it to the front again.
JV: Ah, yes. I’m reminded of another time she brought something else to the forefront.
SJ: *Raises eyebrow*
JV: Your tush picture.
SJ: Ah. Yes. I remember that.
JV: Hard not to. I remember her plugging your bum on the JK forum.
SJ: I remember that too. Damned position. Position? Damned television making me write position when I meant petition.

JV: Maybe you should turn over to a less subliminally suggestive TV channel.

SJ: No. 😀
JV: :P. [Back on the topic of blogging] My understanding is that you were hesitant to do it. Could you elaborate on your thoughts, feelings on the matter?
SJ: Fear of commitment. Starting a blog would mean being committed to producing a piece of writing to publish regularly. And not only something to publish, something GOOD to publish. Something interesting, thought-provoking, or erection inducing. Part of me worried that I might expose myself as a terrible writing fraud, with cliché ideas that dried up after a few weeks.
JV: You didn’t, though.
SJ: I didn’t. I still have the same fear though. Every time a post something new I fly into a mild panic about how it may be received and whether it’s good enough. I don’t want to post for the sake of it, or bombard people all the time with stuff they don’t care about. I don’t want to be that person. So I still worry that I may become boring to people, even though I try very hard not to!
JV: Trust me, you succeeded. Something you said intrigued me: ‘or bombard people all the time with stuff they don’t care about’. Surely the advantage of a blog is that you can write about what you care about, regardless of what your readers think?
SJ: Definitely. The first person you should write for is you, I firmly believe that. However, if you take that writing to a public forum, and ask people to read it, then you do need to consider them. Once you take it to that forum, you are in part writing for an audience. If it were solely for your own pleasure, your private journal would suffice, no? 🙂
JV: Indeed. Let’s talk about content. You do stories, poems, talk about your own personal life, and do toy reviews.
SJ: I do yes I do!
JV: What is it you enjoy writing (about) the most? Do you have preferences?
SJ: Well, the research leading up to toy reviews is especially enjoyable …
JV: I’ll bet. Actually, since I’m sometimes privy to the research, I can vouch for that.
SJ: *Blushes* I like when you help me research.

JV: As do I 😉 

SJ: But the writing that I enjoy the most, just for writing, I’d have to say stories.

JV Howzat?
SJ: Stories are something different. They take on a life of their own, and I find myself immersed within them as I write. There’s this wonderful air of mystery, because I don’t really know where they’re going, or who my characters will be. It’s exciting to find that out.
JV: Tell me about your current story.
SJ: Oh, I couldn’t possibly. It’s a secret. *Shifty eyes.*
JV: *Pouts*
SJ: *Kisses your pouting lips* Top secret. National security, you understand.
JV: Well, could you at least give me a brief summary of what has transpired in this series of stories so far? Explain – as much as you can – what it is?
SJ: The Confessions series?
JV: Yes.
SJ: It’s a series of short stories following the personal life of a young woman who prefers casual relationships over long term committed ones. She’s a busy woman, she hasn’t the time, energy or inclination to commit to a relationship, but she’s also a very sexual person and unwilling to ignore those needs.

There’s a mix of fiction, fantasy, and my own experiences within the stories and within the main character, which I am having a lot of fun with. I’m using her, and her way of living to explore sexuality in society- what’s acceptable and what’s not, why that differs for certain people in society and how our choices affect us. At the beginning, she’s not a very sympathetic character, but as I write more, we begin to see more than just her sexual practices, and understand her a little more. I hope. That’s the plan anyway. And, of course, it’s about hot steamy sex. ‘Cause I like the hot and steamy sex. Very much. Ummm. Have I bored you to sleep?

JV: 🙂 Nope. I’m here. Wide awake. Surfing eBay, but wide awake.
SJ: lol

JV: I want to discuss your sex toy reviews, because that’s a relatively new thing.
SJ: Mmm-hmmm.
JV: I was hoping for more than Mmm-hmmm.
SJ: *Giggle* Is it new? I can’t remember when I posted my first one.
JV: The first was Ina.
SJ: Ah, sweet Ina. She’s a keeper.
JV: She is indeed. How did you start? Maybe a better question would be why did you start?
SJ: I think I sort of fell into it. I was finally rebuilding my toy collection after an ex threw my stuff out in a fit of anger a long while before, and I was really very excited to be doing so. I always enjoyed toys, though I lamented the fact many of them were not very nice to look at, or seemed … tacky. So when I ordered Ina, one of the first building blocks in my new collection, I was thrilled. She was a toy that was special; sleek and beautiful with great features to boot. I wanted to shout it to the world, that I had discovered what sex toys for women should be. Also, I wanted to brag: Ha ha! Look what I have! Weeeeee!
JV: *Snorts* I may discard that long paragraph, in favour of that last bit. Just so you know.

SJ: Ha ha.
JV: What? It’s more you.
SJ: Guess so.
JV: And things just kind of snowballed. Ina good way.
SJ: *Snigger* Yes, they did. I started doing a review for every new thing I got. It was fun! And people seemed to be interested, because they not only got all the techy details but an idea of the more … personal side of a toy review. Plus, I had an excuse to have more orgasms. Woo!
JV: *Shakes head, smiling* And then you did some for EF [EdenFantasys], too.
SJ: Yes, and another company too. I danced all about the house singing (badly) about how wonderful I am.
JV: Go on.
SJ: Free toys. Did you hear me? Free. Toys. FREE FRICKING TOYS! They were going to give me a toy, for FREE and all I had to do was what I had been doing all along anyway, and throw in a few links to their site. And the toys were free. Make a note of that.
JV: *Makes a note*
SJ: Essentially they sent me a list of products, I selected three or so, and they would send me one of those three to write about.
JV: This is EF or the other site you’re talking about?
SJ: The other site. But then EF got in on the act too. I was a bit of a slut, whoring my blog out to any company willing to give me free toys.
JV: Well, who can blame you? They’re free toys, after all.
SJ: FREE! And all mine! Mine! Mwahahahahahahhah
JV: 😀
SJ: I enjoy doing the reviews, and it seems people enjoy reading them. I’ll do them until I bore of it … which I cannot see happening in the near future. I’m going to investigate buying my domain name, so I can be free to run my blog as I please.
JV: That’s a very good idea. Do you have much to tell about that, or is it more a case of vague unformed (as yet) ideas?
SJ: Let’s just say I am researching my options and considering what I can to do improve my blog. I am of course open to ideas.
JV: And open to other things, too?
SJ: Oh yes, yes indeed.
JV: Good. What about in the future? Are you looking forward to any toys coming your way?
SJ: Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes! Oh gee golly whiz hell yes!
JV: I think that means you’re excited.
SJ: On December 28th I placed an order as a Christmas present to me. By some miracle I had money left over at the end of my pay period, and so I promptly set about looking at ways to spend it. A few days earlier I had spotted a new toy by a company I had not heard of. I fell in love .. so much so I actually dreamt of it that night. I also spotted a second toy that looked quite marvellous, so I bookmarked them, because I first wanted to ask a certain someone’s opinion …
JV: Oh? Whose?
SJ: My imaginary friend Freddy.
JV: Ah, yes. Freddy. I’ve seen him about, hanging out with Charlie the imaginary ghost.
SJ: Anyhoozelbees, they are in transit and I am giddy with excitement. I am hopeful for them to be here tomorrow, but definitely by end of week. If not, I shall be complaining loudly.
JV: (Yay!) I’m looking forward to reading about them. And seeing you play with them. [Post-interview edit: the toys have arrived, so you can look forward to some colourful reviews, readers!] In your blog you talk about, well, you. Do you have a problem with sharing some aspects of your life? Be they the sexual bits, or the non-sexual personal bits?
SJ: When I started the blog I had every intention of being completely open and honest and writing everything I felt like. I was excited about the freedom anonymity gave me. But it hasn’t turned out like that. I’m not anonymous, not really. A lot of my readers are people I have chatted to online for a long time, and there are several of whom I know in ‘real life’. And to be quite honest, even if I had perfect anonymity, I think I would still hold back the more personal things. It’s not me to throw it all out there, to lay myself bare. There are pieces of me, little bits of my soul in my blog because they are in my writing and I cannot avoid that. but for the most part I guard it, much like in the outside world.
JV: I can understand that. Do you think you ever could let go? Let your guard down?
SJ: On my blog? A little at a time. When I post a poem, that tends to be very unguarded. I think I am more likely to reveal myself in stories and poems than in a blog post talking to my readers.
JV: Fascinating. Why are you unguarded in poems? What is it about them that gives you that chance? Or do you choose to be so in poems specifically?
SJ: Poetry is not a choice for me. I bottle things up, that’s how I was raised. We do not show emotion, SJ, and most certainly not in public. Keep it to yourself. My poetry is the result of bottling one too many things.
JV Go on.
SJ: Poetry is that moment when what I am feeling, or what I have refused to feel, takes over. It’s not a thought process, the way stories are. There’s no going back to re-write or edit, I don’t stop and re-read constantly. It flows from me … quite often it feels like it is ripped from me, if the emotion is particularly strong … and writing it releases me from the hold that feeling has on me. Does that make sense?
JV: It does. And thank you for speaking so openly about it.
SJ: Ahem. You’re welcome.

JV: What else, if you have anything planned, can we look forward to from your blog?

SJ: A ‘lift the flap’ edition! Not really. But I do love ‘lift the flap’ books, and the term could be amusingly dirty on my blog.
JV: *Rolls eyes*
SJ: Except computer screens, they no have the flaps, you see?
JV: Well, you can get an accessory for iPads that offer you a flap.
SJ: My blog is not an iPad. I’ve been pondering what I might try next on my blog, but to be quite honest I can’t stop thinking about that package [sitting on the bed, as I edit this, being a numpty, causing troubles with the adapter and chargers – but there’ll be a blog about that from SJ, soon], and the fun I shall have in opening it and reviewing the things inside! I do have some new stories coming up, too, and I am hopeful of perhaps getting a guest poster, just for fun. 🙂
JV: Oh? Do you have anyone in mind for this guest poster?
SJ: Perhaps I do.
JV: Can you tell me?
SJ: No! Is a secret.
JV: 😦 Is it someone I know?
SJ: 🙂 It may be.
JV: Gah! I want to know!
SJ: *Chuckles mischievously*
JV: You’re mean!
SJ: I know.
JV: Hmph.

And this concludes the interview. I’d like to thank my dear, lovely, sublime SJ for taking the time to answer my rather mundane questions with riveting answers.

That’s it, it’s over now. I hope you enjoyed the interview, and the blog as a whole.

This is JV – signing off.


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Subspace – The Final Frontier

Good morning, my kinky bedfellows!

I’d like to share with you something that happened to me, the other day. And by ‘the other day’ I mean an indeterminate time over a week ago. I like to keep my posts current, you know. This happening can actually be read about in my darling SJ’s blog, SJ’s Journey. I’d highly recommend you read it (not just because she’s boinking my brains out), but I’ll also give you the gist on here. For word count purposes, you understand. What happened was that we were playing with a new toy, and introduced an old toy into the mix (the two, I should note, got on like a house on fire. They’re to be married), and after her climax, my darling girl started crying. This was cause for great concern for both of us, as SJ is not typically one who cries. After, we sat there, on our respective beds, wondering just what in the blue hell had happened. I worried, for a split second, that the cam that had been acting up during the session had turned on and shown her my orgasm face, and that made her cry. Or it may have been that her computer has been updated with smellovision, and she could smell my garlic breath.

It could be all these things, but one idea that she came up with to explain it was that she had entered her headspace, called subspace. When she brought this theory to me, I felt immediately that it made sense, that it fit the events. And then I immediately forgot what subspace means. And voila! I have my next blog post subject! So I thought I’d do a little post on what exactly is subspace, in the hopes of enlightening those of you who don’t, as well as myself re-learning what it means.

Simply put, subspace is a psychological state in which subs enter after an act, or series of acts, which are mentally and/or physically straining. This could be anything from an excess of pleasure, or pain, or the committing of acts which make the sub feel emotionally bare – but that’s a thing which is specific to the person, and so I can’t altogether elaborate on here what they may be. What happens next is quite fascinating.  These intense experiences then cause a chemical response, which enables greater pain tolerance, which means the acts can then become more intense. It’s an ongoing circle, and the Dom/me must keep a close eye on things, otherwise things can get very messy. And not in the fun way. These chemicals can cause a trance-like state in which the sub feels detached from reality, their own body, and their environment.

Afterwards, as they come down from this high, something called Deep Subspace can kick in, where they become incoherent, deeply exhausted and recessive. Thank you, wikipedia. It should also be noted that sometimes the trance like state is bypassed completely, and subs enter this state instead. And, indeed, Deep Subspace can have no presence at all. Though I view this instance as rare.

At all times, care must be taken by the Dom/me. Rather, I should say that extra care should be taken, since a Dom/me is probably already keeping tabs on their sub, but this is a situation which could end badly. Luckily, the situation my SJ and I found ourselves in was handled well (if I do say so myself) so things turned out well for us. Without proper aftercare – in the form of emotional support, comfort, reassurance and physical tenderness – though, things might get out of hand, and acute mental pain and emotional scarring can be inflicted. Though those are extreme cases, and not likely to happen.

This particular event did cause us great concern, but it also brought us closer, in a way. It seemed to signal that our relationship was entering a new level. A greater bond of trust and openness was afforded us. Now, I have a little treat for you all. As I showed this to SJ, she asked me if I’d like it if she wrote a little bit, to explain her reaction. I jumped at the opportunity, for obvious reasons. Here’s what she had to say:

In the moments before the leakage from my eyes, I was consumed by the feeling of being stripped bare. Raw, exposed and vulnerable to a point I had never been before. If not for the intense pleasure I was feeling I would say I felt broken, and perhaps in a way I was. It scared me at first, and embarrassed me. It was the next day I recognised it for what it might be.

Very intriguing, and my thanks to her. And so much more well iterated, since she’s able to actually experience it, and for me it’s merely an intellectual study. Well, I’ve run out of things to say. I could maybe make a joke. But I think I’ve conveyed as much information as I’m able to, on this particular matter. I can only hope that people who didn’t know about this before come away from reading this enlightened, and that those who already knew about subspace don’t come away from this writing long emails correcting me.

This is JV – signing off.

If you have any thoughts on this post, feel free to post a comment, or join the JE to have your say! If you have a topic you think is worth covering, then you can leave a comment here, or on the JE, too. Basically what I’m trying to say is: join the JE!

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Them’s The Rules…Now Spread ‘Em!

Good morning, my fellow kinky miscreants!

An interesting thought occurred to me – yes, I do have interesting thoughts and, no, you don’t have to run for the hills, don protective gear and check the weather reports to see if hell’s frozen over – the other day, while writing the last blog, Them’s The Rules. You see, we get a fair few new members who are just starting out in the life style, or even those who’ve had to abandon the life style and wish to return in glorious fashion. And what better way than arse-backwards? Yep, drop trow and take a bow, spread your legs and brace yourselves. It’s time for your introduction to various body parts and various toys.

No, not really. You see, my interesting thought was that, while the last one was an all-encompassing one, it had leanings toward the Dom side of the matter. So I had the thought that I should write one aimed at the subs of the world. No, I’m not talking about nuclear wessels, but submissives. Unfortunately, I have not the requisite knowledge, nor experience, to deliver the goods, so I recruited one of the more well-loved members of the JK, and that would be the saucy SJ – who recently decided* to take a photo of her sweet tush and post it for us all to see. *Okay, she didn’t decide, there was a petition going round and she was somewhat cajoled into it – who takes the reins of this particular blog post. So, without further ado and procrastination, here are her tips:

Great Googamoosh, could they be more pronounced?

Tell me you didn’t see that coming?! Well, they are a great set of tips. But here are SJ’s: 

There is no thing as a “true” submissive. There are no strict rules or guidelines or traits. It’s a part of who you are and it’s different for everyone.

Quite correct. According to one article, there are 9 types, or levels of being a sub (though, as SJ says, no one is ever the same, so there’s most likely a bit of mixing and matching going on): 

1.THE OUTRIGHT NON-SUBMISSIVE MASOCHIST or KINKY SENSUALIST.Not into servitude, humiliation or giving up control; just pain and/or spiced-up sensuality, on the masochist’s own terms and for the masochist’s own direct pleasure (i.e. turned on solely/mainly by one’s own bodily sensations rather than by being “used” to gratify one’s partner’s sadism).
2.PSEUDO-SUBMISSIVE NON-SLAVE. Not into even playing “slave,” but into other “submissive” role-playing, e.g. schoolteacher scenes, infantilism, “forced” transvestitism. Usually into humiliation, but NOT into servitude, even in play. Dictates the scene to a large degree.
3.PSEUDO-SUBMISSIVE PLAY SLAVE. Likes to play at being a slave; likes to feel subservient; may in some cases like to feel one is being “used” to gratify partner’s sadism; may even really serve the dominant in some ways, but only on the “slave’s” own terms. Dictates the scene to a large degree; often fetishistic (e.g. foot worshippers).
4.TRUE SUBMISSIVE NON-SLAVE. Really gives up control (only temporarily and within agreed-upon limits), but gets her/his main satisfaction from aspects of submission other than serving or being used by the dominant. Usually turned on by suspense, vulnerability, and/or giving up responsibility. Doesn’t dictate the scene except in very general terms, but still seek mainly her/his own direct/pleasure (rather than getting one’s pleasure mainly from pleasing the dominant).
5.TRUE SUBMISSIVE PLAY SLAVE. Really gives up control (though only temporarily; only during brief “scenes” and within limits) and gets main satisfaction from serving/being used by dominant-but only for FUN purposes, usually erotic. May/may not be into pain. If so, is turned on by pain indirectly, i.e. enjoys being the object of one’s partner’s sadism, on which the submissive places very few requirements or restrictions.
6.UNCOMMITTED SHORT-TERM BUT MORE THAN PLAY SEMI-SLAVE. Really gives up control (usually within limits); wants to serve and be used by the dominant; wants to provide practical/non erotic as well as fun/erotic services; but only when the “slave” is in the mood. May even act as a full-time slave for, say, several days at a time, but is free to quit at any time (or at the end of the agreed upon several days). May or may not have long-term relationship with one’s Mistress, but, either way, the “slave” has the final say over when she will serve.
7.PART-TIME CONSENSUAL-BUT REAL SLAVE. Has an ongoing commitment to an owner/slave relationship and regards oneself as the dominant’s property at all times. Wants to obey and please dom(me) in all aspects of life-practical/non erotic and fun/erotic. Devotes most of time to other commitments (e.g. job) but Dom(me) has first pick of the slave’s free time.
8.FULL-TIME LIVE IN CONSENSUAL SLAVE. Within no more than a few broad limits/requirements, the slave regards herself/himself as existing solely for the Dom(me)’s pleasure/well-being. Slave in turn expects to be regarded as a prized possession. Not much different from the situation of the traditional housewife, except that within the S/M world the slave’s position is more likely to be fully consensual, especially of the slave is male. Within the S/M world, a full-time “slave” arrangement is entered into with an explicit awareness of the magnitude carefully, with more awareness of the magnitude of power that is being given up, and hence is usually entered into much more carefully, with more awareness of the possible dangers, and with much clearer and more specific agreements than usually precede the traditional marriage.
9.CONSENSUAL TOTAL SLAVE WITH NO LIMITS. A common fantasy ideal which probably doesn’t exist in real life (except in authoritarian religious cults and other situations where the “consent” is induced by brainwashing and/or social or economic pressures, and hence isn’t fully consensual). A few S/M purists will insist that you aren’t really a slave unless you’re willing to do absolutely anything for your Dom(me), with no limits at all. I’ve met a few people who claimed to be no-limit slaves, but in all cases I have reason to doubt the claim. Okay, sorry, I’ll shut up now and let the expert talk!

– Try to understand what your own needs are – what you are looking for and what you don’t want. Be true to your needs, and to yourself.

– Anyone can call themselves a Dom/me. The truth of it is in their actions and attitude. Trust is earned – don’t give it freely to just anyone. 

– Know your limits and make sure anyone you play with understands them.

– Submissive doesn’t mean you are a doormat – you can say no and ask questions.

– No one knows everything no sub or Dom/me. Everyone is constantly learning, and if they say they’re not, they’re numpties. 

– Pain is not for everyone, don’t feel like you have to enjoy it – or anything for that matter.

So there you have it, folks. A few guide lines which should put to rest some myths about the life style, and help you on the right track to being a sub!

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Guilty Pleasures.

Life is like a box of chocolates, someone’s already stolen the good ones. That person is usually me, for chocolate is one of my guilty pleasures. I say guilty, often I don’t feel guilty about it, but rather quite pleased and, after stealing a few more good ones, rather full.

Hello, my kinky readers! Today I talk about guilty pleasures. As Miss SJ says:

You’ve got time to yourself. You don’t have to work, go anywhere, see anyone, please anyone but you. What do you do?

Well, for my part, I delve into the most base of bodily needs. I plumb the depths of depravity and comfort. I reach such pleasure highs that no man, old, new or slightly used, should go to. Because no man, old, used or brand spanking new, should feel such things, for we cannot be trusted with these things, these wonderful, loving, sensual things. For if we did, then, surely, the world will explode?

I talk, of course, of the bubble bath. The other day, when I had my once a month bath, I was perusing the shelf, looking for a shampoo to tend to my voluminous and extremely bouncy hair, when I saw it. A bottle full of bright blue liquid, so bright it almost shone from a light deep within. Or perhaps that was simply me holding it up to the light to examine it. Tough call. I don’t know what came over me, maybe it was the larger than intended dinner, the two hours I spent pleasing myself while dreaming of my woman, or maybe that, when I opened it up, my head became woozy from the intoxicating fumes, but whatever. The result was the same. For I poured that azure gold into the bath as it filled up (slowly. It is older than me, after all). Swirling the water around with my hands, I saw the bubbles begin to arise. I was a little worried, not used to seeing bubbles in the bath, except on the rare occasions when I-never mind. Turning off the tap, I lowered a toe, but stopped before it breached the water. I had forgotten to take my clothes off. This is the power of the bubble bath. It makes a man become single-minded in pleasure-seeking, so single-minded that they forget all other things, all responsibilities, all cares of others are washed away with the grime and dirt on your skin. Derobing, I lowered myself in.

And was welcomed by nympho angels caressing my every body part. It was heaven. Cloud Nine can take a hike, this was about ten degrees better than Cloud Nine. It was Cloud Nineteen And A Half, caressing my skin. As I sighed and leaned my head back, I was not greeted with the cold porcelain of the bath tub. No. My head was too important for that harsh mistress. It was greeted with a pillow of bubbles. They crackled, whispering sweet things in my ears. ‘Yes, my precious,’ I would answer, not even knowing what they were saying (foreign languages were never my strong point), but it didn’t matter. It was so soothing. I closed my eyes, let my body relax. It was, of course, at that precise moment that I got an erection.

But I didn’t use it. I’ll let you sit down, take some time to recover, because I know that’s a shocking revelation. I denied myself gratification. My mind was abuzz with thoughts of handcuffs and spankings, of a woman laying atop me in the bath, my hands running over her body, but I didn’t give in. The bubbles said so. Instead, I indulged my inner child. I made an Ace Ventura quiff with my hair and bubbles, then, when that thinned down with the weight of water, styled an Elvis Presley. And then an oompa loompa hair. I was shaking my head back and forth when I noticed a tingling twixt my nethers. I had shaved recently. Maybe I don’t carry off the hairless wonder quite well, but I dislike having it in a mess, so shave every few weeks. This was that week. My skin, usually sore, was positively tingling with joy. As the bubbles stroked every pore, puckered hair, shaved lock and fresh wound (What? The sac is a very difficult body part to shave, I’ll have you know), I noticed how my penis stood proud above the bubbles and I couldn’t help be reminded…of the Jaw’s shark fin. Duuuuuunnnun. Duuuuuuuuunnnun. Duunununununun. This was the beat that erupted from my mouth, that echoed in the confined space, as I took hold of myself and swished myself from side to side, exactly (okay not exactly) like a shark fin, pretending there was a shark swimming beneath the bubbles. Lowering my head below the surface, deadening the beat to up the tension, until, when I least expected, my member leaped out of the water! I have a very vivid imagination, and most of the time I am very proud of that. This was not one of those times.

I finished my bath with little fuss, but lamented my departure from the bubbles. What can I say? I’m weak, and the bubbles so inviting. So it may not be a surprise to you that I did not resist. Not for long. The other night, I readied the bath, disrobed (I remembered that time), scanned the shelf to find a blue-bottle, poured the contents into the bath, stirred, turned off the tap, and jumped, literally jumped, in to the warm cloud-like, baby’s bottom embrace of the bubbles. But as my firm tush would attest, I was not embraced by type 1.3 bbm (baby bottom measurement) bubbles. I was rudely greeted by the cold, harsh white porcelain. I reached for the bottle. I had not picked up the bubble bath bottle (it wasn’t even up there, having been used up very quickly. Women. Pfft.) but mint mouthwash. I was not caressed by bubbles. I was not drifted away to a magic land on a flying bubble carpet. I had a bath. In mouthwash. On the plus side, my body was minty fresh.

Still, we must not lament these things. But move on. And what else do I feel guilty for? Well, I confess, when watching sports, I shall confer with my fellow men to determine who would be the underdog in whatever confrontation is on the television. I shall root for that underdog. But is that so bad? Many people do, after all. But I like it. Or perhaps it isn’t so much the underdog winning that  like, but rather the arrogant winners losing? Perhaps both. One example of this was when I was playing tennis with my dear old dad (who, despite being old and having not played for over fifty years, still beat me. But it’s not the winning or losing that matters, but the having a good time. Whoever made that up clearly never won anything in his life).

As we arrived at the tennis courts, we started to feel some amount of apprehension, for there was a group of kids, young teenagers, descending on the courts like a plague of locusts. Several schools were having a tournament, it turned out. But we had paid top dollar half price to get in, and we would not be deterred by wild youths (who still played better than me!). We were at the farthest court. This was good. We would not be troubled by many. Upon entering, I scoped out the competition. A boy and a girl who, while not great players, were putting up a brave show. As we warmed up, I discreetly watched them. No, I’m not a paedophile, but thanks for the vote in confidence. No, I admit that it had been a while since I played, too, and had forgotten the basics, so I watched them, looking for tips, how to stand, how to serve, backhand and the like. It was at that time that the girl won. She was not a gracious winner. ‘Ah yes, maybe next time you’ll win,’ she said to the poor lad, ‘if you play a cripple.’ ‘What school do you go to? Can they even afford tennis racquets?’ ‘I go to a very good school, so many of our tennis stars learned at my school.’ I swear, you have not seen such arrogance and condescending haughtiness in one so young. I put the youths out of my mind, relaxing to enjoy a good game of tennis.

I discovered that, when I could get the ball to go where I wanted, I was very good. And when I couldn’t, I was very, very, bad. But my serves, when they went in the little box thing, were very good, nearly always aces, and when my dad did return, they were always rushed and easy to get to. My forehand was excellent throughout (but a small problem with judging distances and the small problem with the net…) but backhands, well, let’s just say I hit more flies and air than I did balls. But as I noted the youths coming and going, I also noted the haughty girl was still there, still spewing bile. This did not please me. And, as I started my serve at 4-5 down, I noticed she had met her match. I went down 0-15, 0-30, 0-40, and on that last point, where my dad was about to win the set, the girl was roundly beaten. ‘Yes!’ I shouted, just as my second serve hit the net, pumping my fist in the air. Which drew odd looks from my dad as he was mirroring my actions but for entirely different reasons, and the two youths who looked at me oddly. I had to think quickly, to tie my exuberance in with my defeat, and not the success of this underdog, and the loss of the harpie. ‘Yes!’ I yelled again, keeping my face the picture of delight. ‘Six-four down! That’s how you lose a game!’ I shudder at the thought of my lack of intelligence even now.

Now, this may have not been what SJ had in mind when she started that thread, but thankfully Duchess and Stranded have saved my face, by posting their guilty pleasures, which oddly enough are both to do with horse and tack sheds. Hmm. So, my kinky darlings, what are your guilty pleasures? Feel free to leave a comment, telling me (and any passing voyeurs) what your guilty pleasures are!

Take care, readers! And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!

(Don’t worry, that won’t be tying your hands. There’s precious little I wouldn’t do…Like tying your hands!)



Filed under Latest Titbits, Saucy Gossip

Bugger The Figgy Pudding, Who Wants A Figging?!

Good evening my kinky readers! Yes, I’m back, and first of all I’d like to apologise to my adoring jailers for not posting a blog last week. That was sadly because my laptop died of suspicious circumstances. It was later determined that it was Professor Plum in the Lounge with a Candlestick. If we could all take a minute’s silence in memorial of my old laptop. Yes. I really do expect you to take a minute out of your day and weep in silence.

Right! Now that’s over let me tell you about my new laptop! It’s fantastic! It’s got a keyboard that goes pop with every letter I tpye, a Face Recognition program that allows you to log in without the hassle of a password-but no webcam to actually recognise your face with. But other than that it’s just fine and dandy!

To business. It’s that time of year again where we get to play my favourite game. You get two people in a car. No, I’m not talking about dogging. You take a long, long road trip. One person counts the number of Christmas trees on the top of other cars, and the other counts how many car wrecks there are beside the road. This year, I counted the wrecks. I won, too. I’m happy. Yes, it’s Christmas time, where young couples and old get to play Mr and Mrs Santa, where you compare who has the bigger bush, Mrs Santa or Santa’s beard. Be afraid, be very afraid if the Mrs wins. It’s that time of year where you get loved ones presents, and the kids get a puppy. Just make sure you don’t make the mistake I made in actually wrapping up the dog. We had to pretend it was a stuffed cuddly toy. Getting burnt by gravy so that you run around the house with your stained trousers and undies around your ankles yelling at the top of your voice as your sisters beat each other over the head with crackers. Dressing the baby up in a little Santa outfit so that she’s covered in so much fur she looks like the dog in the missing poster up on the tree in our street. It’s a brown and white Yorkshire Terrier that answers to the name of Scampie. If you see this dog please call the owners at 02392 731204…

However, inspired by Molly’s latest blog, I shall regail you with my own tale of snow drama. It began last night. My mother was stuck, miles from home in a strange and frightening land that we call ‘Midhurst’. Truly frightening. It had snowed quite a bit, and the car was sliding to and fro so much (about six inches left and right) that she was left shaking, so she parked, on double yellow lines, no less, and stood there, calling everyone, my sister, me, my dad, her boss, everyone, asking people for a lift and to sort it out for her. When we suggested she go into a shop and ask the locals for numbers for taxi firms, as we had been having trouble finding any, she refused, saying she didn’t want to move! I pointed it out to her that she had to, and she did. After much complaining, but by that time I had muted the phone. Eventually she found a hotel and settled in for the night.

The next morning, however, we, my dad and I (for we are the kings of fixing things) got up early and trudged up to the bus stop, so early it was still dark, and waited. And waited. After a while, we grew bored of simply waiting, so we decided that, since the incoming cars were driving slowly, we’d go out in to the road and pretend to slip up on imaginary black ice! That was fun, although I do have a slightly bruised tush. After we became bored of that, we just stared off into the distance, waiting for the telltale orange light bar to appear that would denote a bus was incoming, but eventually we grew so annoyed with every car that had no orange light that we’d start to heckle these cars for no apparent reason other than not being a bus. I wonder what these drivers thought as they came across two men swearing at them, yelling at them, mooning them? Nothing good, I hope. For an hour and a half we stood, in the freezing wind, for a bus that didn’t come. Because there was a crash on the road to Midhurst. Except, it turned out, there was no crash!

But we persevered, with high spirits, for it was quite amusing imagining getting out tennis bats and putting them on our shoes. Eventually we caught a bus to the bus station, which was quite difficult in itself because the bus driver apparently thought I looked quite shady. Because I was wearing an odd hat. It was a Tetley’s Tea hat! It had a sock monkey on the front! But take us he did, where on the way we encountered several snowmen, who sat at a bus shelter, patiently waiting for the bus! One had a sign on it saying ‘hurry up, next time.’ Whoever wrote that is my hero.

The bus station was a no go. Luckily, there was a taxi nearby, who gladly agreed to take us. So we heroically braved the journey. Rather, the driver heroically drove, and we heroically acted like passengers, while heroically listened to the taxi driver talk. And talk. And talk. At the end of it all, after all the talking, the dodgy driving, the talking on his phone, I turned to him and said, ‘You’re a maverick, but I like your style.’ And winked at him. For no apparent reason. I’ve regretted it ever since! Do you know the one thing that we discovered? It was that the entire road, from home to Midhurst, was entirely passable! Not a speck of snow, slush, sleet or ice. She could have driven herself! But luckily I did not despair. No, that came later. It came when I told my mother about the photos I had taken on the way there. When she said she wanted to see them. Wanted to see the photos on the same camera that currently stored naughty photos of me. Oh dear…

Now, my faithfully kinky readers, I bring gifts, juicy gossip, more succulent than the juiciest turkey, more delectable than the roundest breast! For I bring out of my big red stocking, which is currently filled by the beautiful legs JK’s SJ, to bring you such Christmas crackers of gossip and news.

First up, it is my delighted pleasure to announce the nuptials of our own Kestrel and Stephen! From the bottom of mine, and the JK team’s hearts, we say congratulations, and wish a very happy ever after!

Next up, is the Secret Santa Thread! Yes, it’s that time of year where you’re paired up with someone of the (hopefully) opposite sex and exchange gifts. This year, I have been paired up, thanks to Molly, with Jules. Yes. Jules. HELP ME! And because she works so tirelessly, I have given her a slave. Don’t worry, they’re only virtual presents, not real, so no need to get up in arms. Unless you want to be Jules’ slave, that is? I was thinking of getting her a gag to wear, but I doubt she’d get much pleasure out of it. But I would! I’d get some peace and quiet! Anyone have any other ideas what our fine leader should get? (If you do, please email me your thoughts and suggestions…). Our dear Signs has very thoughtfully gotten Angie a Caribbean Fetish Fest, featuring tons, literally tons, of black cock. Would they make good gags? I have a feeling Angie would have fun finding out.

Sorry, I got distracted. Where was I? Ah, yes. In other news, LustyLady got Birdy and Kajira a Pulsatron 2 vibrator and…and…I’m sorry, I must move on from this segment. I can’t concentrate!

Our fearless leader, Jules, or Smoochiewoochiepumpkinpie as some often call her, urges me to inform you of our Kisses Under The Mistletoe Thread, which, I am reliably informed, is hotting up with frequent visitors. One visitor, especially, I must illuminate, with one romantic yet sultry post. Signs (who was gifted by Angie a BDSM Holiday in the Secret Santa), wrote:

lips ripe and full… slighty parted.. the tip of her tongue peeks out for just a second to lick the corner of her mouth.. I put my hand on the back of her neck and bring her face to mine.. and kiss the woman that I love and own so fully and compeletly that she forgets everything but the moment we inhabit.

Needless to say, if there is someone you wish to kiss and wants the excuse of mistletoe, I suggest you hop on over to this thread. And should anyone wish to kiss me, well, I wouldn’t say no. Seriously. It’s been a while and, to be honest, at this point I’d sleep with a teletubby.

Smoochie also informs me that we have a special thread where very considerate people (that explains why I didn’t see it) leave little presents underneath the Christmas tree. For you, dear readers, I leave, not a little snowman, but a puddle with a suicide note written in snowmanish! Because I’m evil that way! I guess that answers my next question on whether I’m on the Naughty or Nice list

Phew! I’m tired just from typing all that! But this is the last set, I swear! Molly, our dear own Molly, Mistress of the quiz, is doing a big Christmas eve quiz friday at 10pm UK time, a reminder that we only have a few more days for members to vote on the 12 stories to see which will be JK’s Story of the Year for 2011, where we take each Story of the Month and stack ’em up, nice and prettified, where you have to throw slingshots at the three you most want to win. Or you could just do the poll thing on the JK homepage. My one’s more fun though…

Lastly, we have the Just Kinky Awards thread, where you still able to nominate people! Don’t even put any thought into it! Just pick and choose people at random. Write the names down, close your eyes and let you hand drop wherever it will. That’s what I did. It’s just a complete coincidence that it always landed on my name. The categories are, in no particular order:

1.      Chat typo of the year

2.      Best Avi of the year

3.      Most amusing forum poster

4.      Most prolific forum poster

5.      Best tag line of the year

6.      Best blog of the year

7.      Best/Favourite Story of the year

8.      Best/favourite poetry of the year

9.      Your favourite writer of the year

10.  The thread of the year

11.  The funniest thread of the year

12.  Best photo gallery of the year

13.  Most thought provoking poster of the year

14.  Member you are most likely to turn to for advice

15.  Your JK BFF (s) (Best Friends Forever)

16.  Most perverse thread

17.  Most insane JK’er

18.  Romance of the year

19.  JK member you would most like to meet in person

20.  Most missed JK member

That’s it for this week. I leave you now with glad tidings and wishes for you all to have a very Merry Christmas. Oh, and Jules and Molls want to say something, too! I bring a very loving Christmas message from our one and only Jules. There, I said it, Jules. When will the whippings end? EDIT: Never! *Shoves fig higher*

“It’s been quite a year in the kinkdom of  JK, this time last year we had just reached over a 100 members, now we stand at 532. We had no internet ranking, then got our first one in April of 12 million, now we stand at just over 180, 000. More people have come on board to help the running of JK & we get over 300 visitors a day, literally from all over the world. More stories than ever are being submitted to the Erotic Pen & more & more blogs are coming on board the JK blogs roll. All in all it’s been a great year for Just-Kinky. Of course none of this would have been possible with out the help of the Kinksters. Most importantly my right hand girl Molls…I really have no idea why she puts up with me, I’m a mad, grumpy, argumentative perfectionist of a Scouse who never admits to being wrong (well I never am anyways :P) She takes all my flak & personal crap too & yet is still here, for me & for JK. I am not an easy person to live with or deal with I know, So I owe her a huge Thank You, she knows I love her loads too (urghh I will suffer for that last comment) Also a huge Thank You to the Murrican (Signs) who has also put up with a lot from me & whose invaluable help & contribution on JK (especially chat & proof reading stories) I am forever grateful for. (Please note this does not mean I’ve gone soft on you now Murrican :P) Another significant JK’er who has helped us loads this year is Kinky Kiwi herself Aphrodite, it’s not been easy having meetings when we all live in different countries but we get there in the end. Other special thanks goes to Pasty Man, China, Silky Sam, Angie, Chezza, SJ, Wrathy, Moon & all the Hubsters & E-Quorum Members for keeping the story of the week/month bandwagon going, & of course our very own JV for this JK blog keeping you all up to date with the JK gossip in his own unique way. .


Looking forward to 2011, it will be an exciting year as the JK Kinkdom expands with 6 sites in one. I have my own virtual server now & am building just- kinky from the ground up with all our regular features plus a whole stack of new ones…along with JK..we also will have a new story site just-eroticstories.com, a new exclusive online shop just-sinful.com, our blogs will have their very own site just-blogs.com & we will have a personals/dating site just-adate.com. For all those not into the kink or fetish we will also have a vanilla site just-aroused.com. You sign into the main site just-erotica.com and you’re signed into all of the sites, so it really will be the ultimate erotic playground for everyone.


In the meantime I will sign off with a Christmas Wish for you all…Have A Very Kinky, Sexy, Christmas & A Very Naughty New Year. Anyone want a kiss under the Mistletoe, you know where to find me (wink) xxx


Keep up the good work JV…this blog is now yours again lol. Thank you for letting us take over it for a bit xxx”

*Mutters could’ve tidied the place up a bit though…* Thank you, Smoochie, and yes, you will suffer! That brought a tear to my eye, it did. The message was nice, too!

And now, from our Molly, who is a lot nicer, and a lot less rough:

So JV is demanding some sort of Christmas message from me to post on the JK blog, so my comment is, when are you going to leave me alone?…..I don’t have time for Christmas messages or well wishes, I have to get ready, he will be here on Sunday, do you have any idea how much time and effort it takes to get ready for him, well do you?

I have to make scones, and shave my legs, and find suitable sexy lingerie to wear. I have to wash my dressing gown (don’t ask, it’s just me being weird) and all whilst organising The Hub and the JK story review team, posting secret Santa’s and writing a Christmas quiz, making sure story of the week goes up and don’t lets for forget Jules, I have to manage her too.

Anyway, here goes, Happy Christmas all you sexy kinksters, it’s been a great year at JK, I have made so many wonderful friends and laughed so hard that I nearly peed my pants on a number of occasions. I love you all, even the silent lurkers amongst you. Without you, ALL of you, JK would not be the site it is and Jules and I would just have to spend our days being nice to each other. Thank you to all of you, for saving me from that. Happy Christmas to you all, and may the New Year bring you as much kinky sex as you can manage.


Thank you, Molly. Here’s a tip: Don’t bother shaving! What? It’s winter, it’s cold. You’d be forgiven! I end this post (finally) on a carol, Twas The Night Before Christmas, and a sort of soliloquy, which I believe was written by one of my favourite writers, Matthew Stover.

Twas the Night before Christmas Poem

Make it Snow !

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tinny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

“Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”
And this from Matthew Stover, unless he stole it from someone else. I don’t know. I still like it though!

The dark is generous.
Its first gift is concealment: our true faces lie in the dark beneath our skin, our true hearts remain shadowed deeper still. But the greatest concealment lies not in protecting our secret truths, but in hiding from us the truth of others.
The dark protects us from what we dare not know.
Its second gift is comforting illusion: the ease of gentle dreams in night’s embrace, the beauty that imagination brings to what would repel in day’s harsh light. But the greatest of its comforts is the illusion that the dark is temporary: that every night brings a new day. Because is day that is temporary.
Day is the illusion.
Its third gift is the light itself: as days are defined by the nights that divide them, as stars are defined by the infinite black through which they wheel, the dark embraces the light, and brings it forth from the centre of its own self.
With each victory of the light, it is the dark that wins.

The dark is generous, and it is patient.
It is the dark that seeds cruelty into justice, that drips contempt into compassion, that poisons love with grains of doubt.
The dark can be patient, because the slightest drop of rain will cause those seeds to sprout.
The rain will come, and the seeds will sprout, for the dark is the soil in which they grow, and it is the clouds above them, and it waits behind the star that gives them light.
The dark’s patience is infinite.
Eventually, even stars burn out.

The dark is generous, and it is patient, and it always wins.
It always wins because it is everywhere.
It is in the wood that burns in your hearth, and in the kettle on the fire; it is under your chair and under your table and under the sheets on your bed. Walk in the mid-day sun and the dark is with you, attached to the soles of your feet.
The brightest light casts the darkest shadow.

The dark is generous, and it is patient, and it always wins-but in the heart of its strength lies weakness: one lone candle is enough to hold it back.
Love is more than a candle.
Love can ignite the stars.

And, in the words of a very wise man: Christmas is a magical occasion. A special time that should be celebrated in the bosom of one’s family. Or the nearest bosom. Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good hump!

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Filed under Events, JK Blog Gossip, Juicy News, Latest Titbits, Saucy Gossip

I Wandered, Pondered, As Lonely As A Cow.

Morning, my frisky little readers! Let me tell you about a little event, a story of childhood hijinx. I was maybe eighteen, or nineteen? Doesn’t matter, I’m making it up. I went out with some friends, looking for this new nightclub. The problem was, we chose to have a few drinks at the pub beforehand, and our designated driver, and the only person who knew where this club was, had drunk too much. Too much! He had passed out on the pool table just as I was about to make my winning shot. Okay, maybe I’m not remembering that bit so well. No time in my life have I ever had a winning shot, but I was quite drunk at the time so I’m claiming my skill level increases per unit in my bloodstream.

We elected to walk, mainly because we couldn’t find the keys (we found them later stategically placed in someone’s rear, I’m not saying whose, but it might have been me). We searched all over the small town, until we came to this odd looking barn, which gave us hope, if only because it meant a nice place to sleep. But it gave us hope because this club was a converted barn, and we saw lights emanating from it. Being quite late, those lights dazzled us, blinded our thought process so that, instead of a wet and wild party, music making your whole body vibrate and body parts swinging out at unnatural angles in simulation of dancing. But we didn’t see a mass of bodies clung together, where you can cop a feel without anyone knowing it was you, no, what we saw, well, we wouldn’t actually be able to figure out what we saw for quite a while, and even longer before we believed it, but a farmer, and his cow, getting carnal. I’m sorry to bring that up, but I want you to know the pain I felt when, several weeks later, I sat down to have some breakfast, when it suddenly became clear to me. And do you know how I figured it out? Because, as I was sitting down, I poured some milk on to my cereal, and the milk was from that very same farm. To this day I have never drunk milk.

But I digress. For obvious reasons, we ran. Had to, even though we couldn’t quite figure out why, but we ran, long and hard, even though we were being chased by a farmer with his dungarees halfway down over his ankles while being lowed at by either a very grateful cow – or a very disappointed one, if the farmer was a selfish lover. On and on we ran, until we came to a fence. Most of us elected to jump over the fence, but that wasn’t good enough for Jim. Good old Jim, he knew that I was quite short, and knew that my knee wasn’t quite heeled from a knock, so this gentlemen, this god of a man helped me. He helped me by ramming himself headfirst into the fence, yelling, ‘where the hell did that fence come from?’ but I’m sure he always knew the fence was there, and yelled it for comical effect. His heroic charge left a gaping hole that I nimbly jumped through, but now Jim was in trouble. He had landed in a very large pool of water. Which would be fine, except for one problem. Jim couldn’t swim.

Jim was my friend, still would be if he hadn’t died in a tragic fishing boat accident. He was playing poker one night, losing quite a lot, when he suddenly found that he had two kings, with two Jacks, with another  two on the table. He laid down all he had, even the fishing boat he had inherited from his dad. He laid them down, confident of his victory. He went in to collect his winning chips, including his boat slip, when this mastermind of a poker player, let’s call him Javvee, put down his own cards. He had a straight flush. Jim was livid. He stormed out, intent on destroying the boat, denying the winner his prize. He took a cricket bat to it, swinging as hard as he could, forgetting that it was a fiber glass hull and would be impervious to his humerous yet ineffectual hits. But he went on regardless, swinging and cursing, until one misplaced swing hit the mooring line, freeing the boat, and his swing was misjudged, overbalancing him. He fell into the water, but that didn’t kill him right away so I ran him over with my new boat. Honestly, how rude is it to damage someone else’s boat? I just got that thing!

So, heedless of the dangers, regardless that it was night and I could barely see a thing, his splashing and yelling were enough to guide me. I dived in head first to help my friend. Piercing the water with my svelt diver’s body, I was surprised to be stopped by a devestating blow to the head. I was in trouble, I was underwater, disorientated, air blown out of my lungs from the terrible hit, I thought I was going to die. For a split second I wondered what had happened. Had Jim hit me with a flailing limb? I didn’t know, but my attention was diverted to the fact that my feet had found the bottom, and I kicked up with all my strength, and in less than a second I had breeched the surface, exhaling first to get rid of the water and air in my lungs, then breathing in gratefully. My feet found purchase and I stood, and in my daze it took my a while that I was standing on the bed of the mere, and that the water didn’t even reach my nipples. I stared at Jim, anger seething through my veins, egged on by the throbbing pain in my head. He flailed about heedless, until he finally sunk beneathed the surface, only to return, standing at his full height, a look of puzzlement and abashed embarrassment marring his features. My lips worked themselves, trying to bring voice to the myriad of words that I wanted to say to him, but all I could make out was the angry hiss of, ‘you cunt.’

I exited the lake to a chorus of guffaws and we made our way down the road, very much lost now. That was, until we found a country lane. We kissed the asfalt in gratitude, kissed the roadsign saying ‘Bacca’s Place’, and so happy were we that we jumped up and down and, picking a random direction, ran as fast as we could, knowing this was our way to freedom. It wasn’t. It was, however, a dead end. Feeling lost and dejected, we dived through a gap in a bush, no longer caring where it took us, and for an hour we wandered around in a field, with no idea where we were or where we were going, until we saw a clearing up ahead. And beyond that, another road! We were saved! Again! Eagerly, we ran to it, kissing the asfalt again and kissing the roadsign that said ‘Bacca’s Place’, completely forgetting that it was the exact same sign, the exact same place we had come out of earlier, and picked a random direction, the opposite of the one we took last time, and within five minutes we had found civilization. Or rather, we found a barn, and in it, was a very lonely looking cow.

So you may be asking yourself what this blog entry is about. Well, I’ll tell you, and not just because I’m 1200 words in and still haven’t gotten round to it. Another thread, one severely underused in my opinion! What are you working on now?

 I am always curious to know what other writters are currently working on so here is the thread!! What are you presently working on? Share!!!

Says Woman, the author of the thread, commanding us imperially to share with equal measures of impatience and excuberance that is her hallmark.

One of the latest offerings is from Lucy in the sky:

Now I’ll either start with the second part of ‘Fairy Tales & Single Tails’, the silly/supernatural adventures of Roxy the two-legged sexual revolution, a story a bit like Alice in Wonderland but with less rabbits and more (divine) cocks.
Or I finally start with an idea about a boarding school I’m pondering for a long time now.
Whatever it will be, it’s gonna be full cheeky chicks, wet cunts and red bottoms. And love. That too.

Oh my, yes. I’ve always liked boarding school! I remember, once, when I went to a sports event at a boarding school. They had hired cheerleaders for before the match, to go around asking people to buy raffle tickets for some charity or other, but I wasn’t really paying attention. For I was walking around the gift shop with my sister, looking up scarfs for Christmas, when two blonde bombshells walk up to us, all lithe and cheeky grinned, mini skirts that were short enough to be belts. Don’t get me wrong, I approve of such clothing. Not very smart for a November morning, but still. They had very nice legs. Yes, I was able to stop myself from staring. I check them out before they come close enough to spot my eyeing them up, that way I avoid such awkward moments. ‘Would you like to buy tickets for the half time raffle? It’s for a good cause.’ one asked of us kindly, flashing a wide grin and batting their eyelashes. My hand was already in my pocket, not touching myself up! but getting my change out, agreeing, it was for a good cause, after all, on the cusp of saying something incredibly witty that would inevitably end up with them removing those belt skirts of their, when my sister said in a tremulous voice, ‘erm, yeah but we need to get some change off our daddy.’ I’ll stop there. What was this we, she was on about? I had change! It was in my hand! And what was with the ‘daddy’? She’s nearly thirty! But I figured it out. She did it on purpose! The cheerleaders admitted defeat and bounced, literally bounced, away, and when I tore my eyes away from their juicy derriers, I looked at my sister, who was grinning evilly. She did it to deny me my prey! That was harsh. Talk about cruel and unusual punishment.

But I digress yet again. The thread in question, over at Just-Kinky, asks its members to post little tidbits of their next story, but sadly it is entirely underused. So I urge you, my kinky readers, to get posting! I’m horny, damnit, and want to read!

But for now, I leave you with one more link, to a woman who has all manner of kinky thoughts going on in her head, and it coincides with the topic of this blog, too. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you SJ’s Sneak Preview. It certainly got me hot under the collar. So naturally I had to strip!

Toodaloo, y’all kinky ones!


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