Mounting Muhammad

Aloha Lovers!

Wowsa, talk about a week of ups and downs! We’ll get the downs out of the way first so unlike the last blog we can end on a happy note. If I ever write such depressing self-pitying sludge again Lovers, you must take me to task! Honestly, who wants to read that woe is me nonsense when you can read about all the crazy men I meet?

Ok so let’s speed through the downs. Last Monday I was at my local shopping centre when I stumbled across an attractive looking man selling whisks. He was performing his spiel to a small group of mostly senior citizens and I decided to join the crew.

Boy was he enthusiastic about that whisk!

It whisked, it stirred, it frothed milk in an instant! He was very into what he was doing, and a man with ambition, well that’s a man I like.

So I watched and waited like a creepy stalker until he was finished. Then once he announced the price of the magical whisk ($49!) and everyone shook their heads and walked away, I moved in to ‘whisk’ him off his feet.

Pause for laughter.

I led the conversation with, “So, you sell many of these things?”

Smooth.

“Yeah I usually sell about ten but today was a bit rough.” I nodded sympathetically and asked if he worked on commission, which he did.

“Oh, well I’m sorry I couldn’t buy one from you then and help you out.”

Bitch please, I wouldn’t buy a fifty-dollar whisk from Brad Pitt, let alone an averagely attractive fellow.

“That’s ok,” he said with a smile.

It was go time.

“So, weird question, but are you single?”

Fuck yeah, no lumps in my gravy; that’s my level of smooth.

He looked at me confused for a minute before replying that yes in fact he was single.

“ Do you want to catch up for a drink sometime?” I asked, thanking the lord I’d brushed my hair that day and put on my nice deodorant.

He agreed, much to my delight and he took my number. While he was doing that I apologised for being so forward but he said it was nice and he liked it.

Oh I can do so many more ‘nice’ things to you buddy boy.

We smiled at each other and I walked away, with him promising to get in contact soon.

The bitch lied!

I never heard from the bastard again! It’s cool though, I just tell myself I gave him the wrong number.

That way I win!

I’ll save my other disappointing date story for next time, I’m still holding out hope as he hasn’t deleted me from Tinder…Yet.

Ok, now onto the freaking absolutely omg exciting news!

So, as you know Lovers, my chamber of secrets has remained closed for some time now, with no one’s wiggle wand coming within remote proximity of it. Which is why when an old friend with certain benefits suggested I fly over for the weekend to enjoy those long lost benefits, I jumped at the idea. If the mountain won’t come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain!

The only problem was that getting to that mountain involved me flying interstate…

Not easy for a university student who works on weekends.

Luckily my mountain was happy to negotiate and my boy decided to fly to me!

Huzzah for the moveable land mass!

Now, I’m not one to miss an opportunity, so I thought what better time to check out another sex party? I’d attended the largest sex party in Australia, but what about the biggest swingers party? As luck would have it, the very weekend my boy was coming to town, the swingers party was officially scheduled!

Coincidence? I think not!

The party is held at a secret location (someone’s house usually), which has been modified to accommodate all of the lusty ladies and Lotharios that would be descending on it. We’re talking lockers, private and public rooms and the piece de resistance, a spa!

Apparently these guys got up to ninety couples in the summer and usually around seventy in winter. That’s a lot of naked bodies.

My type of party!

Sadly whilst writing this piece, my fly in sex has had to cancel and can’t make it over until September (very large sad face).

But I’ve decided I’m still going, whether I find a partner in crime or not. I’ll probably ask Boris first (if you’re going to a sex party you may as well take someone who serves up some first class sex right?)

However, as of today I may (emphasis on may) have a backup.

A friend on Facebook suggested I join a social network/dating website called Badoo. I’m already on Tinder, Bumble and Plenty of Fish, so I figured why not one more?

For about a week it was a total bust and I almost deleted it several times.

Until today.

His name is Paul and boy is he… different.

He contacted me first, which I found very surprising due to the fact that he was pretty damn gorgeous. I soon found out why he was reaching out though.

Paul is into SPH.

At first I thought he meant Strategically Placed Hole (which refers to plushophiles. It’s basically when they cut a hole into Big Ted so they can fuck him. Or ‘furries’ who dress up in costumes, usually animals or some sort of fluffy character and cut a hole in a ‘strategic area.’)

I wasn’t too keen on that idea, it’s never really been on my ‘to do’ list. However Paul’s profile stated if you weren’t into it you probably shouldn’t talk to him. I was about to delete him when he typed back a quick message and corrected me.

SPH in his case wasn’t Strategically Placed Hole, no no, it was Small Penis Humiliation.

Now that I can do!

After chatting to Paul for a little while I discovered he is deep deep into the humiliation game. We’re meeting up on Friday but we’ve already started with the whole dom/sub talk. I make him call me mistress and tell him what to do.

I’m pretty excited for Friday but I’m also a little nervous. I’ve tied guys up before, whipped them, blindfolded them, dripped hot wax on them whilst smacking them with my riding crop, but I’ve never done cock and ball torture. I’ve never given someone a golden shower or done many of the things Paul is requesting. I asked what ideas he had so I could gauge his level and boy do I need to do some research! His reply to my question went a little something like this… In fact it went exactly like this.

“ I like things like measuring my cock and comparing it to guys you’ve been with. Taking pics and threatening to show your friends or showing me and embarrassing me. Ruining my orgasms or not letting me cum. Making me wear my chastity cage. Make sure I please you and you cum before I’m allowed to cum. Licking out your pussy and ass. If I’m ever allowed to cum I have to lick up my mess wherever it goes. You forcing me to suck a strap on you’re wearing because I’m small and girly. Making me wear girls panties. Maybe me fucking you with a strap on because mine is too small. There’s just an idea of things.”

Holy shit, the dude has a chastity cage?!

I’m all up for humiliating the dude but some stuff is a definite no methinks. We all know where I stand on the ass stuff don’t we?

Shudder.

The good thing is, I’m the dom, so what I say goes. Luckily he seems very obedient, so I’m sure if I’m not liking the vibe and tell him to bugger off and have a wank at home he’ll oblige.

I guess kissing’s out of the question too, as he just sent me a message asking if he can lick me out straight after I’ve peed.

Well I suppose it saves on toilet paper…

Anyways Lovers, the point here is, I have a very exciting, experimental weekend ahead that I cannot wait to tell you all about! Everyone cross your fingers that he doesn’t cancel and I’ll do my best to stay open legged and minded and learn some kinky kink!

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: You can call me Nemo, cause I’m never afraid to touch the butt.

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Tinder: The Terrifying Truth

If you are reading this Lovers, it means I am dead…

Well, my sex life is anyway.

Oh the pain, the agony of the unsexed muff! “But what about Steve?” I hear you all ask, waiting patiently for explicit details of our erotic tête-à-tête.

Turns out Steve is a bit of a shithead.

After all the pictures, videos and sexy texts, Steve didn’t have the balls to actually meet up. Which is such a shame because he really did have a goldilocks penis. You know the type, not too big, not too small but juuust right. A rare find indeed.

Actually, the weekend I attended the fetish open house I was cancelled on five times Lovers, that’s right FIVE!

I could sense that Steve was getting flakey and his lack of committing to an actual day and time was really starting to piss me off, so I got myself a backup.

His name was Paul.

Paul seemed like a nice country boy, and therefore I liked and trusted him almost immediately. He worked in agriculture but lived just a few suburbs over from me, so he was within perfect proximity for a late night pick me up.

This is how the weekend played out. I had a date scheduled with Steve Thursday night. No time was set as he finished work at different times every day. I told him to message me when he was done and we’d decide exactly where to go then.

At eight o’clock I officially took off my bra and mentally cursed him for making me shave my legs (not to mention my panty hamster) for nothing. He finally texted me at ten pm to let me know he was too tired from work to do anything. I dutifully told him it was fine (it wasn’t) and asked if we could reschedule it for another night. He replied saying Friday was the best night for him. Unfortunately on Friday I already had a date with Paul, and I wasn’t going to cancel on Paul for Captain flakey. I told him I’d let him know.

So Friday night rolled around and once again I was in my sexy undies and date dress, waiting to get a confirmation message from the man. At six pm, an hour before we were supposed to meet, Paul cancelled on me. Apparently work was crazy for him and he couldn’t get away until late. By then he would supposedly be too tired to do anything.

Was I deliberately choosing workaholics??

I sighed and told him it was fine (it wasn’t) and he suggested we catch up for lunch the next day. I agreed and told him to stop texting me and finish his work.

I decided it was still early enough to text Steve and see what he was up to. After all, he had said Friday was the best time for him. Of course he could have and probably had made plans by now, but there was no harm in trying right? Plus I figured if he was out drinking somewhere he’d be totally up for a cheeky catch up followed by some drought breaking sex.

Turns out I was wrong.

The only contact Steve and I had was through Snapchat, and up until this point I rarely had to wait more than five minutes before he opened my snaps. But this night of all nights, he completely ignored me.

Dude, what if that was a picture of my boobs? Surely he’d open it just to check? Nope. I waited until eleven thirty this time before sadly pulling my bra off and reaching for the wine. At twelve-thirty I went to bed, sexless and slighted once more.

The next day I woke up at eleven thirty and showered, using my fancy shower gel that made me smell like strawberry daiquiris. I got out of the shower, freshly washed, shaved and ready for some daytime drinking. My phone blipped and I ran over to it, eager to see what time I would be meeting Paul. Or maybe it was Steve, replying to my Snapchat he completely ignored the night before?

But no, it was Paul, cancelling again. And again it was because of work. He was just so snowed under, there was so much to do, he couldn’t possibly leave his cattle reports the way they were, blah blah blah.

Bitch I shaved my coochie for you! Fucking appreciate it!

I regretfully told him it was fine (it so fucking wasn’t) and suggested maybe we meet up later that night when he finished all his work. This suggestion was greeted with an incredibly eager response.

“Yay!! Sounds awesome can’t wait.”

Ok cool, sounded like we were on for a fun night then. I told him I’d text him as soon as I finished up at the sex dungeon and we’d go from there.

I texted him at around eight thirty, just as we were leaving the incredibly awesome dungeon. I was on a high, and I badly wanted to share that with someone. To my absolute dismay, Paul started to make excuses. The conversation went like this:

Him: I’m not sure if I’ll make it out. Boring I know… I’m torn as I quite like the idea of a pint and seeing what happens.

The fuck? Why was he giving me all this bullshit? If you like the idea of it then just do it you fucktard! I replied with:

Me: Nope you’re coming out, that’s decided (I’m learning how to be bossy from the mistresses) We’ll meet on Graham Street in an hour.

There, that ought to do the trick, I thought. By taking away his choice in the matter he’d hopefully grow a pair and meet up with the girl he’d been talking to for a week. I was bitterly disappointed.

Him: Ha ha I’m afraid you’ve more chance of tying me up and getting the clamps out. Nah I’m going to pike on it. You’ve caught me at probably the worst possible time. I think this’ll be my third weekend I stay in all year… I just know what happens if I go out and realise what I’ve gotta do tomorrow. Sorry… There’s wine here if you want but it will just get out of hand.

Oh how the tears flowed at that moment!

Two men, five cancellations and one dejected little Claire, particularly as Theo, the friend I’d gone to the dungeon with, had just left to go to a party.

I’d said no to his invitation because I was so sure Paul would say yes after his eager message in the afternoon.

But no, he’d fucked me over because he couldn’t be bothered. And to make things worse, he insulted me by assuming things would get ‘out of hand’ if I went over there. Don’t worry stud, I’m sure I can manage to keep myself from lunging onto you; you’re not that charming.

Maybe I was over reacting, but the truth was, I was devastated. I curled up in a little ball on the couch and cried and cried. These two guys were the only two nice, fairly attractive matches I had had on all three of my dating websites in weeks. And both, both had cancelled on me.

I eventually heard back from Steve after a few days. Apparently I was too pushy and had put him off. I didn’t understand how hard he worked and I needed to be more accommodating.

What the fuck? It’s just a drink man!

Honestly you try to be proactive and guys run a mile.

Even as I write this I can feel myself tearing up, just remembering the way these two guys made me feel.

I suppose it was just a case of terrible timing. Lately everyone has been telling me to “stop asking guys out, don’t be so forward, let them come to you.” One friend even went so far as to call me desperate.

That one hurt. A lot.

The truth is I’m in a terrible romantic rut right now. No sex, no dates, no matches on Tinder. I did a little experiment the other day and swiped yes to one hundred men, one after another until I ran out of yes’s.

Not a single match.

It’s hard to stay positive. It’s hard to keep smiling. It’s hard to keep joking about how pathetic your love life is when inside you’re slowly crumbling every time someone rejects you.

I don’t mean to get all serious Lovers, but there are times when you just can’t laugh about it anymore. There are times when it gets too much and you just need to accept the fact that love may not be on the cards for you.

But then you shake your head, uncork that bottle of moscato, throw on the Lion King and eat noodles in bed, knowing there’s no one around to stop you. Then you spread out in your very own queen size bed, legs splayed in every direction (cause you don’t gotta share that bad boy with no one!) and have a guilt free sex dream about your next-door neighbour.

Maybe this single gig isn’t so bad after all.

Plus the cat’s always up for a spoon.

Claire xx

P.S I got this text at 3am Saturday night from Paul after I didn’t reply to his rejection text.

Him: The irony of it is I’ve spent the better part of the evening laying awake in bed… I would’ve been better off going and getting drunk with you…. Bugger. Hopefully you had fun.

Pfft serves you right douche bag!

BDSM: Into the dungeon I prance – Part 2

Olah Lovers!

And how are we all this fine Thursday afternoon? Or evening? Or morning? Well whenever and wherever you’re reading this I hope you’re comfortable, cosy and ready for another trip down dungeon drive, as we go back to my most recent of erotic experiences!

Ok, so I left you all in room two, keenly pondering what could possibly be in the mysterious and wildly popular room three. Well, it’s finally time to open door number three Lovers!

Wow. That’s a man in a cage.

No joke Lovers, I walked into the room and smack bang in the middle of the space was a man shaped cage with aforementioned man standing inside it. The cage was suspended from the ceiling and hung about thirty centimetres off the ground. As I looked around I caught the end of a conversation some patrons were having with one of the mistresses.

“So, you can get them imported?” one of the men was asking.

“Yes definitely, just don’t order them in bulk or you’ll get charged a fee at customs.”

I smiled inwardly, just imagining rocking up to the shipping yard with a van, inconspicuously trying to load up a dozen man shaped cages.

“It’s ok,” another patron chimed in “I’ve got a mate who custom makes them, I’ll give you his number.”

Huh, quite the helpful community!

Cage conversations aside, I could see why this was the go-to room of choice. On one side of the room sat a padded table with a metal frame welded to it, complete with all number of hooks and straps. I asked about the table, curious to see how it was that much different to the bed in room two. The mistress happily regaled me of all the multiple tasks one could perform on this particular instrument. Most interestingly was the fact that the sub could be pallet wrapped to the bed for complete immobilisation. The mistress went on to explain that this tactic was most useful when electrocuting clients or when needles were being used.

“It’s great for anything super painful really.” She chirped cheerfully.

Happy days.

After a quick demo on the many ways a leg or arm could be secured here, there and all the way over there, my attention shifted to something sitting unobtrusively in the corner. My eyes lit up and I just had to ask about it. I’ve always been fascinated with water sports, not necessarily for myself, but learning about them and how people go about it is nothing short of mesmerising! Therefore when I saw the ‘toilet chair’ there was no way I was leaving without some information. It was basically just a black toilet seat mounted onto a chair with a wire head rest directly underneath it.

“Do you use it much?” I asked eagerly

The mistress nodded and scratched her chin thoughtfully, attempting to remember the latest usage.
“I’ve used it twice in the past week actually,” she said after a moment “ but usually people prefer not to use it.”

I looked at her quizzically and she elaborated, “ Clients usually prefer me to pee directly onto their penis, chest or straight into their mouths. The chair makes that difficult and tends to go all over the face.”

I nodded, intrigued by the information but also wondering if it was a health and safety risk to swallow someone else’s pee.

(After a quick Google, turns out it is safe as urine is sterile. The only time it’s dangerous is if the person peeing on you has some sort of urine infection, which I seriously doubt any of the mistresses at this particularly clean establishment would have.)

On another note, don’t Google “is it safe to drink someone else’s pee?” at your local café. I’ve never seen my coffee frisbeed across the table so quickly and now the waitress won’t look me in the eye…

As I digested this information I longed to ask the question that was burning a hole in my brain. But I wimped out. I just couldn’t do it! The question of course was, “do you ever do brown showers?” I felt like I would insult them if I asked and they didn’t do them; that they’d look at me like some crazy perverted poodephile. So instead I just nodded and said “Cool.”

After I ripped my gaze and thoughts away from the ‘toilet seat’ I cast my eyes on the back wall. It was such a sight to behold. A Catherine Wheel! My eyes, which had already been bugging out of my head the whole night practically popped out of their sockets. The mistress noticed us all staring at it and happily showed us how fast the thing could go!

“Don’t worry, we never actually spin anyone that fast.” She assured us, as a few people gaped with disbelief watching the wheel fly round and round.

After demonstrating the speed, she then went on to describe how a person was strapped in and the different ways someone could be pleasured (or tortured.)

I want one.

Sadly, since my landlord objects to pets, I’m pretty sure a giant sex wheel would be frowned upon.

With one final glance I left room three to explore more of the delicious sights that awaited me. Suddenly I heard the deep rumbling of a man’s voice, rising above the din and calling me towards a small hallway near the back of the building. I shyly peeked my head around the corner and was greeted by a most voluptuous and scantily clad ass.

What a greeting!

The ass was of course attached to a body, the corseted body of one of the mistresses. She lay bent over a table as the owner of that velvety voice explained just what he was about to do to her.

Sir James.

My, my my.

He was like the epitome of manliness, with his big burly shoulders and thick luscious beard. Imagine if you will, the woodsmen of old, roaming around the forest, chopping down any wayward tree that came across his path, only to later slide off the suspenders, wipe the sweat from his brow and ravish the nearest maiden.

Did I mention he was burly?

Sir James happened to be wielding a thick leather flogger at the time, a detail that only heightened his supreme sexiness and masculinity. I should also mention here Lovers, that Sir James was not the most attractive man I’ve ever seen (he certainly wasn’t unattractive though I’ll definitely say that!) but his untouchable confidence and take-charge manner just made me want to whip my pants off and bend over right next to the mistress.

Such is the power of manly man. (Something for the male skinny leg jeans wearers of this world to take note of perhaps.)

Anyways, Sir James was doing some demos in what was called the training room. This was where would be masters and mistresses came to practice their craft and refine their skills. The wall was lined with all manner of utensils and implements and I could only imagine the fun they got up to after hours. I shyly stuck my hand up to ask a question and Sir James turned to look at me.
Squee! He noticed me!

I quickly babbled out a question regarding which was the best starting tool for spanking and how long it took to become proficient (i.e. how to not accidentally flick some unfortunate guys ball sack during a spank session.)

As it turns out the flogger is the best implement to begin with and Sir James recommended thirty minutes of practice a day.

Thirty minutes a day? Well I guess it’s one way to find thirty.

Before I could ponder too much on where to fit flogging into my daily schedule I was ripped from my reverie by the sharp crack of flogger on skin.

The mistress cried out in pleasure as Sir James went to town on her hiney. What a show! The boy certainly knew his stuff. I’m not sure if the mistresses groans were just for show but from the look of the women around me it certainly made a few panties wet.

I didn’t want to leave; the burly man and his corseted mistress were just too enthralling, but then I remembered there was still so much more to see and reluctantly peeled myself away.

And it’s a good thing I did Lovers, because the medical room was next!

Like water sports, medical fetishes have always been something of a mystery to me, especially after all the things I saw at Kinkfest. I was keen to learn more and find out just what type of things people liked to indulge in during their ‘check up.’

When I walked in I instantly had to bite back a giggle. It wasn’t the naked man lying on the medical gurney with his legs in stirrups that made me want to cackle, it was the poster on the wall behind him.

My housemate had the exact same one in his room!

I’ll never be able to look at it the same way again.

Once I had composed myself I turned to the mistress in charge of the surgery.

Wow she had nice boobs.

We’re not talking massive or anything, in fact they were quite small. They were just the most perfect set of love apples I have ever seen. Flawlessly perched atop her skin-tight corset, they hovered effortlessly on her chest, seamless pillows of awesomeness that just begged to be stared at.

You don’t have to be gay to appreciate a good pair of fun bags, that’s for sure.

I stammered out my questions, trying not to be so obvious in my appraisal. Luckily she had some very interesting facts for me. I asked what type of service men and women preferred whilst in this room. Men really enjoyed castration (not for real obviously, but you get the idea.)

“When we do this it’s like we own their balls and in that way we own them. They like to be dominated like that.” The boob goddess supplied helpfully. Us women on the other hand, we prefer fisting.

Yowza.

My lips clenched (and not the ones on my face) at the mere thought of it. My little sausage wallet could barely handle an overly large wang for too long, let alone the old five fingered salute from some BDSM expert.

“It helps women achieve multiple orgasms,” explained the snuggle pups princess “A lot of women have trouble relaxing enough here to let themselves go.”

That was certainly one advantage of being a guy, I thought, the ability to blast one out in almost any circumstances.

Lucky bastards.

I thanked the mistress and her chesticles and moved on once again.

There were a few more rooms to see, but you know what Lovers? I believe in keeping a little mystery in these things. I recommend everyone checking out a place like this when and wherever the opportunity presents itself, no matter what your sexual orientation, level of ‘expertise’ or what you like in the boudoir. At worst it’s a night out of the house and at best it could be the sexual eye opening experience you never knew you needed!

Until next time Lovers!

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: Hi, I’m wasted, but this condom in my pocket doesn’t have to be!