Back, and newly-employed

I am BACK!

Yes, fresh from the poolside recliners and chlorine-impregnated waters of Blackpool-on-Sea-Except-Abroad, i am here. Much has happened in the life of the minx, and it behooves me to fill you in… and I will. Calm yourselves. Patience.

Or as I once said to a friend at 3.00 a.m. “Easy, tiger.”

So, you’ll remember the Bosshole. And the Letter. The one I didn’t send. In lieu of sending the Missive of Fuckyouness that i wrote with such pithy (and pissy, come to that) ire, I sent something else instead. My résumé. To many people.

I had tired, you see of my Former Occupation. I used to do something Technical, and i wanted to be able to use the skills I’ve been honing by blogging for y’all, and earn substantial sums of money doing so. Well, not all the skills. I can’t find a way to earn the living that will keep me in the style to which I’d like to become accustomed, that’s legal, or possible during the hours i have in which to work (i.e., the hours where the young Minxette and Manx are otherwise occupied). So it seemed as though I needed to stay within the world of IT, which meant finding a company who would take a chance on an albeit talented writer, who — on paper, at least — had nothing in the way of marketing writing experience.

Well, i couldn’t show them this blog, now, could I? You think they’d be able to read this and then keep a straight face during a team meeting?

Of course not.

Anyway, i found a company and showed them some of my more vanilla writings, and they hired me. I started this week, and so far, so hoopy.

To quote the utterly fabulous Eddie Izzard, “So… um… yeah.” Or maybe I already said that? Either way, things are looking up.

Oh! And most important of all… I have decided to venture into the realm of being a professional author, and get some of my creative stuff published. Apparently there’s a name for the kind of fiction i write: Flash fiction. Or, in my case, flash erotica. It’s a fairly descriptiive name in that it refers to fiction that is no longer than 1000 words or less, even. THis is incredibly good news for me because the way I write naturally lends itself to that phenomenon. NOt that I couldn’t write a longer story, say, or even a novel or a play, I’mn sure i could; but  the way my life works, I simply don’t have the time and space to do that.

In truth, I’d always believed that I was simply undisciplined, but apparently it’s an art form. Or something. Either way, wish me luck. Any and all tips are welcome, because i could use some sound advice.

More soon, folks, and this time it involves food…

So… yeah.

So, here i am, bumbling along in my usual manner, happy as a clam, blonde as a bombshell and minxy as.. well, a Minx.

Life is good. Sorry i can’t paint you the angst-ridden pictures of yore, but hey, shit happens, and that’s the way it is right now. And long may it continue.

In recent news: the bosshole finally got his comeuppance. I didn’t send the letter, much as i wish i’d have had the guts to, but Karma was on my side and i got a new and much more interesting and better paid job, so I resigned and things are looking up.

It’s the Summer, also, and the entire Minx brood are off away for some fun in the sun. Fun, as far as I’m concerned, comprises lying prostrate on a sun bed, slathered in Factor 45, listening to my iPod and ignoring my children. And CH come to that. Just call me “Beached Whale” — it’s a fair comparison.

I love reading my stats, and i’ll be looking forward to seeing who came here between now and my next post. I showed them to CH last week, he was amused to see quite how far-reaching some of them are. From Japan, to Uruguay (I know!), to the good old US of A. And all over the States, too — from California to New York to Florida to Rhode Island to Georgia to Oklahoma… and the list goes on.

Fucking big, the US, innit?

Anyway, this is just a ramble to say that I’m still alive and kicking. When i come back from holiday, i’ll be more prolific in posting. Promise.

Be good, y’all.

Non-Rant in J minor

I’m taking shameless advantage in owning my own blogspace to come out now in my full support for Jefferson. I’m not sure how much good it will do, since i am not the most prolific blogger, nor do i have the widest audience. However, my readers have known me for a long time, and know me well enough to know that I don’t engage in blog drama easily, nor do I jump on bandwagons for the sake of it. Ergo, i urge you to take me seriously here.

Let me show you this:

This is a legal defense fund started up by some good souls who wish to help Jefferson raise some money so that the issues at stake can be discussed fairly in court. Currently, regardless of what he drinks or who he fucks, he simply does not have the resources to represent himself adequately within the US legal system, and to lose his kids because he doesn’t have that kind of money is outrageous.

I noticed that many people commenting elsewhere — and i will not dignify such places with a link — made much of his “not being able to hold down a steady job”.

Excuse me the fuck what? So he’s not — like me — a corporate whore. I compromise my artistic soul so that i can afford to live — but i have great difficulty living with said compromise. Hence this blog. Hence also many of my problems and issues and affairs, lest we forget, over the last few years. Not an excuse, but certainly a catalyst.

Jefferson is not a close friend of mine, although I’ve “known” him a long time. We’re friends, in a kind of “I’m best mates with a bunch of your best mates” kind of way. He’s only ever been courteous, polite and friendly to me, and these friends of whom I speak think very highly of him. And since I think very highly of them, there’s a level of respect i have for him as a person, plus a very high level of admiration for him as a writer.

His lifestyle is his business, and his alone. I enjoyed reading about it. It was clear from his blog that not only is he a dedicated and caring parent, but that certain parties opposing him in this legal battle should have checked the strength of their glass houses before they began throwing stones. Money can’t buy a reputation. Was it wise to be so bold in writing about such a wild and varied sex life in the same breath, if not the same space, as writing about his kids? I don’t know. And frankly — it’s not about me, so it’s not my place to comment.

If you have been privy to the back-and-forth arguments regarding this whole affair (unfortunate term to choose, but hey — shoot me) and do not wish to contribute — don’t. I simply think it’s a shame that his children should be adversely affected NOT because a judge examined both sides of a fairly-presented case and ruled him unfit to have shared custody, but rather that lack of cash prevented Jefferson’s side from being represented fairly at all. One thing I do know is that kicking a person when they’re down is just not right. It sickens me to see how many have chosen this precise time to do that to Jefferson, especially bearing in mind precisely who has thrown their hat into the ring for this particular round of accusation-hurling.

I wish him luck with his appeal, his lifestyle and sorting himself out. And i extend my unmitigated support to him, here publicly, as i did via email offline and privately.

By the way, comments are turned off intentionally. There’s been quite enough shit flung regarding this issue in my opinion. Above is the link, if you want to contribute. If you don’t, don’t. All i am doing is helping out — which is all I would expect anyone to do for a friend in need.

Sugasm 141, somewhat belated.

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants.

Want in Sugasm #142? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Comedy vs. Tragedy
“Are you on your period? What? Did he just say…”

Ian, or, Sometimes Sex is Hilarious
“In short, it isn’t sex blogger sex.”

A Wish
“I wish that you could know the indescribable pleasure of being enfolded in your warm, gentle wetness.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Sugar Bank

Editor’s Choice
Road Rage

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Cuntwriting

i have my period at the moment and it’s rendering me as horny as a rhino with a penchant for ginseng.

An oh-so-casual mention of the utterly delightful toy I was once bought, sent me reeling into a fantasy world where i am straddled across the foot of a bed, face down, half-standing but restrained by the wrists, naked but for a length of red stain ribbon tied around my waist and in-between my legs.

It’s soaking.

Behind me stands the man who, throughout everything i have experienced, and unlike any other person before or since, has always managed to arouse me, at the drop of a hat. Nothing has changed.

He can do so from afar, and delights in this ability.

Across the bed is strewn a leather car coat that he bought for me many years ago. I have worn it many times for him, the majority of which have been without other articles of clothing, save shoes. It’s a smart coat, and it fits me well, and with the high heels he adores to see me in, it really looks stunning.

It’s also an unspoken sign for him. If we arrange to meet for an innocuous coffee (is there such a thing?) and I turn up wearing the coat, he knows i want him to take me somewhere unusual, and public, and fuck me with abandon. If i arrive holding the coat folded neatly over my arm, he knows that he is to surprise me with something new that day.

He is in control, and yet so am I. That’s how it’s always been with us.

It was he who bought me the toy. My darling dolphin-rabbit (there’s a hybrid I bet you never thought you’d hear about) has stood me in good stead and continues to do so. Occupying pride of place underneath my various articles of pantyhose-like attire (mostly tights but i do have some hold-up black stockings with a lace trim). I’d be lost without it.

He begins to speak, as i stand there, leaning on the counterpane, looking at the silhouette of the coat in the duskily-lit room. I am spreadeagled and tingling, but still, very still; waiting for the anticipated first touch of his skin on mine — the tease, the stroke, the commencement of the ultimate fuck. This is an event for which we’ve both longed and to which we’ve both looked forward for a very long time.

He speaks of the time that we met in London. When neither of us saw the light of day for four days straight, so engrossed were each of us in the other, and so intent on causing yet another orgasm-raddled wail to rend the air so that we could subside into each other and then start all over again.

He describes how we left the room to get food, and how we sat opposite each other in the restaurant: oblivious to everyone and everything around us, our feet entwined, and our knees pressing against each other. How he deliberately and discreetly raised each of his fingers to his nose and sniffed them, as if inhaling a priceless perfume. The fingers that had been inside me until a mere half hour prior to that moment. The perfume that lingered despite a rigorous shower. How he looked at me knowingly, and smiled.

He stops and i realise he is waiting for me to speak. That’s how it goes with us. He may restrain me and prepare himself to fuck my cunt and my ass and beat me until i howl for mercy, but he wants to hear my contribution to the ambiance.

Right now, he wants me to describe in intimate detail how aroused I am. It isn’t difficult to do, albeit that it would be far easier to gauge by stroking a finger between my legs. If he nudged aside the strips of now-sopping ribbon, he would easily feel the depth of my arousal. That’s if he can’t hear the urgency of desire in my whispered tones.

He can, but this is what he chooses to do. And while he’s never referred to himself as my dom, we both know that he has the faint urgings of control in him, nestling neatly beside all his other fetishes.

We don’t play to any prescribed tune. Although I think it’s fair to say we dabble.

I speak, softly. I talk of when he fucked me better than anyone has ever fucked me before. When he took my virgin ass and made it his, his supreme conquest.

No one has ever owned my ass before or since. Fucked it, yes. Owned it? no. Only him.

He asks me to describe the last time i used my wonderful toy.

“It was a week or so ago, when i went online and read some of your prose. Imaging myself as your protagonista – which, indeed, you had also done, i used it to fuck myself into a supreme state of arousal, to the extent that i also managed to make myself gush, all over the floor.

“You always did have that effect on me. And you manage to do it with nothing more X-rated than a keyboard. And your fingers, of course — but said digits are so geographically far away from me. How do you do that? How do you make me so wet that with the flick of a vibrator switch i can come and come and come again, until i lie spent wondering what the fuck just happened. It’s not like they were probing inside my cunt, and waiting to be licked clean. “

It is then that he loses control, grabs me and slides his lead pipe of a cock straight inside me.

And my dolphin does its job.

Sugasm 139

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Hope you all enjoyed Permanent Haze — it was a memory that had long awaited documentation…

Want in Sugasm #140? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Flunking A Call
“I fell silent again and tried to think. What did he want?”

Revision
“He seemed… perfect. ”

Shaving, revisted.
“I don’t do it for society, for anyone who will or will not be seeing it. I do it for me.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Sugar Bank

Editor’s Choice
Exploitation, objectification and breaking the law…

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Erotic Writing and Experiences
2nd Blogiversary
Becoming
The Cam Lover pays to fist a 19 year-old Ass
Fiction: Taxicab Confessional
Four: of weeks and wantings
Friend with benefits- properly fucked
Getting to fuck the neighbor 5
Good weekend
Gustav Klimt Nachlass
I love the way you cuddle!
Kung Fu Theater
Monday’s Slut Journal
More bloody married people and doctor/patient roleplay…..
My first visit to Manbar
Night Ride: Trigger’s Bike
Permanent haze
The prize for working
Traction Bound

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Be The Man Other Men Envy, Be PullJoy
Catalina loves Her Latest BILF List
HNT – Venus and Mars
Of Pillow Fights & Panty Showing
The Way To a Man’s Heart – A Play in One Act
What is with all of the Swinging? – Truth or Fiction

Sex News, Reviews & Interviews
A Hot Medical Femdom Scene With Mz Berlin, Kayla Paige, and A Dirty Sponge Gag
I Want It! I Want It! I Want It! It’s At Exquisite Restraints Corsets
The Liberator Sex Wedge: Form, Function, Fucktacular. I love it.
New Toy Alert
Not Your Regular Vibe
Sex, Drugs & Baseball
Why inviting bi-girls to brunch is the best
Will You Carry Me Over The Threshold?
Zen And The Art Of Pornographic Madness

Sex & Politics
All Wound Up and No One to Spring On

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Cheerleader is fucked hard donkey style
Happy Fourth of July -HNT
Half-Nekkid on the Road to Hell
InFocus Girls
Pornsaint Madison Young
Property of Lady Evyl
Sandy Summers in red lingerie
Sundaycore
Thank you for the flowers
Tila Tequila Totally Nude

Sex Work
Meet Lew, My CockSucking CumEating StrapOn Slut

BDSM & Fetish
Agony of Ecstasy: the Ruined Orgasm
And marie Moaned
FLOG memories
Get a Load of These Gams!
Impromptu Ravishment Play
Miss Lioness
The Piggiest Pigs at Leather Retreat
Switchy Thoughts on Spiritual Domination
Testing the New Implements

Permanent haze

It happened years ago now, but the memory remains crystal clear in my mind.

The haze was caused as much by the 4 a.m. sodium light that glowed through cream calico curtain, as by the joy that fogged my brain. Joy at the supremely marvelous all-over fucking that had just happened. Or, more correctly, that was still happening, but having a short break for breath, air, water and silent, smiling reflection on both our parts.

We’d been together almost constantly since the previous morning, wrapped up, in and around each other. We’d walked together, hands tightly clasped as if magnetized, shoulders bumping whenever possible. As if we had to reassure ourselves that we were both actually there, together. We’d sat over Italian food, discussing Pink Floyd and other sundry matters. Grinning like maniacs, eyes locked, focused only on each other.

The rest of the universe had faded into muted submission. I’d felt as though I could never be any happier. And in truth, for the longest time, i wasn’t.

We’d been making wild, passionate and utterly perverted love since early that morning. We’d had a brief break while I stepped out for a business meeting for a couple of hours, and he regrouped. (Read: napped peacefully.)

He’d fucked my face, my cunt and my ass, over and over. He’d tasted, licked and sucked nearly every inch of me, alternately caressing my breasts, and pinching my nipples, with the ocassional playful slap for good measure. I’d ridden him cowgirl, and achieved an earth-shaking splashing orgasm of the intensity that happens so rarely, but is remembered eternally.

Now we lay, in an orange-bathed haze, panting quietly and lying contentedly side by side. I closed my eyes for a moment and awoke half an hour later to see his head propped up on his elbowed hand, regarding me intently.

“Can’t you sleep?” i croak, amazed that it is I, and not he, who succumbed.

“I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to miss a moment of being with you.”

I smile wickedly, ever the evil minx, even at 4.30 am.

“Well, if you plan to remain awake, don’t you think that you should, at the very least, be occupied?”

He looks at me, and a slow smile of understanding spreads across his face.

“You want me to clean you, don’t you?”

I blush, the last remaining vestiges of my good-girl exterior getting the better of me. I incline my head to indicate yes, but he won’t let me off that easily.

“You want it? You’ll have to ask for it. Go on.” And he laughs that gorgeous throaty chuckle that captivates me every time.

“Clean me,” I whisper softly.

His voice takes on a sing-song tone, and his eyes mock me gently. “What was that? I didn’t quite catch it…?”

Fully awake now, I rise to the challenge.

“Lick me clean, please. Lick my cunt clean. The cunt you just filled. Clean me.”

And I lie back and surrender myself to the orange glow, that resonates inside the room, and inside my mind, as he does just that.