Painfully Honest and Introspective

A sex site’s raison d’être is is to offer choices. Much like catalogue shopping. One can scrutinize a deluge of supposedly willing cocks and tongues and choose which one will suit your purposes best.

Of course, you are selling yourself as well. Will my legs as displayed in my avatar to the right please a man whose primary interest is breasts? Will my proclivity to be pinned up against the wall and penetrated in a position which may allow for unsuspecting voyeurism be arousing?

For the most part I find the men on those sites to be only marginally discerning. The men who are and generally those more worth getting to know. However for the most part, the naïve and simultaneously amusing hope of the vast majority of men on those sites is that they will connect with some willing slut who will, within hours, be presenting themselves to them as an offering like to a God. A naked whore-virginal sacrifice there to satisfy their needs with no past, no baggage, no health concerns.

Of course each woman will be beautiful, sexy, talented with her tongue, tight, and insatiable. Why wouldn’t they be? Each God-like man on that site is endowed with an enormous cock, loves to eat pussy, can go for hours, minimal refractory period and loves to do precisely what you like and need. Only they can satisfy you.

These sites are simultaneously arousing, amusing and tragic. It screams out society’s need for intimacy and connection while at the same time extolling the virtues of selfishness and isolation.
The apparent contrived-ness of it all occasionally spirals me to the depths of desolation. While the ill-written poetry and blunt offers to fuck me hard are on the surface flattering, they are in essence unconscious demonstrations of a person’s attempt to find some sort of solace in their search to find meaning in their lives.

This week, having spiraled down to such depths, I temporarily turned off my account, and decided to join the real world for an evening. Tight jeans and equally tight sweater – while still appropriate enough for work, also suggestive enough for an evening out. I’ve been losing quite a bit of weight and this was my attempt to show it off a bit.

While I wasn’t opposed to meeting and taking someone home, it wasn’t my aim for the evening. I was out with a girlfriend, and this was a social/work function. Now while I had given up on him as an object months prior, I confess, the fact that Flynn was going to be there wasn’t completely meaningless to me.

My friendship and flirtation with Flynn had cooled considerably. A few of his personality quirks had succeeded in cooling my ardor, coupled with the fact that he had a girlfriend. Though he never failed to mention how good I looked when he saw me, our rapport had definitely lessened.

The girlfriend was of course there that evening. She was the stereo-typical version of gorgeous. Blonde. Tiny. Cute. Outgoing. Clearly impressed by Flynn.

Both of them had at least 10 – 15 years on me. To my mind, I was a young girl who should be married but wasn’t, could still stand to lose a few pounds, and not very good with small talk in social settings. Translation? Not a threat.

It is only in the context of the internet that I can play the Duchess role. On sex sites where we’re all searching and presenting hyperbolic caricatures of ourselves. On the sex sites where our desperation to connect, to touch, to feel where we force ourselves outside of our comfort zones in order to achieve our aims. Because we unconsciously realize that each person there is engaging in the same struggle. Those sites are only a reflection of a compartmentalized version of ourselves. A version of ourselves that we attempt to diminish in importance, when in essence that longing for connection might be one of our fundamental driving forces.

In the real world? I do mousy and polite with much more ease. But it’s impossible to know how others view us. Impossible to know whether that gorgeous blonde waif-like goddess berates herself each day for some barely discernible flaw, whether physical or otherwise.

Midway through the evening, Flynn and his waif left unexpectedly with nary a glance in our direction. Rude, but soon forgotten. However, when I mentioned this to my ride home, she mentioned that the reason for their departure was in fact because of me.

Speechless with shock I attempted to go over the evening in my head and find the source of this outlandish statement. I realized that I had barely spoken 12 words to Flynn. As I said, the rapport was gone and conversation no longer flowed with ease. I think I had at most smiled at the blonde waif, and then gone on my way.

My ride carried on to tell me how the waif was shaking in outrage at my behaviour towards Flynn. She thought there was something going on between us and one more move on my part would have resulted in physical violence on hers. My ride continued to assess the situation stating that the woman was clearly insecure, viewed me as competition and who are we to know whether I had ever come up in conversation with them before.

I simply could not (cannot) reconcile my behaviour of that evening with what I know I’m capable of. When I play the Duchessy coquette role online I understand the ramifications and possible consequences of my behaviour. I know that I could get myself into trouble in a variety of forms. I know that my search for intimacy and release comes with it’s own complications.

But to be vilified as competition by the waif is simultaneously laughable, flattering and shocking. Shocking at the injustice of it. Laughable at the unlikelyhood of it. Flattering at the fact that someone like me could possibly be viewed as anything other than less somehow in comparison to her.

My ride has admonished me to “not own” what went on that evening. Such a reaction from the waif is surely indicative of something far deeper that in actuality has nothing to do with me at all. But while I am surprised and saddened at the apparent lack of harmony in their relationship, a tiny part of me feels the slightest bit triumphant. Maybe something of the Duchess is finally spilling out into my real life persona without me realizing it. Maybe the desolation of sex sites will soon be replaced with real live seductions, and I can come out from behind the safety of the screen and keyboard.

My First Strap-On!

I wore this out the other night.

Oh wait.
I don’t mean I wore it OUT. Like not out of doors.

I mean I wore it until the battery stopped.

Because? It was kind of fab. I didn’t want to take it off.

Let me set the scene:
After a squillion different attempts to figure out the straps I finally got it sorted. (Hi! I’m starting a Master’s program in the Fall. But straps are beyond me. Who did I fuck to get that acceptance??)

Anyhow, after staring at the photo on the box a million times I finally got it right and managed to wear it the way it was meant to be worn. (Not to say that I hadn’t tried it a couple of times already, oh no, I wasn’t got to let my spazziness stop me from that kind of fun!)

So the other night I was…Lord I hate the word “horny” – note how infrequently you see that word in this blog – but there’s really not other word for it – that’s what I was: horny.

So I went onto my adult site and did a bit of exploring. And then got the brilliant idea that the entire experience would be SO MUCH better if I was wearing the strap on at the same time. I COULD TYPE AND VIBE SIMULTANEOUSLY! This is surely the best invention ever.

(Hi, I’m “Sexy” Duchess, and I’ve been writing a sex blog for over a year, yet I pee myself over a strap-on. Someone should revoke my sex blogger licence. Clearly.)

Anyhow, Nancy at is going to fire my ass if I don’t get to the point of this post…
(Btw- everyone welcome Nancy back from her mat leave – we missed her!)

So: Remote Venus Butterfly Wearable Vibe by California Exotic Novelties is all kinds of fun.

The deets from the site:

  • Length – 4″ (butterfly)
  • Girth – 6 1/4″ around (with wings)
  • Width – 3 1/2″
  • Material – Thermoplastic rubber, ABS plastic, polyester (straps)
  • Powered by – 1 x AA batteries
  • Special Features – Multi-speed, comfortable nylon straps, compact and discreet, wireless, waterproof
  • Color – Purple

And I absolutely loved it. It took a second to figure out the best placement, but once it’s there, it‘s a great time. Since I wanted to multi-task, I slipped some panties on over it, wriggled a bit to find the proper position and let it do it’s thing. And I was typing and playing for the better part of an hour before I noticed it was slowly dying.

Now to be fair, I used 1 x AAA battery and it wasn’t brand new, so please don’t think I wore it out with my vigorous squirming or anything. I imagine a shiny new battery would last quite a bit longer.

To add some reality to the situation:
It’s not a mind-blowing crazy vibe. It’s strong enough, but more subtle. I liked it for exactly what I used it for – a steady stimulation to keep me turned on while I did something else. I could see myself using it while I write or just wandering around my condo doing housework.

The only negative I have to say about the entire thing is that the battery took a while to “take.” I had to press the button several times before it got going. I replaced it with about 3 different batteries before I actually gave up then noticed a buzzing sound a few minutes later and realized it was the vibe.

But aside from that? I have nothing bad to say about it. It was a lot of fun, and something that will definitely be going into my “vibes-I-use-and-like” box rather than the “vibes-I-reviewed-and-wish-I-could-find-someone-kinky-enough-to-take-off-my-hands” box.

Duchess rating: 4 out of 5.

Now the real question is: would I wear this OUT? So tempting ….we’ll have to see…


And this is what happens when one posts quickly without the usual editing etc…

Please forgive me my darlings for any offense I may have caused with my last post.

I was annoyed with the message, so wrote a public retort quickly without considering how my words may be interpreted.

Please know that I have nothing but awe for D/s relationships, and think they are a truly beautiful thing to behold when done with consideration, sexiness and mutual respect. And I have no doubt that most Doms are completely unlike master j in all the good ways…

My apologies to anyone insulted by my last posting…

(And my comment about “dumbing it down” will actually become clearer with a post I have planned soon – it had nothing to do with D/s relationships…)

master j in da house yo

This is a message I just received from an adult site (all typos, and grammatical questionability are his own):

Hi Now I know you are young and have wild fantasy’s but I felt I would set the record strait for you . You want a man to take you ,be rough with you ,but in reality you want to be the dominate one .Then you want to be the submissive one .My advice chose which one you want to be ,or you will be disapointed in your life .I know there are “so called switchs ” but in reality they are one side or the other and when they do the other side it is never fully as good as a true dom or sub. So my sweet enjoy your life and should you ever get to calgary look me up and I will leave your ass bruised and your cunt sore from being used . master j

Now Master J clearly feels that he has deep psychological insights into me based on a few lines in a profile, and some carefully selected blog posts that I chose to carry over there.

However he raises an (interesting?) …well a point anyways. The thing is, I don’t really think I’m a D or an s. I think I want to be kinda bossy and bitchy every once in a while. But at the same time, I would also like to have someone tie me up and take me. But being bound and fucked isn’t the same and being dominated in my mind.

To me it’s just a matter of taste, and quite simply, I like it a bit harder and rougher, and less sweet and romantic. But being spanked, or punished is not a turn-on for me. And I know that there’s a very special relationship between master and pet, and I would never presume to claim that I could fulfill either of those roles to anyone’s satisfaction.

That being said, you’ve all read my posts about wanting a slave on here. And that my darlings? Let me clarify again…is purely selfish and lazy. For a while, I would simply like someone to do whatever it pleases me to demand request. I don’t think that makes me a D, I think it’s pure fantasy that I can’t imagine anyone in life ever fulfilling except as maybe a special treat on my birthday or something.

As for master j? His arrogance and condescension are precisely why I have no interest in being a sub. It is an absolute impossibility that I could be obedient and respectful when being spoken to like that. I pride myself on my intelligence, and if I choose to dumb it down? It’s strictly for my own needs and pleasure and not to placate any man’s ego.

I Want to Be Pounded…

I was tied to the bed posts, spread-eagled and blindfolded. Naked, bound and completely at his mercy. I enjoyed the feeling of helplessness – the relinquishing of all semblance of control…knowing that I am simultaneously the slave and the goddess – worshiped and adored. An object to be used at his whim, yet his intense focus, and each action was in the pursuit of giving me pleasure. A delicious paradox…

The room was chilly – my nipples hard for more than one reason. I shivered with anticipation, not knowing from which direction his attentions might appear. Would be begin slowly? Trailing his tongue down my collarbone? Nibbling an earlobe? Kissing me passionately as he massaged my breasts, letting his cock rest gently against my leg…?

He began with ice.

A hard, frigid cube trailed tantalizingly down my body, circling my nipples and running down my stomach. Up one thigh and down the other, finally taking it in his mouth and shoving it with his tongue up my aching cunt. My hot dripping pussy shocked and contracted, barely giving an innocent ice cube more than a few precious moments of life. He lapped up the remains then stretched up to blow on my nipples. Indescribable the simultaneous feeling of hot and cold. Rock hard, freezing breasts coupled with a cunt hot enough to burn.

It seemed the ice was just the beginning of the feast. I soon felt what smelled like honey being drizzled down my chest and down…quickly followed by a flicking tongue.

Then I smelled chocolate. I couldn’t figure out why since none of it seemed to be poured onto me. Then without warning I felt his cock shoved into my mouth. Chocolate-covered cock. Delicious. I licked and sucked and swallowed as best I could without actually being able to see or handle it.
I must have been doing alright though, as I could hear him grunting and gasping as he began to rhythmically thrust into my mouth.

I felt his fingers probing between my legs…two, three fingers thrust in roughly fucking me and rubbing my clit. He thrust in time to my sucking and soon we were both moaning and panting. Suddenly both the cock and fingers vanished and I let out an involuntary sigh of disappointment and loss.

This was quickly replaced with a gasp of pleasure as he slapped my cunt with his cock and rubbed the head against my dripping slit. He told me that he wouldn’t fuck me unless I begged. I was his little slut. His whore and I’d better show him just what a dirty little animal I was, and that I deserved to be fucked like one.

I could barely articulate between moans, my brain could scarcely form a coherent thought – but I begged. I told him how I wanted him to ram his cock into me so hard that I screamed, that I was his trinket to do with as he pleased – for him to use me however he saw fit – that I needed him to fuck me now – hard – fast – please – Oh God – please take me….

Thankfully he obliged. He gripped my hips and pounded into me, hard and bruisingly. Relentlessly his slammed his cock in and out, his balls slapping my ass and I did indeed scream and moan, begging him not to stop…

The Day…

I wanted him.

I’d never met him, but we’d chatted enough online to arouse me intellectually.

He told me he wanted to fuck me. He asked what would happen if the second we met he found the urge to bend me over and pound it into me.
I was fine with that. I was fine with anything he wanted to do with me.

I know you’re supposed to meet somewhere neutral first – get to know each other. But I was OK with the idea of fucking him the day we met. The moment we met.

I envisioned greeting him with my tongue in his mouth and my hand down his pants. Sliding my body slowly down his to unbutton his pants and suck on his cock. I wanted him to drag me back up by the hair, slam me against the wall and thrust into me before we’d even taken our jackets off.

His place. Mine. I didn’t care.

But when would that day come?

First I was to go to his place – later at night after his child was asleep. But he got sick, and I was delayed, so we postponed it.

Then we were to meet last weekend, go to a Sex Show, have a couple drinks and then I would do my Duchessy best to get his clothes off. In the car. At a nearby hotel. I didn’t care where.

Then this weekend, he saw my facebook plea asking for a favour. He offered to pick me up and take me. A five minute favour that would inevitably lead to me bringing him back to my place and worshiping his cock.

I wanted it. I dreamed of it. I was driven to distraction by it.
But when would that day come? He failed to call yesterday, which technically would be his third strike.

I didn’t care. Though a part of me knows that he’s a player, who cares when all I want to do is fuck him? It’s a fine line. A player he may be, with a dirty streak as well – but also with delicate sensibilities.

He doesn’t know what to do with a naughty text message telling him what I’m doing to myself at that moment. He’s told me that he’s rejected women that he’s deemed too “dirty.” So telling him that he doesn’t need to lie and play games, just come over and get naked seems a bit too bawdy for his tastes.

His last chance is this Wednesday. Today by the time this posts.
By an odd serendipitous congruence of events, I happen to be staying at a hotel that night. He has one opportunity to present himself before I find myself a new victim.

Will today be the day?

What will the day be for these other naughty darlings?
Kink Chronicles
Ms Scarlett
Gray: Http://
FG Sakes
They belong to us
The Panserbjorne:

And our gracious hostess: Kimberly