TMI Tuesday: Even More Odds and Ends

 

tmi discuss mike meyers

1. What do you collect?

I know I’ve answered this before, but I cannot remember what I answered, and that’s okay! Because I collect quite a few things. So a few more things I collect: vinyl, postcards, shoes, Harley Quinn and Joker memorabilia, and recently: mosquito bites -.-

2. What do you do for fun?

I watch movies, I go out with friends and drink and dance, I travel, and various other activities.

3. Name a place that’s fun for you to visit but you wouldn’t want to live there.

I loved visiting London but I don’t think I’d want to live there in spite of loving big cities.

4. Do you believe in revenge?

I understand both the concept and the desire, however, I believe more in Karma.

5. Do you believe in forgiveness and do you forgive and forget?

Forgiveness is the hardest thing I’ve learned. And I can forgive now, however… I never forget.

6. Are you religious? spiritual? Atheist?

As the product of a house of warring and vastly different doctrines/beliefs, one of which being devout Roman Catholicism, I often say that I am a recovering Catholic. Spiritual pragmatist, Syncretic Agnostic, and deeply confused and disillusioned are all good terms that describe my personal belief system as well. I should mention that I am also highly critical of organized religion, specifically when it worms its way into politics or government processes. However, I’ve also been studying religion for years and I find it fascinating.

Overall… I have a very complex relationship with religion.

Bonus: What’s your routine every night just before you go to sleep?

If I don’t pass out first… I usually drink a glass of water, wash my face, brush my hair, brush my teeth, change into something comfortable/get naked, masturbate/get  fucked and then tuck in with music on or a movie on.

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How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

Happy TMI Tuesday!

Music Appreciation Monday: Love is a Force That’s Powerful and Strange

MaM

This song has been stuck in my head for days. These are the biggest yentas ever, and I love them for it. I also accept no judgement against my love of Disney movies— I just love musicals, guys. I cannot help it. PS… I also really like the message in this song. And, I guess, if you haven’t seen Frozen and are still planning to… Spoilers ahead.

Lyrics:

Bulda: What’s the issue, dear?
Why are you holding back from such a man?
Is it the clumpy way he walks?

Cliff: Or the grumpy way he talks?

Female Troll 1: Or the pear-shaped, square-shaped
Weirdness of his feet?

Male Troll 1: And though we know he washes well
He always ends up sort of smelly.

Bulda: But you’ll never meet a fellow who’s as

Bulda and Cliff: Sensitive and sweet!
So he’s a bit of a fixer-upper,
So he’s got a few flaws.

Female Troll 2: Like his peculiar brain dear,

Male Troll 2: His thing with the reindeer.

Troll Duet: That’s a little outside of nature’s laws!

Kristoff: This is not about me!

Small Group of Trolls: So he’s a bit of a fixer-upper,
but this we’re certain of
You can fix this fixer-upper
Up with a little bit of love!

Kristoff: Can we please just
Stop talking about this?
We’ve got a real, actual problem here.

Bulda: I’ll say! So tell me, dear
Is it the way that he runs scared?

Male Troll 3: Or that he’s socially impaired?

Troll Child: Or that he only likes to tinkle in the woods?

Anna: I did not need to know that.

Cliff: Are you holding back your
Fondness due to his unmanly blondness?

Female Trolls: Or the way he covers
Up that he’s the honest goods?

All Trolls: He’s just a bit of a fixer-upper,
He’s got a couple of bugs

Kristoff: No I don’t!

All Trolls: His isolation is confirmation
Of his desperation for healing hugs

So he’s a bit of a fixer-upper,
But we know what to do
The way to fix up this fixer-upper
Is to fix him up with you!

Kristoff: ENOUGH! She is engaged
to someone else, okay?!

(blink, blink)

Cliff: So she’s a bit of a fixer-upper,

Male Troll 4: That’s a minor thing.

Male Troll 5: Her quote ‘engagement’ is a flex arrangement.

Troll Child: And by the way I don’t see no ring!

Male Trolls: So she’s a bit of a fixer-upper,
Her brain’s a bit betwixt
Get the fiancé out of the way and
The whole thing will be fixed.

Bulda: We’re not sayin’ you can change him,
‘Cause people don’t really change. (Girl Trolls: Ahh Ahhh)
We’re only saying that love’s a force
That’s powerful and strange.
People make bad choices if they’re mad,
Or scared, or stressed.
Throw a little love their way.

Female Trolls: Throw a little love their way.

Bulda and Female Trolls: And you’ll bring out their best.

All Trolls: True love brings out the best!
Everyone’s a bit of a fixer-upper,
That’s what it’s all about!

Cliff: Father!

Female Troll 3: Sister!

Male Troll 6: Brother!

All Trolls: We need each other
To raise us up and round us out.
Everyone’s a bit of a fixer-upper,
But when push comes to shove.

Olaf:
The only fixer-upper fixer
That can fix a fixer-upper is

Trolls:
True! true!
True, true, true!
Love (True love)
Love, love, love, love, love
Love! (True love!)

True…

Troll Priest: Do you, Anna, take Kristoff to be your troll-fully wedded-

Anna: Wait, what?!

Troll Priest: You’re getting married!

Trolls: Love!

Like Playing Two Truths and a Lie

I get them so rarely–comparatively, given the life of the blog, but my favorite emails are ones in which readers think they have spotted Sir and I out and about in public. If they don’t provide descriptions, I always email back and ask, because I find these both interesting and telling.

Some recent favorites:

Short redhead and tall, well-built man at a grocery store in (my city). She was wearing this retro pin-up dress and heels and a collar and the man kept patting her ass affectionately and tugging on her D-ring. Pretty sure it was you two out shopping for dinner!

Two hipster looking youths–early to mid twenties, both covered in tattoos, the man with an air of something hyper masculine about him. The girl, short and coquettish with glasses with no lenses.

Two professional looking types, early thirties, at an airport. The woman is a short redhead in high heels, and the man a brassy blonde in a well-cut suit. They are leaving on different planes and both carry suitcases. They are unafraid of PDA and share a passionate kiss before they part ways.

I swear I saw you at (name of local fetish/sex club). You look just the way you describe in your blog, and I’d know those full, pouted lips anywhere. He was spanking you in a crowd of people and you were wearing a bustier. There was a pseudo gang bang that you found yourselves in the middle of. I respect a man who can pull off leather pants.

 

I’ve been very lax in mentioning the city I live in on the blog, because it’s a huge city and giant tourist destination, so I’ve felt comfortable and anonymous even though everyone knows the name. Consequently, these don’t make me uncomfortable, but I marvel at the little things that people have right, and the large things that they have wrong. I like to peek over your shoulder and know what you think of Sir and I… the kinds of people you think we are, the every day bodies we inhabit outside of Fatal and Sir.

Kinky people are among us… and truly, you might find us in any of these scenarios, because we are normal people. I’ve never been approached by someone who reads my blog in person–I imagine this is because I don’t put many pictures up and the ones I do put up are not very revealing, but I wonder how I’d react. Probably deny, deny, deny, to be honest, but the tiny exhibitionist in me might say: “well… perhaps,” and blush, coquettishly, as one person described me. And maybe the arm of the man beside me would wrap protectively around my waist and he’d pat my ass affectionately, and smirk.

I don’t know about the leather pants though. *snort*

If We’re Talking Body, You’ve Got a Perfect One, So Put it on Me

The long fingers of one hand wrap around my throat, his other arm snakes around my waist and he hoists me up and pins my back against the long line of his body. He growls in my ear; wordless, a raw, animal sound. My fingers automatically close around his wrists and stroke at his skin. His body is vibrating behind mine; he is heat lightning and raw thunder and energy. I feel small and vulnerable in his hands. His teeth close around my earlobe and he drags the flesh into his mouth. His thumb at my windpipe slows my breathing down until all I can take are deep, slow breaths, fighting for the little air he does allow me. His hand at my waist forces its way in between my skin and my clothing, sneaking past my skirt and rubbing against the outside of my panties, stroking me between my thighs.  I can’t help but rock my hips, but let my fingers snake around his wrists. There is heat inside of him, an urgency born of jealousy and a fire that’s been simmering all day. Continue reading

The Mark of a Brat

Let me tell you know how I know, in my heart of hearts, I am an absolute brat. And not even just in the sexual d/s sense of the word. Last night he fucked me thoroughly after a lovely caning that I’ve been looking forward to for days (more on that later, perhaps). Today, he thoroughly spoiled me… gave me… exactly what I asked for (probably *not* more on that later).

He asked me if I wanted to come. If I wanted him to cum for me. And I said yes. Both.

“Tonight, you’ll have denial and pain… tomorrow I will fuck you thoroughly,” he said.

And even though I was already immensely turned on… even though I was bursting at my veritable seams, because of how much I wanted him, when he told me “no. wait”— even though it would be… less than 12 hours… all I could focus on, all I could think about, was the ache in my cunt, how deep I could feel the throb and the need, how badly I needed him inside of my body. I became instantly wetter… soaked my panties, even. I became like a single nerve bulb, focused only on one desire. I needed to be touched and fucked. So much that I wanted to start squirming and rocking my hips and humping the nearest thing. So much that I was having visions in my head of touching myself. I was so hyper aware of being empty, devoid, and denied what I wanted.

I’ve had everything I’ve wanted over the last couple of days… absolutely everything. And the moment he denies me—not even denies me… but delays me… my mind and my body rebel. I cannot think of anything else. I cannot think of anything except for how bad the ache is… of how good it would feel to even have… just a single finger push past the tight ring of muscles, into my hot, slick snatch.

I am a fucking brat.

 

If You’re Seeking Motivation to Work Out

I’m on the elliptical, feeling the burn in my thighs and my upper arms. My headphones are in my ears, but all I can hear is my heart pounding, and it’s not because of the workout. My eyes are on you while you’re working out, while you’re working up a sweat. My adrenaline is pumping, pushing me through the last fifteen minutes of my current regimen. There’s a thin sheen of sweat coating my skin and it’s hot to the touch. Watching you from the across the room is my motivation to keep going; the way the sweat glistens on your skin, the way you push yourself, the look of concentration on your face.

The timer reads fifteen and I ease my pace to nearly nothing before stopping. I feel loose and high and electric and inexplicably aroused, as I always do after a workout. My blood is circulating fast and I can feel my pulse everywhere. Stepping off the machine and onto solid floor is like walking on water; I feel ill at ease even though I seem to have sure footing. I make my way across the gym, heading for the locker rooms. I catch a last look at you, sneak it in, on the way there, raising my water bottle to my lips for a long chug, side-eying you as I pass by, watching you wipe your brow with your towel.

The locker rooms, like the gym, at this time of day, are deserted, and the sound of my footsteps echoes smartly through the cavernous space. I grab my towel from the locker and take off my trainers, replace them for flip-flops and head to a stall, unzipping my sweater on the way, till I’m standing just outside the curtain in my yoga pants and my sports bra, skin shiny with perspiration. I lean in and turn on the water, adjusting the handle all the way to hot and then I wait, still outside of the shower, listening to the pipes, waiting for the steam. There’s an ache starting in my shoulders that I know the heat will work it out just swimmingly.
Continue reading