I had a late birthday parcel from my sister this week with some fancy pants held within. I am not usually the kind of girl to be found in white underwear, preferring a bit of black lace, turquoise or even a splash of cerise. But I do like the occasional exceptions to my own rules when the outcome fits so well as this.

For:

Note of interest: this post, including the taking of the picture, was created entirely on an iPod. The future’s bright indeed!

He slams me backwards and all at once I’m flush against the door of the fridge. His hands all over, around, under and running through me. I’d hardly got through the door and he takes hold of me by the wrist and does this.

I’m wary, rabbit in headlights. My eyes dart to look behind him.

No washing on the line, he says, spotting where my eyes have settled on the next-door neighbour’s plot of garden next to ours. His words call me back to him and I sink into his lips that brush against my skin.

He’s hooked his hands under my work skirt and is raising the hemline ever higher until he reaches the edge of my tights. Wasting no time at all he shuffles my underwear down to just below my knees to allow his fingers freedom over my skin.

My balance begins to sway as his fingers set to work, lightly at first on my sex, testing me, teasing me, tantalising me into arousal.

It works.

As my head starts to cloud with lust, my hands cling on to his body, holding him tightly to me. My thoughts run momentarily to the frozen pizza abandoned in the living room in the shopping bag but before I can start to think about it defrosting he’s pressing with more urgency into me. His fingers speed up on my clit and I start rocking my hips, shifting up and down small lengths of the fridge, hair catching against the surface.

A hand of his takes a swipe at my side, catching on my hip and the top of my behind. He likes the sound his hand makes and grins that devil grin of his. He turns me around and exposes my arse; again I look behind me past him into the garden. No one there. He still can get away with it.

I let him.

Several spanks land on my tender bottom, echoes of pain from last night when we tested his birthday gift to me – Our first ever riding crop. The copious welts from that had given me a delicate day sat at my desk. Each adjustment sent a slight shiver through me at the ghosting memory it triggered.

Madness took over me and I now tried to wriggle away from him. He hauled me back in place and intensified his spanking. The white noise filtered in and out of my mind but I couldn’t get rid of the nervousness of being so visible in the kitchen. I failed him and contorted myself away.

A growl and grab at my waist.

Get back here. Where do you think you’re going?

A wooden chair from the dining table was dragged over the floor, the sharp noise was harsh to my ears. My clustered tights and knickers were removed and discarded near the cooker.

Bring your legs either side of this. Sit.

I did. I was straddling the chair facing its back, Mister looking down at me.

Bad girls get punished.

He set to work. With my legs all but held apart I lay open for him to strum his fingers over my pussy. I grabbed hold of the chair back and bore his relentlessly speedy fingering. I cried out and yelped through the intensity of the pleasure running through me.

But still I rebelled. I had to leap out from here and I eyed him with the anxiety of a trapped animal. Still wild, still untamed.

Upstairs. Now.

Nodding, I did as I was told this time, hoping that in moving to the bedroom he would now relieve me of my nervousness being where all eyes could potentially see should they stumble into looking through the window.

Halfway up the stairs walking behind me he caught hold once more and guided me to bend forward until my hands rested on a stair a few above where me feet were.

Crawl.

As he said the word, my skirt was lifted again so he could get a good look at me.

I moved slowly for him, letting him get his fill.

Before I had even reached the top step he had stopped me. Looking behind me I watched as he unbuckled his belt a few steps below me and reached into a pocket to withdraw a condom. I briefly wondered when he had picked that up from the bedroom. Had he been planning this all afternoon?

Little time was given for me to ponder as he took my hand to his cock to be guided to just the right spot and he thrust into me with little ceremony.

Intense fucking at the top of the stairs. We didn’t even make it to the bedroom. His grunts, my low growling moans. The thrill of screwing me in my work clothes gets him off so well.

Without doubt one of the finer ways to be welcomed home.

This week saw in my birthday and I joined the 28 Club. Last year I posted this image showing the aftermath of a terrible mistake with birthday candle wax (the experience was fantastic, but the scars were not) I might take a ‘Then’ and ‘Now’ set of pictures to compare my birthday brandings at another point but for now I leave you with some steamy post-shower photos.

You will need to click to embiggen and if you look ever so carefully you might spot some forbidden fruit.

For:

Photo courtesy of CreativNooky

Welcome to e[lust] - The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at e[lust]. Want to be included in e[lust] #46? Start with the newly updated rules, come back May 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

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Bringing Toxic Sex Toy Facts Out of the Attic

How Do I Get My Wife to Dominate Me?

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~ Featured Posts (Molly’s Picks) ~

Speaking the unspeakable

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Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Easy Come Easy Go: A Look at Orgasm Control
I came before I was ready
Relationships and age difference
PolyAnna’s Musings: Different is Good, Right?
Seriously Proud Queer
Spanking Kink of the Week
How to Be Good in Bed
A Thousand Small Unhappinesses
What’s in a Number?
The Absence ofHow to Tell if a Man is Gay
Stop Shitting on the Bottoms

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

It’s Not Misandry, You’re a Douchebag

CatalystCon

Catalyst: How it Inspired

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Caning: To count or not to count
Slavery and Social Death, by O. Patterson
His Eyes Hungry. His Body Pleads: Use Me!
Toilet Whore
And then, I apologized.

Erotic Fiction

Wicked Wednesday: A little bit of confusion
The Moment
Detached
Waxing Lyrical
The “L” word
Gorge
Lolita Twenty-Thirteen, Part Three
Difficult

Erotic Non Fiction

Girl on Girl
The Moment I Felt Owned
Tasting Her
Acting on Instructions
Final Cruise
Quickie
A Lazy Sadistic Orgasm
I had 8 days of sex.
An hour together
Cheerful Disappointment
What is Erotic?
The Coin Flip
Playing with Adam
A Trip to the Hardware Store
Fall From Grace

Eroticon

A Somewhat Different Eroticon2013 4~part Post

Poetry

The Dark Place

After over five years of blogging, I’ve finally managed to do the ‘Sex Blogger Ikea Wavy Mirror Shot’

Well, to a shaky, out of focused extent.

Not a perfect shot, and it looks as though I’m sprouting flowers – But here it is!

For:

Yesterday’s  post helped a lot in seeing me through the Drop following the weekend’s Eroticon conference. As did Mister. I very rarely seek out help when I’m down but yesterday I had to admit defeat and sure enough Mister stood firm for me as I held on to him to prevent me from falling further. He also came and nibbled my neck with awesomehotsupersexy kisses and licks which made the butterfly giggles lift me up.

Thus I now continue today’s post with a more upbeat tune as I regain my Zen.

Many people are doing their write-ups so I don’t want to repeat and go over the same things in terms of content so I’m simply going to create a digest of my notes and tweets and pictures to act as much as a record for myself as anything else of the most memorable sessions in terms of content – or entertainment, as you will see!

After returning to the hotel from Molly’s Meet and Greet at the nearby Novotel with a somewhat jittery Blacksilk who, having been a touch unwell in the week and was also feeling a little nervous for the weekend’s busyness, nevertheless proceeded to charm me no end with a little present to celebrate my blog’s fifth birthday in January. So very sweet of her to take the time to decorate a trinket so very well suited to me and Mister with a cheeky message on the reverse.

L: ‘Lady Pandorah’ R: ‘Mister’s Guitar Whore’

The next morning, we set off together meeting Ruby Goodnight in the lift (which subsequently was the first of many instances where the Meet and Greet Link Up statement, ‘Bloggers you’d like to be trapped in the lift with’ sprang into my head). With Ruby’s astoundingly accurate skills of navigation (Sat Nav) we found ourselves chilly and waiting outside the Coin Street venue. Once in and suitably tea-ed up the fangirl moments started after meeting the simply marvellous Plumptious Pea (who I will don pom poms for at the drop of a hat – You, my dear, are FAR from being a fraud); the gorgeous and vivacious Lily Hastings (whom I had a wonderful time in conversation with at the very end of the Harper-organised Aural Sex readings) as well as seeing familiar faces – Molly looked fabulous as ever with the wide welcoming smile I have come to recognise.

Taking a moment to rifle through my shag bag, I was overly excited to see that there was a notebook specially made for the conference.

(note)Book!

Sitting down as Ruby Kiddell’s opening introduction was given I began with what was to become a bit of an addiction, Live Tweeting.

— Lady Pandorah (@ladypandorah) March 2, 2013

Swiftly to be followed by the christening of the first page of the notebook – a momentous occasion.

Capitals to show importance

After the first talk by the sponsors, Brook, I squirrelled myself down to the basement – an ironically apt location for my first session, Myth Busting: The Submissive Woman with Molly Moore. Much of what she had to say I found myself nodding in agreement with or snorting with derision in sympathy with such statements as ‘All submissive women are door-mats; fragile and weak; have “Daddy issues”; have childhood traumas’. These are the vast gneralisations that have been augmented and exaggerated in fiction – both in written form and in visual media. Whilst some individuals may indeed experience some/all/one of the previous facets, that should in no way determine that individual.

One thing in this talk stood out for me more than the rest, it made me sit up with wide-eye realisation, the middle point in my scrawl below:

Wow Moment No.1

Molly noted that in her research into real Dominant and submissive relationships it can often be the submissive partner who wishes to take the darkened path down power/control play in whatever form that may be – bondage, sado-masochism, power-exchange etc. – Reflecting on my own experience, my own relationship with Mister as it began all those year ago with him I identified with this comment. I have touched on my ‘origin story’ of sorts before when it comes to how we got into kink, but I think this above all sessions may lead me into writing a separate post about it once more.

As the day went on, the inevitable 50 Shades of Grey bashing went on and I drew a badly executed sketch during Cressida Downing’s invaluable and highly entertaining talk on editing your writing.

This is why I use the iPad for drawing. I’m rubbish!

From this hour there were some hilarious examples of badly written erotica which had us all chortling away. Amongst the giggles I mangaged to hold myself together long enough to scribble some notes and add some tweets to the growing number of updates by other delegates at the other sessions:

So much giggling at the bad erotica writing to veer away from at Cressida Dowling’s #eroticon2013 editing talk. ‘Disappointed queeb’?!

— Lady Pandorah (@ladypandorah) March 2, 2013

‘[self-publishing] is worse than choosing a kitchen’ #eroticon2013

— Lady Pandorah (@ladypandorah) March 2, 2013

Other sessions including Remittance Girl’s theoretical approach to ‘Eroticism and Romanticism’ (which incidentally is uncannily similar in title to one of my third year modules at University), Ruby Goodnight’s talk on her work in adult commercial work, and The High Tea Cast ladies were both insightful and educational. I was particularly relieved that the latter session chose to use a Prezi and therefore reduced my ‘Death by PowerPoint’ fears. I also approved of the lollipop and badge.

At lunch, business cards were exchanged and the Pokémon-style ‘Gotta catch ‘em all!’ vibe set in, although I should have made more of an effort at wresting cards from people after looking back on my small collection here:

Do you see yours here?

The day ended with Ruby’s energising plenary talk that was pitched primarily at the bloggers in the room. One of the most important messages I shall close this post with as another one of those mantras that I seem to have collected over the weekend and by golly I intend to keep close at hand:

‘Let’s all grow up with our blogs and work to make them better’ @eroticnotebook#eroticon2013

— Lady Pandorah (@ladypandorah) March 2, 2013

The Eroticon Diaries continue…

I have so many great things to say about the past weekend’s Eroticon conference that I attended, but first I have to deal with a monster, so apologies in the meantime.

***

There’s a new mantra that I was introduced to over the weekend as I attended Eroticon and I’ve been trying to keep it in my head as I try to overcome the post-conference emotional drop:

Nothing you will write is ever rubbish. You can compost it down and something beautiful will grow out of it one day.

I am paraphrasing K.D. Grace from her ‘Finessing Sex’ writing workshop as one of the sessions over the wonderful weekend which I will be reflecting on in a post later this week. Whilst I got a lot of useful tips from that session, it was the worst one to experience at the time – Purely on my response to it. That is something I want to shout out clearly here as Ms. Grace herself was a delight and a great speaker and after hearing her read at the Saturday night social I shall be looking up her work and adding it to my growing reading list of erotica.

My problem is I don’t respond well to participatory workshops. I clam up. The nerves set in and I feel utterly inadequate. Especially when I heard nothing but the seemingly deafening sound surrounding me of computer keys clicking and pens scrabbling over paper piling on the pressure in front of me with my blank sheet. This was right out of my comfort zone as a writer and once the hour was over I quickly excused myself for a soothing cup of tea to pick up the pieces. 

As helpful as the forum was intended to be, I felt locked out of it. Instead of that image we all know of a prisoner trying to escape, scratching at the walls with their nails to get away, I was its reverse image, trying to get ‘in’. My writing process has always been solitary and on my own terms. Therefore, being told to ‘write like the wind!’ was disastrous for me. Highly ironic in a number of ways.

When I write at home, I can’t even sit next to Mister and type away – I have to sit away from him, or write when he is not in the room.

And don’t get me started about the fickle visitation habits of the Muse.

Unfortunately, that Sunday workshop had put me off kilter for the rest of the afternoon and my head was not in the best of places culminating in an even duller bump back to reality as I had to leave the conference early during the closing plenary by Cindy Gallop (via video link!) to catch my train, missing Ruby’s closing speech and any mentions of Books, Huggy Popes and Sandwiches.

Because I live Fucking Miles Away at the other end of the country.

Everything that I am feeling has a name: Drop. The emotional downfall that occurs after a period of elation. That ‘elation’ is what I want to treasure – all of the acquaintances that I rekindled friendships with; the new people that I met and was inspired by. The fangirl moments of meeting writers I have known of for years.

I want to be lifted from the weekend, use it to spur me on and take that leap into writing something that could be worthy of being submitted to an anthology. Getting published. I don’t see myself as a fiction writer. I am a blogger who finds writing about my real life experiences really fricking great. Fiction? Fiction is a bitch of a mountain to climb but it is an Everest that I am determined to conquer, goddammit.

Writing is a lonely job – Isaac Asimov.

Don’t I fucking know it.

This post doesn’t really have a purpose, other than to exorcise. Please forgive this momentary lapse. 

You can never have enough hats, gloves and shoes – Patsy Stone, Absolutely Fabulous

I’d like to add to this – You can never have enough lingerie!

As this is scheduled to go up during Sunday’s Eroticon Extravaganza, if I seem rather attached to my new coat be suspicious!

For