anonymous0slut

The adventures of a real life slut in a conservative world

Anal slut


Can I just start by saying that I hate anything anywhere near my ass? I’ve done it on and off for years but it takes a lot of convincing, tons of trust and, usually, a little alcohol for me to even consider it. Lately though I’ve been in a bit of a weird place sexually. I’m almost desperate to push my limits, to feel naughty. I want to feel dirty and be brought back to my submissive mindset. Considering everything that I’ve experimented with and enjoyed, it takes something special to get me to the point where my partner can lean in to my ear and say “really? This is what it takes to get you off? You really are a dirty slut”. I want to be covered in sweat and spit, I crave being covered in lube and cum. I like it.

But, I’m straying from my point. I really thought that anal was something that we endured because we are nice people. You did it once a year to make your man happy while you “moaned” through clenched teeth and prayed that the tightness of that particular hole would facilitate a quick finish. It wasn’t that the people I did this with were trying to hurt me or anything. I’m sure that they wanted me to enjoy it, even if for no other reason than to be able to do it again. But, I just didn’t. I made an effort and did all the “right” things, tried all the suggestions I received but I still just wanted to cry or scream every time …until last weekend.

I was lucky to be with one of the most sexually talented men I’ve ever had a chance to play with. We’re comfortable together and a good match in bed. Chemistry. We were enjoying a nice long fuck when I blurted out “I need something in my ass!” And he was happy to oblige. ( tip: use more lube. I’m not talking about spit or cum, I suggest a good silicon based product and however much you think is enough? Use more. Trust me. ) He left me on my back and slowly eased his finger inside of me. I gasped a little at the discomfort but felt myself get really wet and had to wonder if this time would be different. As he worked his finger in and out, slowly moving in circles to stretch me open and get the lube all over, I moaned steadily. (Tip: go slower, there’s no rush. Start with a single finger and use your other hand to massage the clit. If it hurts, stop moving but don’t remove your finger. Entering and exiting is the worst part so you can always try moving in circles instead). I’m already enjoying that taboo feeling of having my ass violated so when he orders me to cum I’m already in ecstasy. I feel him slip another finger inside me. It still hurts but I enjoy a bit of pain… I’m not one to complain.

We go on like this for a while. He keeps adding more lube and teasing me open while coaxing more orgasms with his other hand and his lips caressing my tits. Then I see the look in his eyes change and I know that, finally, he’s in full Dom mode. Thank god. He kisses my lips hard and pulls his fingers out of my ass. A wave of pain shudders across my body but I’m ready for it, I’m ready for anything.

I’m told to get on my hands and knees, to spread myself open for him. I quickly obey, it’s not the time to be a brat. He leans over to whisper in my ear and I feel his hard cock waiting. More lube as he slowly rubs a finger over my hole, I take it inside greedily. I’m ready. I want this. I need it.

“Tell me you’re a slut”
“I’m an anal slut, Sir. Your good little anal slut”

I’m rewarded. The top of his massive member pushed its way in. I feel so full, so satisfied but man does it ever hurt. I beg him not to move. It feels like he’s ripping me apart. He smooths my hair and makes soothing noises in my ear while reassuring me that I’m a good girl and he’s proud of me. We stay like that for a few minutes and my ass starts to relax. I slowly push back and let as much of him as I can stand inside me. He starts to move in an out slowly. Not much, just ever so slightly as he reaches around to make sure I cum again.

More. I need more. I rear back and try to fight through the pain but he stops me. A sharp smack reminds me that he’s in charge and soft words remind me it’s because he doesn’t want me to hurt myself. I try to calm down but I feel like I’m in heat. I’ll gladly suffer through the pain if it means I get to cum that hard.

“So, this is what it takes to turn you in to a filthy slut, is it? Good girl”
Those magic words make me cum almost more than I can take. He pulls out and finishes all over my ass and back. Only a few minutes later we start all over again.

Maybe I’m a convert because he’s been filling my ass up everyday this week and I’m on my knees begging for more.

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50 Shades of Grey next steps


I know that many people in the sex positive, bdsm, kink scene are coming out against 50 Shades of Grey. I’ve heard the countless arguments against it and I’ll admit I was unable to get in to the story. I did buy the box set but halfway through the first book I just couldn’t put myself through it anymore and I gave up. I found it slow, badly written and too unrealistic. However, THERE IS A BOOK!! Let’s take a second to get really excited about that shall we? It might be a poor representation of the lifestyle but it’s bringing the idea to the bedrooms over over 100 million people (seriously!) and I’m guessing many of them enjoyed it. Why? Because 50 Shades speaks to a very common desire – the urge to control or be controlled.

The argument can be made that Grey did this in an abusive way, I’m not here to argue that. I just want to take advantage of the hype to get a little deeper in to the whole concept of dominance and submission. If you read the book and enjoyed it you’re probably wondering how to proceed safely in to the next steps. Hopefully this helps.

I have to reiterate just one more time that this is not a new or rare fantasy. There is evidence of this dynamic in sex for as long as we’ve been keeping records.

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Lots of people are in to at least some aspect of it (spanking, hair pulling, choking, being held down, called names etc etc etc) without knowing it has a name. 50 Shades of Grey brought that name and that idea to the forefront of pop culture. It made it in to something you could talk about over coffee at your suburban book club – maybe a bit risqué but no longer taboo. It wasn’t complete though – no work is, fiction or otherwise. Now that we’ve started the conversation it is time to touch on the very basics that you have to know when you’re starting on your kinky journey. Safety first!

So, you’ve cornered your partner with sexy passages from the book (or hot pictures, good porn scenes, whatever) and he or she is willing to try and play out your fantasy. Lucky you! Now what?

Set boundaries
Everyone has limits and the first thing you need to do is make and categorize yours.
Hard limits – these are the things that are a definite no in any circumstance. Nobody is allowed to push these during play no matter what. Ever. No exceptions. If they do continually try to push your hard limits this is a huge red flag. It breaks trust and I wouldn’t suggest continuing to give them chances.
Soft limits – these are trickier. They are the things that make you a little uncomfortable or scared but you will allow under specific circumstances if caution is used. For example, one of my soft limits is face slapping. It can cause a very emotional reaction from me (as I found out the hard way, but that’s another story) so if a partner wants to attempt it he would have to be very attentive to my reaction and take it very slowly. I do not allow new partners to even try.

Safe words
These are not optional. If you are going to play you need to have a safe word. Why? Because “no”, “stop” and “please, no more, I just can’t take it” can mean the exact opposite when that paddle hits your soft fleshy ass. Your partner isn’t a mind reader. Pick a word *in advance* (or you’ll end up with my most recent one, “safe wording”). You can also use the light system (red means stop, yellow means proceed with caution) or a gesture if you’ll be gagged or playing with bondage. The safe word ends the scene immediately. I cannot stress this enough. You don’t slow down, you don’t guilt or whine, you don’t try just once more. You stop. Right away. You should talk about what happened but only after everyone is calm and feels safe. There is no shame or blame in using a safe word, any reason is a good one if either party is uncomfortable.

Communicate
Talk more than you think you have to. Before, during and after. Rules and comfort levels are constantly changing so don’t be afraid to voice what is and isn’t working for you at any given time. Enter with an open mind but realize that you have every right (and even a responsibility) to tell your partner when something doesn’t feel right.

Just like any fetish, BDSM isn’t the same for everyone. It should never be used in a malicious manner. No matter how you play you are no more or no less than any person you play with. It’s a fantasy, it should be fun. You have the right to a safe, sane and sensual time without pressure or bad intent.

What intrigues you about BDSM? Do you think I missed anything that absolutely needs to be discussed before beginning?

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St Valentine’s Day


Hot pagan sex and lustful gods and ancient wolf goddesses and potential marriage and more sex and more than a little crazed giddy divine animal blood sacrifice. All followed by some nice light whippings administered by nearly naked grinning boy-men, casual flagellations by goat-skin, some joyful thrashing in the name of fertility and purity and, you know, sex. Ahh,
Valentine’s Day.
The original, that is. Before it was called Valentine’s Day, back when it was called Lupercalia, a big Roman festival in honor of the fertility god Lupercus, before the ever scowling church got a hold of this ancient and rather odd and blood-pumped Roman lustfest, stole it and desexed it stripped it of its more spicy and admittedly libertine joys, as the church is so tragically wont to do. Tried to convert it into a mildly consecrated (read: bland, not naked) day, the church did, “Christianize” that naughty pagan fest, and failing that because no way are you going to trump ancient sex and lust with uptight chastity and faux-purity, they tossed in Saint Valentine to the mix, invented some nice legend, tried to turn this most funky of pagan holidays into an homage to romantic love and cherry nougat chocolates and Hallmark bullcrap.
Did they succeed?
Sort of.
Basically, it went something like this: In ancient Rome, on the 15th of February, in an altar called the Luperci sacred to the god Lupercus, in a cave in which the she-wolf goddess nursed founding twins Romulus and Remus, Luperci priests gathered and sacrificed goats and young dogs, the first for strength, the latter for purification and in honor of their strong sexual instinct and because it was a fertility deity and this is just what you did if you were a happy pagan citizen a couple thousand years ago.Some hunky boys of noble birth were then led to the shrine, where the priests would dab their foreheads with a sword dipped in the animal blood, after which our baffled youths were apparently obliged to break out into a shout of purifying laughter because that’s what the ceremony called for and no one is quite sure why and, well, what would you do in the same situation?
Then, a feast. Meat. Wine galore. Followed by the slicing of goat skins into pieces, some of which the priests cut into strips and dipped in the blood and then handed to the boys, who would take off and run through the streets, gently touching or lashing crops and bystanders (especially women) with the skins along the way to inspire fertility and harvest and because hey, half-naked laughing boys wielding bloody goat skins – what’s not to love?
Actually, the women eagerly stepped forward to be so stroked, believing that such a blessing rendered even the most sterile of them , and brought them ease in childbearing, and made them look all gothy and cool and sexy.
“This act of running about with thongs of goat-skin was a symbolic purification of land and men,” says one rather dry, scholarly website on the topic. “For the words by which this act is designated are februare and lustrare, and the goat-skin itself was called februum, the month in which it occurred Februarius, and the god himself Februus.” So, you know, there you go. February. Purity and lust and sex and gods. Really, what else do you need?
Then came the sex lottery. Oh yes. Say it once more, with feeling. Pretty much only have to say the words, “sex lottery,” and already you’re like, hell yes, count me in, sure beats dinner and a movie. And all the young ladies in the city would place their names in a large urn, and the city’s eligible bachelors would choose a name out of the urn and become paired for the year with his chosen woman, often resulting in marriage. You know, sort of like the Mormons. Only with actual sex. And booze. And without the creepy undergarments. But if there’s one thing the sexless butt-clenched church really hates, it’s sex lotteries. And free thinking. And good porn. Condoms. Margarita enemas. Literature. But especially sex lotteries. Go figure.
So along comes Pope Gelasius around 486 A.D. and declares, let’s say, oh, February 14 to be dedicated to a saint, and we’ll call him Saint Valentine, who might or might not be an actual martyr whose true history is murky at best, given how church records show at least four martyrs with the name Valentinus, whoops, oh well. Maybe they were being efficient. And of course, they outlawed the yummy sex lotto, changed the names in the urn from lusty single women to the names of pious saints to be emulated, because that’s what everyone wants, and jammed their new holiday right up against the February 15 date of Lupercalia. Which also had the added bonus of stomping all over the normal February 14 day of honoring Juno (Roman Goddess-queen of women and marriage), and focused it all on the makeshift Valentine, and voila, here we are: Hallmark cards and candy. But of course, the modern V-Day isn’t all bad. And this is not to say we should necessarily return to the old ways, a little bloodletting and lashing and animal sacrifice and random sex lotteries. Because everyone knowns that right under the cheap veneer of Valentine’s Day mega-marketing and hollow churchly romance is yet another delicious excuse to have more sex and indulge in fleshly pleasures and lick chocolate syrup off any combination your lover’s orifices. If you’re good.
In other words, the church both succeeded in their hostile takeover, and failed miserably. Sure Valentine’s Day is all romance and sentiment and made in China stuffed teddy bears on the outside, but it’s all raw oysters and sly spankings and groping in the movie theater and whipped-creamed nipples and soft divine bedroom cooing, inside. Which is exactly as it should be. Which is exactly how we still, without even realizing it, manage to recall our delicious Lupercalia, take a big lick of the pagan ways, regardless of everpresent churchly frowning and ‘Be Mine’ twittering and chubby Cupid. Because it’s always good to know where your manufactured holidays really come from. It’s always good to pay homage to the true origins, realize how much calculated deceit has happened along the way. Just like Christmas and Easter and Halloween and any major holiday worth mentioning that the church gutted and renamed and from whose soul they tried to suck out the joy, you just have to give props to the old gods, throw a kiss to Lupercus and Juno and the she-wolf.
So, buy those giant red balloons. Nab that $29 heart-shaped diamonelle necklace… but don’t forget to acknowledge that deep-down, gnawing, sly urge you’re doubtlessly harboring to rush out into the streets and wait for the laughing naked boys and get yourself gently lashed with bloody goat skins and then go have sex. Just like the pagan lust-monkey you so wish to be.
You go, Lupercus.

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