RSS

Tag Archives: true story

The post where I tell you how I wank

As I prepare to go in a new direction (re finding/vetting clients) in this journey of mine, (and yes it is my journey, the only thing I have that is created by me, for me) it is time for some reflections. -Nah, screw it; let’s cut the excuses; I want to tell you how I masturbate. Just because. Because it turns me on; and that has always been reason enough for me to do anything.

I do it with gloves. You know those rubbery, slightly rough gardening gloves? Yeah, I do it with those. I’ve tried it with washing-up gloves – I prefer them pink – but they aren’t textured enough to produce enough sensation.

I get my gloves from Poundstretcher’s. I walk around looking at the gloves, and then I rub them lightly on my face to test the texture. My face is much more sensitive than my fingertips to texture. Some gloves are too harsh and some too smooth. (Though I had this great pair of smooth red gloves back in 2011; I think they worked because they were thick. They were a ride and a half, and I kept them for 2 or 3 months until my OCD-like tendencies got the better of me – no matter how much I wash my gloves, I can’t keep them for long without feeling like they’re dirty.) Then, after a while, I’ll buy the gloves. The pair I have now are purple. I’ve also tried wanking with face cloths of a texture that’s neither too smooth or too rough, but they’re just an emergency measure for when I’ve thrown out gloves without having bought a new pair. Back in ’10 I had a fab green pair, and I ‘used up’ one and threw it out before cutting the fingers off the other one and just wearing each finger as a sort of finger-cover. So the glove lasted much longer than usual. Not all gloves can fit snugly on your finger like that, not slipping but remaining faithfully bound to your skin as you bend, flick and manoeuvre. The green gloves had that. I bought them 3 times. I prefer gloves to be pink because that way I can pretend it’s, well, a cock. Or a finger.

When I wank, I do it on all fours. Roland once filmed me doing it. I once did lie on my back and do it, and it was successful; I used cream and a rough towel that time. But usually I get into the same position I’ve used since I was nine, my head resting on the bed. After a while I’ll let my thighs sink onto my calves. Wjen I was nine I didn’t masturbate; what I did was rub and stroke my bottom as I fantasised about boys being spanked, burned with fire, burnt with hot iron, caned, whipped, forced to wear nappies or girls’ pants. They were put in prams and dressed like babies. They were dressed as girls, or tortured by the cruel Authority and its Wardens. They were put in spanking machines or had hot forks stuck into their dicks and twisted in front of crowds. They wet and pooed their pants in public and were spanked for it. They were put in spanking machines and torture machines.

These days, my boys (aged 15-25 instead of 9-17 like when I was nine) also get publically gang-raped and filmed, given enemas and sodomised with all kinds of stuff. I’m a bit artistically inclined and created this blog’s logo and my ‘K’ Twitter avi. So it follows that I’m creative with my boys.

I do have girls. It started at nine but I quickly lost interest in my mousy-haired Alice’s spankings. At 17, though, Alice returned as the 14-year-old sister of my oft-spanked 18-year-old Alex and later on the redheaded 16-year-old  American Jilly moved in. Her devious friend, the black-haired Nadine, turned up later. So did Chastity White, unwilling heroine of The Seven Days, my fantasy based on The Ring movie. Roland is the hero of that fantasy (and subsequently the name given to my original client). If any of you ever leafed through my 5 notebooks in which all my wanking writing is kept, you’d be amazed that it took me until Lynne to figure out I am a bit bi. (Though I did wonder about it last year and I have said I’m not totally straight.) I  thought that what I was doing was roleplaying that I as one of these girls, though God knows how I justified all the F/F spanking scenes. (My favourite pairing is M/M, then F/M).

I’ve never allowed myself to orgasm, or should I say to complete an orgasm. I get to the stage where it’s like there’s electricity rippling through me and the contractions become powerful, then I stop. This keeps me in a near-constant state of sexual frustration, which focuses my mind. I was originally saving it for my first time and I must shamefully admit that I felt that it wasn’t ‘real’ masturbation if I didn’t orgasm. I did feel guilty about wanking when I started aged 19, whacking myself off to a fantasy of committing murder. I must also admit that I never wanked over She Who I Loved, i.e. Lynne, because it was disrespectful…despite the number of pics of her that must be available via Google Images. Well, I couldn’t even stalk her online or search for pics, so it’s no wonder I couldn’t flick myself off to her photos. Who I have wanked to include a neighbour, a school friend and, at age 13, a fantasy (though I didn’t masturbate then) of a female pupil who I despised.

It’s been incredibly freeing to sit at a bus stop or in a cafe and allow myself to think ‘that girl is hot’ instead of pulling back the thought as I used to BL (Before Lynne). I allow myself these thoughts now because I understand that I can’t deny who I am, and my bisexuality can’t be suppressed; I spent so long denying it only to have it revenge itself on me by condemning me to have serious (non lust-based) feelings for Lynne, instead of someone who’d be receptive and who I could have fun sexytimes with. Back when I stopped pulling the thoughts, I still fancied Lynne and believed she was probably ignoring me (which she may or may not have been – it’s hard to tell, because I avoided her for a while). So I thought that if I’m in love (which I believed I was) with someone who is very annoyed about it, why not allow myself to have much healthier, lustful thoughts that make me happy instead of sad? The Lynne thing also taught me the futility of ignoring my bisexual thoughts. They’ll come and get you in the end.

Re her, I’ve looked into blocking all IP addresses from her region but you can only do that with countries, so I’m stuck. I can’t figure out all this PHP stuff anyway. And I’d really only block her from seeing the Lynne Post and not the entire blog, because she’ll probably figure out it’s her if she reads it. I’m just worried she’ll be annoyed that I’ve written about her without her permission, especially since I’m writing about something which pissed her off so much. Though it’s not like she hasn’t done the same thing. I don’t want her to know my private thoughts about her, though granted they were Disney-esque and Puritan in the extreme (except that I would’ve wanted her to spank me).

I love wanking to comics, cartoons and anime art of boys getting spanked or crying after a spanking. Ditto pissing or shitting themselves. Girls also work for me, too. I had a flash drive with 6 massive Word files of all these pics and I used to have loads of such files on my old laptop so I could scroll down while I was having a wank. Once, I left my flash drive at the uni library and someone found it, located my CV to find out who I was and texted me that she’d handed it in to Lost Property. I’ll always wonder if she found the porn. It was a good thing that happened, or I might keep my CV and backups of this blog and individual blog posts on the same flash drive now. I think if you’re a sex blogger or blog about sex work, it’s safer to have two flash drives for your different identities. Or your normal and secret life, whichever you’d choose to call it. My laptop has all my stuff, so I password-protect some files in case it gets stolen. Lochlan’s laptop got stolen. I’ll wipe the hard drive if I ever sell it (which I won’t; it wasn’t a very expensive one, so it wouldn’t fetch much).

I’ve also wanked to porn videos of people shitting or peeing themselves, but never to bloodplay, knifeplay, torture or scat/watersports videos. That’s a bitty too far for me. I am an innocent young virgin, remember?

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Non lust based crushes: degrading and not cost-effective

I was meant to be writing a post about wanking, but I find myself constantly exulting in the wonderful freedom from thoughts of Lynne, the blogger I had a crush on three months ago who I previously blogged about in the Lynne Blog.

Because Roland went AWOL, my journey was prolonged by months and I’ve done stuff I never thought I would do – blogging about sex workers’ rights, having a one night stand sexytime, the petition, and other stuff. I’ve met people – both online and  in real life- who I never thought I would. I have known something I thought I never would; if I don’t know what love is, then at least I know what more-than-lust is. I’ve known the pain of pseudo-loving someone I’ll never have. It was like a cage. The destroyer of all freedom, more degrading than anything; a debasement of my most precious and most private part, which is my mind.

And it is degrading and debasing to that public part of me: my vagina. The toxic cocktail of chemicals being fired off from my libido which concentrated my thoughts on Lynne when there is a world of worthy dick out there – it betrayed my body. It denied satisfaction and pleasure to the organ naturally designated to crave and find pleasure. I was born for sex, like all humans. Therefore, a blend of chemicals instructing the genitals to go out into the world, find another set which interlock, and conquer all such mates in the vicinity would be the blend that glorifies the temple of the body. That fixation on one person – Lynne- cannot be healthy or dignified (though thankfully I was never reduced to thoughts of monogamy). That, at least, I can say.

Let me expand on that: we eat food to get nutrients which we convert into energy to fuel our brains and bodies. So, energy is required to power the libido (fancy someone) and power cognitive functions (the decision to approach them). But my thoughts of Lynne were more numerous than would be necessary to incite me to pursue her. Therefore, they were a waste of energy, especially since I thought about her for a while before Alexis and Rachel suggested that I flirt with her. My thoughts therefore were not useful as a catalyst for me to act on my thoughts; Alexis and Rachel’s cognitive functions and successful communications to me were the catalyst. And all the energy spent thinking about Lynne could’ve been better spent on thoughts of several people, which could potentially have resulted in sexytimes with a few of them. Thinking solely of Lynne could only ever have resulted in sexytime with one person (unless Lynne has Multiple Personality Disorder or is possessed). Finally, thinking about other people could have been fun, but my thoughts of Lynne didn’t bring me pleasure because I wouldn’t allow myself to fantasise about her, as I felt it was disrespectful. I just thought about how well she writes and how it would feel to run my fingers through her hair (which I imagined would be kind of soft.) So it’s obvious that anything more than lust is not cost-effective in terms of biological economics.

I still like her, but not like that; I don’t think I fancy her any more. It’s kind of hard to tell because I’m worried that if I declare myself free of her, it’ll all come back like the other 2 or 3 times. I’d like to say that if I had a time machine, I’d go back and change things. But I wouldn’t. It was an interesting experience, after all. And if we could shield ourselves from sadness, hurt and confusion, how would we know when we were happy, loved and confident?

It was my own fault really; not content with a prolonged flirtation, I acted to force a tweet from her from which I could easily tell ‘yes’ or ‘no’ from – and which I knew might possibly make her suspect what I was doing. In this, I was absolutely successful in getting an answer; so what am I doing whining just because it’s the one I didn’t hope for? While I was surprised she worked out what I was doing, now that I think about it, I intentionally made her at least suspect. (I’ve never been very patient and getting a quick yes/no seemed the least time-consuming way to go about it). When I think back, I wasn’t surprised that she’d found out I fancied her. I only felt surprised about it when I realised she was pissed off. Maybe my subconcious was protecting me from the realisation that I’d engineered my own failure by making me think that I had nothing to do with Lynne finding out.

I kinda miss being ‘in love’ with her, because now she appears much more normal and boring. Still an analytical and amazing writer, though. Not that I’d tell her; it’d just go to her head.

How wonderful it is to be free of her! To think about selling virginity and wanking instead of not allowing myself to fantasise about her because it’s disrespectful, so I’d have pathetically Puritan thoughts of her instead. (Ooh look, WordPress’ spellcheck system doesn’t recognise “wanking”. Or “WordPress”. Or “spellcheck.”)

Speaking of writers, I think now would be a good time to deploy a phrase in Alan Warner’s book ‘Morvern Callar’: “And now, to work!” (on the wanking post).

 

Tags: , , , , , ,

Photoshoot debauchery continued: virginity checking & spanking

Donny said he never had fantasies like mine and never about spanking because he’d done it, though he’d never been spanked. I freaked out in my head.

“What? You’re into spanking! No way!” I went, “I don’t meet anyone into it ever, then in just a few months I do! This other photographer was into it too.”

We talked a bit about spanking and he asked if I’d ever been spanked or spankeed a guy. I was guzzling the Lucozade and absolutely delighted because I knew what was coming, what I’d made happen.

“Let’s get some spanking shots in,” Donny said, and we tried to figure out what to spank me with. He went off to get two plastic hairbrushes; one belonged to an ex.  Then he took a photo of me bent over the sofa, before slowly pulling the brush back and swatting me with it. It was painful and the pleasure was as intense as it was immediate. He did it a few more times, then I suggested we do OTK on the sofa, and that is what we did. “[Kalika] is your real name?” he asked, just before he spanked me. (I model under a fake name). And it was sheer bliss.

I had just told him about selling virginity and the blog – something I’d been telling myself not to reveal, to protect anonymity. After spanking me, and some chat about virginity and the corona being mistaken for the ‘hymen’ (which is fictional) for 500 years, he goes, “Want me to check?” I laid on the floor and he started pressing the bit next to my inner labia, and sometimes it hurt. I said he wasn’t even checking, he was just having a good time. He said he couldn’t see any opening and it was all completely closed with no way in.I felt relieved, because I was able to find my vagina aged 12 and 13 but I can’t find it now; but this meant that I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t find it. It must have sealed as I hit puberty. Donny seemed to think I didn’t have one, but I said I had periods so I must do; anyway I had one aged 9-13. He couldn’t believe how closed off it was and asked to take a photo (he wasn’t going to post any of these online, or indeed any pics before asking me first. Most of his photos never get put online at all; it’s his hobby and he just keeps them while only posting a few. Obviously, close-ups of vaginas could never be posted on non-porn sites, anyway.)

I looked at the photo, intriuged. I couldn’t see anything there; it was featureless; a slightly yellow-toned seal with a slight bump. I realized it was pretty cool. I also realized that I was looking at the thing that women had been – were being – killed or disowned for. Which is something I don’t really write about much because my words will be pretty much useless. And I felt terribly privileged then, to have been born where I could look at it and know it was worthless to me, to be able to sell it. And without fear.

I was happy about how pretty it was. Donny was all like, “Wow, a spanking and then checking for virginity! I haven’t had a girl over in a long time, and now suddenly, wow! I thought this was going to be a boring weekend.”

I don’t remember how exactly we got to this point, but he got a knife from the kitchen and let me put it to his neck for a couple of minutes. It wasn’t working for me, though so he asked if he could do it to me. I thought I’d be scared, but I wasn’t. Instead my breathing quickened as if in the throes of sex and I got wood. Interestingly, I can tell if I’m stiff easier than I can tell if I’m wet. I dunno if this is universal among women.

And then I was lying on the sofa and he came over me, the knife to my throat as he lay on top of me and it was great! I didn’t feel scared at all. Then he was standing up and I was rubbing the knife against his crotch, and then giggling because he was wearing these Fred Flintstones ‘bed rockin” underwear; he said he hadn’t expected anyone to see it. Ha. Then I was pulling them down, examing him because it was only the third cock I’d seen. Then I gave him a handjob as we sat on the sofa.

It was much more enjoyable than with Roland because I wanted to. With every fibre of my being, I wanted this and it felt so right, so good, so natural. He said he felt like I was doing all the work while he had fun, but I assured him that wasn’t true, and continued jerking him, trying to make him splurge all over the place. It was so fun! So right! I also got to fiddle about with and examine his foreskin, and I suspect that the foreskin is a remnant of a biology similar to a dog’s, when the penis comes out like a lipstick. A lot of mammals are like this. So that is my evolutionary biology theory about foreskins.

Donny suggested I stay over and we could go out for drinks. “And don’t worry, your virginity is safe with me,” he added, and I giggled – it was so funny! Just such a funny thing to say, and of course nonsensical, because the only way I’d lose it would be if I suddenly decided I didn’t want the remaing 6k, or if Donny was a rapist, something he obviously wasn’t because he’d had plenty of opportunities. He also recieved and made a couple of calls – he’s self-emplyed fixing both hardware and software. It was about 5:30; I waited till 6 to call my mum, saying I’d met up with Kathy after the shoot and we were going clubbing so I was staying at her place. I’ve stayed over at Kathy’s before – last time a couple of weeks ago, so it was believable.

Donny said I sounded very real and believable on the phone. I’m great t lying, so yeah, I probably did. Also, I wasn’t under a lot of pressure as my only reason for lying is my liking of privacy; there was no reason to keep it a secret from her, I just don’t think she’d be that interested or want to know, and I like privacy in unimportant matters like this.

I was snickering about my former worries over Donny potentially being a murder and my mum telling me to give her Donny’s number in case he was a rapist/murderer; yet now I’d let him put a knife to my throat and wanted sexytime. “Yeah, ‘I should be so lucky’!” Donny laughed; “I mean that in the best possible way.”

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Spanking and anal at photoshoot with a guy I just met

Well, dear readers, this sexytime post does not feature Roland! But it still deserves its place in my Diary, because it is an experience I’m having while selling virginity, and we did talk about this blog and Roland. He even offered to make a website for me so I could auction off my virginity for a much higher price. I turned him down because a) I wouldn’t necessarily get more – Rosie Reid only got £400 more than me and the girls who got loads, such as Natalie Dylan, have never been verified to have sold it; b) I have a verbal contract with Roland, c) I prefer it to be someone I like and d) it’s harder to vet bidders online and I want to be safe. And of course e) – I want a kinky person.

I’m sure that this blog post will convince you all that I do ‘put my money where my mouth is’ – in other words, that I am indeed a slut.

It certainly convinces me, because I never saw myself as doing something like this. I guess you don’t know who you are until the opportunity presents itself. A few short years ago, I would’ve despised a girl for doing this and said she was a slut, a tart. But I changed shortly after going to university because I saw no point in judging people and comparing peoples’ sex lives to other peoples’ sex lives, especially when I realised I couldn’t draw up a slut table (ie is being married to 5 men less bad than cohabiting with 5 men just because she’s married? Or even worse? Is 2 one night stands in a month better or worse than 3 in 5 weeks? If it’s with someone you know is that better than with a stranger? Having 3 casual boyfriends in 6 months better or worse than 1 one night stand?) There are no answers to these questions – at least, none that aren’t debatable and controversial and probably case-specific.

The guy has requested to be called Donny on this blog, which he will read because he thinks it’s interesting.

I don’t know what Roland’s reaction to this will be, if he sees this post.

I was waiting outside the Festival Theatre, Southbridge, Edinburgh. This was on Saturday. Donny was going to pick me up to do a photoshoot. It was a mostly fashion shoot with some lingerie and artistic nude. He was taking me to his home, which I’d agreed to because I’d seen his portfolio and knew that other models had worked with him, so he was a real photographer and not a serial killer posing as a photographer. Heh.

Anyway, Donny picked me up. He had black hair – my fave hair colour on a man – good looking, maybe late twenties (I found out later he’s 30). He drove us to his flat in a fairly affluent area of Edinburgh. Donny told me he’s a computer guy although his degree was in something totally different.

In his house, he started taking fashion shots, and a couple of implied nude shots, and I changed several times. They were all fashion poses. Donny seemed very happy with how good the photos were. He said I have a natural talent for modelling and that I photograph very well, both of which is exactly what Roland said. So god knows why I hardly ever photograph well in ordinary pics. Then, after about 45 minutes he took a few implied nude shots and told me to look shocked and like I was screaming “Nooo” and covering up. He said I did this really well. It made me giggle though, and I said it was just like my fantasies and it was weird.

He said he needed a break cos his arm was tired, and I drank the Lucozade he’d bought me at the corner shop before arriving at his flat. He went into the kitchen to smoke. Then Donny asked me what my fantasies were and I told him, very briefly – spanking, government torture, rape, etc. He wanted to know how long I’d had them, I told him they arrived fully developed when I was 9 years old. I asked if he ever had any fantasies. Donny said he had to think about it for a bit, because I’m so open-minded that he thinks nothing will shock me but he wants to shock me. Then he came back out of the kitchen and told me about a dream of going into a van full of naked ladies in it when he was 7 which made him really happy, and backl then he “didn’t even know what naked ladies were for”. Sounded like a mobile brothel (like a mobile library) to me!

 

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Long description of a blowjob – you know you want to read it!

Roland came back and I was all, “That was quick”. I slipped onto the floor, the heat from the fire warming my skin. I’m going to skip to the part where Roland had his thing out, which of course put me in a state of lust instantly, so that I couldn’t think properly. I really had the urge to bite it, hard, near the tip, to feel my eye-tooth go into the little hole at the end.

I reached for the sauce and squeezed a drop onto my index finger and licked it off. It was good; strawberries and cream. It would do. I squeezed it liberally all over his cock, and then used the cream as well before realising it’d have a lot of calories. But I reasoned it was OK, as I’m skinny. (Not commercial/advert skinny, I mean skinny for a normal healthy person). Roland said, “That can be your dinner.” And yeah, I was hungry just looking at it. I hadn’t had dinner, or snack. Neither had he, we’d been too busy spanking. I mean, it’d been 7 or 8 by the time we’d even started the spanking. The cream looked very appetizing and I didn’t even feel like it was a blowjob because all I could see was cream. I squirted some more sauce on top.

I leaned my head forward, and with the tip of my tongue scooped up some cream. It was warm but tasted really nice – it hadn’t gone off from not being refrigerated. I scooped out a deeper trench, still not touching dick. I carried on like this for a couple more licks, then I took the whole thing in my mouth.

It was quite big relative to my mouth and I couldn’t breathe very well, but at the same time it was easy to lick because I instinctively wanted to lick it, and licking prevented drooling. So I experimented with techniques, doing quick, little laps and hard flicks with my tongue, the aroma of vanilla all around me, the warmth of the fire on my skin. Then I intersperesed some longer reaches up the underside of his thing, and  rolled my tongue over it, then quick flicks right acroos the tip. It was lots of fun, and I knew I was doing it right because Roland sighed happily and he said I was doing good. He seemed surprised about how good I was.

I tried shooting my tongue out just below my top teeth, then tried to take more of it in my mouth.Then, unable to resist the urge any longer, I bit it, and Roland moved, and I took my mouth off and said “sorry” and he said, “No it’s okay, you can bite,” so I commened licking and biting, on the tip, shaft and towards the middle of the shaft. Most of the cream and sauce was gone now but his cock was still flavoured with it so it was still tasting great. After some more biting, licking and changing of rythms – and Roland moaning and saying it was good – I took my mouth off again and said “Pull my hair.” I knew this was not smart as my hair breaks easily, but I wanted it. Roland grabbed my hair but not hard, and I went back to my mouth excercises. After a few minutes of this, during which I asked him to pull my hair harder, Roland started thrusting into my mouth which was totally amazing! It made me REALLY want to lick and bite! He was thrusting his thing into my face, I felt totally debased, like I was being forced to do it! I was pushing myself onto his cock, and after a bit I gagged and drew back, afraid I would be sick but I wasn’t, it was just my gag reflex. Obviously I can’t do deep throat.

“Are you hating this?” asked Roland, looking into my eyes.

I told him no, it was just a gag reflex. About five seconds later, the reflex had subsided and I squirted more sauce on and went back to sucking dick. And so it went on for another 15 minutes or so.

 

 

Tags: , , , ,