Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #14? Start with the rules, check out the schedule in the site’s sidebar and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Answers with an Agenda 1- Fisting – Once you’ve gotten started using two fingers for a bit, then it is time to build until four fingers are sliding in and out of the person, and you are on your way.

Gagged – I think it’s got to be a combination… fingers sliding into your cunt, a merciless tease of your clit, and yes, it’s going to have to be, lining my cock up with your ass.

Mine – I feel you stir beneath me as I create a rhythm, your breathing changing growing more shallow as you slip from sleep into arousal. My eyes lift to yours as you smile and try to move your arms and then freeze.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

Puppet Master – When I was right next to them and they still did not notice, I put my lips to his ear (loud music, you know) and whispered “Touch her boobs, I bet she’d like that” and I backed up a foot.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

Shaping Some Limits - “If you ever did that to me, I promise you would never see me again”.

Those words were spoken to me this past weekend by my pet during one of our overnight dates. The subject was face slapping.

(more…)

Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #14? Start with the rules, check out the schedule in the site’s sidebar and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Answers with an Agenda 1- Fisting – Once you’ve gotten started using two fingers for a bit, then it is time to build until four fingers are sliding in and out of the person, and you are on your way.

Gagged – I think it’s got to be a combination… fingers sliding into your cunt, a merciless tease of your clit, and yes, it’s going to have to be, lining my cock up with your ass.

Mine – I feel you stir beneath me as I create a rhythm, your breathing changing growing more shallow as you slip from sleep into arousal. My eyes lift to yours as you smile and try to move your arms and then freeze.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

Puppet Master – When I was right next to them and they still did not notice, I put my lips to his ear (loud music, you know) and whispered “Touch her boobs, I bet she’d like that” and I backed up a foot.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

Shaping Some Limits - “If you ever did that to me, I promise you would never see me again”.

Those words were spoken to me this past weekend by my pet during one of our overnight dates. The subject was face slapping.

See also: Pleasurists #77 for all your sex toy review needs. 

(more…)

I’m on the morning of the last of my performances of the revival of 69Stories. Interestingly, this revival is a format somewhat different than previous iterations. More interactive. More real-time. Riskier-feeling for me, but it seems to work well.

The riskiness I experience is this: when I tell the stories, a part of me is there. I don’t mean that in some kinda actingy way. I mean I rewind to how that felt, and pick up where that left off. I have the capacity to do total physical and emotional recall, and this is a lot cooler and a lot more fucked-up than it sounds.

Especially when you’re recalling something that you…want.  And won’t ever have again.

I don’t mean this in some kinda sad-sack, bust out weeping violins way, I mean it in a grounded, realistic fashion. No experience is cell-for-cell repeatable.

For better and for worse.

When I tell the story of the first time I understood that submission wasn’t about brute force, that you could get there just from the whispered words of the right person? I won’t ever have precisely that experience again. But I can stand there, night after night, and replay that braintape. Down to what my feet felt like. Down to the light sheen of sweat on the small of my back. Down to the inexplicable (well, not really but at the time, sure.) arousal and physical manifestation of the same that I experiences, making me slippery and dazed for a long, long time afterward.

You’d think this is kind of cool, and it is. Don’t get me wrong. But there is a price to be paid, and when you unpack that shit, it sometimes doesn’t want to go back into the place you packed it. It comes out, stretches, yawns, looks you in the eye grinning toothily and says

OK, you invoked me. Here we are. How do I look to you now? Have I changed in the years since we danced in chronological “realtime?” Have you distorted me? AM I really real? Slippery mercurial memory…catch me if you can, baby…

I’ve been doing some unpacking and I can’t pretend it does not have resonance outside of a couple of hours onstage, because it does.

When I share about the events, people, sights and sounds that all add up to who I am today, and I have to look at it, objectively even, I feel an odd affection and detachment.  My life = entertainment and What The Fuck is THAT about?

I know it isn’t ONLY that. I know I am not only here to amuse and sing and dance.

At least I think I know that.

Sometimes I wonder, though. Is it REALLY better to have loved and lost than to never have loved? Because if you have never had that crazy-ass roller-coaster ride, you can’t know how it is, right? And then you won’t know how brutal the landing can be. And then you won’t have to see how the taproots into your id won’t ever ever be fully excisable.

Maybe that blissful ignorance at which I sneer, which I reject in favor of the beauty of The Experience, in fact carries its own intrinsic value?

Maybe. Maybe…but there is no story in that. And above all, I am here to tell.  To tell on and about myself.

To tell stories…to be the kinky griotte for those whose stories are rarely told.

SO yeah, it is better. And worse. And I’ll take it, thank you.

Yeah, so WTF? LOL?! ZOMG!

I will TELL you WTF!

PARTY TIME, CHICAGO!

Join the LRA CHicago and the International Ms Leather Contest over the International Mr. Leather Weekend!

Even if you can’t make iot to IML, you CAN come on down and meet me, making my first (but sure as hell not my last!) appearnce in ChiTown as International Ms Leather!  my Sashmate, Jayson Da Boi, International Ms Boot Black 2010 will be tearing up the place too, so come on down!

Thank you to my friend Pinky, for IMsL2010 Barbie!

It has been a month since the International Ms Leather contest. One month ago today, I was in a dazed haze, worrying about the opening number, freaking out about the interview, praying I wouldn’t completely melt down before the weekend was over.

Thanks to Glenda, tomo, Ms. Rhonda and Levi for pulling together a stellar group of people to make this event happen.

Thanks to my friend Tee, for pulling it (and me) all together.

Thank you, Patti for anchoring me backstage.

Endless thanks to everyone who donated to help IMsL’s silent auction.

Thanks to Lamalani and Pony, for setting the stage and showing us how that shit is DONE. (more…)

I  hate being told to shut up. It angers me to be told I talk too much. If I’m speaking, it means I have something to say, for fuck’s sake.

But being rendered speechless, either via shock, or fear, or physical restraint?

Yea, that. Thank you, please. And more, please.

Maybe it’s the sensation of being overpowered? Surely that it part of it. But one of the things about which I am fairly confident is my ability to speak, and to speak well. When I lose that, part of me does become panicky and indignant. And, of course, somewhat…aroused?

Of course.

That’s the thing isn’t it? To lose the thing you prize the most, to have your voice taken away…?

What a lovely gift, that loss.

Happy HNT!

I recently did a shoot with the amazingly talented Leland Carina…some of those photos are here. More to come as several projects get greenlighted.

Anyway, in the course of the shoot I was talking about how as a kid, I’d had a headshot photo that was pretty silly and cute.  I emulated it as best as I could for a new picture.

Placing them side-by-side tonight, I thought about what had become of me since that hot afternoon in NYC when this headshot was snapped: on the left a 5 year old kid, a few jobs already on her resume, finally making the leap into professional acting.

Now on the right we have a 40 year old kid, in the basement of a pre-war armory (now pr0n studio) as she poses with the sash indicating her status as a Leather Titleholder.

How does that happen? what are those stories? There are lots of them. I tell some of them when I perform my solo show. Some I have forgotten. Some I won’t ever speak out loud or commit to public memory.

But it brings me to mind of how full and rich and diverse and amazing life is. There was no way I could have even wished to be the person I am today when I was that kid on the left. She wanted to be famous…an actress, a mother, a wealthy Broadway performer with a glamorous career and…married to Captain Kirk.

Who are we now? Well, not…not that.

But we are feeling pretty fucking cool at the moment.

The fucking RAD and AWESOME Leland Carina and the Magnificent Makeupista Jackie Backman got together with me in the basement of the Armory to help me make some photos tonight.

Holy poop!

This hat? Goes with EVERYTHING.

Shout out to Daddy Wendell for the bad ass harness!!

That's Jackie We are like Charlie's Angels, pero con mas SABOR. And more titties.

Thanks for a really fun time, and for really beautiful images, ladies!