Aug 202012

One of the awesome “Rules if the Internet” is Rule 34: If it exists, there is porn of it.

A friend on Facebook, upon seeing me mention Fetlife, mentioned that he thought I was, of course, referring to Boba Fett. I could not resist seeing if the legendary bounty hunter was the source of any kinky imagery.

And boy howdy…the FettIsh helmet was one thing, but the bound Princess porn…now that’s something else entirely. boobs below the cut

Aug 172012

Photo Courtesey of Ava Grace

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] #40? Start with the newly updated rules, come back September 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ Top 3 ~

Never Pinch a Sadist: 50 Shades of PlaidIf you don’t know kink, don’t feel pressured into it. If you wonder what it is about, join Fetlife and find local event to teach you about it.

Collars & closure & owning myselfthere is triumph in realizing that your paths are diverging, repacking your shit, and moving on with dignity and respect.

The QuarryWe agreed to meet up on the weekend and go out to the quarry. It was an old, flooded quarry. I didn’t know it, but the queers had taken it over.

~ Featured Post (Picked by Lilly) ~

The Pussy Pride Project

~ e[lust] Editress ~

“I can’t orgasm without a vibrator” So What?Embrace it. Bring it in to your partnered sex life. Be happy that you can achieve orgasm whatever way that works for you.

Continue reading »

Nov 292011

Hello! My name is Mollena and I’m an

  • Alcoholic
  • Submissive
  • Masochist
  • Slave
  • Masochist
  • Ponygirl
  • Emotional masochist


Yeah all of those are labels I use to create space where I can be me safely. But that last one…not so easy to embrace. I’ve waded through accepting a lot of shit I thought I’d never be able to see as part of who I am. Amusingly, I am freely able to delight in the explorations of others, and sincerely love to see people grow and blossom into the beautiful perverts that they want to be. But for me? No no, Momo, that shit is not OK.


I saw other people who were emotionally masochistic and thought “How fascinating that those people can find pleasure in emotional pain!” and yet when I thought that this might be a facet of my own psyche, I assumed that I was somehow fucked up and that this was yet another way for me to undermine my rather gelatinous self-esteem.


But what if accepting that there is a pleasure inherent in enduring emotional pain? Would that be a damaging sort of false “acceptance?” Continue reading »

Sep 172011

In one year…


I have grown so much. I’ve pushed myself beyond the bounds of what I thought I needed to find joy, what I thought I found desirable, what I thought was possible.


It was a year ago today I shook hands with a man who, I would very soon learn, was to become central to my life.


Last weekend I found myself on the floor in a play-space that had been made sacred by the labor and intentions of a close-knit group of people. There isn’t anything particularly special about a hotel ballroom. And there sure as hell isn’t anything special about the hideous carpeting in said ballroom.


But there is a magic when you realize that you are being pushed into the aforementioned hideous carpet and you feel every inch of skin being abraded against it as you writhe on the floor, trying to breathe.


I was past coherency. I didn’t think about anything clearly except how it was becoming more and more difficult to breathe. I was surprised to learn that my previous issues with breath-play had been neatly circumvented. I’ve had breath-play on my limit list since the first time someone had put their hands around my throat and I immediately experienced a stabbing headache. I though this was probably a bad idea.*


The Ongoing Epic Battle Royale about breath-play aside? I’m an advocate of only doing shit the outcome of which you’re prepared to handle. That stabbing headache occurred even with mild pressure restricting the flow of oxygen to my brain or air to my lungs, so it was right out.

The Dominant Guy happens to enjoy this type of play, and he has partners with whom he can explore that, so I did not think I’d be the recipient of such an event as a full blown breathplay scene.

Continue reading »

Oct 182010

I can’t say enough about how much I admire Michele Serchuk’s work. A creator of iconic photography, she has shitloads of photos that every kinkster & pervert has seen so often they become almost ubiquitous as benchmarks for kink, fetish and BDSM. So when she offered me the opportunity to work with her, I squeaked like a wee mousie.

The stars aligned and my friend Gray (You know that Ropecast dude) was going to be in New York simultaneous with my visit there, and Michele had time ot get together with us. A twitter cry here and there, and we I’d found someone to help me with makeup (Thank you Angel!) and a piano with a view (Thank you, Sarah!) and the shoot was on. Today, as I travel from Albuquerque to San Francisco by train, I was smushed with delight to see that Michele had culled some shots from the session and holy crap…well, see for yourself. NOTE: These Photos Are for Grown-Ups!! Continue reading »

Jul 152010

In the midst of getting myself off, sometimes my mind wanders. This is part of the reason I use carefully screened pr0n. Once I’ve impassively screened a clip / scene / CD, verified that there isn’t anything that would gross me the fuck out, it goes into a Safe Spank Bank and is approved for perfunctory masturbatory fodder.

This is so that I don’t wind up having to safeword on myself.

Because sometimes? If I don’t manage my mental committee?  I wind up in the midst of an orgasm, ramping up to finish up and having the last ten seconds consist of thoughts that ought never ever see the light of day taking over and unspooling themselves in some sort of ugly non-consensual goreographic open-eyed nightmare.

And no, I’m not going to describe them. I’ve been Manifesting shit way, way too easily of late.

My brain manages to surprise me over and over again.

Continue reading »

Jun 082010


I think this photo, by the lovely and talented Stacie Joy, was snapped right as I stuttered out that request and observation.

Photo by Stacie Joy, featuring Dov & CoyoteToo

I found myself in the rather unique situation of being in bed with two dominant men and a photographer.

As much as people don’t believe this of me, my actual history of freakish sexual hijinx doesn’t wander far afield when it comes to group sex. I’ve had quite a few instances of multiple females piling on one male, and several instances of multiple female wriggly sex piles, managing to get 2 men all to myself just hasn’t happened.

Until, of course, it does. It happens in the less-than-sexually-organic framework of a photo shoot, so of course the whole thing is seriously ambiguous.

Are they just there because I asked them to do a photo shoot? How far is this REALLY gonna go anyway? That I wound up masturbating while being held down was already highly erotically charged, and I really had to get past a whole lotta internal bullshit to stop. Fucking. THINKING long enough to enjoy it.

And then of course, months, later, I sit here wondering what might have happened…second-guessing. Assuming that such a situation won’t ever present itself again.

And to that, I hear the susurration of my real inside voice trilling Ssssh….what is in store for you is beyond your imagining today. Enjoy the memory…”

So, I will.

May 232010

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.

May 142010

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. Continue reading »

May 132010

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.

Dov is always willing to lend a hand...

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!