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He stayed where he was in suspended animation, remaining poised above me, and looking down into my eyes.

I turned to suppress a small sob, but he wasn’t having that.

“No, look at me, Tabby. I need to see your eyes, and I need you to see mine.”

Ever the obedient submissive kitten, I did as I was told, even in the knowledge that the look in his sparkling baby-blues would be too much and I would likely dissolve.

Very quietly, he waited until my sobs had subsided, and then bent down gently and kissed me on the nose.

“I love you. I love all of you. I love fucking you. Your cunt, your ass, your mouth, your boobs…. your mind. I love every bit of you. What we have is ours. It’s special. Nothing that goes on anywhere else can ever touch what we have.”

I felt a tear wend its way down the bridge of my nose, and then fall sideways onto the pillow.

He continued.

“Look into my eyes. No, don’t turn away, look into them. What do you see?”

A trifle sheepishly I looked into his eyes again. It’s often said that the eyes are the windows to the soul, but I’ve never been very good at interpreting a “look”. As a trained actor, I’m far more adept at deciphering the strange convulsive ability of the facial muscles than the somewhat nebulous quality of pupil, iris and retina.

However, this time, to my astonishment, I saw love. In his eyes. Almost tangibly radiating out of them — I could see it, feel it, sense it.

“Well? What do you see?”

An all-purpose sniffle, a deep breath and then, very quietly:

“Love.”

“Yes. Know that this is true. That this has been true for… how long is it now? Since we met and fell in love? Know it. Internalize it. Believe in it. You are not a dalliance, you are not tertiary, you are my sub, my Pink Tabby, you are someone I care for deeply, respect enormously and love very, very much. Nothing else has any effect on that. Nothing, ever.”

Through my tears, I felt the sincerity of his words resonate somewhere deep inside me. Trite though it may sound, I felt a peace spreading through me, emanating outwards from where I imagine my soul to live, nestled somewhere snugly behind my heart and ribcage.

He finally lowered himself onto the mattress next to me, and gathered me close to him, stroking my hair until my tears subsided, planting tiny delicate kisses wherever he could find skin that wasn’t obscured by my tangled mane of pulled and disarrayed hair.

As tight as he held me, I held on to him even tighter, wanting to absorb his inner peace and calm into me, wanting to meld with him, wanting the moment to be endless. He held me tighter, winding his fingers through my tangles and pulling my head back, eliciting the requisite squeal of pleasure-pain that it always does, and causing a potential pool to collect down south.

We kissed, a kiss of intensity and love and pain and pleasure and longing and lust and meaning and feeling and deep, deep desire. And then, even more intensely than we had kissed, we fucked. Fucked hard, fucked long, fucked each other until we sweated, panted and cried out in ecstatic joy. A fuck, in other words, to write home about.

And a vanilla one at that.

Post-orgasmically, I roused myself from our tangled stupor to laughingly note this to him.

“We just had vanilla sex! That’s hilarious!”

He cackled in his most evil, rotten, flower-wielding feline manner.

“Not exactly vanilla, dear. There was kink.”

“If you say so, darling.”

“There was, definitely. And as you well know, once you kink you can never go bink.”

“Well, I’d hate to go bink at any rate.”

“Zigackly.”

There you have it, people. Once you kink, you can never go bink. In case that was your dread fear in life. 😎

(I love you, evil, rotten cat. <3)

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I am *such* a pervert. You wouldn’t believe it. I certainly can’t.

It just never seems to properly sink in.

No matter what I do, or what I write — not just here but on Twitter, Fetlife, and various local sites, no matter where or what I write or discuss, the reality of the depth to which my various kinks, fetishes and perversions sink simply does not ever fully register.

It’s utterly bizarre.

Even my latest email from the Big Bad Cat which begins “Hello, my dear Pervert!” doesn’t help it sink in.

And then we meet. He takes me in his arms, and kisses me passionately, and then tweaks my nipple eliciting a high-pitched squeal from me, causing my knees to buckle, and my cunt to moisten.

And I say it. Every time, the same phrase.

“Dear lord, I am *such* a pervert.”

I think Purrrrvert sees it as some kind of a challenge, as if I were sitting there on the bed, nonchalantly tossing gauntlets in his direction.

He raises a hand and lands a plump thwack on my backside. I absorb the blow, squeaking with pleasure-pain. Though I was brought up to wish an end to pain when it happens, the knee-jerk reaction that flies impossibly through my head is always “Thank you, Sir. May I have another?”

I love how it feels. The sensation of the thudding palm against my softly reverberating ass. It always makes me shiver with delight and then angle myself slightly forward, to be able to absorb another.

When he reaches into his big black bag of toys and pervertibles and withdraws the little mesh bag of kitchen utensils, I know I’m in for some fun. The fish slice is a bastard. The ladle is a fucker. The stainless steel egg-whisk is a total bastard fucker. The spatulas — one red and flat and slappy, the other more aesthetically pleasing, purple and ergonomically designed, with a twin who lives in my kitchen — but I use it *as* a spatula, earning me the nickname of “true pervert” — both have ways to cause me to groan, gasp and even gush with sheer pleasure.

How do I reconcile the character image of the nice Jewish girl I was brought up to be, and the fact that kitchen hardware makes me leak cunt-juice all over the sofa? Philosophically, it’s quite a conundrum. I mean, I’m on the parents’ committee of my kid’s class, for fuck’s sake. I sit in meetings, discussing the end-of-year event, and whether we should have a barbecue or go to the beach, offering sage and sound advice about the safety of our children and how best to get the other parents to produce food marginally more exciting than a plate of devilled eggs, and other such deeply significant banalities — and deep inside I silently wonder whether anyone would notice if I had a crafty wank in the guest bathroom, and whether, if  I pinched my own nipple hard enough to make myself scream, I could resist the temptation to do so, and remain silent.

He ties me up, and I zoom so fast into subspace it’s a wonder I haven’t been diagnosed with whiplash. Last week, as previously documented, I allowed him to do a demo on me of breast bondage — after which my feet did not touch the ground for over four days straight.

This is not the reaction of a normal person, is it? Mind you, who the fuck ever wanted to be normal?

My constant refrain, when he arouses me with a word, an act or a specific command, is “I am *such* a pervert!” It’s very true… and I freely admit that I am proud to be so. It’s difficult to explain to people in the vanilla world — in an upcoming trip to my home town, i will have to explain to my sexually-liberated-but-very-vanilla-with-it BFF.

That’ll be an experience.

It is by allowing my inner pervert to rise up and embrace my outer, seemingly well-behaved, conformist, afraid of authority shell of a self who floated through eight years of control-freakism, that I become the real me and experience real life. I value that beyond belief, and now that I’ve discovered what it is to really live, I wouldn’t give it up for the world.

Normal? Maybe.

Necessary? You bet your ass.

Perverted? Totally.

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Sugasm 170

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #171? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
The fundamental things apply…
“If you can’t fuck me with your mouth, how are you going to handle fucking all of me at once?”

Perfection
“Patiently, he took his time touching me here and there.”

The Study Date (Sugarbutch Star: Green-Eyed Girl)
“I bet she’s already wet.”

Sugasm Editor
Wardrobe Malfunction

Editor’s Choice
3a.m. Vulnerability

BDSM & Fetish
BDSM Toy Review: Scott Paul Humiliator Gag
Dear #16
Fear
Needles
Never Caned Before
Never Too Much
Not-So-Vanilla
Paddling – Must be happen
The Poolbou’s Education, Pt. 1
Rack scenes
Seriously?
Urgency

Erotic Writing & Experiences
Adventures in Swingland
Cum Dump
A First Lesson
Getting Her in the Mood and the Violet Panties
Great Blowjob in the Tub
A Honey Dream Come True
Making Magic
Object of Desire
Parker Chase
Satisfaction
Slick
Tease.
There’s This Hallway In This Bar Thats Just Right

News, Reviews & Interviews
LELO Iris
Princess by RubyGlass21
Review: Inner Vibe Duet
Top Five Tuesday – Sweet Treats

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Almost Demure
Bijou | Bootsie
FF: New camera!
Hard Caning Pictures
HNT – July 23rd, 2009
Jessica Simpson Poking Nipples at Golf with Tiger Woods
Panty Photo for Adult Women
Sunlight Follows Me

Sex Work
Kyra’s Chysalis

Sex Humor
Some Coke and A Smile
Vibrator Perspective. Confession #305

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Chemistry
Damp Down Under
Why No, It’s Not LBD

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Rag Doll Slut

My body amazes me at times. How it goes from stiff and unyielding when vertical and in the real world, to soft, malleable and bendy when horizontal. There are areas of it that I haven’t seen in years, but that doesn’t bother me, especially when the Big Bad Cat reminds me of their existence by taunting the nerve endings that decorate each and every one of them.

He folds me into the strangest and most wonderful shapes when he fucks me. And each time I am impressed anew at how flexible I can be, when horizontal — it’s the vertical aspect of standing up that is so preventative, I think. Or the high heels I constantly wear. Or my perennial back problem.

Either way, all these melt into nothingness as he takes one of my legs and bends it — and me — over so that he can fuck me hard, one leg crossed over the other, the Ben-Wa balls still nestled deep within me. And they — those cheerful, bouncy little spheres, causing me to feel more full and making the whole event even more exciting — yet another thing I wanted for ages, eventually got, and praised to the skies, wondering how I’d managed to survive this long without them.

From his angle, he towered over me, holding one leg aloft, his other hand twisting my left nipple.

“God, I just LOVE fucking you!”

I smiled weakly and fucked him back as hard as I could — which, given the fact that I’d had at least one fountain-like gusher of an orgasm, with a couple of regular climaxes thrown in for good measure, was not terribly hard.

He always says that to me. Every time, without fail. He then continues to qualify that he loves everything about being with me, to watching me as I undress him, or bring him a drink, to feeling me come against his body, and even something so benign as lying still next to him.

And I always love to hear it afresh — each time it sends a frisson of delicious excitement and deepening of love right through me, from head to toe, via nipples, heart and cunt.

Blonde not stupid

It stung. I mean, it really fucking stung.

While some people are mark-freaks — they love to see the results of various spanking, beating, whipping or flogging activities, I’m more of a kind of “in the moment” kind of gal. Plus I do not relish the thought of explaining strange lines or bruises to my children.

Usually the Big Bad Feline respects that. In fact, he always respects that, it was just that this time he actually became angry with me for the first time. This was my first punishment.

We were in a roleplay situation, which had evolved from the fact that I was lying, as instructed, face down over the back of a chair, while Purrrrvert flogged me into deep and happy subspace.

For whatever reason, once we got into the swing of things, Purrrrvert became the stern schoolmaster of so many fantasies and roleplays before, and began quizzing me about something or other — I forget what. So happily floating in the sub-ether was I, that I paid scant attention to what I was saying — yes, very foolish of me, I know. (Isn’t hindsight just the perfect 20:20 bitch queen from hell?)

Suffice it to say that I said something nonsensical, and the Schoolmaster picked up on it, and queried me.

“How can it possibly be X if Y=Z?” he asked me.

“It can’t. Not at all. I’m very stupid.” I answered.

Next thing I know — I hear an almighty SWISH!, feel an unbelievable  THWACK!, and involuntarily exclaim-cum-scream “OW! Ow, ow ow! Owwww! Holy FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”

Knowing he’d really hurt me, and pushed me beyond the threshhold of “pain-I-enjoy” straight to “pain-I-could-quite-well-do-without-thank-you-very-much”, he called an immediate halt to the proceedings, and took me in his arms, holding me close until I stopped shaking. He then reached behind him for something and began to stroke where he’d hit my poor ass cheek with something cool and fragrant.

“It’s lavender. It will help it heal.”

I nodded, and sniffled into his chest.

He leaned over me, and kissed the top of my head, and then brought his mouth very close to the ear he’d nibbled on not infrequently, and whispered softly.

“You know what that was for, don’t you?”

I nodded. Purrrrvert loves all of me, including — especially, maybe — my brain and my intelligence. He also has zero tolerance of unnecessary, untrue or undeserved self-deprecation.

“Don’t you ever call yourself stupid again. Not even in character. Promise me?”

I nodded again, this time more fervently. The crisp red-white welt right underneath the curve of my butt cheek throbbed, and I winced slightly.

Punishment is very definitely something I wish to avoid in the future, believe you me.

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Sugasm 168

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #169? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Covet
“My mouth waters at the sheer beauty.”

Lilly’s Turn – Part 3: Wherein Lust, Greed and Risk Intersect
“She was biting her lip to prevent herself from making a sound.”

Oh Dirty Girl
“It was at that moment that I knew I needed him to take me and take me dirty.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Porn’s 2009 AIDs Outbreak

Sugasm Editor
Review: Why Just Her

Editor’s Choice
My very first HNT!

Erotic Writing & Experiences
He Can Use Me All Night – Part Two, Yet Another Hotel
Hump Day Poetry
I Can’t Get No Contraception – Part 2
Just fucking.
Keeping It Simple
Tedious Training
Wet dream at the airport-part2

News, Reviews & Interviews
20 Questions with Satine Phoenix
Favorite Jeans -HNT
Girly HNT.
Glow Plugs and the Kegel8 Effect
I’m unemployed and I live with my parents
Protection and Promiscuity

Sex Advice
Congrats! You are the new proud owner of some Sexy Lingerie!
Pompoir: The Art of Milking the Lingam
The truth about female ejaculation

BDSM & Fetish
Breed Sex Part 1: They Want to Cum in You.
Daddy Spanked Me
Darklady’s 9th Annual Masturbate-a-Thon – The Solo Sex Circus
High School Bully Part 3
Humiliation
Imprint
A Kiss Goodbye
Meeting a Domme
Le 6 janvier…L’histoire!…My version

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Bent in the chair for harsh punishment
Cikita
Lindsay Lohan Topless Twitter Picture
Liv – Pure Perfection
Nude at daylight
Teen girl bending over for some harsh cane stripes
Touched

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Eagerness & Blow Jobs – Lessons Learned From Gay and Bi Men
Faking Orgasms | How it feels for a girl
On Love, Loss and Taking Risks

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Update: Fleshbotted once again by the lovely and super-sexy Always Aroused Girl. Thank you so much!

******************************

It had been touch and go whether we’d meet. A combination of industrial work issues raising their ugly heads, and allergies affecting the delicate sinuses of a particular evil, mean and rotten cat, had conspired to stop us from meeting.

However, meet we did. Conspire away, corrupt industry and evil dust. You’ll never take me alive!

******************************

It occurred to me, at one point, that I was losing my grip on reality. Which is fine in the context of a session. Slipping into subspace is, while not exactly de rigeur, certainly a desired effect. Purrrrvert loves watching me lose my usually demure and mature attitude as I dissolve into a small cuddly heap of ecstatically sighing happy kitty.

And i love having him watch as I do.

I remember lying on my front, facing away from him, as he relentlessly thrust his hand into me. Managing to hit both my G-spot and my clit simultaneously, I alternately sighed, moaned, yowled and screamed as he coaxed orgasm after orgasm out of me. It almost felt as though it was too much, but then as that thought began to flit across my mind, another peak hit. I shuddered to the most earth shattering climax yet, and wondered incredulously at myself. 

How could it ever be too much?

“Turn yourself around, Tabby le Pink. Come and lie next to me.”

“Are you going to move your fist from inside me?”

“No.”

Which meant that turning around suddenly required a great deal of twisting and unsually balletic movements. I pride myself on my ability to execute the occasional vertical less-than-graceless dance movement, regardless of how I may appear as I perform it. But horizontally, all bets are off.

But I did it. He has that kind of effect on me.

He continued to tease and probe me incessantly to my sheer delight, except now he was looking into my eyes. Then he leaned forward and kissed me — tenderly at first, soft and sweet, then blossoming into levels of passion and excitement that excited me yet further.

How had I even considered thinking that it was too much? What was wrong with me?

Breaking from the kiss, he stroked my hair off my face as he gazed down at me lovingly.

“You look so lovely.”

I blushed. He continued.

“I love being with you. I love fisting you, I love fucking you. I love you, my Pink Tabby.”

I sighed happily, and reached up to kiss him again. He accepted the gesture lovingly. Appreciatively. I love kissing him. I love fucking him. I love everything about being with him, whether physically, spiritually or mentally.

I sighed.

“I love you too. So very much.” And he held me tightly.

A couple of nights later, I had an epiphany. I realised that I was being a fool to myself to focus on the negative things in life, when i had this wonderful, positive thing going on for me.

Too much indeed. Who was I kidding?

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The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. I blushingly post the list below with the warm and fuzzy that the Editor, bless her hand-knitted socks, picked “Food, Fun and Commitment” as her Choice for the week. That piece was one of my more deeply  personal pieces, and meant a great deal to me. Thanks Vix!

Want in Sugasm #168? But of course you do! Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Every Time You Orgasm, An Angel Gets Its Wings
“There is nothing that screams “fuck you” to the pain and the hurt in the world than screaming “fuck me” to the person in your bed.”

HNT: Spanked
“I wasn’t sure how I felt about him. But tonight, I was sure.”

A Thousand Kisses
“This wasn’t enough. I knew that I had to try something else.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Congratulations, you’re invited!

Sugasm Editor
Sex Work And Honesty: Religion

Editor’s Choice
Food, fun and commitment

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

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