Killing time before I have to go somewhere.

I am in the mood to talk frankly with someone. This does not have to end in any heavy breathing or anything - I am all dressed up and need to stay reasonably put together, but I am open for intelligent conversation and/or teasing.

Perfect if you are at work and can't really get too, um, detailed. Also good if you have been reading/corresponding with me, and just want to talk for minute and get to know me better.

Enjoy me while you can - before I retreat back into my inner circle, so to speak ;)

Anyway, if you have a few minutes, email me and I will send you the link to the service I use. (If your response to that is: What! You use a service! I don't PAY for conversation/fantasy/orgasms, or something similar, please read this and feel free not to email me for the link. ;)



I just got a request to make a... a sort of targeted recording. I mean, a recording that aims to please a particular someone.

He described in detail what he wanted to hear- and so, right now, I am thinking about how, exactly, to give him exactly that in a one of a kind, digitally recorded masterpiece of my own making.

Could be fun ;)

A tidbit: He asked for me to slide something, a large something, into my ass while I talk. I am thinking it needs to be just large enough so that he will hear the intake of air, the tightness in my throat, the ache of pleasure in my voice, but not SO big that I can't talk at all!

I think I have just the thing. One of my girlfriends bought a strap on dildo. Big and black. She was nice enough to give it to me when we broke up. The gift that keeps on giving. I think I will use that.

He asks for a few other things that I won't describe in detail, except to say that they involve giving myself over to him for at least a few minutes. I can do that.

I am not kidding when I say that I want to be used. I want to go anywhere you want to go. I will not be faking it. I am an open horizon, stretching out endlessly in all directions at once. In this liminal place, nothing is off limits.

I want to reduce you to a grunting, panting, greedy mess. I want you to think about jacking off all the time. I want your cock to be sore, your balls to be raw. I want you to be distracted in meetings, check your email obsessively, and think about my hard nipples until you have to sneak off and find somewhere to jack off thinking of my dripping cunt.

Show me everything. I want to see it. The way I feel now, I would even beg you for it.



Just a quick update - I just got off the phone with someone at work who was in a cubicle! Not even full walls!

He didn't say anything the whole time - well, maybe uh huh, and yep, like I was talking about something really important.

I just told him exactly what I was doing to myself and brought myself to the edge of cumming. Then he said, thanks, and took a little bathroom break.

We talked on skype, which I don't do often. Too complicated, but it worked well for this.

Anyway, now I am really in pain! I mean, a pleasurable sort of pain. A swollen, hot clit, nipples raw from pinching them. A delicious hotel day...

two hours

I am traveling for the weekend and am in quite possibly the most boring midwestern town on the map.

I got here early, and am lying, completely naked, in my hotel room.

I know you are probably at work. Which could be fun.

I don't necessarily need to cum. Though I could if you wanted me to.

I could also just... flirt. Tease you. Talk to you. Get you through your long and tedious day.

Or we could just talk for a few minutes - long enough for you to get my voice in your head so that you could imagine it later, or for you to say a few things that you need to say... things you might have only thought before, but never said out loud.

Though, I suppose, if you are at work,you'd have to say these things very quietly - unless you have a private office. Or a storage closet. ;)

I am going to do something unprecedented. I am going to post the secret link for about an hour or two, and then make it disappear. If you are up for it, and ok with it, then follow where it leads and make an arrangement/appointment to talk with me. If not, then send me some entertaining email, though I might not get to respond until later.

Strike while the doors are open. Longtime readers know that this almost never happens.

You can find me here. [Sorry - link gone, door closed. But who knows... it is a long weekend...]



I am in the mood to make another recording.

I think I know exactly what I want to do on it.

I am going to strip down to my thong, which is already soaked as I type this, put on some heels, just because its fun and adds to the tacky porno effect, lay back in my chair, slide my fingers into my wet pussy, and imagine you standing in front of me, still in your clothes, your erection straining at your pants.

I am going to tell you
what I want you to do.

This is only the second recording I have ever made, but the first was very, very, VERY fun, so I think that warrants a part two.

More in a sec.

LATER: Done. Sopping. Exhausted. ;)


yours yours yours

In keeping with the theme of these two posts, way back when, I found a choice couple of paragraphs from this month's Harper's (below). I don't think I am any less ambivalent about all of this, but I have been finding my way through it.

Oh, that is really beautiful.

I hadn't actually finished reading the entire article, and I googled a line from a paragraph I wanted to quote here. The line was:

"It is the cardinal difference between gift and commodity exchange that a gift establishes a feeling-bond between two people, while the sale of a commodity leaves no necessary connection."

But the only reference I got was an exact quote from Lewis Hyde's The Gift, whereas the article I was quoting in Harper's was written by Jonathan Lethem and is called...



It is called "The Ecstasy of Influence" and is subtitled "A Plagiarism."

Meaning, as part of his extended reflection on plagiarism, he actually plagiarized almost every line in the article.

I know I am getting way off of the topic of sex here, so feel free to move on if your hard on is drooping, but that was such a brilliant moment. Made more brilliant by the fact that I was already thinking the article was brilliant, and now I think it is yet more so.

As you might have gathered, words and ideas are the "commodities" that Jonathan is using Lewis' words to point out in this case. Not exactly the kind of commodity I was about to use (what I thought were) Jonathan's words to illuminate.

The article, using what I am sure are yet someone else's words, goes on to say, "I go into a hardware store, pay the man for a hacksaw blade, and walk out... The disconnectedness is, in fact, a virtue of the commodity mode. We don't want to be bothered, and if the clerk always wants to chat about the family, I'll shop elsewhere. I just want a hacksaw blade. But a gift makes a connection."

So very familiar!

At any rate, where I was going with this is that some men instinctively get this concept, and I am always sort of surprised and thankful for that. Not only do some of the people in my, um, inner circle, so to speak, understand that they are showing their respect for the time that I should be spending working instead of talking to them, they also understand that this keeps the boundaries cleanly drawn. Which, in some strange way, makes things so much easier, and, yes, so much hotter.

I am absolutely abstract.
I want to be your fantasy.
I want you to need to cum for me in a way that feels a little bit bad. Or a little bit excessive. Or a little bit secretive.
I want you to be completely free to say anything to me.

All of these things are made possible by clear boundaries.

So why don't I just do this full time, or become a prostitute for that matter?

Well, the article goes on:

"Of course, in the real world, we know that child-rearing, family life, education, socialization, sexuality, political life, and many other basic human activities require insulation from market forces. In fact, paying for many of these things can ruin them."

Enough said.

I can only go so far, and there is something in me that always says stop before I cross a certain line. I love to play here and there, but I only want to play with a few people here and there. In some odd way, I think they appreciate knowing that, too. This is why I don't always return every email, and go for weeks at a time without writing. I am working, yes, but I am also, shall we say, focusing my energies.

Lucky for the masses, I am opening the windows for the time being. I have more than enough to go around, even if you only get to see it here instead of in a private show ;)

Anyway, enjoy it while it lasts. And thank you again to the ones who "get it". I am yours, yours, yours.



Who knew I could cum so many times in one day? I am still trying to recover from yesterday. I just cannot say what has come over me this week! Whatever it is, I say, bring in on ;)

Wish I had time to play more today, but I only have about a half an hour. Who would like to bid for this welling orgasm?

I am kidding, but only because I don't have time to take bids... I want to cum NOW. A few months ago, I made a recording of myself cumming in about two minutes, but I am going to try to beat that time...

But first, if you could just do one thing for me... If you are at work, reach one hand down, very casually, under your desk, locate the head of your cock, and just rub it gently for a minute. Then, if you can, grab as much of the shaft as you can and squeeze. Hard.

I want to be here for you. There is nothing you can't say to me (or write to me). Take advantage of it, ok?



Ok, clearly I am in the middle of some kind of... uprising. What is it that suddenly wakes up in me and won't be denied?

I just got out of a large meeting. Boring.

During the meeting, I started having flashbacks to one of two times I have gone back to a hotel room with someone I met earlier on the same day.

It was while I was in grad school, in an east coast city, and I had gone out dancing by myself. I did this often. It was a straight bar, but I ended up meeting a woman who I found really attractive. We were dancing near each other, talking here and there.
Then she went off to make a phone call.

A few minutes later, I noticed one guy watching me, and he came up to me while I was getting a drink. We flirted, the usual stuff, but at some point, he started to get very serious. I am going to be completely truthful, he said, I am here for one more night and I want you to come back to my room with me.

He didn't mention the woman I had been flirting with, so I wondered if he had seen her. I told him that I was here with a friend, and I needed to talk with her.

Back on the dance floor, I pulled the woman aside and told her about the guy as if it were something funny. Now she became serious as well. Don't go with him alone, she said. I said that this was fine, I wasn't planning on it.

A few hours later, she and I are dancing, talking, and the guy, whom I thought had left, comes up to me again. I'm going. Come with me.

I look at the woman, smiling. She is looking at him. Ok, she said. She will go with you. But only if I can go too. But you can't touch me.

Now I am staring at her!

Less than an hour later, we are walking into his hotel room. The whole way there in the cab, she and I were all over each other. He just sat and watched, and every once and awhile, he would say something like, "Wow." Or, "What are you up to over there?"

But when we walked in the room, she sat on a chair in the corner and told him not to pay any attention to her. She was here to make sure I was safe.

The scary thing for me to remember about this story, is that the guy turned out to be very violent in some ways. But the wonderful thing about it is that I felt like I could let go and almost enjoy it, if that is the right word, because she was there. On the way in, she had called somebody, and she told the person on the phone where she was and what hotel room we were going in to. I know that she did it so that the guy could hear her.

This man, I remember thinking, must not have cum for a long time. He was really rough with me. And he talked the whole way through. He wanted me to tell him I was his slut, and he kept telling me to repeat that. To scream it, even.

At one point, I remember thinking that I should stop him. I felt like he was getting too out of control, but there was a part of me that liked it, I think, and wanted to push it a little more.

At one point, he entered me from the front and every time he would thrust, and not gently, he would slap me lightly on my tits. Then he did it harder. At one point, he slapped my face, gently at first, and I started to prostest. He did it one more time, much harder that time, while he thrust so hard into me that my ass came up off the bed.

At one point, I looked over at the woman. She was just watching. She wasn't touching herself, which I thought she might be doing, or wanted her to be doing. But she looked wary, on guard. Which, in retrospect, I think was a good thing.

You are such a little whore, he said. You like this, I can tell. You are pretty dirty aren't you? He spread my legs open and started to finger fuck me, but with lots of fingers, and very violently. I want to see your pussy stretch out, he said. His voice was raspy at this point, strained.

I could see his cock now, but the odd thing to me at the time was that it wasn't that hard. But while he was fucking me with his hand, he reached down and started yanking on it. Then he took his hand out of me and just focused on jerking himself off for a minute. He told me to watch him and started calling me a range of things. I remember thinking that he was going to be sore... he was pumping so hard and his cock was shiny and red. He let some saliva fall down on the head and grunted while he spread it over his shaft.

At one point, he stopped, and pushed me down on the bed. He entered me again, but this time, his hand was around my neck. I looked over at the woman. She was watching carefully.

How do you like that, he said. Does that make you nervous? He was pumping me hard. he put a little pressure on my neck and I felt light headed. I know this turned him on and he started really banging me, saying Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah every time he slapped up inside me, drawing his cock all the way outside of me, then slamming in again.

But he stopped after a minute, rolled me over, and grabbed my hair, pulling my head back hard. I felt him fingering my asshole, then, suddenly, he was inside. I love to be fucked in the ass, so even though my head was pulled back, I started to moan, and this sent him over the edge. I think this is the most insane I have ever seen someone... Ah, you fucking little cunt, I am going to fuck this ass, this dirty fucking ass... he was almost screaming, grunting with every thrust.

But he didn't cum. I, not surprisingly, had come about three times already, and at this point, I was, frankly, getting really sore. I told him I wanted to watch him jack again, and he threw me on my back and straddled me so that his balls were dangling over my mouth. Then he started to jerk off in short strokes, muttering to himself under his breath. Fucking cunt... you little whore... going to fuck you in the mouth... uhh uhh uhh uhh uhh uhh.


Now I am actually worried for him. He is going to get a blister or something on his cock! I look over at the woman, and she is standing up.

We have to go, she says.

And we did. We just left.

To this day, I feel so, incredibly bad for the guy. It was as if he were trying everything to get to the other side, to let go, but he just couldn't let himself release.

I always wonder if he was able to come after I left. I would like to think that if I had another chance, I could make him, or help him to come. I think I would know what to do now.

I actually kept in touch with that woman for a long time after that - though she has since moved to another country, so we haven't talked in awhile. We never ended up having sex, but I wanted to for a long time.

Another interesting thing about that experience was that it woke me up to a kind of submisssive or masochistic side of me. I don't want to die early or be bruised, but there is something so delicious about just being... used.

But back to the meeting.

I came.

In the meeting.

As in, I came while the meeting was happening as I was remembering this night.

How? No vibrator, no hands, just by crossing my legs and squeezing the muscles together, like I was doing the other day. That's it.

And I feel like I could do it again right now...


public places

Well, after months of relative quiet, I decided to take a break and do something fun yesterday.

A few months ago, someone sent me a particularly generous gift. He said that he would like to meet me, even though I made it clear that I don't do that. If things happen spontaneously, I often - as you know - go with it, so to speak, but I don't plan meetings with people I have been in touch with in other ways.

But I wanted to give him something back. And I was thinking, wouldn't it be fun if he knew I was in the room, but didn't know which person I was? I did a version of this game last year when I went to a Starbucks on a certain date/time, which I posted online. No one, of course, figured out which one, out of all of the women with laptops, typing away, was the one (though there may have been more than one!) on the edge of cumming.

For this version, however, I told this guy to go to a large, busy public place of my choosing (it was indoors) at a particular time. I told him to find a place to sit for awhile and said that I could show up for any length of time within the hour. The important thing I wanted him to know was that I would have a vibrator directly on my clit the whole time (I just got a tiny one that is controlled wirelessly and I put the controls in my pocket) and that I would, at some point during the hour, cum.

I LOVED this! In fact, I came twice, just for good measure. I never even looked over at the guy (actually, I wasn't entirely sure which one he was, either). If you had been sitting nearer to me, you might have heard my breathing change a bit, or noticed when I pinched my nipples for a minute. And at the last minute, I arched my back a little, pushing my clit harder against the vibrator. But that's all.

He wrote me later in the day saying that he felt as though he had memorized every woman in the place, but still had no idea which one was me. He made a few guesses, which were wrong. He also said that it took him a while to be able to stand up to get to a private place where he immediately jerked himself off, hard and fast.

I told him, predictably, that I wish I could have been whereever he went, mouth open, hands up my cunt, waiting for him.