Don't Make Me Wait

Sinful Sunday time again

*Blog update*

The gorgeous Big Miss Naughty chose this pic as one of her Sinful Sunday Top 5!

Want more sexy images?

Click on those magical lips...

The One

Masturbation Monday!

Today I'm sharing the beginning of a darker than normal tale. How the erotic can heal and show the beauty from within.
***Here's a warning though - it's about a woman who expresses herself through body modification. It contains scenes of scars and there's self harm so please read with caution if you need to***

The One

Tabitha Rayne

As she runs the tip of her tongue over the ridges – the un-natural ridges that I created, I try and hold myself steady. Try not to retreat inside myself and tell her to leave. She is at the first. She is going to go through every single one of them in chronological order, I know it.

I fight the urge to pull my black polo neck back over my nakedness and hide away.

“Shhh,” she soothes, her soft firm voice at once cradles and commands. “Let me do this.”

I wonder at her perception. She can sense the tiniest shift in my body, my mood, my thought pattern. It’s disconcerting and comforting at the same time and I sigh away my tension, forcing my body down into the carpet. She’s told me she’ll melt me. I don’t believe her but she seems determined enough.

She’s onto the next. Her hot little tongue flirting with the ragged bumps. The crass ones, before I learned to control myself. Before I’d perfected my art. Half of me wishes she’d skip those and get to the beautiful ones, but I don’t say anything, I just concentrate on unfurling the tight, cringing nerve endings that keep me bound into my own skin.

“This is where it started,” she’s onto the third. And she’s right. How can she know that? How can she tell the first two were afterthoughts, a result of a furious outburst.

“Yes,” I hear myself whisper, the tremor in my voice far too apparent. She’ll be angry. Will she?

“Yes, this is the one when you began to know who you are.”

“How can you tell?” I ask, curiosity suddenly dispelling my nerves.

“It’s smoother.”

I lift my upper body to study the arm she’s holding in her hands. It’s my arm. But today, it feels disconnected. “Only slightly,” I say, a little fearful of contradicting her.

“Yes, but it’s deliberate. It took time to do this one.”

She’s right of course. The first two were just angry slashes. A slice of passionate fury directed at myself. I had no idea what I was doing. The third had been a considered endeavour. I’d set out my tools (one knife, one cloth) and very slowly and carefully dragged open a long cut.

I had been disappointed by the blood. I hadn’t wanted that to happen. I wanted to keep all that in. I wanted the sweet release but not to let anything pour out of me. I’m selfish like that. What’s mine is mine. I keep it all in. I don’t even talk much in case I escape from myself. Let myself go. Say something needy, or stupid.

She moves to the next. Raised and smooth with silvery edges. It’s the same but entirely different. That’s the point where I began to learn my craft.

She runs her tongue hard across the red inner cleft and I twitch, sensations breaking free from the source and running across my skin – penetrating more than flesh. I almost tell her to stop but it is horrifically exquisite. She groans and saliva coats her lips as she mouths my scar, taking its length into her hot undulating pout.

I am getting aroused. The swelling heat between my legs brings with it a pulse that tweaks up to my nipples. She notices. Of course she does and flicks her eyes up to meet mine, just quickly before moving to the next.

Again she glides the flat moist muscle over my pulled and puckered skin. A moment in time captured forever by my art.

I remember so clearly when I realised that heat would seal my wound. I could have my release without needing an actual release. It was a perfect moment. Time around me stilled as if I were the eye of a storm when I ignited the flame to warm my blade.

The pain was searing and lasting but there was no blood. It was perfect.

She bypasses the long slither on my bicep and goes straight to my shoulder.

How did she know? How did she know I did that one after he had done what he did? It was nothing to you or any normal person. Only a man I’d once looked at. He hadn’t looked back and I lost my nerve to speak. I learned my lesson and never looked again. But she had known the torture it had brought and skipped that one. My wonder for her has doubled again. I feel something stir in my chest – a swelling that is mirrored in my throat. I feel I could choke as it expands and I have to gulp. I don’t express emotion well, and I am recognising what this might be. I do not want to cry. No. I have the urge to stand up and shove her off me, tell her to Fuck Off, but I lie still. Enveloped in static fear and arousal.

“You’re all right,” she says and her silken fingers wrap around my shoulders and knead at my clenching coils. I can practically hear the ping as they unwind and the ball of emotion slowly disperses. She smoothes her palms down my naked right arm. One day, I hope she may be the one to help with that side. The one practicality I never got my head around. How to make a perfect job with my left hand.

I suddenly stop and think about what I’ve just thought. I allowed her in to my future. I let it happen in my mind.

I focus back on her touch which is now just above my right knee.

She massages the lines and the muscles beneath. It is rhythmic and delicious. My mouth waters and my sex feels moist. I clamp down instinctively. She keeps rubbing, her fingers deftly working up each of my scars, making them more meaningful and beautiful with every touch. I want to open my legs. I don’t.

She is dangerously close to the very top of my inner thigh – the fleshy pillow that guards my cunt. I tense. She slides both hands in between like an inverted prayer and prises me open.

“Stop,” I whisper with my breath held so high in my chest I doubt she’s heard it.

Maybe she has. She retreats down and begins to kiss the scars on my left leg now, where they begin just above the knee. She’s about to reach my favourite one. My best prize. I remember the joy of running back to my apartment and getting my equipment out for that very one. I remember catching a glimpse of my own smiling face in the kitchen mirror as I opened the drawer and pulled out my knife. I remember drawing the heated blade so perfectly across the skin that I came. I came in my mind and I came in my body.

She’s at it now. She’s at it. I tremble, my flesh peaking and swelling at its own memory.

“This is my favourite one,” she says, and I gasp. I lift up onto both elbows and grin like a lunatic, excitement spreading through every cell in my body. “It’s so perfect.” I can smell the fragrance of saliva and arousal as I slowly slide my legs apart for her to reach the very start of her scar. “What’s this one’s story?” she asks, though I believe she must know somehow already.

“That’s the first time I ever saw you,” I say...

So there it is - just the beginning. A version of this was in Written on The Skin published by  Burning Books Press - which sadly is no more.

Remember to click HERE for more sexy stories x x

Half Done, Undone

A Sinful Sunday painting

Half Done, Undone

Hmmm just not sure about this - I showed the stages on Twitter - @tabithaerotica and it felt like being very naked - posting my paintings raw and as they come. I chose this one because it feels a bit more painterly - most people preferred the stage before without the white highlights. I kind of like how it has almost come undone. It took all my strength not to just go crazy and scrub it all out with the white.

Three ladies' Sinful Sundays inspired this painting:

Legs McGee - AKA F Dot Leonora - all her leg posts

Oleander Plume - (Ass)istant

Malin James - Watching

And this book - Chemical Sex

See who else is sharing themselves - click on the sexy lips!

Here's the painting one stage before just in case you missed it on twitter and are wondering what I'm on about ;)

Pre-Half Done, Undone

Elust #78

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Introducing... Enter Me

**Blog Update! - This was chosen as the one of Marie Rebelle's Wicked Wednesday's top three of the week!**

Hello there!

This week's Wicked Wednesday is 'introduce' - well I would like to introduce this new story to you all. It's included in Best Women's Erotica Volume 1 which launched on Jan 12th...

Here's a little snippet from my story, Enter Me...

Even before the crash I'd never been a fan of not hearing clearly. I tried wearing headphones to listen to music but it made me feel claustrophobic, isolated. I get the same thing with sunglasses. I can't bear them, they make me feel like I'm in world of my own where no one can reach me, like I'm suspended somewhere other than reality.

So that's why, since the crash, you will never see me wearing sunglasses or even a hat. Anything that cuts me off from feeling in the thick of the here and now has me panicking.

The crash left me suddenly and utterly deaf. It was the strangest sensation coming round. I felt like I was deep underwater unable to make contact. The sound of my own voice was muffled and thick, so alien and far away I screamed. I knew I was screaming because my throat was raw and nurses in blue cotton pajamas were smoothing their hands over me and petting me, their brows furrowed with concern.

That was over two months ago.

I still wake up with that feeling of panic. Sometimes though, I let myself lie in the morning stillness, trying to be as quiet as possible with shallow breaths so I know, for a little while at least, that I am choosing the silence. It is mine.

I don't know how long George and I will last. He must be sick of the bruises I inflict when he's trying to catch my attention by tapping my back. The shock! I have not been able to master the art of not being panic stricken by an unexpected touch. It's exhausting, straining to hear all day long when all there is is stifling black nothing. So disorientating. I saw a program once about a room that was so well sound proofed that there was no echo at all. When the lights were out, people could only last a few minutes before demanding to be released from the black hole. George said he thought he'd love that – he'd do anything for a bit of peace and quiet, he reckoned he'd last a good eight hours. I knew what they were feeling though – I imagined it so keenly at the time, and now, it is confirmed to me. If I close my eyes, I'm there, in that room of absolute nothing. Alone.

We've taken to notes, or texting. Being unable to hear my own voice means I can't risk the words coming out. George says I sound fine. I don't believe him.

George left a note this morning.

Let's make love. Tonight.

I hold it between my thumb and forefinger. You wouldn't think not hearing would rob you of other senses, but it does. I can feel the paper, yes, but I can't hear the feel of the paper. Try it now, go on, rub your fingertips over the pages of a book, or a newspaper. Listen to how it feels. Now try to imagine not hearing that. See? You're surrounded. Your world is full of senses interacting and well, making sense of everything. I begin to fold the note up, slowly creasing it into a plane. The paper is rough and crisp, and I drag my nail along the folds making them sharp and perfect. Something about the points and lines makes a shiver run up to my solar plexus. I open the note back out and trace the words.

Let's make love. Tonight.

I try to savor the text without worrying how it should sound. I lift the note to my mouth and run my tongue over the letters, hoping to taste words. The shiver has become a flutter and travels gently down my abdomen and settles at my crotch. I let the sharp edges tickle my lips and the tiny hairs at the corner of my mouth. It makes me twitch and salivate. The prickle and swoosh of my breasts alerts me to my stiffening nipples and I look down to the rise in my shirt.

It's been so long since I've felt arousal, I'm taken by surprise, guilt almost. I make a decision. We will make love tonight...

Like I say, this is part of Best Women's Erotica Volume 1 edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel and I'm very excited to have it included. I used to gaze and yearn while reading the 'Best Women's Erotica' books and wonder if one day I might be able to send in a story that would make the grade.

Remember, it's Wednesday - there's a whole load more wickedness to be experienced! Click here or on the sexy rainbow above.

Thanks for reading x x x

A Dirty Selfie

**Blog Update! This was chosen as one of Snake and Charmer's top 5 for Sinful Sunday week 248!**

Ooops, that was a misleading title ;)
Well, it is a selfie of my filthy legs after running the 5k yesterday - which, for me, was one of my toughest runs. I *may* have put on some Christmas kilos and did not have the motivation - and I woke up with migraine aura (basically means you can't see for an hour) so only just made it to the race at all! I'm glad I pushed through and got my medal. Here I am, bandages, dirt and all showing it off.

I am a woman who like to experience many sensations. One of which is to wear very high heels and very tight pencil skirts. In 2013 Eroticon (bloody hell, that long ago?) the sensational Vida Bailey and I struck up a friendship - she seemed a little frustrated by my tottering along beside her on a walk and asked, "Why would you want to hobble yourself like that?"

I have pondered how I'd reply and thought about so many different reasons why and it's taken me this long to find one that sounds true. Basically, I just like the sensation. Simple as that. But I always know I can kick off my heels yank up my skirt and run. Letting my legs fling out and carry me as fast as they can, all stretched out and pounding is another sensation I couldn't live without.

See more Sinful Sunday posts by kissing those sexy lips x x x

Believe in You!

So I promised myself a WickedWednesday if I got all my paperwork done. Well, I didn’t, but it was stop or die. So here I am! Forgive any errors – I am flying by the seat of my frilly knickers today.

This week’s prompt is ‘Believe in Yourself’ – boy, do I need a bit of that. I think I suffer as most creatives do with the passion for making and sharing but the creeping crushing horror that maybe my stuff is just pants.

So, I was pondering something that happened long, long ago…

I have always, and I mean for as long as I have existed on this world as me, been able to come. Of course there was a time when I couldn’t put a name to it, but I could always do it. It was usually accompanied by extremely visual fantasies. Anyhoo – whilst I never felt weird about doing it, I never mentioned it to anyone, even my mum, who was always very open about sexuality and ‘the birds and the bees’. It wasn’t until I was older that I heard words like ‘masturbate’ and ‘wank’ associated with my actions – euuww. These words did NOT sound like the lovely comforting, sensual thing that I did. They sounded icky and sordid or something. And besides, the terms seemed only to apply to boys.

When we were told in sex education that boys masturbated loads and thought about sex every seven minutes I almost snorted out loud – only every seventh minute? How dull for them, I thought, and waited until the teacher brought up the girls’ sex thought stats. None. Nada. Zip.

So I realised that either I was the only girl in the world doing this orgasm thing, or people were being very strange.

Months or maybe years later, during a camp – some sort of high school or guide camp, we were all snuggled and giggling in the girls’ dorm late at night when one of the girls said, “Hey do any of you wank?”

you do what???

I was thrilled! But because she used one of the euuwww words, I momentarily hesitated before jumping up excitedly. And I must say, at the time, I was glad I did because there was one of those hideous awkward silences that just fill the room. You could breathe in the horror.

“Euww, what are you on about, you perv?” was the first reply, whereby everyone thereafter wrinkled their noses and ridiculed the poor girl. To my shame, I simply kept quiet, hiding in my sleeping bag and blushing to the roots of my soul. So it was true. Most girls did not do it. And if they did they were pervs.

When I think back to this moment in my life, I feel so sad for all of us in that room. We had an opportunity to be open about something amazing and not make each other feel shit about having normal sexual feelings. We could have normalised, been honest and created a bond. We were certainly not too young to be discussing our own bodies and how wonderful they are. What I feel most bad about is not seeking out that girl later and confiding in her. I just left her thinking she was alone in her pervdom.

Now, in adulthood, I put the blame for this firmly with the sexual education of the time. Though, I’m saddened to say that from what I hear from mothers of girls, not much has changed.

So what has this to do with ‘Believe in Yourself’? Well, I let other people make me feel like I was wrong. That masturbation was wrong, that sexual feelings for yourself is wrong. I’m sure it put me on a path of not believing in many other aspects of my life too, not just sexual. So here I am, telling that other girl, “I do it too! And probably so do they – and hooray for us all!”

Phew! I’m glad I got that off my chest.

I have grown up trying to be as sex positive as I can be through all my erotic endeavours. I just wish I’d believed in myself a little sooner… and I could always do with believing a little more...

Happy Wicked Wednesday! Click the links for more, more, more!

The Kiss

Hello!
It's 2016 - wow - how did that happen so fast?
Here's my very first Masturbation Monday of the year which also happens to join the Kink of the Week theme of kissing. Click the links for more! I love a good kissing scene so I hope this satisfies your lip action urges x x x
It's a small excerpt from The Guitar (read previous excerpts: The Shaft Part 1 - The Shaft Part 2)

I’m about to let go when there is an almighty banging on the door.

What the hell?

I jump up flinging my guitar down all twisted in the sheets and covers. I stumble and trip over the pile as I run to the door in shock, my cock heavily slapping from side to side as I go. The banging continues.

“All right! All right! What the fuck is going on?”

Just more banging. Someone using their fist. I put the chain in place before opening the door  a chink.

Damien.

“Let me in, Kel,” he says, a thunderous look on his face. His eyes are way darker than I remembered with a tinge of purple beneath them.

“Ok, ok, just stop banging!”

I close the door and step back to take off the chain and open the locks. As soon as he hears the click he barges his way in and pushes me up against the wall. My little key table tips and jangles to the floor as his hot breath hits my face and I inhale his lusty scent.

“I want you. I can’t stop thinking about you. You make me hard and I can’t get rid of you from my mind. It’s doing my head in. I need to fuck you. I need you either out of my system or in my system but whatever it is, it needs to happen now.”

I begin to reply but he has my face in his hands and is kissing me hard, gnawing at my lips and spearing my mouth with his hot tongue. It is raw, feral and horny as fuck. I match him kiss for kiss, bite for bite and wrap my hands around his back and up to the nape of his neck where I grab his hair and scoop him backwards to the other wall. He hits is with a bang and makes a growl sound from deep in his throat. Our mouths are wide and greedy for each other. My nipples and cock graze at his clothing and I release his head to pull his shirt out of his waistband. He helps and we are ferocious in our need to be naked together. I fall to my knees before him and our fingers grab and mingle at his flies, pulling and grabbing, frustrated by the effort of clothing. At last he is free and I yank the denim down and pause at the sight before me.

His cock is perfection. Straight, beautiful, gloriously hard. I breathe in his hot musky smell and can detect my own scent rising from my crotch. It is heady and my mouth is watering, too empty. I sink my lips over his head and graze the shining straining dome with my teeth on the way down. Oh he tastes so good. Salty, sweet, tangy with the metallic hint of precome sending my taste-buds into over drive. God. I want to swallow him whole. I want to take his full length into me. I gobble and suck, my cheeks and jaw working hard to keep up the rhythm as he knots his fingers into my hair and pushes me on to him even deeper.

I’m tipping over the edge, over that sweet barrier. I don’t want to think it – if I think it, I’ll snap back into my fears. Too late. I start to gag on my guilt – not his cock. It’s not his cock rammed down my throat that’s making me feel the creeping shame, it’s me...

If you enjoyed that and want to read the rest of Kel and Damien's story, you can! It's in this fab anthology, Brit Boys With Toys out now for only 99p!

Lightly Tied

The first Sinful Sunday of 2016! 

The prompt is windows - we have posed in front of closed golden curtains playing with my favourite Christmas present...

For more Sinful Sunday images, click on that sexy pout x x x

Happy New Year!