Growing Older

I'm a-telling you - Ms Rebel from Wicked Wednesday seems to have some sort of psychic ability when choosing the weekly prompts - and whether I manage to find the time to take part or not, almost without fail there is a theme which is particularly relevant - this week is no exception.

It's all about Growing Older.

So Three things.

1 - I am now 40 years old! I have been a little down' in the dumps recently and you can generally tell if I haven't posted for a few days - this has been almost 2 weeks - but what pulled me out of my sparkleless moments, why, everyone wishing me a happy birthday on Monday! Twitter and Facebook friends have just been wonderful to me - look at this amazing gift from Oleander Plume:

2 - I missed Sinful Sunday this week but these are the images I'd prepared. My roses from Valentine's Day - this is them two weeks later in differing stages of bloom and decay. I love how they become more intimate somehow as they age.

When I was at school, the art teacher took us a gallery and stopped to look at a flower painting 'Yawn,' I thought and sagged as only a teen can, probably blew a bubble gum bubble and rolled my eyes. But when he said, "So at first we look at this and see flowers, but the closer we look, it is of course, all about women." My ears pricked and my heart raced. There was something in his tone that hinted at the 'adult' side of things. I leaned and and tried hard to capture a whiff of the sexuality that dripped from his description. At the time, I wanted to, but I couldn't see it. However, as I grew older and began to appreciate the sensual side of everything, I began to see.

3 - This might be the last post from me here (though, knowing me...) - I have thrown off my training bra and decided to go 'self-hosted' - so no more fears of being told I'm a naughty girl from Blogger - no more tentatively putting up a nude picture with the nagging fear that my blog may be shut down. No, I am riding my two-wheeler all by myself! With a big bit of help from the fantastic and ever patient @DomSigns  and my pal Dogstarline. :D I will now be at TabithaRayne.com - still in it's infancy so please be gentle with me...
Please remember to re-subscribe to my posts - or sign up to get them emailed - I'd hate to lose ya! After all, without you, I'm nothing but a muddled whir of ideas, words and pictures careering through the webosphoere - it's you and only you that can make sense of it all ;)

Love and more love for sticking with me as I take my baby steps into growing older...

More Wicked Wednesday here.

WAIT!
Oh for goodness sake - this can't be my last post - there's not even a bloody F-word in it!

Ok - for old time's sake -
FUCK, JIZZ, SPUNK, CUNT, COCK, TITS, SPANK, SPOOGE, COME, COCK, DICK, PRICK, MUTHAFUKKA, JAZZ, FILTH, PUSSY, WANK, DUDDYRIDE, ARSE, ASS, ASSHOLE, FANNY, HOLE, PRICK, BALLS, SUCK, FACEFUCK, ASSFUCK, TITFUCK, THROATFUCK, SPUNKYWANKMUFFIN, FLAPS and MOIST.

Love ya ;)
x x x

Just A Hint...

Hello

Here's something a little different - more of a hint of a menage or voyeuristic self pleasure. It's difficult to tell who or what is involved, if anything - is it the forest itself or a stranger? Is it not happening at all? If you manage to get all the way to the end, there is a story to this - it's longer than the WW rules state by 300 words so I apologise if you're short of time.

But if you do have time... I hope you enjoy x x

They traveled on through the woods. Deborah was now dry apart from her inner thighs, where her pussy was dripping desire from its swollen lips. She was shaking involuntarily, and every now and again a yelp of excitement bubbled into her chest, then throat. The sound always elicited a hard look from her leader which Deborah held on to in her mind. At last, they came to a clearing not unlike the one where the camp was, but smaller and more sheltered. Sun streamed in through the generous canopy of silver birch and cascaded onto the spongy floor.

“Pass me your clothes and drop to your knees.”

Deborah did as she was bid and watched through hooded lids as Hazel felt along the hem of her skirt and pulled it apart roughly. The tearing sound carried and bounced off the tree trunks as the garment was shredded into strips. Hazel chose two trees with branches just above head height. She knotted several of the strips and tied them around the branches. The fabric hung limply as Hazel came to Deborah and pulled her to her feet, dragging her to the gap between the mighty trunks. She clasped one wrist and held it high, tying it to one of the bindings, pulling tight but not uncomfortably. Then the other arm was secured. Deborah’s body rushed with adrenalin as she looked up at her bound wrists then down over her stretched-out body. She arched her back to see her breasts lift into the shafts of sunlight that slashed across them. It was like being in a surreal and heightened dream.

Hazel stood before her as if considering what to do next. “I think I’ll leave your feet free this time,” she said and cast a lascivious gaze over her subject.

Goose bumps rose over Deborah’s skin where Hazel’s gaze trailed. She could feel the tiny hairs on her flesh pucker and strain to meet the gaze of the mighty woman before her.

Deborah didn’t know if she was glad or not about having her legs and feet free. She wanted to be restrained and spread, but she was feeling incredibly exposed and decided she was grateful for this gesture.

“I will be back,” Hazel whispered, leaning in to tip Deborah’s face up to hers with one hand. With the other, she cupped Deborah’s mound and parted her rudely, slipping a finger inside. It happened so quickly, Deborah had to wonder if it had happened at all. Then she was gone.

The glow of arousal and complete exposure had left Deborah in a whirlwind of emotions.

To be left there, abandoned, trussed up, and vulnerable was just about the most exquisitely frightening thing she had experienced. Tugging at her straps to test their strength, she couldn’t decide if she was reassured or not by their total security.

She stopped fidgeting and began to take in her surroundings. It was a stunningly beautiful place. The streaming arrows of sunlight glanced off floating motes and particles, giving the air around her the feeling of being a living, breathing thing. Birdsong echoed in that odd, ricocheting way around smooth and rough bark, bouncing back and forth. The river bubbled in the distance and she had to strain hard to hear it. Relaxing her ears and bringing herself back to the closest sounds, she began to hear the swoosh and boom of her own heart forcing blood through her body and mind. Suddenly acutely aware of her own biochemistry, Deborah braced herself for the adrenalin that was about to crash through her as the reality of her situation sank in.

Anyone could find her here—bandits, guards… She tried to rationalize her fear but her physiology took over, flooding her senses with fight-or-flight cortisones. The sensation started in her chest and swelled, radiating to every cell, making her soar above herself and stare down at the sight of a naked, disheveled forest nymph, bound and hanging. The imagined sight made her part her legs and bear down, catching her arousal in her abdomen and forcing it into her pussy, where she tried to focus all the energy that was threatening to send her out of control. It took all her concentration to keep everything centered there—all her fear, desire, lust, euphoria—but she knew it was essential somehow.

A sharp crack snapped her back to the reality of her situation again; someone was close. She tensed every sinew. Alert and staring, Deborah scoured her surroundings. Something moved in the shrubbery. It darted like an animal, low and erratic, as if cornered, but it didn’t add up. She strained her senses in its direction and tried to catch the scent on the barely breathing breeze.

Human.

Shuddering, she could feel her body expand to a vast canvass of nakedness. The nasal breathing of someone staring hard at the object of their intent filled her ears. Deborah gripped the strapping on each wrist tight and tensed her muscles in a way that she hoped would alert the watcher to her strength in this situation, not her vulnerability. Her skin flushed with warmth under the scrutiny of the shadowy, hidden figure. They stared at each other; she completely exposed and he—she could smell it was a he—completely obscured. There was a strange control conundrum going on in Deborah’s head: as long as he kept himself hidden and meek, she felt like she was holding the power. She let this thought roll around in her psyche and was amazed to feel her body relax and melt into this newfound confidence. Letting the ropes take her weight, she hung a little, shifting her feet apart and opening her legs to share her wet treasure with the voyeur.

A rustle in the leaves signaled approval and Deborah ventured a twist of the shoulders that carried down through her chest, hips, and knees, and ended with a flourish on her pointed toes. Her body needed to move and sway now, and she carried on her slow, snake-like dance, throwing her head back as she dangled on her bindings. They took her weight easily as she lifted her outstretched legs and brought them up in a V shape to display her splayed, ripe pussy to the stranger. If Deborah could have found the will inside her to stop, she would have, but something had crept in while she was experiencing the beauty of the forest—something feral had awakened. Maybe the forest itself had her under a spell, mimicking its unashamed joy at being alive. She wanted to celebrate the day, the moment, the life, her sex. She wanted to fuck and be fucked, not just physically but spiritually. And she felt like she was on the brink of both.

Her exposed pussy welled and pouted, and the muscles inside fluttered and beckoned the watcher close. Lactic acid built in her arms and legs as she tried to hold herself in the tortuous pose. It was sharp and exhausting, but she kept her limbs in the air, shaking as she tired, but determined to keep up the view of her wanton sex. She was so open now, and so wet. Desire poured from her, streaming from her juicy cunt down onto the rosebud of her ass, then her thighs. She was so lost in the sensations of her pussy, she felt she was her pussy. She left the physical restraint of her own flesh and traveled to the peaking center of her body. All her emotion and feeling focused at the one point she knew so well. Her clit swelled and throbbed and she rode it hard with her virtual body, thrashing and humping, getting soaked in her own desire. Her pussy gaped with arousal and she filled it, stretching and fucking herself until there was only this point. Everything stilled and ceased to exist. She hung in the void for what could have been an eternity—or a flash—then she crashed out, coming and climaxing and spasming. Her orgasm was so huge that she snapped back into her body and flapped between the trees like a fish on a line.

As the adrenalin and fever-like shuddering slowed, Deborah filled her lungs with the hot, sweet day. She was dazed and her body felt bruised and torn, her pussy stretched beyond anything she’d felt with Marcus. She looked around for the voyeur but there was nothing there. As she slumped in exhaustion, the restraints slid easily from her wrists and she collapsed to the forest floor. Had she been able to get free all along? She looked around to see Marcus leaning against one of the trees that had held her.

“Marcus?” she asked, bewildered and exhausted. “What the hell just happened?”
Marcus smiled and crouched down alongside her, embracing her and lifting her onto his knees. He kissed her deeply, exploring her mouth with new questions, new connections.

Deborah was confused. Had he given her that orgasm, or was it as she had experienced? Had she been having a massive sexual hallucination? She was exhausted, and goose bumps rose on her skin where air thermals danced about, making her acutely aware of their existence.

Marcus wrapped a blanket around her and placed her in the sunniest part of the clearing.
“Shh,” he whispered gently, smoothing her sweat-damp hair from her face. “Rest now.” And Deborah could do nothing but take his advice.

So this is from Taking Flight - the second book in my Clockwork Butterfly Trilogy - I've had to remove the paperback from sale as I noticed an error in the cover of the book - grrrrr - if I stared at it once, I stared at it a million times. It's published by Beachwalk in Ebook form but I got some printed myself and designed the cover so it is totally my fault! So, the treat for getting to the end is that if you fancy one and are in the UK I'll send it for five bucks (£5 - usually £6.99) and I'll even cover your postage. There's a limited amount so first to email me... tabitharayne@gmail.com

Happy reading!
Again, my apologies for the long post but I couldn't find a suitable spot to stop!

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