tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72976348619694405832024-03-19T03:51:39.812+00:00Emily's Erotica...Emily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.comBlogger94125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-33253205805998541112016-07-13T21:25:00.000+01:002016-07-13T21:25:39.521+01:00Sex in the Shower and Other Musings...Hello, my lovelies.<br />
I do hope this wonderful year is finding you all well and perfect. As for me...well, I'm sure you can guess I am as perfect as ever.<br />
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....<em>still as goofy too...</em><br />
<em></em><br />
Had a lovely night last evening with my Sir. He is also still as perfect as ever. Even after living with Him for a year, I find I like Him even more, understand Him a lot more, and still find Him sexy as hell. Though, the spankings have dwindled. Apparently I am a very good girl.<br />
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Which is why I get Sex in the Shower.<br />
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...<em>mmmmm...</em></div>
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Now...we have all had sex in the shower. We all hope our overnight guests or roommates or even friends over for a short visit are NOT having sex in our showers. Why? Because...it..is...sacred.<br />
<br />
There's soap for one thing. That slippery, sliding, smooth, gliding <br />
scented, slick, polished silk,<br />
glistening as His hands come between...over, under, over again.<br />
<br />
Then there's water. That warm, soaking, raining down<br />
teasing splash, misting drizzle,<br />
pouring moist where our bodies meet...in, out, in again.<br />
<br />
<br />
There's heat. That spark, scintillation, coursing through,<br />
the zeal, the scorch, the blaze,<br />
scalding skin set alight ....before, after, before...again.<br />
<br />
There's surrender. That giving in, appeasement, relenting to His want,<br />
pure submission, relinquishing abandon to need,<br />
eschewing forbearance and yielding...once, twice...again.<br />
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.....<em>nnnggggghhhhh..</em><br />
<em></em><br />
As for Other Musings...check with me tomorrow. <br />
I need a shower.<br />
<br />
Emily<br />
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Emily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-21104444585478368262015-04-17T16:34:00.000+01:002015-04-17T16:34:25.727+01:00Have You Missed Me?Because I have missed you. But now I think, it is time to come roaring back in true red redhead style.<br />
<br />
So...here's a little update.<br />
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I can without a doubt say that I am in the most remarkable relationship of my entire life. Why? Because I simply AM...<br />
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<em>...in love</em><br />
<br />
I AM His. And He lets me know it by all the little things he does to set my life afire. Not only His amazing prowess in the bedroom, but His prowess at showing me what and who I AM...<br />
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...<em>loved</em><br />
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I AM strong, and He lets me be strong.<br />
I AM healthy in mind and body, and He encourages my health.<br />
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<em>..trite but true</em><br />
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I AM brilliant and witty, and He loves those things.<br />
I AM fun, and playful, and He plays.<br />
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....<em>yum</em><br />
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I AM needy, at times, and He feeds me, with intelligent thought and conversation; with artful passion; with tenderness or Dominance, as He sees a need.<br />
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...<em>or if I am in need</em><br />
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I AM Emily, a girl who has become a woman under His skillful caress. <br />
I AM happy, happiness, light. I am safe, and I am free as a bird. His bonds have made me that.<br />
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...<em>and I am home</em><br />
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EmilyEmily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-56999926892707319852014-01-26T23:03:00.002+00:002014-01-26T23:04:17.639+00:00Learning...SelfishnessI find I am learning something every day. I don't always like what I learn, especially when I learn something new about myself.<br />
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"<i>not head of the class"</i><br />
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One of the biggest things I have learned lately is that I have an enormous capacity to love. But this unfortunately is coupled with finding that when I love, I expect certain things to go along with it. However, when they don't, I find myself disappointed, hurt, angry, and in the end feeling very selfish. As a submissive, that is a terrible way to feel.<br />
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I don't want to complain. truly I don't. But I seem to have a big mouth that doesn't open often prefaced with a lot of thought. I consider myself an intelligent person. I also say stupid things, and today I felt something I never wanted to feel from someone I care about a great deal. After complaining and having what I thought was a really good talk about my feelings regarding something I now look at as kind of silly, I felt that the someone I really care about had become slightly...withdrawn. I really hope I'm wrong.<br />
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There's only so much I can blame on my hair..or my temper...<br />
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"<i>it's becoming somewhat legendary</i>"<br />
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Every now and then I have to look at myself and realize that I do have the capacity for selfishness. For want. For wanting equality within something I take incredibly seriously. Maybe I shouldn't take it so seriously. Maybe if I didn't I would be a lot happier in the long run. But it's not really in my nature to do. And I want to be me.<br />
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So...as a submissive. What do I do? Continue to love in the same vein in which I have for the last few years? Or try very hard to strengthen and inure myself to hurt so that these "silly" conversations no longer arise? I will always blame myself first. In spite of what I wrote last night. And do forgive that one, dear readers. It was a rant, plain and simple.<br />
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"<i>an embarrassing one</i>"<br />
I am always the first one I look at when things do not go as my over-active imagination dictates they should. What is it about me that makes me less desirable, less pleasant, less wanted, less perfect than I was before? And the pin point always turns to my reaction over the simple things. Or maybe the not so simple, as I end up making them far more complicated than they need to be by virtue of my selfishness. It really is a conundrum.<br />
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I know what I want. What I am only now just realizing is that it isn't entirely up to me to make it happen. Someone else has to agree with that want and make it happen. Someone else has to want it too. And if they don't, then the only option left to me is accept it and deal with it in the best way for us both. A heartbreaking option at best, but truly all there is.<br />
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I won't stop loving. I don't know how. I feel at times as if I will spontaneously combust with it. And perhaps that is exactly why it isn't returned with the same equality. Maybe, just maybe...I love too much.<br />
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Emily<br />
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Emily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-63870456259010723312013-08-04T02:55:00.000+01:002013-08-04T02:55:47.995+01:00A Submissive's Gift...I have been reading blog posts, Facebook posts, stories, and books written by submissives for years that glorify the contribution of the Dominant to the D/s relationship. Which is wonderful, please do not mistake me, but it IS a bit one sided. Why does no submissive write about what WE bring to the table? And, as always in MY format, capitalized submissive pronouns are perfectly acceptable.<br />
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<i>Our gift...</i><br />
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So...what do We bring, besides the obvious which is of course the gift of submission? And please do not say service. Submissives do not serve. We are not slaves. That is an entirely different ball of hot dripping wax. We don't blindly follow two steps behind waiting for orders or subtle cues to do our work. We do fall asleep on our knees waiting for certain Sirs to come to bed, but we do not do it out of a sense of service, but rather...of love.<br />
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<i>ahhh...</i></div>
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That love <i>could</i> be blind. A lot of love is. However, we are very strong, intelligent, and wise...most of the time. And I think most <i>true </i>submissives would not willingly give their gift if they were not aware of the faults of their Dominant, but choose to love them anyway. And we do not love blindly anyway, but with purpose...to make our Dominants better, both in the bedroom and without, and in the process, improve ourselves.<br />
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<i>the better we are..the stronger we give...</i></div>
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No Dominant is perfect. Our perception of them may be, but in reality, they are human, with human frailties just as we are.<br />
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So what do We bring?<br />
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Laughter, kindness, willing participation in our Dominant's fantasies and our own. We bring the patience we can muster, a giving spirit, support and help whenever it is needed. We give ourselves without question, and every ounce of strength we possess.<br />
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<i>goes without saying...</i></div>
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We give fun in a sometimes not fun world. We give our attention and sometimes we give too much of that. We let them need us and know that we need them. We give them honesty even when we know that it may piss them off or make us vulnerable to being hurt. We speak openly if they desire it and are quiet if they want that.<br />
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<i>try not to be Chatty Cathy...</i></div>
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We share our talents and poise, our perfect fashion sense, and not so perfect feet to warm theirs.<br />
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But, mostly, we give them our faults. Why do we do this?<br />
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<i>sometimes we see them...sometimes we dont..</i></div>
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Because they alone have our complete and total trust to not abuse those faults but to use them to help make <i>us</i> better, so that we learn with each passing day how to please them, knowing deeply that in so doing, we best please ourselves.<br />
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<i>my happy place...</i></div>
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Emily<br />
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P.S. We also give really..really good head...<br />
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<br />Emily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-9456260801878903762013-07-24T02:46:00.001+01:002013-07-24T02:46:56.912+01:00When Words Were all We Had...There was a time when words were all we had. We wrote them with care. With caution and with diligence. We used them as weapons of lust and desire, of seduction. When words were all we had...<br />
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...<i>they were Your embrace</i></div>
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You understood the meaning they held when every one was chosen with precision and purpose. I knew their meaning, imbued with a knowledge that was all excitement at discovering that Your words could hold me in thrall for days on end. When words were all we had...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0OtdWtYJgL5HfvK0WUhuUNP2zTKPa1XZMbhrysGHRNsPeakXcOITGVnaT8v6zQqI9lVKWTwZDHca6qLKLIFTtVAsuKAHXqOgPkTw2co4TM30eHu_9CvcWjGC4HV8MJDtOuYtdjMbDA4W3/s1600/words5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0OtdWtYJgL5HfvK0WUhuUNP2zTKPa1XZMbhrysGHRNsPeakXcOITGVnaT8v6zQqI9lVKWTwZDHca6qLKLIFTtVAsuKAHXqOgPkTw2co4TM30eHu_9CvcWjGC4HV8MJDtOuYtdjMbDA4W3/s1600/words5.jpg" /></a></div>
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...<i>they were the best sex I'd ever had...</i></div>
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When words were all we had we used them morning, noon, and night. Words were the reason I slept so well at night. They were the reason I woke with a smile. When Words were all we had...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfHvfHnARURQFiMD2b7Da3tejNfGwl7rSlf9MxCj-hol7LnK3IYkUb7359A78TFvuhuhzlxm0Ml_5RIruzvu7PlyhYXbYiTSYObs6sk6tXyv3XUC3AG8oERxPvF9d51o_Jk1vS6Eh1jS1E/s1600/words7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfHvfHnARURQFiMD2b7Da3tejNfGwl7rSlf9MxCj-hol7LnK3IYkUb7359A78TFvuhuhzlxm0Ml_5RIruzvu7PlyhYXbYiTSYObs6sk6tXyv3XUC3AG8oERxPvF9d51o_Jk1vS6Eh1jS1E/s1600/words7.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i>...I couldn't get enough of them...or You...</i></div>
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Now we have more than words. Way more than words. We have touches and laughter. We have eyes that see into one another. We have times spent near, holding one another, feeling, smelling, seeing. We have nights of the same passion, the same life and light our Words used to bring. When words were all we had, we had less than we do now. But those words...are why I fell...so...</div>
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Emily...</div>
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<br />Emily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-3193881754830588222013-05-14T03:03:00.002+01:002013-05-14T03:03:24.294+01:00He...Me...PatienceAn advance apology to my faithful readers, but this one is going to wax a tad philosophical. I do promise to throw in a little hotness for good measure though, if you will only be patient.<br />
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<i>this is my philosophical look..hehe</i></div>
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And let's start there....Patience. Admittedly it is not my strong suit. Though I have come a very long way in a very short time. Or so it seems to me. My patience is limited to children and puppies, gardens, baking and elderly relatives and friends. I have absolutely none for myself. My temper, my wants, my needs. I want everything to be satisfied NOW! And..as much as I truly hate to admit it, sometimes a lot is not enough. This one I am working on.<br />
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<i>though sometimes i think i'd rather stick to puppies...</i></div>
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For those of you who know me well, you know that I came onto the scene very publicly during a really hard time in my life. My father was ill and I was spending inordinate amounts of time by his hospital bed with nothing to do. Therefore I wrote. And wrote.And waited. And wrote. I was able to escape my physical surroundings by building a fantasy life of epic proportions through every story I told. My dad got better after a long while. Then 2 years later I was there again. And again..I wrote. It is my saving grace and for it I have more patience than anything else.<br />
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Well...I'm there again. Not in the hospital thank goodness, but back to a sick father. And this time there's not going to be a "better". So again, I will write. Again I will be patient. And again I will look to the comments of my readers for support, laughter and peace. And I thank you in advance.<br />
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Most of all I thank my Sir. His patience is never ending. When I am not myself, He is patient. When I am whiny and sullen, He is patient. When I can't find my way, He is patient.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPJ8WA4En-GTIsDSKzJ4dDvTKxiOcMt33ISMceiafMorsYW8mpYQYmvAvE0FIeHbf0r-DWl08oI41yJ4qvhyphenhyphenUoapOMgzzKwxVQUbqjgsu7K6vJ7doZB8DKQmbnLZ0xBbmM-aH_C-fihVAc/s1600/patient2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPJ8WA4En-GTIsDSKzJ4dDvTKxiOcMt33ISMceiafMorsYW8mpYQYmvAvE0FIeHbf0r-DWl08oI41yJ4qvhyphenhyphenUoapOMgzzKwxVQUbqjgsu7K6vJ7doZB8DKQmbnLZ0xBbmM-aH_C-fihVAc/s1600/patient2.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i>and loving...giving...caring..kind..</i></div>
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But more importantly, and I thank you for YOUR patience....He is patient in the bedroom. Slow..methodical undressing. Painstakingly sensuous teasing with every lengthy, pressing stroke of the nerve wheel. Unngh....<br />
Minutes tick by that seem like hours as my hands are preciously and tightly bound to the bedposts.<br />
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The flesh along my spine rising slow centimeter by slow centimeter as He does the same to my ankles. And then I wait as He decides...patiently, just what is to come next. A scarf over my eyes that cannot fall...?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWmqbnPF3a1Dzj4jQVFnbzyhGld6Sw9tGRg_YwdixhxleRg4TeTCF8l_MGBagch1w29S5ZN-nuJmEPXgLrCNDf1TDqAZbFDqR3VbpEQ7pP9JPK8q1KmIP9lGNgdQyB9yJxgu2pVjYM89PK/s1600/patient5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWmqbnPF3a1Dzj4jQVFnbzyhGld6Sw9tGRg_YwdixhxleRg4TeTCF8l_MGBagch1w29S5ZN-nuJmEPXgLrCNDf1TDqAZbFDqR3VbpEQ7pP9JPK8q1KmIP9lGNgdQyB9yJxgu2pVjYM89PK/s1600/patient5.jpg" /></a></div>
Or if I am on my belly...the long drawn out touch of his belt along every inch of skin from my neck to my toes...? His arm drawn back..slowly..slowly...before bringing that leather across my backside...the sound reaching my ears before the delicious sting...? And then another slow rise of His arm to follow...while I tense..waiting...waiting for the slight whoosh of leather through air....<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTbQCWXyOVpiSM1Z4WhjJMSkWFQa_7_TaGvXugq1dBp160E6ncXBTEUU3uFCcVzpMawlxmTBQV6IbKYaQB0s5Rx1a96khzNvglbWEB0Z0B0naGvfHp9Ziq8odKme-P9QvVY2Yh7RPRAnkh/s1600/patient3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTbQCWXyOVpiSM1Z4WhjJMSkWFQa_7_TaGvXugq1dBp160E6ncXBTEUU3uFCcVzpMawlxmTBQV6IbKYaQB0s5Rx1a96khzNvglbWEB0Z0B0naGvfHp9Ziq8odKme-P9QvVY2Yh7RPRAnkh/s1600/patient3.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
And after all of that patience comes a long slow drawn out fuck that slicks me with sweat and lust. And I am patient...over and over again...<br />
<br />
Nothing like a good shag to teach a good many things.<br />
<br />
Emily<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Emily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-56641384131192145182013-03-11T23:39:00.003+00:002013-03-11T23:39:57.064+00:00If You're Going to Do It...Do It RightI'm going to try to write this in a classy way, but no promises, alright?<br />
<br />
I have met, spoke to, messaged with so many women who think that performing oral sex on a man is disgusting. Yes, I said disgusting. Now, men, before you get all uptight, give me a minute. I have also heard the same from many men who have had the experience of having fellatio performed by a woman who finds it distasteful. They don't like the taste is the general consensus. My own personal proclivities shout out a very loud...WHAT?! to this answer, but in an effort to be non-judgmental, to not look at the situation from my own personal adoration of the act, I shall try to be somewhat helpful here and see it from their point of view.<br />
<br />
My first bit of advice? Don't give up!<br />
Don't let the taste of your man's cum drive you away from letting it slide, hot and silky, down the back of your throat. It truly does provide the nutrient of protein, and come on ladies, our Men really love a girl who will swallow. Do you honestly want to be one who doesn't?<br />
<br />
Focus instead on another sense...SCENT!<br />
<br />
Here is what I have been delighted to notice. From the moment my face first nears my Sir's deliciously perfect cock until the moment that scrumptious essence of His love coats my tongue, His scent changes about 13 times. Yes...13. I've counted. So please do not doubt me.<br />
<br />
The first lovely aroma to drift to me is very subtle Him. His own personal scent, a soft mixture of soap and Sir that to me could not be more perfect. The initial change in scent occurs as soon as my lips wrap the head of His cock. Oops. Forgot to be elegant there for a moment. Ahem. I meant to say as soon as my warm lips gently wrap the tip of His firm member as it begins to harden and rise to the delectations of my tongue. Better?<br />
<br />
That scent is sharp, tangy, almost acrid, filling my nostrils with a sort of heat, a warming. That first change in scent makes me eager, makes me want. I want His cock harder. I want it to fill my mouth completely.<br />
<br />
As my lips slide farther down said hardening member I am met with another new scent. This one comprises the tang of the latter with the Sir-ness of the former. In other words, my nose nears His body and I smell Him, the Him of Him, mixed with the tang of Him. Mmmm...that is one of my favorites, but not THE favorite.<br />
<br />
For, as the fellatio accelerates, that scent changes again. Warm musk. As he hardens...musk with overtones of floral. Yes, I said floral. As His cock fills my mouth...peat, like the forest on a damp day. As my lips work in conjunction with my tongue, muscle stimulating muscle...floral mixed with peat and a lovely hint of raw lust. If you have never had the scent of raw lust tickling your nostrils, I suggest you find a cock to wrap your lips around as soon as possible.<br />
<br />
My mouth continues to work and I am rewarded again with the scent of Sir, but this time that scent encompasses every cent before it. Ungh...And that is all I have to say about that.<br />
<br />
Nearing the crescendo, the point when I know that very soon I am to have the most delectable dribble cascade down my lovely throat, is when the most rapid and perfect scent changes occur. And this may sound weird but stick with me here for a moment.<br />
<br />
Muscles twitching...citrus.<br />
Hands fisting in my hair...caramel.<br />
Moans erupting from His lips...vanilla.<br />
<br />
(Alright. There is nothing vanilla whatsoever about this Man, it's just what I smell.)<br />
<br />
Thrusts as He fucks my face coming faster...vanilla with a hint of whatever He ate for lunch that day..usually spicy, like hot peppers.<br />
<br />
Another moan, louder, as His knees give way just a tad and my hands gently caress His balls...spice and ginger, my scent mixing with His.<br />
<br />
And finally, as His cum is released on a sigh of pure pleasure into my mouth, tongue contracting with greedy want...pure, unadulterated,blissful, sexy, hot, and wanty cum...the musk of Him overriding every other scent that has come before it, and the heat of that scent making me quiver to my very toes.<br />
<br />
Why?<br />
<br />
Because...<br />
<br />
I made it happen. Don't you want to say the same?<br />
<br />
EmilyEmily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-49807274253337096202013-03-06T02:24:00.003+00:002013-03-06T02:24:37.384+00:00The Little Things We Keep...There are some little things we keep to ourselves. Secrets about ourselves we don't want anyone to know, or certain feelings we may have about something that it is pointless to share. A gift given but held close, or a new love that gives -est to our lives and is shared only in a published smile.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJYVQc-BSbZ_KDwITvAod9DPLgRLAKBuZRTejVdQxDXXNRS52Lf_E8oMVARGvY4xONCw2vb5mqYqOw7cI7b_FhGsufqLs4x6EHu9lhvd1MSDpTUyXF4kkV8u-VcvT1c4ERMp6PUXxQw1i6/s1600/little8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJYVQc-BSbZ_KDwITvAod9DPLgRLAKBuZRTejVdQxDXXNRS52Lf_E8oMVARGvY4xONCw2vb5mqYqOw7cI7b_FhGsufqLs4x6EHu9lhvd1MSDpTUyXF4kkV8u-VcvT1c4ERMp6PUXxQw1i6/s1600/little8.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i>...behind closed doors....</i></div>
<br />
We all know that those secrets we keep about ourselves are eventually discovered. But it's only because the person who figures it all out was the one who was meant to do so, and in digging deeper they find your true self, even if they don't like everything about it. You are seen, bean.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCQTK1_C5xI3dlkLYpFZSkFJIhWGkNTNP0r4UzecIO0jiNMc_uK5-fXY_v_n0bOWo-sZRjnG_Yb78p1R-OK0ZzGvzQwotzznAW6kibjeXO7dxzMvKKPMxD1_7T1h8OKDUOd5cu4ni1rtzX/s1600/little5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCQTK1_C5xI3dlkLYpFZSkFJIhWGkNTNP0r4UzecIO0jiNMc_uK5-fXY_v_n0bOWo-sZRjnG_Yb78p1R-OK0ZzGvzQwotzznAW6kibjeXO7dxzMvKKPMxD1_7T1h8OKDUOd5cu4ni1rtzX/s1600/little5.jpg" /></a></div>
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...<i>but it feels pretty good...</i></div>
<br />
The feelings we don't want to share are often exhibited in our behaviors. We stomp and pout and let it all out, and again it is that one person who recognizes what it's all about. And maybe, if you're lucky, He will let you do the Hokey Pokey.<br />
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...<i>um...yeah...</i></div>
<br />
For months and months I shared my -est in a published smile. That smile's meaning was only known by one other, and I hear it made Him smile a bit too. But keeping it a secret, between only two just seemed the thing to do.<br />
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..<i>and i wore it all day...everyday...still do...</i></div>
<br />
Gifts mean different things to different people. Some appreciate them and hold them close like precious gems. Others share those gifts with any and all who will care to hear, look or touch. Some only share their gifts with a few select someones, and some share gifts they've no right to. To me, the pleasure these people derive from a gift is in the sharing of it, the oohing and aahhing, the WOW factor, the validation from others that their gift has merit and value. It's exciting to share a gift that's been given, whether it is a new friendship, and old one, a burgeoning emotional attachment, an article of clothing or jewelry, hell, even a new puppy. But of course you would share that because they are so damn cute.<br />
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...<i>see?...</i></div>
<br />
Gifts are not always tangible things. In fact to me the most precious gifts cannot be held forever, and are really only yours to borrow, to keep for a little while. These are the little things we keep. The things we cannot know will be around forever. The things we may screw up and lose or drive away. The things we may destroy by our very efforts to keep them. And once they are gone, well....they are no longer so little.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbBUEWmqXyHnTpKR_dD8taCGKqwYWv2NobsswrFH_3pP37zi0yPfZ6VXULOKSDO4576yrUBI1kiT2zp1gQ_G6T7ym3N8WuZ1UO2eq5sVMyjbe6c19XpUMyZbMgNx6KUuZjYpnVatvgjwOy/s1600/little3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbBUEWmqXyHnTpKR_dD8taCGKqwYWv2NobsswrFH_3pP37zi0yPfZ6VXULOKSDO4576yrUBI1kiT2zp1gQ_G6T7ym3N8WuZ1UO2eq5sVMyjbe6c19XpUMyZbMgNx6KUuZjYpnVatvgjwOy/s1600/little3.jpg" /></a></div>
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...<i>my...</i></div>
<br />
People forget that their actions have the ability to wound, to hurt, to bruise scratch and bite. Alright, so I like biting, but the rest? Not always so much. I am a gift. So are you. So is everyone a gift to that same someone who sees them, and all they try to hide. But here's what I've figured out about being a gift. You can only give yourself to one. That someone who sees what he holds.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHzr6769WBEHCRaa7fSdcnoLTJqCFdSZn71EZSMT6PLJORBo7hgGPfTumywLYro0QgObbp9E8xFxihiiEbmlY6UyRGb2-yBQmh6HedloReingXGLt-PoUDxrgMj1X9do4NYt8nPtuEQceV/s1600/little2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHzr6769WBEHCRaa7fSdcnoLTJqCFdSZn71EZSMT6PLJORBo7hgGPfTumywLYro0QgObbp9E8xFxihiiEbmlY6UyRGb2-yBQmh6HedloReingXGLt-PoUDxrgMj1X9do4NYt8nPtuEQceV/s1600/little2.jpg" /></a></div>
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...<i>and wants to hold...</i></div>
<br />
Because it is only that someone who will recognize their gift for the truth that it is. They won't give it back. They won't share it with someone else. And they will give you the gift of doing the same. It's just a little thing. But I think I'll keep it.<br />
<br />
EmilyEmily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-82976250835350279422013-02-24T23:45:00.001+00:002013-02-24T23:45:19.682+00:00What's to Come?Besides me that is, and most likely several times. I usually lose count, but Sir does a pretty accurate job. He quests for it I think. Hehe.<br />
<br />
My time with my Sir has gradually increased over the last year. Initially we met for a couple of weekends a month, doing our best to enjoy every single moment of that precious time together. I see Him much more frequently now which is wonderful. But I find we've had to exchange some of that preciousness when time was limited for what is actually the delicious comfort of being together more often. This is in no way a bad thing.<br />
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</div>
<br />
<br />
I adore delicious comfort. The laze of a Sunday spent in and out of naps, eating yummy leftovers, time spent always within His reach, and with His scent continually filling me.<br />
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<br />
<br />
Running mundane errands here and there, but which mean I get to be a help to Him.<br />
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<i>and time in the car can be very fun...</i><br />
<br />
Days where we eat three meals together are a chance to feel His care for me in the exquisite taste of the food he prepares.<br />
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<br />
<br />
And the nights. Well, the nights are anything but routine. Let's put it this way. I sleep far better with Him than I do without and that is not always due merely to His presence, though it is a big factor. Quite simply put, the Man wears me out!<br />
<br />
Life's little necessities that keep things running smoothly are what I consider to be those little comforts. We are at ease with one another now. Know one another now in a way we never did when we were learning each other. And that learning has not stopped, nor do I think it will.<br />
<br />
Do I wish we were still hiding ourselves away in B&B's for fulfilling sexy weekends? Yes, and no. We will again. That is to come. And I very much like our weekends now. Friday evenings full of laughter. Saturdays with full plates of activities, and quiet Sundays to rest and snuggle.<br />
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<i>and we can always get our own paint cans...</i></div>
<br />
<br />
Do I wish we were still going out to fancy meals in a city lit by window stars that never burn out? Yes, and no. I love the city. Love learning it with Him. Love seeing it through His eyes and hearing stories of what He did, where He did it and with whom He did it. But again. More of that is to come. Besides, only one of those meals out could ever compare to my Sir's cooking. Yes, Sir. I mean the crepes.<br />
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<br />
<br />
You know what? Even laundry is enjoyable when I do it with Sir. (Alright I admit it. I love to do laundry, but you get my drift.)<br />
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<br />
<br />
Sounds boring right? Where's the bowled over romance, Emily? Where is the delicious thrill of a D/s relationship? How could routine, real life, non-fantasy weeks and weekends spent with your Sir possibly fulfill you? Don't you want to know what's to come?<br />
<br />
Let me tell you, dear readers.<br />
<br />
The bowled over romance is in His eyes. The way they softly alight on my face and the smile that tickles them when he looks at me. The shine that is there when I catch a knowing glance or share a joke. It's in his constant concern for my well being. It's in the way He cherishes me, holds me and teaches me.<br />
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<br />
<br />
The thrill of D/s is always present. Just one look, a touch, a word that tells me I am HIS, or that I need to behave, get my red under control, so to speak. When he tells me what He wants me to wear, down to the tiniest detail on an evening He may or may not even see me, but will know I am doing as He has asked. It's in his words when He reminds me how strong I am and how far I have come; when He tells me He is proud. And please do not make the mistake of thinking that delicious comfort will ever mean we give up our play!<br />
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<br />
<br />
I am fulfilled by every monotonous action necessary to propel our daily lives, whether it is a trip to the grocery, a wall painted, or a sandwich eaten. Because in all of that...He is. Smiling, laughing, reminding, remedying, teaching, helping, touching, mentoring...loving.<br />
<br />
Do I know what's to come? I have to admit, I don't. I love to borrow trouble and worry, though I am working to overcome it and learn that it's not what's to come that matters. What matters is, what's for now? And every day of "Now!" with my Sir is enjoyed to its pinnacle. So for me, what's to come is what's to come, and I will just hope it's more of what's now.<br />
<br />
Emily<br />
<br />
<br />Emily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-3357188232762891862013-02-20T02:03:00.003+00:002013-02-20T02:03:55.995+00:00Perfectly Perfect...and Very Hot...Especially When it's Not...Shall I tell you what perfection is? I am sure you are all expecting me to wax poetic at any moment, right? I mean, after all, we've not heard from you in ages, Emily. Why should we expect anything different?<br />
<br />
Well...you shouldn't.<br />
<br />
Perfection. Ideals. Our perception of them changes as we change. That same perception grows as we grow. Or perhaps it is merely our expectations that do so.<br />
<br />
Perfection to me used to mean something entirely different than it does now. I used to see it as this glowing, golden icon, untouched, in which there could be no flaws.<br />
<br />
Alright, I freely admit it. I am in love. And it is not at all perfect as I always thought being madly in love would be. But I have learned that lust and love <i>can</i> go hand in hand, and that in fact there <i>are</i> two hands. I've also learned that every imperfection only makes me love more. And that love is fucking hard. It makes you worry and lose sleep, but it also makes you dream.<br />
<br />
Dreams for me have usually been quite vivid. You know from my stories that even my daydreams are bright and imaginative, vivid in their clarity and yes, sometimes a tad silly. Hmmm. Sounds a bit like love. These days, many of my daydreams are coming true.<br />
<br />
My Perfect Sir came into my life. That was a dream fulfilled. I call Him perfect. Is He? Not really. He snores. But I think that <i>is</i> perfect and it brings a smile to my lips every time I hear it.<br />
<br />
Is it perfect every time we are together? No. We have disagreements, or not enough time alone. We are interrupted by life. Is <i>that</i> perfect? No. But the fact that we are learning one another, that we get to make up, and that we get to share time together with so many people we care about. Well, that <i>is </i> perfect.<br />
<br />
Now the sex. That's another story altogether. The sex is always perfect.<br />
<br />
My Sir may not appreciate me sharing this little tale with you, but I have quite decided that it is far too funny to keep to myself.<br />
<br />
Cold winter, last winter in fact, and my Sir and I were enjoying a cozy weekend alone. Ahhh....lovely.<br />
<br />
We very much enjoy cooking together and anticipating that we had thrown together the ingredients for a nice warming, spicy chili.<br />
<br />
My Sir is patient. Incredibly so. And that is pretty perfect. He is also an absolute whiz in the kitchen. Um. Also perfect. Every onion, every tomato, every pepper, chopped to well...you guessed it. Perfection. Minced and diced into gorgeous, colorful cubes of red, white, green, yellow, and orange.<br />
<br />
By the way. The care He shows His culinary preparation is also the care He shows me. Though He does prefer not to dice me. Hehe.<br />
<br />
We spent a happy hour or so preparing the chili, then left the kitchen, our aromatic dish simmering on the stove.<br />
<br />
Retreating to the bedroom, I discovered that He had left a few gems there for me. A solitary chair in the center of the room, his belt very carefully hanging over the back of it, precisely even on both sides.<br />
Um. Perfect.<br />
<br />
My clothes were patiently, pain-stakingly removed in His meticulous way, each item folded and placed with pointed precision on the cedar chest. Every brush of His body near mine sent a spasm of want surging through me. His breath at my ear as He lowered my blouse bringing a tremor. Mmm. Perfect.<br />
<br />
As my skirt pooled at my feet, His hands dragged upward, each finger pressing into flesh. Sensations flooded me completely and my trembling was accompanied by a long low moan escaping my lips.<br />
<br />
(You all know I don't wear panties, so that was pretty much the extent of my clothing removal.)<br />
<br />
Standing there naked before Him, with a whispered warning to "Be still," Sir's fingers began to travel my skin, gently stroking one exposed inch at a time. My cheeks, my neck, my collarbone. Blissfully perfect.<br />
<br />
My shoulders, each fingertip alighting on a freckle, tracing a path, His own little dot to dot. Exquisitely perfect.<br />
<br />
My back, up my spine, each vertebra tenderly teased, down to the hollow above my ass. Yummy perfection.<br />
<br />
Heat began to flood me at His slow, methodical touch. Each moment that His fingers connected in heightened sensory enlightenment seemed an eternity of pleasure. Perfectly perfect.<br />
<br />
His fingers began to blaze a trail across my abdomen, His arms wrapping me from behind as He neared the center of all the driving heat He had been building.<br />
<br />
My body warmed as He continued, His hands nearing my pussy lips, now swollen with want and need of Him.<br />
<br />
As His fingers entered, the heat overwhelmed me, a flush crawling over my entire body. Heat continued to grow as He explored his pet. And it grew, and it grew, right where His fingers were moving until it was so hot, I <i>was </i>burning and not in a so sexy way! NOT PERFECT! NOT PERFECT!<br />
<br />
I started to wriggle, unusual for me when told to be still. then I began to squirm. Finally I squealed, crossed my legs and started jumping up and down a bit.<br />
<br />
Yes, you guessed it. My own Sir Chef still had pepper oil on His fingers from His meticulous dicing earlier and that oil was now making me dance around like my ass was on fire. Which in fact it was. So NOT perfect.<br />
<br />
Between gulping laughs and squeals, (His laughs,. my squeals.) He managed to get me into a shower where the matter was soon remedied. Ahhhhhhhhhh. Perfect.<br />
<br />
Ahem.<br />
<br />
We were of course able to continue our fun later with the chair, but...I'll keep that little gem to myself for now. But you should know that it was indeed...yes, my dear readers. It was perfect.<br />
<br />
Alright, here's the poetic bit you've all been waiting for.<br />
Perfection is never a golden gleaming icon unflawed and untouched.<br />
Perfection is in every little nick and scratch. Every flaw. Every moment that isn't so perfect, still is.<br />
<br />
EmilyEmily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-66895489192218564832012-10-01T19:25:00.001+01:002012-10-01T19:25:03.581+01:00What is the Word...?I always knew that when I found the perfect Sir for me it would ultimately lead to submissive happiness. There are definitely words to describe most things, but even an accomplished writer would find it difficult to find words for many more.<br />
<br />
Such as the way I feel His eyes on me when I smile. What words can there be to describe the wash of warmth that fills me? Or when He takes my hand to lead me to bed...and every fiber of my being rises to the surface of my tingling skin anticipating what is to come. There can only be one word for that...bliss. Those subtle moments, when His body barely brushes mine, yet even that slight touch tells me more than His voice ever can. What word is there that wholly comprises the enormity swelling my mind, my heart, at knowing I am His? What word can ever express that perfect knowledge?<br />
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<i><b>In His lap...it's like home...</b></i></div>
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So much has happened over the last 19 months. My life has changed, grown in ways I never expected. To put it bluntly...I found myself. And I am pleased as punch to have done so. Would I have been able to find me on my own? Most likely. But the incredible line of travel that led me to my perfect, handsome Sir, and all of the ways in which He has helped me to become a better, stronger, and more amazing me, was an unexpected gift. A gift of passion, boundless and bound. A gift of honesty, being true to myself and my wants. A gift of treasuring all the appreciative moments life has to offer, either with Him or without. A gift, simply put, of seeing myself for the first time through someone else's eyes. A someone who sees...me.<br />
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<i><b>even up close...</b></i></div>
<br />
I want so much to share our nights of passion, our games, our toys and tales, our rules, our day to day interactions that thrill electrically through my every waking moment and most of my dreams. I want to...but I can't. I have found another gift you see. The gift of privacy, and exclusion. The gift that makes every moment with Him a still life picture to be framed and enhanced, not through my writing, but through my memory. And there is something very precious about it all that must be kept between He and I.<br />
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<i><b>and the waves of course...</b></i></div>
<br />
But as my readers have been wondering where I disappeared to, I feel I do owe you something of an explanation. I have disappeared into a life beyond my stories. A life that deserves my full attention. A life that pleases, teases, tingles and thrills, chills, and awes me with the wonder of how very happy I am. Happy with me, happy with Him, happy with life and all its magic. And that's the word to encompass it all. Magic...<br />
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<i><b>the stones say it all...</b></i></div>
<br />
Emily<br />
<br />
p.s. That doesn't mean I won't have stories to tell...they just won't be mine...<br />
<br />Emily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-14068927209732079972012-08-18T03:03:00.001+01:002012-08-18T03:03:37.981+01:00Il est ce qu'il est ...<br />
Il ne veut pas<br />
La façon dont vous faites<br />
Pour entendre votre voix<br />
À la fin de la journée<br />
<br />
Vous commencez à voir<br />
Peut-être il n'ya pas de point de<br />
Pour être blessés<br />
Pourtant, vous êtes<br />
<br />
Comment cet homme peut<br />
sont venus à signifier<br />
tellement de choses à vous<br />
dans un court laps de temps?<br />
<br />
<br />
Il ne voit pas<br />
Qu'est-ce que vous êtes<br />
tout ce que vous<br />
<br />
Alors, il vous pousse<br />
loin<br />
croyant peut-être<br />
vous grandissez<br />
<br />
Qu'est-ce qu'il veut<br />
Vous ne savez pas<br />
<br />
<br />
arrêter d'essayer<br />
renoncer à l'espoir<br />
Arrêtez de penser que cela signifie<br />
plus il est<br />
Il est ce qu'il est ...<br />
Emily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-33524393693400949232012-08-04T03:13:00.000+01:002012-08-05T04:14:42.016+01:00Redheads ...A List of Do's and Don'ts...Revised a bit.I'm going to caution you to read this with a grain of salt, or sand, or hell, ginger and spice, and everything nice. Because that's what little redheads are made of. Except when we're not. Now don't go and get all politicaly correct on me and say that it can't be true of all redheads. Just take my word for it. It is. Besides, would you want to have sex with the gentle redheads? I didn't think so.<br />
<br />
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So...here we go.<br />
<br />
Do make them feel good. After all, we only account for about 4% of the world's population. We <em>should </em>be appreciated. All right, yes, that is a large number of people, but is it really? And after all, you first have to weed out the redheads that looks something like this:<br />
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<br />
Unless of course your kink falls to that particular amenity. If not, read on.<br />
<br />
Don't ignore them. Why? Do you think it is easy being red? We have to work daily to control our temper, and we love attention. Feed it and you will be the happiest person on the planet. We'll give you whatever you want. Starve it, and you have yourself one fuming ginger. It really isn't pretty.<br />
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Do make it up to them when you piss them off. Not doing this is cause for disaster. Redheads are known to have a larger hippocampus in their brains than men and women of other hair color. I think it has something to do with the hairs per square inch theory that states we simply have more hair per square inch than any other human. This allows for an extra large hippocampus. If you are unsure of what this particular area of the brain is responsible for, let me remind you. It is the area that never FORGETS! Elephant memory, folks. So you really should only piss us off once or twice a year. Otherwise...watch out!</div>
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Do remember they have incredibly sensitive skin. And I mean everywhere, not just in the obvious spots. Everyone knows they are pale; exceptionally so. But did you ever stop to think there may be a reason for this? Skin that cannot be touched by the sun is capable of retaining more of its sense receptors than skin that has been harshly treated or basically cooked from being tanned. Touch a redhead...anywhere...and you will see that I am right. Her reaction will prove it. But be prepared for laughter and retreat if she feels too much. Perfect skin like this is easily overwhelmed.<br />
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Don't do or say something you will regret later. I again refer to the hippocampus memory minefield, but also, redheads have a higher tendency to expectation than most. After all, we are perfect. They also have good memories and a particular temper, which we've all heard about. So basically what you have is a perfect woman, who gets angry, doesn't forget about it, fumes, curses, throws a little fit, and stops expecting. A good redhead can only want something for so long before she realizes she isn't going to get it and all the above kicks in, as well as her turning her back on you until she's over it. Hmm. I think once this happens your chances for getting laid are pretty slim.<br />
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Do get to know her. Find out her kinks, her likes and dislikes. You can always use these to your advantage. We really are incredibly loving and giving people...to those who try to understand us and deserve it, and even, sometimes, to those that aren't. But we'll only be taken advantage of for so long. Why? Because we are also incredibly impatient. It goes with the temper and the skin. How so you ask? Well, we wear our emotions on our skin. In anger we flush, in excitement we blush, in lust we rush, and when touched we turn to mush. Making sense now?<br />
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Do let her crush. Sorry to be so rhyme-y. It's a redhead thing, at least for me. We need to crush. Maybe it sounds silly but it's true. A redhead spends the majority of her youth and childhood being made fun of for being awkward, gangly, spotty with freckles, called carrot top and gingerbread, and a host of other not so lovely nicknames I do not care to repeat for fear I will end up back on the psychiatrist's sofa in a hypnotic daze trying to recover everything I have repressed from the mean years of my youth. Sorry, tangent. Yes, another redhead trait. My point is, we never got to experience those halcyon love crushes in school because everytime we tried to talk to a boy we turned pink from head to toe and got called orange beet! Or perhaps it was because all the teasing got to us and we developed a low self esteem, leading to a lack of confidence when it came to dealings with the opposite sex. Or for that matter with the same sex! At any rate, now that we are grown up and know ourselves to be a whole lot better than we were ever given credit for, we'd like to just once develop a crush on a guy. Dream about it, plan out long romantic dates, and maybe if we have a good girlfriend around, do all the giggling and silly things we missed out on as teens. Or maybe not. because for the most part we are also incredibly practical. <br />
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Which leads me to....<br />
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Don't be inconsistent. We will run. And we will run fast. We're kind of like the tortoise in that old fable. Slow and steady wins the race, but if you are inconsistent we will race right on by and move along. Okay, I made that last part up myself. But the tortoise was green, not a red hare. Haha. get it? With all this wonderful memory, massive abundance of hair, freckles and slender perfection, why should we take anything less than what we deserve? Oh my, I just realized how snobby I sound! You can forget this last part. But, um. I won't!<br />
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EmilyEmily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-69480742007689711902012-07-26T01:42:00.000+01:002012-07-26T01:42:10.052+01:00Conundrum...Hello readers...<br />
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I know it has been awhile. I'm not really sure anymore just what I want to post here. Many of you know that I am involved in a new D/s relationship, and for the most part it is going amazingly well. I have an Equalitarian Dominant who understands most of my redheaded nonsense, and only puts up with about half of it, which is good for U/us both.<br />
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However, I am reluctant to share the specifics of our interactions. They are incredibly private, which is how W/we like it, yet the excitement generated is something that begs to be shared. So as you can imagine, that is what most of my poetry has been about lately. Him. The way He makes me feel. The happiness He generates in my life.<br />
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I am working on two new books. I like to think of them as companion pieces to the current popular BDSM drivel <u>Fifty Shades of Gray</u>. In other words...<u>How To Do This So You Don't End Up in the Hospital</u>. Good title, don't you think?<br />
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I know my Sir will be an invaluable help to me as I write them, and I hope my readers will offer their bits of advice as well. We can call it a collaborative effort if you like.<br />
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In every other respect I am well. I may be gracing you with a series of short stories. but I refuse to say whether or not they are based on real life events! You'll just have to guess....<br />
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EmilyEmily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-41962360161841713932012-07-23T17:53:00.000+01:002012-07-23T17:53:01.287+01:00In Or Out?If I am in...you share..<br />
If I am out...you don't.<br />
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If I am in...you give.<br />
If I am out...I give.<br />
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If I am in..then things have meaning.<br />
If I am out...the meaning is skewed.<br />
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If I am in...I am in.<br />
But if I am out...leave me out.<br />
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EmilyEmily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-49919669764864152332012-07-02T02:34:00.000+01:002012-07-02T02:34:38.668+01:00Needy SubsSo I have been doing some considerable thinking and I would really love some input into this topic if you wouldn't mind.<br />
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Are submissives, by their very nature, considerably needy creatures? Or is it just me?<br />
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There are things I want..No! Things I expect to be in place when I give my submission to a Dominant.<br />
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I want to know that He will think of me often and consider my wants and desires.<br />
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I want to feel cherished, placed in the hold of His hands where nothing can harm me because I have His protection and watchfulness. Because I know that he has my best interests at heart with every little thing that He does concerning our relationship.<br />
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I want His care, His kindness, and yes, even His love. It is through these things that I know that my submission to Him is treated as the enormous gift that is is and not something that is easily replaceable. With His care I feel important to Him and wanted, even...needed. With His kindness I can find a place where I can grow and change. Where I can accept myself to be the amazing person He believes me to be. And with His love, I can feel that every gift I give to Him; that every thought I have of Him; every Yes, Sir; every good morning message; every small gift mailed; that every little thing I do to show how very important He is to me is not done in vain.<br />
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But...there is a caveat for me. I do not want a blind submissive slave relationship with someone. I want it to mean something. I want to know that the Cosmos has placed this person in my path for a reason, and maybe that reason is not simply because I give really good blow jobs and He has been lacking that particular skill for some time. But maybe because in addition to the fact that I will pretty much do whatever You tell me to do once you have earned my trust in that particular matter of things, I can also be a pretty good partner.<br />
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You know, someone to stand by Your side in times of trouble. Someone who is a good listener and wants the job of listening and trying to help when things go awry in Your life. Someone who actually wants to BE a part of your life and not standing on the sidelines watching everything through a series of texts and errant phone calls. Someone who cares a great deal for You and would very much like to know that You feel the same by Your actions, and not Your words. Someone who does not want to hear how much time you spend in cyberspace with me, but who wants to SEE that You feel my actions.<br />
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So, I am wondering. Does this make me needy?<br />
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Submissives come in many shapes, colors and sizes. And I am not talking about their physical characteristics, but rather, their emotional ones. Some need attention 24/7. That is where you are looking at some deep-seeded issues that could probably use some professional help.<br />
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Some need You to check in now and then, but for the most part they are fine on their own and do not really need You at all. Okay. I think it is fairly clear this is not a submissive at all, but rather someone who is playing at the game.<br />
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But some, and I am beginning to classify myself in this category, would like to have their needs met by their Dominants, and if the Dominant is unable to do so it leads us to wonder what in the world we should do. Be patient? Or be needy?<br />
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It is quite the conundrum.<br />
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Neediness often leads to trouble. The Dominant does not want to deal with it. He is off having Himself a good time in the world and wants to know that you are trying to do the same even if He is not with you, or you are not with Him. So do that.<br />
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Hmmm. I think I just set myself a puzzle. There is something about a good Dominant. Right? You want to serve their needs all the time. But when those needs war with your own idea of service this becomes a very difficult, if not impossible task.<br />
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You know what? Just email me your ideas. This is something that will take some time to wrap my mind around.<br />
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Thanks.<br />
<br />
Emily<br />
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<br />Emily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-58546499042416065652012-06-26T03:15:00.004+01:002012-06-26T03:15:45.873+01:00as much equals not at all<br />
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<br />Emily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-7224634017879294462012-06-15T17:04:00.002+01:002012-06-15T17:04:54.797+01:00About ready...To blow a fucking gasket!!!!!<br />
EmilyEmily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-52074273682885011952012-06-13T01:26:00.003+01:002012-06-13T01:26:35.903+01:00Something in the Way...He smiles...and I can see my smile reflected.<br />
He touches...and i can feel no touch neglected.<br />
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He wants...and all my wants come to the surface.<br />
He plays...and playing has a whole new purpose.<br />
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He asks...and asking is the sweetest singing.<br />
He burns...and to Him i find myself clinging.<br />
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He cares...and it is new and like no other.<br />
He curls...and in my sleep i never suffer.<br />
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He drags...His fingers waking up my senses.<br />
He teases...and i lose all of my pretenses.<br />
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Something in the way...i feel...He makes me smile and want Him near me.<br />
Something in the way...He's real...and makes me better just to be.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig-phVWquOklcQVk2PAs_evjM1_kFbPi80XvZyjO6H9nh3crixVKDd21GGuwlJplPF24ydOZFmSfBUFCjN_C-UilCIoZU9S9Kq-OMTc5fUvqF_AxYjl_uK8L_gaClxBA6jbErngbBFebfN/s1600/siw1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig-phVWquOklcQVk2PAs_evjM1_kFbPi80XvZyjO6H9nh3crixVKDd21GGuwlJplPF24ydOZFmSfBUFCjN_C-UilCIoZU9S9Kq-OMTc5fUvqF_AxYjl_uK8L_gaClxBA6jbErngbBFebfN/s1600/siw1.jpg" /></a> Emily...</div>
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<br />Emily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-3670183426343623072012-05-13T14:28:00.002+01:002012-05-13T14:28:25.501+01:00How much....How Little...?How much...do i miss...<br />
the softness of Your kiss...that turns into the heat i long to feel..?<br />
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How little...do You see...<br />
the want inside of me...that drives my every dream and makes them real?<br />
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How crazy...do i get...<br />
while waiting for You yet...and knowing it's still days until You're here?<br />
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<br />
<br />
How beating...is my heart....<br />
whenever we're apart....and my arms simply ache to hold you near..?<br />
<br />
Your breath upon my ear...<br />
my fantasies awake.<br />
Your touch upon my skin...<br />
my body Yours to take.<br />
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<br />
<br />
The trembling as you drag...<br />
Your fingers to my knee.<br />
The whimpering ensues...<br />
as my eyes cease to see.<br />
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<br />
<br />
my senses overcome...<br />
Your body over mine.<br />
my aching strong desire...<br />
You taking Your sweet time.<br />
to drive me to the brink...<br />
the edge of lust honed keen.<br />
i widen to Your touch...<br />
Your own desire glean.<br />
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<br />
<br />
How much...can i say...<br />
so You will understand...that want for You is on my waking mind...?<br />
<br />
How little...must it seem...<br />
i barely say a word...to lessen the frustration we both find...?<br />
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<br />
How much...do You know...<br />
of what i do not say...to tell You what i feel when You're not near...?<br />
<br />
How little...oh how little...<br />
of every long, long day...is time i don't spend wishing You were here...?<br />
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Emily...</div>
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<br />Emily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-73925314185774727352012-04-05T02:44:00.000+01:002012-04-05T02:44:26.416+01:00Sometimes there aren't enough rocks...You know that line in Forrest Gump where he says, "Sometimes there just aren't enough rocks." ?<br />
<br />
Well, I think I learned what that means today. I went to visit my father, with whom I have been through so much in the past few years. One bout with cancer, followed by another. Even in his weakest states. he was still there for me. Still there to listen to my petty complaints. Still there to cling to in my own weakest moments. Still there to hold me tight and let me lean a bit. But mostly, he still leaned on me. As he always did. <br />
<br />
He's weaker now. Older. So much older. Gone are the days of backyard kickball, being held when I fall. Gone too, the moments when I could lean. He still listens. One of the best listeners I know. But he doesnt answer, or advise, or really have much of anything to add. He's just...weak. And it pisses me off.<br />
<br />
I want him back. Strong and able. Even if he wants to lean on me heavier than he ever did. I want him back. Playing and laughing, no complaints. Tall...running...hell..I would settle for walking. I want him back. <br />
<br />
So when I left, walking across his gravel drive, I picked up a rock. Launched it at the nearest thing, which happened to be an old wooden shed. Unfortunately no windows to break, because that would have felt really good. So I threw another and another..launching all of my irritation at his cancer..at what it stole from him, from me, from us. I launched it at that shed and I said a lot of bad words. And when I was done, I looked up at his window, and he was standing there. The effort that took for him at this point, is pretty huge. But he was doing what he always did. Making sure I got to my car safely. That I was well on my way and he could not worry. Letting me lean..in his way.<br />
<br />
I know this post has nothing to do with my usual ones. Sorry about that, but I needed to write it anyway. Life is so short...and all the things we take for granted are over before we know what hit us. And there we find ourselves throwing rocks at a shed..just because it feels good. And watching our old and fragile daddies looking down at us from windows....with a smile.<br />
<br />
Emily...Emily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-85150655839989920202012-03-15T00:37:00.000+00:002012-03-15T00:37:43.611+00:00He Sweetens Me...with music with light with an erotic night<br />
with power with grace <br />
that mole on His face i love to kiss....<br />
<br />
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<br />
the best coffee i ever had <br />
was spent staring at Him<br />
letting Him know all the things i couldnt say<br />
with my eyes<br />
and know they were no longer lies...<br />
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<br />
His arms hold me tight, wrap me in with such care<br />
i can't breathe sometimes when i look and He's there<br />
and all the silly rhymes in the world <br />
mean nothing if He cant touch me...<br />
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<br />
He sweetens me...<br />
<br />
with kindness and passion <br />
with spoiling and spanking<br />
with giving and taking<br />
with bending and testing<br />
but never breaking...<br />
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<br />
He sweetens me...<br />
<br />
when i have gone sour<br />
or cant find an hour<br />
to hear His voice tell me good night<br />
He sweetens me with light...<br />
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<br />
a touch, a look are candy to me<br />
the shiver he brings is my cup of tea<br />
and when He says "Now", i tremble with glee<br />
because i know that He means to...<br />
<br />
sweeten me...<br />
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EmilyEmily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-17906918515927883132012-02-26T02:02:00.000+00:002012-02-26T02:02:14.895+00:00Good Gravy I Want Him!when He wants me i quake...my desire rising hot and sharp...filling me with shivers of anticipation and flooding heat...<br />
i open to Him..my knees bend as i drop slowly to the floor...sensory overload from want...my eyes close and i can barely breathe...<br />
His hands are rough as they delve in my hair...tightening twists of tendrils and time begins to tick...tick..tick...slowly..slower...slow...slow...slow...each touch driving a new moan from between parted lips...i crave His taste...<br />
He stands before me..legs wide...He pulls my chin up...i look in His eyes...and see the burning there..the spark of fire that signals lust to course through my veins...<br />
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He whispers...words i cannot repeat for they are mine and mine alone...as i am His...alone...<br />
i nuzzle in to His hip...that warm crevice of His scent and drink Him in...breathing..deep..deep...deep...my mouth open to absorb...soaking myself in Him...Him...His scent..His...<br />
my knees begin to tingle from the hardness of the floor...the wood creaking beneath my weight..the old floor shifting...slightly...my hands begin to thread gently along his thighs...<br />
<br />
oh fuck...this is making me far too horny to continue...that's the problem with want...with desire..with circumstance and distance..it's fucking frustrating! i'll be back when ive gotten laid...<br />
Emily...Emily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-68960516424290427202012-02-19T22:19:00.000+00:002012-02-19T22:19:51.921+00:00A Weekend of FirstsThis weekend was full of new experiences for me. That doesn't happen often, I think...to anyone.<br />
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It was the first time I've ever stayed at a bed and breakfast that was hidden; tucked like a secret little gem in the heart of a big city, the pink room chosen especially for me...<br />
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<br />
The first time a certain spot on my body sent me clawing at the sheets, screaming in ecstasy the instant it was touched...<br />
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The first time a man has wrapped me in his coat to warm me from the night air as we wandered the streets in our finery...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB8FBzMd4ImGrDL8hKe_R8UhQqLxgTr62alagNpIjLhf68FbW59UNg6icCp4-BLYVRxCAEk8HzcAcs_zrb27b6sEeVCy3_b5i6tDyPM52al6vs8Gxjbkr72R3ca9yBCUvuk9T9McWjBfP_/s1600/1st3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB8FBzMd4ImGrDL8hKe_R8UhQqLxgTr62alagNpIjLhf68FbW59UNg6icCp4-BLYVRxCAEk8HzcAcs_zrb27b6sEeVCy3_b5i6tDyPM52al6vs8Gxjbkr72R3ca9yBCUvuk9T9McWjBfP_/s1600/1st3.jpg" yda="true" /></a></div><br />
<br />
The first time electricity has passed from a heated tongue to my toes...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoyoh9axPGqd6KAVe37yxVLwMoHkRBrUVsNKRM7RHFBTpFKLp40QPhtZv4zTSZrEsOO02MKBK6r75EWszagGIJb0vBFjbiXQvppurYY9AhaqleJpZHvySMMMgyVLe4QAnk-KrQhNARpiaz/s1600/1st4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoyoh9axPGqd6KAVe37yxVLwMoHkRBrUVsNKRM7RHFBTpFKLp40QPhtZv4zTSZrEsOO02MKBK6r75EWszagGIJb0vBFjbiXQvppurYY9AhaqleJpZHvySMMMgyVLe4QAnk-KrQhNARpiaz/s1600/1st4.jpg" yda="true" /></a></div><br />
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The first time I've ever been surrounded by a million mirrors, or walked through a breathing glass castle as it rose from the pavement...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5dJt600Thqt2ZQg1912QU69U64D3jjhdqXb2Kw7uEWrOvCFub50N-P0SVQ-uFU73075COHJKcpAjt_3WOqix3Nw9A-SsioAumRHFAn6Kk8lmx_Bqs3Ec6bves1hHYIBkxifvUhHVgeOaO/s1600/1st6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5dJt600Thqt2ZQg1912QU69U64D3jjhdqXb2Kw7uEWrOvCFub50N-P0SVQ-uFU73075COHJKcpAjt_3WOqix3Nw9A-SsioAumRHFAn6Kk8lmx_Bqs3Ec6bves1hHYIBkxifvUhHVgeOaO/s1600/1st6.jpg" yda="true" /></a></div><br />
<br />
The first time I've been kissed, breathlessly, repeatedly..in front of a hundred people...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmuiiiRY7JtLiOZXiVOKv42rtwGNGqLsj25SDfsRl4xoNAAWo_w-KPxyUBxfenWCaZPxKsBuI-Wm5V2NLORyJhyphenhyphen6Jggglf7W8qQ96LfQbGiBHboXm9qoaKqxXXHNEcisxr8toz8x6veRTi/s1600/1st7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmuiiiRY7JtLiOZXiVOKv42rtwGNGqLsj25SDfsRl4xoNAAWo_w-KPxyUBxfenWCaZPxKsBuI-Wm5V2NLORyJhyphenhyphen6Jggglf7W8qQ96LfQbGiBHboXm9qoaKqxXXHNEcisxr8toz8x6veRTi/s1600/1st7.jpg" yda="true" /></a></div><br />
<br />
My first center bite of a corned beef special...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy1_tHnY07LUO98txwCKOfoeqoGUE2mrpyZl2KW7TkosAye3WKkb3698enkYeBbJlm42qquM60iIZzNBWZJSSUhyPINLbjZ1gGk6CvS2q0wi_jz_FAvROZoakuFmdWyOcsSJCqi1vbxOIy/s1600/1st8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy1_tHnY07LUO98txwCKOfoeqoGUE2mrpyZl2KW7TkosAye3WKkb3698enkYeBbJlm42qquM60iIZzNBWZJSSUhyPINLbjZ1gGk6CvS2q0wi_jz_FAvROZoakuFmdWyOcsSJCqi1vbxOIy/s1600/1st8.jpg" yda="true" /></a></div><br />
<br />
The first time I realized that maybe I'm not as lost as I thought...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_bCeTHsCmZ7VNduKGPffQ5fOq6YrX6w7Ey1wbenZ1edKQP0ofkY5aKBmqy8AYaozSPpECWdxFVkcInXYy_L_4BDCaO9PvmEFIf4Gzz69aCZoFltS5mVy_7quUhmtUTRd0NvhmqpT_umoH/s1600/1st9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_bCeTHsCmZ7VNduKGPffQ5fOq6YrX6w7Ey1wbenZ1edKQP0ofkY5aKBmqy8AYaozSPpECWdxFVkcInXYy_L_4BDCaO9PvmEFIf4Gzz69aCZoFltS5mVy_7quUhmtUTRd0NvhmqpT_umoH/s1600/1st9.jpg" yda="true" /></a></div><br />
The first time He saw my stars...heard my fingers play...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsGlR1a1AvKf3hyIE9d2qW6_KzWNHGwWGdlC5O-gaBnZJQtQ91TyMSg8K_RVZMz7_qNjz8UEmp4hVzmizGREquemmKDODUlFR0DOS_Z5up_s7__HYxX8Sx9w8aKWWZdQHt1j8jqszOtAx4/s1600/1st10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsGlR1a1AvKf3hyIE9d2qW6_KzWNHGwWGdlC5O-gaBnZJQtQ91TyMSg8K_RVZMz7_qNjz8UEmp4hVzmizGREquemmKDODUlFR0DOS_Z5up_s7__HYxX8Sx9w8aKWWZdQHt1j8jqszOtAx4/s1600/1st10.jpg" yda="true" /></a></div><br />
<br />
The first time I recognized that I writhe quite a bit more than most little pets are capable of...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvaFvYTXa7bKTbr4Rf1WQlC5j8932Q1RA6naAWdSrESYX6_R57W7bKxxHmVm6kkOzUHFz1_ikILJUeeNkek-7bI4NLT-p406zzI_p2wz6pcDdyhAPPHajfeDBZeLNMC20jPJIIDrbUsix4/s1600/1st11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvaFvYTXa7bKTbr4Rf1WQlC5j8932Q1RA6naAWdSrESYX6_R57W7bKxxHmVm6kkOzUHFz1_ikILJUeeNkek-7bI4NLT-p406zzI_p2wz6pcDdyhAPPHajfeDBZeLNMC20jPJIIDrbUsix4/s1600/1st11.jpg" yda="true" /></a></div><br />
<br />
The first time someone has chosen a stone because of me...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrd6eF26rQMKrKWYTapwct_QbzK-obX5aq2XZKtf1vHD6p69ilMV3Oe74b7OyhZf11w8KNTpdaR3YXOrl8FkdlB4QqMaWFRt5Y9zeck4fnisKGuhnfXBh8kzUh4qBsbnopPbrfXipBpfbj/s1600/1st12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrd6eF26rQMKrKWYTapwct_QbzK-obX5aq2XZKtf1vHD6p69ilMV3Oe74b7OyhZf11w8KNTpdaR3YXOrl8FkdlB4QqMaWFRt5Y9zeck4fnisKGuhnfXBh8kzUh4qBsbnopPbrfXipBpfbj/s1600/1st12.jpg" yda="true" /></a></div><br />
<br />
The first time a man has attached my garters to my stockings, and not the other way around...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcLfGamzmtSxIIhsJNU36xh51Q9xfrHVwrBo8Ul1JowHLB02uiOm71hAqxjbi6WAnnilXpeLLhk-RBGaS5nC8FC6lHYo1QdHoILUd1v9OECuvO0pB1_tYpXslecJKbjGvPMTf4RRMrVQV6/s1600/1st13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcLfGamzmtSxIIhsJNU36xh51Q9xfrHVwrBo8Ul1JowHLB02uiOm71hAqxjbi6WAnnilXpeLLhk-RBGaS5nC8FC6lHYo1QdHoILUd1v9OECuvO0pB1_tYpXslecJKbjGvPMTf4RRMrVQV6/s1600/1st13.jpg" yda="true" /></a></div><br />
The first time I knew completely I was saying the wrong thing...and said it anyway...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0c50SwNtM9uxoU6toXAXcoVvO-elsNFqiUJIoPkuztJKI-vxDN3oC4mQo20tzpD-FfppuZ59emQJTmjea4MKskcYw94KZZybhxiKEkhPbt-_1VMmb_QWD2NaF-x_PM-0FnvlZl0E5ni6g/s1600/1st14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0c50SwNtM9uxoU6toXAXcoVvO-elsNFqiUJIoPkuztJKI-vxDN3oC4mQo20tzpD-FfppuZ59emQJTmjea4MKskcYw94KZZybhxiKEkhPbt-_1VMmb_QWD2NaF-x_PM-0FnvlZl0E5ni6g/s1600/1st14.jpg" yda="true" /></a></div><br />
<br />
The first time my dinner was ordered for me...the first time I've ever tried ceviche, the flavors still tingling on my tastebuds...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0f927Y9tIW5VraVXoUt9cfkllGqKpQnfNDVLRQHcUackIEVErWc3RYMsY1cCkTLu1tE7sPkIxjIg_B_rDmnV1NMKfMZp_4nHx4cG6LWa3OJP9TfYI9-NbGG6WSX7xPlsCHL-y-gNbLJhq/s1600/1st15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0f927Y9tIW5VraVXoUt9cfkllGqKpQnfNDVLRQHcUackIEVErWc3RYMsY1cCkTLu1tE7sPkIxjIg_B_rDmnV1NMKfMZp_4nHx4cG6LWa3OJP9TfYI9-NbGG6WSX7xPlsCHL-y-gNbLJhq/s1600/1st15.jpg" yda="true" /></a></div><br />
<br />
The first time I almost went dancing at a gay bar, but was instead put into a taxi so we could dance alone...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDUfS0x8lFUybRfL3rFQqM6cEV_JbdgYKGIDqaQ5zTQLCqu34t5-S-BmN6mL3CHRcLBavfgOvJopPSnREhTFoWd4vD2VNtU-IBxEio84y3ezf31KX6_ijs9HL9RUHZHIPOI43Bliu7OLad/s1600/1st16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDUfS0x8lFUybRfL3rFQqM6cEV_JbdgYKGIDqaQ5zTQLCqu34t5-S-BmN6mL3CHRcLBavfgOvJopPSnREhTFoWd4vD2VNtU-IBxEio84y3ezf31KX6_ijs9HL9RUHZHIPOI43Bliu7OLad/s1600/1st16.jpg" yda="true" /></a></div><br />
<br />
And..believe it or not...the first time anyone has ever told me they could be falling in love with me...and even though it is unwanted...it was so very nice to hear...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVFMU7n7xGL3oCgNEheYJaVBhPlg4wm1vXTcS6NqyW-sB7aJGyJ62OzJKwi533JcztHAr1H7JO5QIMj3DeZF1avB0hecI3iyZFLeoqVrGJ6NrU-ANqNFpTj76EUSUxO84e7LfhA7r8Rx86/s1600/1st19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVFMU7n7xGL3oCgNEheYJaVBhPlg4wm1vXTcS6NqyW-sB7aJGyJ62OzJKwi533JcztHAr1H7JO5QIMj3DeZF1avB0hecI3iyZFLeoqVrGJ6NrU-ANqNFpTj76EUSUxO84e7LfhA7r8Rx86/s1600/1st19.jpg" yda="true" /></a></div>EmilyEmily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297634861969440583.post-77399760765134583862012-01-31T02:03:00.000+00:002012-01-31T02:03:38.465+00:00Monday Morsels...Snippetsshort visits and long hugs good-bye<br />
fat hairy babies who try to say your name<br />
apparently...eating a coconut...<br />
naps...<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUbOqKkS8S9viirGG8jQkXm6yOE2r1rlPSkWTHhio11SDmHFm6hhsJkaaGgCBClw5ayql_f0YdyzFZ1glXowmJTNww0Z7lZEQfwzlXkU_PHm3Ug3pHac-TRZsV9TQlrJ46vuubK264o1M7/s1600/morsels1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUbOqKkS8S9viirGG8jQkXm6yOE2r1rlPSkWTHhio11SDmHFm6hhsJkaaGgCBClw5ayql_f0YdyzFZ1glXowmJTNww0Z7lZEQfwzlXkU_PHm3Ug3pHac-TRZsV9TQlrJ46vuubK264o1M7/s1600/morsels1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">i will never forget...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
smiles in the morning when someone says hello...<br />
holding hands so far away...so close by...<br />
teasing through the evening..<br />
plans...<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPzH-pekk9y8JEg9kxrbZI6sWdt0jNJDdMJ07usBKWvLoXYPTK36whyphenhyphenziTd0pgw4mAYhWrKa9TbSrF9Dhsqn0Vbdw2-AK68WHcmx4Ks244ivZb2Vp2LlyDy5yYvQyia4J5p-TVef9EVHMv/s1600/morsels2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPzH-pekk9y8JEg9kxrbZI6sWdt0jNJDdMJ07usBKWvLoXYPTK36whyphenhyphenziTd0pgw4mAYhWrKa9TbSrF9Dhsqn0Vbdw2-AK68WHcmx4Ks244ivZb2Vp2LlyDy5yYvQyia4J5p-TVef9EVHMv/s1600/morsels2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...thank you...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
thoughts of His kiss your company...<br />
smooth stones held near...<br />
all the little things He does...says...<br />
sighs...<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8tbSc8kFSJiWMFMP1mX4sNkO6TFYXgCWwDt1m4mF7QRT5eYknkwO8cDXVh1C6XoY7UV12cJqL9IGMNw2a969CaY7irnF9jhXaL3eVEA1ryMEECPm8pJFhMnN12g51X6PKX31cxY1WRcqM/s1600/morsels3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8tbSc8kFSJiWMFMP1mX4sNkO6TFYXgCWwDt1m4mF7QRT5eYknkwO8cDXVh1C6XoY7UV12cJqL9IGMNw2a969CaY7irnF9jhXaL3eVEA1ryMEECPm8pJFhMnN12g51X6PKX31cxY1WRcqM/s1600/morsels3.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">every one...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>new furniture being...christened...<br />
wanting...waiting...whimpers...<br />
red...pink...and in between...<br />
chopsticks...<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTdvuAcfddahbNiHyZ4Z5_WcUnYwaZjZbEBKadr7JTj2a2FBXlP2RU-fVrULvsWBHoebt62-xCPb_dq4yXrZLSf4dJf72zn4zvNb7U3xGes-AjSWMMhsediBH9sFFTQaPHbUvOw47GinIL/s1600/morsels4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTdvuAcfddahbNiHyZ4Z5_WcUnYwaZjZbEBKadr7JTj2a2FBXlP2RU-fVrULvsWBHoebt62-xCPb_dq4yXrZLSf4dJf72zn4zvNb7U3xGes-AjSWMMhsediBH9sFFTQaPHbUvOw47GinIL/s1600/morsels4.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...hhmmmpphh...hehe</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
yesterday...tomorrow...Saturday...<br />
crisp, clean sheets...<br />
wrinkled, clutched ones...<br />
heat...<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeK3sIAuzFe9LosHpNET-tQtcOkRyHwb4C-6xfD9GQYRfJ1IhORbpEm2bnmPIsh616lZidD36nlUEQXaIush91IBr7CTS0dPYNRp_IAyardrMTVw9j1Fsx6FmwZpZpB6295wCnJmk9RwEF/s1600/morsels5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeK3sIAuzFe9LosHpNET-tQtcOkRyHwb4C-6xfD9GQYRfJ1IhORbpEm2bnmPIsh616lZidD36nlUEQXaIush91IBr7CTS0dPYNRp_IAyardrMTVw9j1Fsx6FmwZpZpB6295wCnJmk9RwEF/s1600/morsels5.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">oh my...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
breath, hot on my ear...<br />
promises of begging...<br />
obeying...with sass...<br />
Him...<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPED8DJRZGvZHZJAhcBjLEL2TuuQo6ALYHszFLyafj2h2a_8qJ9tvOWk_j8QWFFG_kgu8V0fj6TOObQ6FpELNotHTUtiYYUD6neoeHQd2wL15BLXwEYqYMbfpcsrpdkBv-06k2xx5Bx7pm/s1600/morsels6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPED8DJRZGvZHZJAhcBjLEL2TuuQo6ALYHszFLyafj2h2a_8qJ9tvOWk_j8QWFFG_kgu8V0fj6TOObQ6FpELNotHTUtiYYUD6neoeHQd2wL15BLXwEYqYMbfpcsrpdkBv-06k2xx5Bx7pm/s1600/morsels6.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and smiles...</td></tr>
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EmilyEmily Wintershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06042089934661153377noreply@blogger.com1