#SinfulSunday – me time

It’s Saturday evening and I have spent the day cleaning a new furniture store. Surrounded by beautiful things I can’t afford and envious, so envious of those who could. It would be easy to spiral down into sadness and self recrimination but I have learned what to do in those circumstances now.

What’s the answer to that eye you ask? It’s me time of course. Spinal cord unclenching orgasm put the world to rights. Well they do mine anyway. Learning that pleasure, that what pleases me, is a vital component of a life well lived is my new lesson. One I intend to continue to learn more completely day by day.

It’s the 300th #SinfulSunday, Molly at @Mollysdailykiss deserves all respect and love for this fabulous meme. 

Thanks Molly 💖

CLICK ON THE LIPS BELOW TO SEE WHO ELSE IS BEING SINFUL TODAY 💋

#SinfulSunday – compendium 

It’s prompt week for SinfulSunday and this time it’s the turn of the letter C.

I thought you might like to see this year’s posts in one place – so here you are a compendium of eye’s #SinfulSundays 💋 


It only remains for me to say thank you to you all for your kind comments and for being here with me every week. I 💖 you all x

Click on the lips below to see who else is being sinful today 

What will I make of this I wonder?

I wonder what I will make of this time when it is over.  Will it seem like an oasis of calm or a void that I am grateful to be out of?  Or will I be more certain of the importance of this space and time in the future in a way I cannot be now?

This is the first time I have lived alone.  It is a strange existence, there is now no one to DO for except myself and instead of this feeling a liberation it feels more like a casting off.  No one needs me, except myself and I don’t want me, I want someone else.  I am not even sure who, because actually I have become much less patient, much less bovinely compassionate, much more demanding and less resigned, much more easily upset and over excited and much more certain of my own opinions and so possibly more boorish too.

What an attractive package that all makes (insert ironic eyebrow raise here) and yet I challenge that too.  Am I here to be kind, generous, nice or beautiful and who is that for anyway?  I pass a mirror and check, eyes, still blue grey, hair, still silver, body, still slender with the pouch where my babies sat and stretched still visible, legs still good but knees wrinkling.  A momentary thought – should I spend less time with legs crossed – is chased out with derision,.  What?, whaaat???  Do that, change this, for who, for what, to what end? Since we will all come to an end sometime, does any of this matter, make any sense, ADD anything to the world?

I have blogged solidly for a year now, to some welcome interest and kind comments from those whose opinions I respect and yet I come to this point wondering about stopping. Wondering who and what this is for and whether eye, my alter ego, could or would survive if I stopped posting naked and provocative pictures of myself online, and if there were none of those accompanying my writing whether anyone would be interested in it at all.  I am thinking not many but recognise that this could just be a jaundiced view, born out concentrating on lack rather than abundance and I apologise for that.  I do appreciate everyone I have interacted with here but I still feel outside even though this makes me feel very ungrateful for the kind comments I have had.  Others have written about awards and their responses to their inclusion or otherwise. For me they have reflected where I thought I was anyway. Outside.

I have come to the knowledge that this is not a sex blog, I don’t fit in those categories. This is a blog that sometimes includes sex, sexuality, relationships of all kinds in its content. There is erotica here too but not enough to really fulfil that particular niche.  I find fiction hard to write, since it is not an escape but a telling for me, and those opportunities have been rare and few and far between this year.  My blog reflect that as it also includes a kind of journaling, sometimes more a weeping and a railing against life and where I find myself in it and is not attractive, I know this.

So here I am sitting at the end of 2016 and wondering whether to jump into this particular pool again in 2017.  I had hoped that by now I would be swallow diving gracefully into the clear blue of warm water rather than still sitting at the edge wondering which bit to jump into but c’est la vie.  We bring ourselves with us into whatever new year it is, we have no choice about that and I am no exception.

I remain commited to living the best, fullest life I can for the rest of how ever long I have left here.  For that reason alone I think I would struggle not to write.  It provides me with an access to me that I need and want.  Whether or not I need to visit that on anyone else next year remains to be seen.

I wish you and your loved ones the best 2017 that is possible.

With love

eye

 

#SinfulSunday – tinsel

What could be more kinkily festive than tinsel used as rope to bind my breasts? 

I wish you all the merriest of Christmases and will be raising a glass to you later. Thank you for following this blog and for your comments which I enjoy enormously 💋

Click on the lips below to see who is getting their festive kink on today!

Sinful Sunday

You need a map and a plan

She watched him watching her, his look a calculated one, covering his need for her with a complex mixture of cunning and lust, and a gauging of how just much vulnerability to show; how much to allow through to present the most appealing aspect of him to her that would lead to his ultimate prize, his head between her legs bringing her to the orgasm she was unable to find without him.

It was a game they played often but in this moment she finally knew the extent of his power over her.  She had plunged to its depths and scaled its heights, endured the bleakness of the barren flatlands between them and charted it all in her mind.  The beginnings of a survey begun in the dark of the night and written with her own blood and tears and that ink dried by her lonely sighs had blossomed into a full blown map and because of that knowledge a plan had formed.  A plan he knew nothing of but would soon feel the effects of.  Like the hot breath of an unknown assailant on the back of his neck in the moments before the knife.

 

He brought her coffee, suggested a retreat to their room to “catch up” and she, remembering his recent sulk, and the moodiness that preceded it, acquiesced with a smile. They had not been intimate for a while now at her behest, she never stopped him from seeking relief via her body but had long since stopped participating herself.  That was why he sought this intimacy, one that would be wrenched from her own need rather than given freely from desire

Once there he took off his socks, a tell of his intent that she felt no corresponding ripple of desire to, and lay down.  He stroked her hair, he knew she liked this, and asked, wouldn’t she feel more comfortable if she took off her top?

She smiled knowing that he wouldn’t expect what came next, and stood up to take off her clothes revealing the beautiful  dark grey lace and washed silk matching lingerie that she had bought herself last week. She knew her beautiful breasts were displayed to their full voluptuous best by the balcony shape and she knew that she spilled, just enough to reveal a hint of the pink nipples that sat just out of reach beneath, in the most delighteful way.

Turning slowly she pulled down her jeans and heard him gasp and unzip himself as her peach of a bum, young beyond her years and toned by squats and lunges in secret visits to the gym, caught his eye and imagination at just the right eye level. She felt a momentary flash of satisfaction at how flushed and undone he looked, legs sprawled and jeans unzipped, hands grasping an angry looking  bulging erection.

She mounted the bed and lay back, and as he scrambled inelegantly out of his clothes stopped him with a shake of her head and the sight of her pursed lips ‘Oh no,’ she said, and watched his eyes widen with sudden surprise ‘this is not for you, not this time.  This time it is for me. I want your face between my legs, your tongue licking and tasting how good I taste and your balls aching with the desire to come.  I however, want something different and I will have it. I want to read and  I want to come, many, many times.  You will be between my legs on my terms for the rest of our lives together and this is your moment of choice.  I come on my terms or not at all with you ever again. Do you accept?’

She knew she had him, he was desperate, primed by her denial and then her acquiescence, led to the moment of slaughter with a calculated hand.  He shook his head, an attempt to clear it of the mist of desire that had him so securely that he couldn’t think straight, it was futile.  He was done for and  he knew it.  The worm had turned.

He handed her the book with the down-turned pages marking where she had read to the night before and stationed himself extending his tongue and flattening it to give her most pleasure, catching sight of her clear gaze in the moments before the book was hiding her face,  his humiliation was complete and he was never so hard before in his life.

This is a Christmas present to those who follow me on twitter and enjoy me being rather more ‘Dominant’ than I might normally be.  They are unfailingly supportive and I appreciate it and them very much – mwah!

 

 

#SinfulSunday – sauna 

A gloriously hot sauna is the perfect place to slough off a hard week. 

What’s sinful about this photo? Well I am in there in my underwear having forgotten my swimsuit. 

Teehee! 💋

Click on the lips below to see who else is being sinful today 
Sinful Sunday

A Christmas Kiss

He cupped my face in his hands as I shifted my weight forward on the kitchen worksurface to meet his mouth. He was 19, glittery silver deelybopper wearing art college dropout and I was 14. We were at our Church’s Youth Group’s Christmas Party and his ex girlfriend had recently miscarried their child.  I suppose he finally felt free of the responsibility and duty that had been facing him; they were preparing to marry in-spite of not being compatible, as some kind of penance for the sins that had been committed on the floor of a grubby flat somewhere in Cheltenham, and the Church authorities, in fact all the adults around them, were not only going to let this train wreck happen they were actively encouraging it as the right thing to do.

She was a glorious blonde, short haired rebel at the same school as me, and she definitely looked more relieved than upset that evening but in my callous 14 year old way I wasn’t really very focused on her and what had happened to her. That bothers me now of course but I forgive 14 year old me because I knew no better at the time and I was pretty obsessed anyway.  Dave Jones, the object of a crush for so many months, and unavailable until now, was my focus and I wasn’t going to miss this opportunity, not me, not now, not for her and certainly not for any sense of the right thing to do because even I could see that the adults were clearly mad and driven by something other than a desire for all involved to have a happy and fulfilling life. 

It was a gorgeous kiss, tentative at first, and then as the mutual awareness of our mutual enjoyment spread through to our lips, softened them and allowed us to open out from a need to be safe to a place of exploration where expression and desire leapfrogged over each other and urged our mouths to open wide and our tongues to explore deeper and more fully, to taste all that could be tasted in that moment, to taste life and love and hope and lust together.  We began with eyes shut but eventually our eyes opened with amazement at how fucking good this kiss was and we gazed into each other’s souls.  After an eternity, and still too soon, it finished and we gently rested with foreheads together as we shook with pleasure and release of tension.

God knows, if He was watching, how long we kissed but I don’t .  Locked in a Church Hall kitchen and surrounded by tea in a container labelled coffee to catch the uninitiated out and sugar pots with grubby little drops of coffee spoiling the purity of the sweetness with unconscious habits from dirty teaspoons we weren’t timing it.  We were just luxuriating in the moment, the perfection of its inappropriate timing and still one of my best kisses ever. I lived on the potential of that kiss for 2 years, waiting for its twin, hoping that once again, he would look at me and say “Do you have any idea how much I have wanted to do that?”.

It wasn’t to be though.  For 2 years we were in a Church band, spent pretty much any available moment reading the Bible and evangelising, were considered boyfriend and girlfriend but chaste which was encouraged by the adults around us, we were the Church poster couple. He went on to become a preacher, I went on to become an apostate, but in those 2 years spent in prayer and reading and contemplation and music and singing I was probably a most complete version of myself. Not weighed down by the expectations or trials that would have come had we been together but still connected.  

I could rage at the waste, at the pleasure denied but that would ignore the pleasure I got from feeling and sublimating my attraction and desire for him.  It felt special, I felt chosen and gifted with it and that I would chose in whatever limited realm of choice there was for me in those circumstances tells me something about me.  It tells me that I can wait, that I can endure, and that I can transform that waiting into something beautiful and meaningful and precious.  It is a lesson I bring into my 50s from my teenage self with love.

💋❤💋

 

Wait! Wait. I’ll tell you when

This image was created from a collaboration between me and the talented @Oh_Tom_Starling. More of his work can be seen here 

Check him out, I adore his work which is so original and fresh. Part of the joy of having a blog and a twitter account is the opportunity it creates for collaborations. I enjoy working with across a variety of disciplines so if what you see here inspires you get in touch, either here or via my twitter account which is @_Masterseye.

Looking forward to connecting soon 💋

#WickedWednesday – O Come All Ye Faithful

A piece of Christmas wickedness that was crying out to be part of something. I am happy to have been able to post this as a response to a Wicked Wednesday prompt from @RebelsNotes 

 

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Elizabeth adjusted the collar of her uniform, she wasn’t certain that she would ever get used to its chafing around her neck, just under her chin where the skin seemed most tender.  The hard edge left a slightly sore red line around it for a couple of hours after taking it off – she supposed it really had been designed for a neck more used to the ravages of a regular shave and paused to chuckle with the satisfaction that particular victory gave her still.

She surveyed herself in the mirror and noted that her dark grey eyes were wide and shadowy and the pupils still dilated. She had nearly been late which would never have done, but Jenny had succeeded in distracting her again by stretching her long body against hers as she paused in the doorway to say goodbye.  Their kisses had shared the deep intimacy born of facing down many judgemental faces in their time together. The sweetness was still there too, she could taste Jenny’s trust, her commitment, her love, as their lips met.

Lust, never far from the surface inspite of their fifteen years together, came steaming quickly through them both like an unexpected train through a station and left them both slightly breathless. Elizabeth had stumbled slightly against the door frame as she sought to extricate herself “Sweetheart”, she mumbled into Jenny’s neck that smelled so good, “I have to go …”  Jenny had grinned, “I know, later, we will meet later.” and she waved Elizabeth off the dark laurel-lined driveway in her beaten up BMW.

She had been distracted during the short drive and was still breathing heavily and thinking of Jenny’s gorgeous perfectly matched breasts with their tiny but oh so sensitive pink nipples as she let herself into her office.  She shook herself briefly to clear her head and headed out to meet the people waiting for her as they were each week, noting down the issues they wanted her to be mindful of today;  Mrs Clarke’s lumbago, Nigel’s stomach pains and Jeremy’s sense of unease about his marriage were all jotted down in the notebook she kept close to her at all times.

She inhaled the myriad scents that surrounded her, flowers, furniture wax and polished brass shining in the thin winter sun and noted with satisfaction that it was warm out here.  “Good”  she thought “I have time, there is time.”

Heading back to the small room that was for her use alone, she grabbed the leatherbound book that was always open on the desk, looking for the well thumbed pages halfway through and lifted the edge of her long black skirt as she found her usual perch on the corner of desk that had been more used to signing certificates than the use she regularly put it to.

Her fingers found their way to her already sensitive nub. Her hand encased her mound as she inserted a finger – “Oh wet again” she thought, and refused to apologise, but instead began to read aloud as she fucked herself bringing images to her mind of Jenny with her long legs and slender feet in high heels spread before her as she watched her touch herself.

“How beautiful art thy feet with shoes, O prince’s daughter!  The joints of thy thighs are like jewels, the work of the hands of a cunning workman”

“Thy navel is like a round goblet which wanteth not liquor, thy belly is like an heap of wheat set about with lillies.”

The formal language, at odds with the sensual imagery and the erotic images in her mind created a heady mix of arousal and apparent disapproval generated a heady kick start to her already turned on state. She was queen of her body here, placed in service to a higher calling perhaps but still available to her an interlude of pleasure.

Speeding up slightly she focused on imagining the sensations generated as she travelled down Jenny’s smooth belly with her tongue in her mind, her silky skin tasting of the sea and sun  as she moaned beneath her.  Small muted gasps escaped Elizabeth as she worked away with her fingers and she shrugged off the sounds of people chattering excitedly, music beginning in the background outside the office door.

Not long, now, she thought, feeling the heat building behind her pubic bone, ripples of pleasure radiating out from her clitoris and engaging with the muscles inside her vagina as they pulsed in response to the song of celebration of the beauty and sensuality of the female body on the page, her thoughts, her Jenny, her body.

Her fingers were working harder, urging her towards the edge of the cliff where she would jump and swoop into pleasure. One final push, one more thought, she needed one more thought and she would be there.

She reached for the book again.

“I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.”

Yes cried Elizabeth as she thought of Jenny laid out before her, inviting her into taste, suck, pleasure and satiate.

“Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins.”

Jenny, hands cradling generous breasts, a thumb and finger on each nipple and a look of delight as she saw the effect of that vision on Elizabeth sprang to mind. They mirrored each other in their pleasure and acceptance of themselves and each other.  A true meeting of minds, bodies and souls.

Her orgasm crashed into her as she steadied herself against the desk, cunt clenching and unclenching as it did around Jenny’s fingers, letting the spasms contine as she withdrew her own and licking them clean as she heard the organ strike up the  opening chords reminding her of where she was.

Elizabeth let down her skirt, winked at herself in the mirror, adjusted her collar and opened the door to greet the Dean and the Choristers. She caught Jenny’s eye with a beaming smile, she was seated at the front of the Nave, and joined the congregation and choir in the first line of the Processional hymn …

“O Come All Ye Faithful”…

 <a href=”http://wickedwednesday.rebelsnotes.com/&#8221; title=”Wicked Wednesday… a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked”><img src=”http://rebelsnotes.com/wickedwednesday/wp-content/uploads//2014/05/rainbowcircle1-150.png&#8221; alt=”Wicked Wednesday… a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked” title=”Wicked Wednesday… a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked” style=”border:none;” /></a>