Speaking of dirt . . . this is probably not the weekend for it, since we are staying in a moderately posh hotel, but I have been having increasingly urgent fantasies about mud. Muck. Dirt, flour, sand, oil, grease, leaves . . . whatever.
Good thing he lives in the country. These things are not in short supply. In the summer we are non-stop dirty without even trying.
But I want more.
I didn’t know, until I met him, how fetishistic I am. I think might be more “fetishy” than he is. A good sound spanking and face-fuck and he’s happy. That’s not to say he doesn’t have his own obsessions . . . but I think for him they are nice decorative touches and perhaps not as overwhelmingly arousing as for me. I have met few freaky things that didn’t hold some allure for me . . . whereas raw sex itself holds my attention less. Hard to explain.
Oh, I don’t know. All I know is that I need some mud. Luckily, May showers are not far away.
* * *
Moderately posh hotel or seedy, kinkster-friendly motel, wherever you go for your own dirty weekend, Monk and Hannah a few tips about creating hard points in your hotel room. (I could pun about hard points, but it seems like too much effort for too little return.) It’s a must see–put it this way–it was almost enough to make me change our reservations.
Image from the work of Fetish, thanks to fluffy Lychees . . .
(And aren’t the necklace and makeup, above, a perfect touch? Much better to defile a princess than a pauper.)
Letters from a Seraglio 
September 27, 2009 at 9:50 am
All I know is that I’ve needed mud, in that context, just about since the age of 12. Saw a story in the paper about that time – featuring youngish men and women cavorting in a black mudhole somewhere in Australia. There was even a submerged headstand shot in the article. My physical reaction to this story – read over and over again, showed me that I had no way out. I needed this. Still do.