Friday, February 28, 2014

Ugh, Now I Need a Shower

via: lacigreen:
via: edonaghey:
"There is a fundamental concern that the content of such magazines normalises the treatment of women as sexual objects. We are not killjoys or prudes who think that there should be no sexual information and media for young people. But are teenage boys and young men best prepared for fulfilling love and sex when they normalise views about women that are disturbingly close to those mirrored in the language of sexual offenders?" -Dr. Peter Hegarty
Could you tell the difference?
  1. Rapist
  2. Rapist
  3. Lad Mag
  4. Lad Mag
  5. Rapist
  6. Lad Mag
  7. Rapist
  8. Lad Mag
  9. Rapist
  10. Lad Mag
  11. Rapist
  12. Lad Mag
  13. Rapist
  14. Rapist
  15. Lad Mag
  16. Lad Mag
I just... How... I need a shower.

I mean, I'm all for dirty talk, rough sex, and Domination play. Done right, that kind of play is super fun and awesomely sexy!

But that's kinda the point: it's PLAY.

It's only sexy if you're doing it with someone who you care about and who--in-scene, out-of-scene, whatever--actually cares about you. 

If you're doing it right, role play, humiliation play, power play, sensation (pain) play, even consensual non-consent play should NEVER leave you or anyone involved feeling degraded or used or less-than once the scene ends.

If it does, please--PLEASE--stop. We so very rarely say it in kinkland, but You. Are. Doing it. Wrong.

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Don Jon and the Sexual Boogeyman

When the World Wide Web went live in 1991, there were fewer than ninety adult magazines in American circulation, of which maybe a given newsstand would carry a handful or so beneath the counter or hidden away in wrapped covers in the back. 

Only six years later, the internet had some nine-hundred porn sites. 

Today, there are more than 2.5 million adult sites available at a click of your mouse.

Porn, more than ever, is everywhere. 

The variety and ease in which you can get it is staggering. Just take a look at Porn MD, a site dedicated to the constant, never-ending, real-time stream of online searches on Porn Hub. Comedian Richard Jeni once said, "The Web brings people together because no matter what kind of twisted sexual mutant you happen to be, you've got millions of pals out there." And it seems to be true. From "Asian mouthful" to "toilet poop," the diversity of what people are looking for is amazing. 

And a little strange to think about.

And people are thinking about it.

We are obsessed with porn right now.

And, I'll admit, I'm no different. 

This week, my cubemate gave me the homework assignment to watch Joseph Gordon-Levitt's film Don Jon about a man who has a porn compulsion that impedes him from forming lasting and meaningful relationships or even enjoying sex with women--a not so uncommon phenomenon, if my years of listening to and reading Dan Savage are any indication. 

Despite the expansive, near-infinite potential for connection the internet and modern technology provides, it seems that many of us are feeling more and more isolated and disconnected. 

Don Jon does an excellent job of presenting this. The people in Jon's life are pretty interchangeable. His family talks at each other more than with each other, descending into shouting matches over meaningless things. His friends pretty much only play a never-ending game of hot-or-not at clubs. You never see his coworkers. The other drivers he shouts at and weaves through in traffic all exist outside the metallic bubble of his car. The women he sleeps with are treated like a constant stream of disposable, rather perfunctory sex toys--more a catalog of parts than a person--much like the ones he views online. Even the priests he confesses to are faceless and impersonal as he spills his sin-filled stories to whomever will listen and absolve him as easily as emptying his computer's trash.

It's no wonder that, when he tries to form a relationship with the perfect 10, "dime" Barbara, he doesn't really know how.

It isn't until he meets Esther, who challenges him to think beyond one-sided relationships, that he's able to see his life for the rather shallow, empty, lonely existence it is.

Now don't get me wrong; I like the message about isolation and connection in this film. I think it has so many moments of real insight on this social trend. Like how easy it is to be unduly harsh when you're so far removed from the people you're judging. Like how chick flicks are messing with the romance and sex narrative as much as porn is. Like how the relationship between porn and sex and religion and mortality is pretty arbitrary and logic-less.

Yes, it's hard not to relate to at least some of this. To not see bits of yourself and the people you know in these eccentricities. 

But the movie's constant stigmatization of porn...

For all Jon's shortcomings, the film seems to pin all their blame on porn. As if porn is responsible for his family issues and road rage and lack of ambition and over-indulgent obsession with his over-groomed looks. You just want to scream at the movie, "For the love of Jenna Jameson, it's just porn!"

And it felt so odd that there's either overkill or nothing when it comes to porn viewing. Either Jon's visiting 46 porn sites and masturbating 11 times in a day or he's cutting it cold turkey because he's found himself the glass slipper of pussy, be it the "dime" Barbara or the salvation of old-school Esther. The movie doesn't seem to allow the possibility for normal, healthy porn habits. Doesn't seem to acknowledge that porn can have its purpose. So much of it seemed like a modern take on Mormon masturbation-ban tactics or some NoFap sales pitch.

The movie just kept asking, "What do you need porn for when you can have real sex?" 

What a ridiculous question! That's like asking why we need books and TV and movies and imagination in general when we have real life. 

Escapism isn't by nature a bad thing. In fact, a little escapism is healthy and good for you, so long as you don't use it to ignore or completely misinform your perception of real life. A person can balance both a grounding in reality and an indulgence in fantasy. Even when it comes to porn. A person can even use porn to enhance their real life sex life. Why should you ever have to choose one or the other?

After all, studies are showing that "whether or not we use porn is not nearly as significant to our relationship as whether or not we are truthful about it." So perhaps this sexual boogeyman would be less scary--feel less like a threat or a detriment or an addiction--if we all just stopped hiding it in closets or on erased browser histories and learned to live--honestly and openly--with it.

'Cause I highly doubt porn is going anywhere.

Best. Study. Ever.

Apparently, Sex Makes You Smarter!

So psychologists from the University of Maryland let mice make some happy and found that all the sexy times increased the flow of oxygen to the mice's brain cells, which led to the "creation of neurons located within the hippocampus, an area of the brain that is responsible for the formation of long-term memory." 

Woo-hoo, right?! Having more sex makes you smarter.

But it isn't a permanent process. Apparently, they also observed that "stopping the mice from having sex led to a fall-off in their intelligence."

So, not only does having more sex make you smarter, having less sex is clearly stopping you from reaching your ultimate potential.

Whelp, I just found my new favorite pick-up line!

So I Want to Try Something New

Like most writers, I have tons of stories and starts that were never meant to be officially published, but that I write mostly for my own enjoyment.

Personally, I call them "palate cleansers."

They're good stories that I'm still proud of but that—for one reason or another—aren't something that I'm seeking to sell.

But it seems such a sad fate to let them waste away in my literary closet. So I'm putting them here:

My Own Little Story Limbo.

I will still be posting my Donovan's Door erotica content here, but there are just too many stories to tell so I'll be using the other site for my more mainstream fiction stories. 

Just as I do here, I'll do my best to post a little something there every week. So I hope you all will check it out.

As always, please enjoy!

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Why The Fade-Away Is Kinda Fucked Up

I know quite a few people who don't like how pervasive sex has become in literature and movies and TV and...well, life in general. It's too in-their-face. It shows too much. Why can't it all just be left up to the imagination?

But, personally, I like it. It feels more honest this way. More and more authors and producers and creators are including this aspect in their media because you just can't not include it anymore.

Every single person on this planet owes their life to it. They're very existence is proof that sex happened. Almost everyone is going to experience it at least once in their lifetime. Most people are going to experience it a lot in their lifetime. It's an act that gives people pleasure and connection and intimacy and joy. 

It's an important part of life and, if stories tell characters' lives, how do you justify excluding or even glazing over this? Especially in stories that depict and centralize around romance and intimate relationships! It's part of the story. Why would you leave it out? 

Why is it seen as so obscene?

Saturday, February 22, 2014

The Deviant Nerd - Someone Lied to You

Someone Lied to You
The Deviant Nerd
Brought to you by The Taming School, for when you want curling up with a good book to feel like a good post-coital cuddle.

QuestionHey Pip,

I look at a lot of porn. More than anyone I know. Am I addicted to it?

– How Much Is Too Much?


PipHey How Much,

Easy answer: No.

Recent studies are showing that porn addiction isn’t real. In fact, it seems our whole concept of porn addiction has less to do with health or science than it does philosophy and beliefs. If a person thinks that consuming porn at all is a moral ill, chances are higher that they’ll view their own viewing habits—no matter how much or how little they actually stack up when compared to statistical averages—as signs of addition.

So, again, the easy answer to your question is no, you are not and clinically cannot be addicted to porn.

However (isn’t there always a “however”), while porn addiction, as a medical diagnosis, may not be a real thing, porn—just like alcohol, caffeine, shopping, food, internet-surfing, and exercise—can be done in excess. If it interferes with you living your life—if it makes it so you can’t hold down a job or you use it as replacement for human contact or you have a hard time separating porn from realistic, real life expectations, interactions, relationships, and sex—than you may have unhealthy porn habits.

Don’t get me wrong; porn is great! I love porn! Under normal circumstances, it’s good and healthy and fun. Experts are finding that there are “no sign that use of pornography is connected to erectile dysfunction, or that it causes any changes to the brains of users. Also, despite great furor over the effects of childhood exposure to pornography, the use of sexually explicit material explains very little of the variance in adolescents’ behaviors.” In fact, it’s been found that porn just may “improve attitudes towards sexuality, increase the quality of life and variety of sexual behaviors and increase pleasure in long-term relationships.”

But it—like alcohol, caffeine, shopping, food, internet-surfing, and exercise—should be a part of your life, not consume the whole of it. If you can maintain a healthy balance with it, if it brings you pleasure and release and satisfaction, then enjoy it! And stop worrying how much porn everyone else is watching.

Chances are, they’re probably lying anyway.

– Pip, Your Resident Deviant Nerd

* If you have a sex, kink, love, or life question for The Deviant Nerd, email Pip at

And read more about Pips story in Brought to You By.

Thursday, February 20, 2014

How Long Does Your Sex Last?

2:19?! REALLY, MN?!

That had better not include foreplay or we are going to have words.

Though, if it doesn't--Damn, New Mexico!--7:01 minutes of solid thrusting?! That had better been proceeded by lots of lube and/or a lot of foreplay or we are going to have words.

See where your state ranks!

Sunday, February 16, 2014

The Alchemy of Authors

Last month, I talked about some of my favorite stories that transform our world into someplace new. But, like I'd said, I also really respect authors who create their own unique worlds. There's so much thought and work that goes into creating entire worlds out of nothing more than thought. What rules dictate the world? What does it look like? Who lives in it? What are its marvels? Its troubles? It is the closest mortal man has to becoming a god. It is the purest, most imaginative form of magic we know.

While he rides the line between these two types of storytellers, I think Neil Gaiman belongs more to this group than the other. While many of his stories begin in our reality, they tend to take cliff-dives off into marvelous worlds completely unlike ours. Whether it's graveyards filled with ghosts or the gap between worlds throughout London or the background of the universe where only gods may play, Gaiman’s stories may share space with our reality but they are definitely not our world. They exists with their own sets of rules and norms that are at once strange and yet make perfect sense. With a whimsical sense of humor, that balances an oft disturbing darkness, he makes you think, no matter how strange his world is, your own may be just as arbitrary and odd. Perhaps more so.

J.K. Rowling did this too in her Harry Potter series; essentially taking the most ordinary of us and thrusting him into a world of magic. Say whatever you want about the popular children's series, but you simply cannot fault the world Rowling built. From paintings that move to letters that talk, from Quidditch to Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans, everything in her wizarding world is fascinating and wonderful to look at. She created a place that entire generations of readers never wanted to leave. Still don't.

But, of all the worlds I've been to traveling through the pages of a book, Phillip Pullman's Golden Compass series, His Dark Materials, pulled me in the deepest, I think. My friend had turned me onto the series, lending me the full-cast audiobook recording. After the first few chapters, I bought a paperback copy as well, not wanting to miss a single word. By the end of the book, without giving away any spoilers, I must say, The Amber Spyglass left me earbuds plugged in, book pulled up to my face, and eyes uninhibitedly crying on a public city bus on my way home from work, not even caring who was watching because, at the time, Pullman’s world, full of soul-touching magic and multi-dimensional intrigue, felt more real and more impactful than my own. It is the highest compliment I can pay an author and one I hope to one day live up to as well.

As I've said before, these fictional and author-built worlds, that are often so very different from our own, shine insightful lights on our own world. They make us throw a mirror up against our world and forces us to look at it differently. See what's right about it. What's not. There's an admirable and contagious magic in that. These types of stories challenges us; if these authors can create whole worlds out of nothing--arrange a chaos of words built phrase by well-crafted phrase into places and people that endear and enchant, that question and conquer--couldn't we, as ordinary and grounded in the reality of our world as we are, change and transform our world into something marvelous too?

Thursday, February 13, 2014

Being Kinky Isn't Creepy

You know, I saw this on hell-is-okcupid's tumblr. And--sigh--I kinda hate that messages like this are tagged as #OKCreepy. It’s actually not a bad message; I’ve received far creepier, far skeevily graphic, and far more unacceptable messages requesting pretty much the same thing. He’s actually polite and has at least a basic grasp of grammar; he really doesn’t deserve to be denigrated or looked down on. His biggest mistake was demographics and that’s a pretty common mistake.

The standard reply to a message like this shouldn’t be to shame this person, but just to give them a few game-pointers. The first being: Location, Location, Location; it’s not just for real estate anymore.

The standard uninterested-vanilla response back should be: “Try searching on If I were looking for someone to be kinky with, that’s where I’d be. You’ll have much better chance of finding what you’re looking for there. Best of luck on your search!”

Being kinky isn’t a crime.

It doesn’t make a person instantly creepy.

Can we please stop treating it like it does?

In the same way you wouldn’t shame someone who was into a sport you weren’t into or a movie you may not have liked, kink may not be what you’re into and that’s okay, but you don’t get the right to act like it’s not okay that they are into it.

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

New Female Sex Drive Slapped By FDA

So I have a high sex drive, but—not going to lie—one of my big fears is that one day I won’t (illness and age do strange things sometimes). And I have friends who’ve either lost their libidos and want them back or never had much of one ever and would very much like to, so I am pro-research and testing to find a safe and reliable female Viagra equivalent. 

That said, I do understand that these types of drugs carry heavy burdens. The one you hear most often is the consent issue. Many people are worried that these will be just another date rape drug like roofies. Which, I can see how you got there, but don’t see that being the real consent problem. The consent issue with a drug like this is less likely that it’ll be used as a roofies type drug—rapists who would use a drug to bypass consent really don’t care whether the victim is into what they’re doing. 

The issue is more that, while there are many, many, many women out there who suffer from lowered libidos and very much want a female Viagra-type product, there are many, many, many women out there who have lowered libidos and are perfectly happy with that. When people talk about consent and female sexual stimulants, they’re worried that women who are happy with their current libidos will feel pressured into taking these drugs to appease partners who may have higher sexual drives than they have.

Just look at the comments section of this video; the black-and-white, rape-or-not ideas on consent blasted on there are…disheartening. There are even more than a few comments about how men with female partners with low libidos are going benefit from these drugs so much, which is an ass-backward way of looking at this. 


Why? Because you would never hear someone say that chemotherapy is going to benefit partners of people with cancer so much. Or that inhalers benefit partners of people with asthma so much. Do they benefit those partners? Sure. But that isn’t the point of the drug. The point is to help the person with the medical issue. And that’s how the issue should be framed. Where the focus of the discussion should lie.

The fact that it too often doesn’t is proof of my point.

And the women who don’t want it aren’t the only ones who will suffer. Especially after reading “Why Do Men Fake It”—a really good book by Abraham Morgentaler, I think both sides of this issue are going to have their own set of issues. 

I definitely think that most medications should only be prescribed after having a good talk with a reputable doctor. And should only be prescribed if and when appropriate. And I do think that we are an overly medicated country that reaches for pills far too often. But, too often too, completely physical problems are treated as emotional ones and, particularly for women, we’re encouraged to talk about it and/or learn to live with it when taking a pill could solve it.

After all, a lot of anti-depressants also lower libidos. As an avid listener of Dan Savage, I’ve heard so many calls from women who took SSRIs to help with their depression but are now depressed because they can’t have sex.

And what I see happening with this drug is that there will be some women who are given it like it’s candy without another thought, whether or not they need it or would even benefit from it, and some women who would benefit from it will be forced to undergo a lot of unnecessary psychological analysis before getting a hold of this drug. All depending on their doctor’s perception of female sexuality. Which makes it less a medical decision as philosophical one. Which isn’t how decisions about anyone’s health should be decided.

Look at how contraceptives and Plan B are distributed in this country. With some people, they’re in and out without a whole lot of understanding about what exactly they’re doing to their body and the side effects and some people have to jump through insane hoops to get a hold of something they really, really, really want and need.

There just has to be a better way.

So much about the way we, as a culture, deal with sexuality—particularly female sexuality—needs a good tune-up, if not and out-and-out overhaul.

What we need is more research and testing for drugs like this, as well as more comprehensive and practical sex education, where people learn how to talk openly and frankly about and stand up for their own personal sexual desires.

Monday, February 10, 2014

Who's Running This Fuck Anyway?

In an interesting New York Times article by Lori Gottlieb, “Does a More Equal Marriage Mean Less Sex,” she wonders if healthy and happy sex lives have unfortunately become the sacrifice for—gratefully and very rightly—forming more gender-equal relationships. If, “in an attempt to be gender-neutral, we may have a become gender-neutered.”

It seems counterintuitive—since American couples who economically earn and domestically contribute to the home equally are less likely to divorce—but those same egalitarian relationships report lower levels of sexual satisfaction. It seems that, the modern advice that urged men to take on softer, more sensitive, more traditionally feminine qualities and for women to become more aggressive and assertive in order to compete in this male-driven world, hasn’t worked as well in the bedroom as it has in all the other aspects of life. 

And, incongruously, it seems that “the values that make for good social relationships are not necessarily the same ones that drive lust […It, in fact, seems that] most of us get turned on at night by the very things that we’ll demonstrate against during the day.” It’s the modern Madonna/whore problem. We may know that, as partners within a relationship, we ought to be equals, ought to be considerate and respectful of each other. We should be able to trust and rely on each other completely. We ought to be able to see each other as more than just sexual objects and a means to get off. But, so often, we work so hard to see each other as more than sexual, that we then no longer find each other particularly sexy. It appears that, for many couples, they “know what a 50-50 marriage should be like. But what is 50-50 sex supposed to be like?”

It sounds like an odd question but, once stated, something about it resonates for a lot of us. Like many of life’s great pleasures—like humor and storytelling and fashion and, hell, even food and drink—sexual desire is inherently base. It isn’t polite or PC. No matter how we try to—and even succeed in—taming it, reigning it in, forcing it to fit societal standards, sexual desire will out. Like the heart, the libido wants what the libido wants. Even if we know that the things we want in the bedroom go against everything we want outside of it—being thoroughly dominated or having someone submit completely to us—we can’t not want it. We can’t want—no matter how much we know we ought to—what we don’t want. As Dan Savage says, “We don’t so much have sex as sex has us.” Sanitized and conformed to fit the rules and norms for what’s fair and just, sex just stops being sexy. 

Forget Fifty Shades; I wonder if that’s the reason why kink has become popular lately. If it isn’t the answer to this problem. Most kinksters find that within every relationship—within every scene—there tends to be a top and a bottom. There’s always someone who, as Mistress Matisse put it, “runs the fuck” and someone who’s following the lead. Someone who’s stepping on the sexual gas pedal and someone whose foot is on the break. 

And the thing is, for me, that is 50-50 sex. Because it’s two people who want the same thing—awesome sex—working together to get it. And the thing I think this article forgets is that gender has less to do with this kind of sex than they think it does. Sure, statistically, male tops and female bottoms vastly outnumber their switched up counterparts, but that doesn’t mean that they have to be the only option. I think the dominant male and the submissive female have less to do with the sexual problem of modern equality than just, for the love of O, someone taking the initiative and running the fuck already. About letting sex have its way—its time and place—both within and outside that equality.

Kink allows that leeway. Kinksters know that “Sometimes sex is an expression of anger or a struggle for power and dominance. They work in concert. People need to learn how to harness those impulses playfully in ways that are acceptable in equal relationships.” It allows you to be that good and upstanding egalitarian couple during the day, considerate helpmates who share financial responsibilities and household chores, while also allowing you to then slip on a mask, to lace-up a darker, baser costume that strips away—without erasing or undoing—all that consideration, later. That lets you explore all those oh-so-unacceptable things, like dominance and submission—like power and control—in a safe space built upon and grounded in all that good, upstanding trust you’ve established during the day. It allows you to build good, solid relationships while still giving you specific times and contextual space to indulge in all the things you can’t and wouldn’t want to otherwise. Almost alchemically, it allows the Madonna and the whore to exist, if not at the same time, within the same person. 

Because—as strange and counterintuitive as it sounds—think about it; if you’re going to be used or use another person, don’t you really want it to be with, done safely and sanely with, someone you love and who loves you?

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Off-Hour Office Sex: A Valentines' Short Story - Part Two

A Valentines' Day 
Short Story – 
Part Two
Read Part One Here

She didn’t want to be here and her boss certainly wanted her gone.

“Kat?” she heard a familiar voice say in the shadowed emptiness of her office. “Are you still here?”

Peter? Her head popped up. “I’m here.” She stood to look over her cubicle’s partition. She saw him, looking like a miracle, buttoned-up and bespeckled, lost in the darkened maze of cubicles as he made his way to her, the smell of Mexican food wafting deliciously with him. Her very own alter ego-ed superhero. “What are you doing here?”

“I got worried.” He adjusted his glasses, juggling his keys and the bag of takeout. “It was getting late and you weren’t home yet and you weren’t answering your phone.”

She dug into her purse and found her phone. Dead. That’s right; she’d meant to charge it last night, but was too tired to search for her charger. She shook her head and dropped the useless device back into her bag. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s after 10:00 now.” He frowned. “Let’s go home.” He lifted the heavenly scented take-out bag in his hand. “You can eat in the car. I’ll draw a bath when we get home, give you a massage, and we can head to bed.”

God, that was tempting. She closed her eyes and let her mind wallow—for just a moment—in what it would be like to do just that. “I can’t,” she said, the words like sand—sharp, gritty glass—that tore at her as she spoke. “I need to finish this before I can go.”

He sighed, shoving his hand into his cargo pants pocket, his keys and whatnot clinking. “Well, how long will that take?”

She shrugged. “Hopefully, only another hour or so.” But it could be all night.

“Kat,” he said, his frown deepening, “it’s late. Whatever you’re working on will still be here tomorrow and you’ll be able to tackle it better after some sleep.” He reached out his hand. “Come home.”

She shut her eyes. She wanted to go with him. So badly she wanted to cry with it. But she wouldn’t cry. She was better than that. She wouldn’t let this—wouldn’t let her boss—get to her like that. “I can’t, Peter,” she repeated, “I appreciate you coming here and bringing me dinner—thank you, really—but I can’t leave.” She grabbed the food from him, hoping that would at least make him feel like he was helping. “I’ll see you at home later.”

He stared at her, his hazel eyes narrowing as he studied her curiously from behind his lenses. “Why are you doing this?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest and leaned to rest his hip against a nearby desk.

“What do you mean?” She put the bag down on her own desk even as her food-and-sleep-deprived body began to shake.

“You hate your job,” he said pointedly.

“I don’t hate my job.”

“You hate your boss,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Yet you’re working late every night, killing yourself for a job you’d leave in a minute, if you thought you could.”

Kat pursed her lips. She wanted to argue with him, but what could she say? “Well, what am I supposed to do?” She sunk back into her office chair. “Stan is just looking for a reason—any reason—to fire me.” She grabbed fistfuls of her hair and pulled it back into a harsh ponytail, the tense tug comforting her a bit, before she let it tumble back down to shield her face.

“Why?” he asked with a shake of his head. He grabbed her cubemate’s chair, so he could sit next to her.

Her shoulders slumped and she held her head in her hands and sighed. “I think he found my author’s page on your site,” she said sadly.

She heard Peter inhale sharply. “How?”

She shook her head. She didn’t know. Through a friend. Through his wife or his teenage son. Maybe through his own online porn perusal. “Does it matter?”

“What did he say when he told you?” Peter asked, his wince audible through his voice.

She shook her head. “He hasn’t.” Not overtly. Not yet.

Peter paused. “Then how do you know?”

She scoffed and peeked up at him ruefully. “There’s a very specific look a man gives you when he’s seen you naked,” she drawled, recalling the photos—fun, sexy, and, yes, semi-nude pictures—she’d had taken and posted. With pride.

Until Stan’s gaze had tainted them. Had made the playful pictures seem dirty and shameful as he eyed her from head to toe with disgusted censure. Even fully dressed in her prim, proper office clothes, she felt stripped bare by his gaze.

She’d loved her photos. Loved taking them. Loved posting them. Loved the enthusiastic response to the teasing shots. She hated that she couldn’t look at them now without feeling that disapproving look on Stan’s pinched face. “I don’t think he liked them very much,” she mused miserably.

“Or enjoyed them more than he would have liked,” Peter pointed out as he sat back, his arms crossed over his buttoned-down chest. 

Kat’s lip curled. “At any rate,” she said sardonically, “I’m stuck here until I finish all this.” Her hand gestured to the insurmountable paperwork piled on her desk. “Or his little crusade is done.” She shot him a dark look. “Which do you think will come first?”

“Or you quit,” he said. Even as she shook her head, he grabbed the edges of her chair and pulled her close. “You could just leave.”

“And do what?” She couldn’t leave this job. If Stan wanted to fire her because of her online page, what were the chances that someone would be willing to hire her despite it? If he found out, others would too. And while she wasn’t ashamed of it—wouldn’t let that tight-assed fuddy-duddy suck the joy out of it—she couldn’t exactly hide it. She’d put herself—her body, her thoughts, her words—out there online. For better or worse.

And, sure, while she loved writing and maintaining her page, it wasn’t as if it paid her well. With just one book out, her sales, even if they were higher than she’d thought they would be, weren’t exactly a livable wage. She sighed. “I need this job.” She shook her head. For better or worse, indeed.

“Why?” Peter asked. “I’m doing well, Kat. Barred Securities is growing and thriving. I make enough to take care of both of us, if we cut out some of our luxuries,” he amended with a dismissive shrug. He shook his head and pressed on, “You could quit this job—that you hate anyway—and write. Full-time. Really give it a go, if it’s what you want.”

Kat shook her head. She couldn’t do that. “I won’t be dependent on anyone,” she said, squaring her jaw. Not financially or otherwise. “Not even you.” She might be his wife—she might be his submissive—but she would not be some kind of burden on him or leave herself so vulnerable. 

She didn’t make as much as him—wasn’t even close to being in the same income bracket. But, heaven forbid, she ever lost him—ever found herself alone again—she would survive. If she quit, learned to live off what Peter could provide, could she say the same?

She shook her head. “I’m not quitting,” she said, the words sounding petulant even to her own ears. She didn’t care. She hated that she felt so powerless. So weak. So at the mercy of everyone all around her. She was tired of feeling like Stan’s bookkeeping bitch. Even feeling like Peter’s little woman that always needed to be taken care of and coddled was grating at the moment. She was just so tired of having everyone else control what she did and felt and thought. Her entire life was reactionary, responding to the demands and desires of everyone around her.

Except her book. And her page. Those were hers. And, damnit, she’d worked hard for them. She’s finally done something for herself—that didn’t belong to anyone but her—and she’d be damned if she’d let her boss think he could punish her for it. 

She might be a submissive—a bottom—but she decided who topped her and who didn’t.

And she chose Peter.

“Well,” he sighed as he leaned forward to grab the bag of food off her desk, “you can at least take a break.” He shook his head and held it out to her again. “C’mon, Kat, you’ve got to eat.”

She looked up at him, her dark eyes meeting his hazel ones, seeing his concern turn curious as he stared into her eyes. “Kat?” he questioned when her lips curled defiantly.

She shook her head and pushed herself up out of her chair. Taking the bag from him, she set it aside again. “I don’t want food.” She came to stand between his legs, nudging his knees apart to make room for her. Her voice was low, teasing, even as her body swayed with sensual sass.

Peter’s lip twitched, recognition flaring hot in his eyes. “What do you want then?” He leaned back even as his hips arched up a bit, not so subtly leading her gaze downward to the bulge rising beneath his pants.

What did she want? She bit her lip. Him. That much she knew. She always wanted him. Couldn’t imagine not wanting him. 

She looked around, still worrying her lip. The question, at the moment, was how did she want him?

“We could do it on your boss’s desk,” he suggested.

She snorted. That was so cliché. Besides—no matter how dirty Stan thought her pictures were—she knew he was the dirty one. His desk was always littered and stained with years’ worth of delivered lunches and the endless coffees she’d fetched over the years. Used tissues and napkins were always mixed in with his paperwork. His desk was a mess and the thought of being naked on it was enough to put her off sex. “Uh,” she said as her nose wrinkled, “no, that’s okay.”

The conference table on the other hand…

She smiled and took Peter by the hand, leading him from her cubicle into the conference room. Yeah, she thought, as she stepped in the large room. It was a commanding room, where all the important announcements and meetings happened. From the time she’d been hired, this had been the room where every important professional moment happened and, if she were honest, it’d always intimidated her a little.

It was perfect.

“Kat?” Peter asked again, a confused laugh touching his voice as she sat him down at the head of the conference table. The seat of power. The one always reserved for the president of the company. “What are you up to?”

She pushed him back into the chair, loving the slash of color flushing his pale cheeks as arousal sharpened his hazel eyes. It was strange to be taller than Peter, to be above him. It wasn’t that Peter was a particularly tall man. It was just that Kat was particularly short. Not even five foot, she rarely got to look down at anyone.

She smiled.

She liked it.


Peter sat back in the chair, staring up at his wife grinning down at him. God, she was beautiful. Smiling her knowing, little grin, she swiveled her hips and danced about him, taunting and teasing him with strokes of her hands on his shoulders and brushes of her ass over his lap.

He moved to reach for her, wanting to pull her fully onto his lap, to feel those grinding hips hard on his. But she just pulled away and tsked at him, shaking a scolding finger at him. “Katherina?” he asked warningly, more than ready to get this show going.

“Patience, Peter,” she responded coyly as she pushed on the table to jump onto its surface. But her pencil skirt was too tight, making the movement awkwardly impossible. He chuckled low as he watched her grin turn sheepish as she reached behind her to unzip the constricting cloth. 

But he stopped laughing as she slipped the skirt past her knees, stepping out of it to stand in just a long shirt that hung half-way down her thighs, knee-high sheer stockings, and matching lace garters. He held his breath as she slid smoothly onto the table, placing one foot on either side of his chair.

He swallowed hard as her feet framing his hips planted in the chair’s cushion to pull him closer, revealing the shadowy place between her thighs as her knees bent high. “Uh, Katherina,” he pointed out, “you’re not wearing panties.”

“No,” she said as her feet moved up to wrap around the sides of the chair, pulling him closer and offering him a fantastic view of her full, pink pussy, “I’m not.” She reached for the buttons of her shirt. “I’m not wearing a bra either.”

“Naughty girl,” he tsked as she popped the first button, revealing the smooth span of her throat and breastbone. 

“Yeah,” she laughed as his gaze roamed her body, “it sounds dumb but, when Stan’s being particularly prickish, it’s a fun bit of rebellion being a little risqué at work.” She shrugged. “It shouldn’t make me feel better, but it does.”

“Mmm,” Peter murmured approvingly. “Not dumb at all.” He liked her rebelliously risqué. “Wait,” he said, his eyes widening as she reached for the button between her breasts. “Wait.” He fished into his back pocket for his phone. He held it up, aiming its camera at her.

Kat squealed as she pulled her stockinged knees closed and tight to her chest. “Peter!” she cried. “You can’t take pictures. Not here.”

He grinned as he let his phone’s camera focus on her, staring at her cringing body through the lens. “Why not?”

“This is my workplace!” she said shrilly as she clasped the collar of her shirt shut. “I can’t have half-naked pictures of me in my workplace.”

“Well, I was kinda hoping for fully naked ones anyway,” he said with a casual shrug.


“C’mon, Kat,” he urged. “What’s the big deal? It’s not like anyone else is going to see them.” These were just for him. For them. Peter felt something in his chest unclench at that thought. The idea that no one else would ever see this part of Katherina. That this moment belonged just to them. He zoomed in close on her face and snapped a photo before turning the phone so she could look at the screen.

Could see the tilted, wide depths of her exotic eyes. Could see the way her full lips moued as if for a kiss. Could see the excited flush of her cheeks. Could see the beautiful lines of her body. 

Could see herself the way he saw her. Beautiful. Sexy. Perfect. He wanted to capture this moment. To keep it forever in photos. “C’mon, Katherina,” he said, his voice low and inviting. “Do it for me.” For the both of them. “Think of it as really sticking it to Stan.”

She bit her lip as she stared at his phone, her face set in uncertain lines even as her body relaxed and her hands loosened their grip on her shirt. That’s it, Kat. There was the defiant girl he knew.

He smiled and leaned back as she unbuttoned her shirt, letting its halves frame her delicate form. He aimed his camera on her again. “That’s it,” he said as he took her picture. Just in those stockings and garters, she was gorgeous, the hottest sight he could imagine. Her small breasts were firm and round. Her dark nipples were hard. The slight nip of her waist before her hips flared delicately. Mmmm, yeah. “Get up on the table,” he told her. “On your knees.”

He watched as she bent her knees beneath her, the submissive in her instinctively spreading her knees—opening herself to him—laying her hands palms up on her knees. His dick hardened at the contradictory image of her so submissive in front of him even as she towered over him, looking down at him with such hunger in her eyes.

She was slipping into subspace. He could see it in her dazed expression and the way her breath quickened. He swallowed hard as he stood up so they were eye-to-eye.

Or eye to lens, as it was.

“Turn around,” he told her as he walked about her, looking for just the right angle. “I want to see that ass.” 

He watched as she bent over onto her hands and knees. He bit back a groan as her sleek, little body crawled and squirmed around so he could look at her round, upturned behind. 


He zoomed in his camera, taking picture after picture of her, before he put the phone onto the table with shaking hands that longed to touch. 

“God, Katherina,” he said as he reached out to trace the line of her garters, feeling the soft skin of her thighs, “you are so amazing.” His hands slid up her leg to coast over her lush, shapely ass. He let his fingers trail along the edge of the garter’s belt, dipping along and over the generous curve. “I love this ass,” he told her. “The look of it. The feel of it. The things I could do to it.”

“What could you do?” she asked, her tone both curious and just a little daring.

His mind swam with the possibilities. He smiled and cupped the full flesh. “What do you want me to do to it?” he asked, holding sensual potential in his hands.

He watched her turn to look at him, licking her lips as her words as she struggled with the words. “Uh,” she breathed, licking her lips again, “I, uh.”

“Tell me, Katherina,” he said, wanting to hear her say it. He loved, more than anything, to hear her tell him exactly what she wanted, what turned her on. How he could turn her on. “Tell me.”

“Spank me,” she said as a rosy blush flushed her dark skin. “I,” she swallowed hard and said a little louder, “I want you to spank me.”

He chuckled as he rubbed her butt, patting it sweetly. “You want to be spanked?” he asked as he grabbed her hips and pulled her down so her feet touched the carpet even as her stomach and breasts pressed onto the table’s shined surface. “You want me to smack this pretty, little ass?” he asked, caressing and massaging her behind. “You want to feel my handprints—hot and stinging—all over your skin?”

“Yes,” she hissed as he pinched her flesh. “Please.”

Well, she did say please. So Peter pulled back his hand and struck her left flank, loving how her body bounced and a small squeak escaped her mouth. 

“Again,” she begged.

Again and again. 

Eagerly, he hit her right flank, then her left. He kept striking her in a rapid, steady rhythm he knew she loved, watching her body writhe, her hips seeking and shying away from his touch. Responding to him with electric heat as both their needs met and matched with each stinging strike.

His own breath was ragged and his heart was pounding. He stopped and stepped closer to her, cupping her ass in his hands, feeling her sensitive heat against his tingling hands. Kat and he had been playing these games for years now. Had used a treasure chest of toys. But there was something about the basic act of spanking—of flesh meeting flesh—that Peter loved. That could just never be replaced. There was just something so intimate about it, the ultimate shared action.

He could feel her warmth, could feel her shake with desire, against the raw nerves in his hands. He leaned down and kissed the base of her spine, just above the rise of her ass. “God, Katherina,” he growled as he took a nip at the ripe flesh, “you drive me crazy.” His hand slipped down between her legs to stroke her sex. “You’re so hot,” he purred, “and wet.” His fingers dipped between her folds, coating his fingers in her thick, fragrant arousal. “I love how wet you get for me.” He slid his fingers inside her, slowly filling her as she moaned low and sweet. He laid adoring kisses all along the top of her ass, from one cheek across the other. “I want you to come for me,” he told her as he used his whole body to press her further against the table, grinding his hard erection against her hip. “You want to come for me, don’t you, Katherina?” 

“Yes, Peter,” she begged, her voice a breathy, reedy sound. 

“Good,” he said as he pulled his fingers from her cunt even as she whimpered at the loss of his touch. He kissed her back again before straightening. Don’t worry, Kat, he thought. He wasn’t done with her yet. Not even close.

He slid his foot between hers and gently kicked her feet further apart even as his hands parted the soft globes of her ass. He stared at her tight opening and bit back a groan. Just imagining the tight grip of her ass on his cock made his body stiffen with want. “I just want to slide into that pretty ass,” he told her, his voice strained as he tucked one slick finger at her anus, letting it slip inside her knuckle by knuckle, “teasingly fill you up with my dick so slowly you’ll be begging me to pound into you. Ride your ass until you come, hard and pulsing, on my cock.” 

With agonizing slowness, he began to push and pull his finger within her with short, easy strokes. “You want that, don’t you, Kat?” he asked. “You want my dick here,” he said, shoving his finger hilt-deep into her, watching her body take him easily. “Or my tongue,” he said as he pulled out of her only to add another finger, twisting both inside her as she gasped and bucked against his hands. He gripped her hip and rubbed, urging her to relax. “Wouldn’t you like that?” he asked.

He felt her ass clench on his fingers before he felt her relax again. Good girl. He gave her behind another caress, making her whimper and push onto his hand. Good girl. “Tell me you want that,” he said as his fingers fucked her, the steady rhythm mimicking the same one he’d used to spank her. “Give me the words.”

“I want your cock inside me,” she said, her voice shaky and thin, as her back arched and her hips thrust. “ I want to feel you deep inside me. Fucking me hard.”

“What else do you want?” he asked, loving the sound of her voice as she gasped, struggling to speak as pleasure shook her control.

“I want to feel you, hot and heavy, over me,” she said as her breath hitched and her ass clasped his fingers again. Hard. She was close to coming, he could tell. “I want to feel you sweat and strain as you feel my body hold and hug your hard shaft.”

“What else?” he asked as he gripped her harder, his fingers working her further and faster, pushing her closer to her edge.

“I want you to come inside of me, Peter,” she said in a hot hiss, the words a molten tug on his gut, practically a stroke on his cock. 

He shut his eyes as a shudder of pleasure hit him. It didn’t matter how long he knew her, how far they went, how much they did together, he would just never get used to hearing her sweet, innocent voice say the filthiest fantasies to him. Goddamn it, Kat.

Peter pulled his fingers from her ass as he struggled for control.


Kat squirmed as his fingers slid out of her, stroking her sensitive skin even as he left her feeling empty. She’d been so close to coming. Just a few more strokes of his fingers. A slap to her ass. A touch to her clit. Anything. Hovering over the point of no return, she’d have come from the slightest push, but instead she felt wild and craving. “Peter,” she pled as she wriggled her ass at him.

“You’ve got quite a way with words, don’t you, Katherina?” he said, his own voice rough and on edge. “What am I going to do with you?”

She shook her head. She didn’t know. But she wished, whatever he was going to do, he’d do it soon. “Please, Peter,” she said, still swiveling her hips restlessly, “I need you.”

“I don’t have lube, Kat,” he said miserably.

Sure, she thought ruefully. It wasn’t as if he knew he’d have her ass-up and begging for his cock when he’d set out to bring her dinner. She huffed, the aching emptiness inside her unbearable. She bit her lip, trying to hold back the desire to say she didn’t care.

Because, as much as she wanted him, she knew her own limits. Anal without lube; she shuddered at the thought. She might want him, more than anything, but she didn’t want that.

She stiffened as she heard him reach for his belt, the unbuckling metal loud in her head. “Uh,” she said on a hard swallow, “Peter?”

She heard him pull the long length of leather free from its loops. Felt his hand press her shoulders down onto the table again. “Shhh, Katherina,” he told her. “Just relax for me.”

Kat’s eyes widened as her body stiffened against the now cold surface against her warmed skin. She didn’t know about this. “Peter?” she asked, unsure.

“Relax,” he repeated as he rubbed her lower back. “I know just what you need.”

She shut her eyes as his hands left her, feeling suddenly alone and a little afraid. Breathing out hard, she forced her body to relax. She had to relax. It would be better, easier, that way, she knew.

“Ready, Katherina?” he asked.

She took one more fortifying breath before nodding. As ready as she would ever get. She shut her eyes and let herself slip further into headspace.

Kat cried out as she felt the leather’s lash on her ass, the sting both surprising and a relief across her already sensitive flesh. The hot mark felt electric on her skin as it spread though her body, sending adrenaline and endorphins racing through her. God! That was good.

“More, Katherina?” he asked as he smacked the belt against his thigh.

“Yes,” she said, pushing her ass out eagerly. God, yes, this was what she needed. Distantly, she wondered how it was Peter always seemed to know. Was always able to read her so well.

But then all thought was wiped away as he struck her again and again with his belt. On her ass. Her thighs. Her hips. From side to side. Over and over, she got lost in his beat. Let the chemicals raging inside take her. Let the heat and rush of it drive her. She bit her lip as her toes curled and her knees began to shake. She was almost there, she could feel her climax speed closer.

“C’mon, Kat,” he said as he aimed the belt for her sweet spot, just beneath the curve of her ass. “Come.”

Her back arched as she cried out, her tense arms pushing her up and back as she blinked blindly, wildly. Her orgasm rocked her, shaking her stiff body, before leaving her limp as she sunk back onto the table weakly.

“Good girl,” she heard Peter murmur as she felt his hand rub gentle circles over her back and shoulders. “Good girl.”

She smiled as she settled her boneless weight onto the hard, cold surface. She tried to move, tried to squirm this way and that. But with the table’s hard edge digging into her stomach and the stiff surface squashing her cheek, she just couldn’t get comfortable. And she was just too drained—from all the fitful nights and the stressful days as much as the mind-numbing orgasm—to find the energy to push off the cool tabletop holding her up. She just couldn’t move from this spot, no matter how much she wanted to.

She heard Peter chuckle a bit before she felt his hands at her waist. “C’mere, Kat.” He lifted her, shaky-kneed and tired, onto his lap. Gratefully, she curled and snuggled against him, taking comfort from him as she wrapped her limbs around him.

Oh, Peter. “I love you,” she whispered against his neck.

“I love you too,” he told her, wrapping his arms around her. He took a deep breath and nodded as if coming to some kind of decision. “And, whatever you want—whatever you need—that’s what I want for you.”

Whatever she wanted.

If she only knew what that was.

She bit her lip and snuggled closer, feeling his hard-on beneath her. She fought a yawn and looked up at him. “What about you?” she asked, pointedly pressing her sensually sore ass against him. “What about what you want?” Pulling her arm free, she reached for his pants. 

He stopped her by closing his hands over hers. “You’re tired, Kat,” he told her.

“I can still—”

“No,” he told her, giving her a quick kiss to halt her words. “Don’t finish that sentence; I’m trying to be good here and you’re just a little too good at tempting me.” 

She tried to speak again, but was cut off with another kiss. “You’re tired,” he repeated as he kissed and nibbled at her neck. “And I want—what I really want—is to take you home. I want to tuck you into our bed and hold you all night.” He stroked her face before cupping her cheek so she looked into his hazel eyes. Giving her an imploring look, he added, “And, as much fun as this was, I want you to promise me: no more late nights.” He tilted his head acknowledgingly. “I know that this job is important to you and, if you want to stay, I’m behind you. One-hundred percent.” His lips tightened as he fought not to frown. “But you’re important to me and,” he said sadly, the loneliness in his hazel eyes breaking her heart, “I miss you.”

Kat sighed and kissed him. “Let’s go home,” she said as she stood up, pulling him up with her. The smile on his face making her chest swell. She turned around to grab his phone off the desk. She tossed it in the air before pocketing it, feeling better than she had in days.

Taking his hand in hers, Kat led Peter back to her cubicle to grab her things and the food that, even cold, sounded delicious at the moment. As she shut down her computer, she glared at the massive pile of pointless paperwork her spiteful, prudish prick of a boss had left her.

With a snort, she pushed away from her desk and grabbed her purse. Maybe she’d call in sick tomorrow. Spend a lazy morning with Peter before looking at their finances, her savings, and the local job listings. Just to see. Just to figure out if what she wanted—financial independence and self-reliance—and what she really needed—Peter and a sense of sanity in her life—could exist together. Because she shouldn’t have to choose between the two. 

Especially not for someone like Stan.

She turned to her husband and smiled. “Just let me lock up, then we can head home.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder as she curled hers around his waist. It amazed her how whole that simple act made her feel. She giggled as he squeezed her tight against his side as they walked out of the dark, empty, cold office. “Sounds good. Let’s go home.”


Please check out what happens next with Kat & Peter in my story in The New Smut Project's anthology!
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