Sep 22

Mischa Eliot

Masturbation Monday: Flipping the Switch – Part Two

Welcome back! If you haven’t read Part One, please go do that. If you have, please enjoy Part Two. How will Grady, alpha dominant, deal with being dominated by his submissive kitten?

masturbation-monday-week-107Mistress, what the fuck is this about?” The disdain in his voice was obvious. I could hear Grant’s teeth grind as he spits the words at me. I growled right back at him. Grant’s breathing was rough and his eyes were a little wild. I wondered if he’d never been cuffed before – or perhaps he had and it was a bad experience. Either way, I established the safe words and he wasn’t a stranger to knowing how they worked.

“This,” I gestured to him being tied up, waving the crop in front of his face, and snarled, “is about you not being home enough to even have a quickie with me. Smack. This is about cancelling our playdate on your only night off to go drinking with your friends. SmackSmack. THIS is about me taking some control over our relationship for once.” I snapped the crop against his chest three more times. SmackSmackSmack.

Grant panted and his eyes rolled like a wild animal when trapped. The pink marks appeared across his chest and I waited. I wanted to know what was going through his mind. Did I look like this when he punished me? Like a rabid animal stuck in a trap and unable to break free? He remembered how to breathe again and his eyes focused on me as I molested the riding crop like I wanted to molest his cock.

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have cancelled. I know we should’ve talked. I’ve just been so run down lately and I hoped a night out would get me a decent night of sleep so that I could come home to you like a new man tomorrow. The project is done. We completed everything.” The hope in his voice didn’t sway me. I knew he wanted me to undo the cuffs and cave. I refused. If he said Red, then I would stop. Instead of letting him go, I smacked him with the crop again.

“I think it’s time I took control. To show you that I won’t put up with being neglected.” The smack made him gasp, the pink welt it left behind made me smile. I smacked him again as he hadn’t indicated he wanted me to stop, and then again. I smacked his thighs, the sides of his calves, all over his chest and I teased his nipples.

Grant’s cock was full and hard against his stomach. I set the crop aside and rubbed my hands along his legs, his arms, soothing away the hurt. I couldn’t help but want to touch him all over the way he sometimes did for me. I pinched and flicked his nipples until they stood proud and pert. I hadn’t been allowed to touch myself, to orgasm, while he had shot off loads of jizz in the shower or whenever else he felt like it, for a month. Tonight was my night to get off.

I pulled out some strawberry lube, my favorite flavor, and dumped some into my hand. Taking his cock, I coated it with the shiny oil. Grant groaned as I touched him, lifting his hips to press himself harder into my hand. Earlier he had been stalwart in his quiet as his eyes watched me, lips pressed tightly together as he took the punishment I deemed necessary.

“Oh, is that what you want? You like it when I stroke your cock for you?” I gave him my best baby-voice as I moved my hand up and down his meat. I loved the taste of him with strawberry. I wanted to give in and slide my bright red lips down his shaft, but I resisted. I put steel in my spine and stroked him over and over again, rubbing the lube into his hardening length.

If you’ve enjoyed this post, please come back next week for Part Three of Flipping the Switch!

You can find more delicious naughty stories over at Masturbation Monday hosted by the lovely Kayla Lords. If you haven’t submitted your own story as well, and write romance, erotica, or some combination of the genres and sub-genres, please consider doing so.

Link: Masturbation Monday

Link: Kayla Lords

Sep 22

Mischa Eliot

Aspiring and Wannabe Authors

Stop it.

Just stop.

Read TerribleMinds.Com – the Blog by Chuck Wendig and get off your ass. Even if you can only write 15 minutes a day and even if the words start out shitty, it’s better than nothing at all. Here’s some other inspiration for you.

Sep 21

Mischa Eliot

Sizzling Nibble: Swinging in the Park

I had a random idea and this is what came of it. Please enjoy Swinging in the Park featuring Leah and the Officer.

sizzlingnibbles2I sat on the swing. I wasn’t supposed to be here in the park after sunset but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to be outside and it felt naughty breaking the rules. I don’t know why I didn’t just sit in my backyard or even on the front steps. It was a beautiful fucking night out and I wanted to be in the park. The fresh air and the scent of fresh-cut grass filled me. A smile made its way onto my lips and I pushed off, starting the back and forth motion to send me sailing into the air.

I wasn’t doing anything bad or wrong, but it was embarrassing. You see, I’ve always been a little pudgy around my middle and I hate that stupid little muffin-top. It didn’t matter for some reason how many crunches or side lunges or jack knives I did. I drank water. I avoided foods that caused bloating in case that was the issue – and yet the fucking thing remained.

One night, lamenting this flabby part of me, thinking I’ll never get rid of it, I entered the park. I had just left a dinner party where I’d munched on crackers and avoided alcohol while making miserably boring small talk. Walking through the park was a shortcut home and I just wanted to go home. The swings were drifting lazily in the breeze and looked as if some young kids had just jumped off. I grabbed the chain and sat down. At first, I just sat there, moving my feet back and forth, watching the trees wave their branches. The moon was full and the sky was mostly clear. I glanced around and decided to swing. I’m still not sure what had changed my mind about going straight home.

The next morning I’d woken up sore as hell in my abdominal area. It felt like I’d done a hundred crunches. I decided to go back the next night and the night after that to see if perhaps the secret to getting rid of that damn muffin top was the swing.

Tonight was no exception. The night was gorgeous and warm with a breeze. I could smell the fresh mulch they’d used around the bushes and the fresh dirt on the baseball fields. Still having a hard time believing, I kept swinging. I knew somewhere deep down that I’d come to realize eventually that it wasn’t working, that I had fooled myself again and that this stupid muffin top was going to follow me to the grave, but for now, I rode the swing.

One night, a car drove by slow and I could tell the windows were down because they didn’t reflect the street lights and an arm was hanging out adjusting something by the mirror. A spotlight. The bright light shone in my direction and I almost lost my balance when I put my hand up to cover my eyes. It was then I saw ‘Sherriff’ painted on the side of the vehicle and I froze. I wondered if this was just a coincidence or if someone had called the cops because some lunatic was swinging in the park.

He didn’t put the red and blue lights to flashing, but he did turn off the spot light and pulled over to the side of the road. After a few moments, he got out and walked over, flash light in hand. When I got a look at him, my chest froze and I couldn’t breathe. The man was breathtaking. The sleeves of his uniform barely contained the bulges of muscles. For a moment, I wondered if he could give me tips on how to get a flat belly. Then I was able to breathe again.

“Ma’am?” The young officer was unsure what to make of me and the embarrassment flooded through me like a desert heat wave at high noon. “You know there’s no one allowed in the park after sunset, right?” It sounded to me like he was giving me an out and the look on his face, slightly flawed by the bump on his nose, indicated just that by the way he cocked his eyebrow.

“Actually, Officer, I do know. It’s just that…” what the heck was I supposed to say? “It’s really embarrassing but for some reason I just have this urge to swing.” I hadn’t meant to put so much emphasis on the word swing, but the emotions running through me right now were all jumbled into a massive heap like the blob.

A smirk slowly appeared on the Officer’s face, “How about I help you swing?” The next thing I knew he was in between my legs, pushing me back until I could wrap my thighs around his hips. I forgot I’d been wearing a skirt until then. His lips engulfed mine and I opened to taste his essence. He tasted like mint and citrus. He smelled like a fresh ocean breeze plus something I couldn’t name, something naughty and desirable.

“Oh, Officer,” I moaned against his mouth. He pulled back a little and kissed my nose. I giggled, feeling like I was ten years’ younger which would’ve been nice because then I wouldn’t feel like such a cougar. Not that there was anything wrong with being a cougar, it was something I hadn’t ever aspired to myself.

“Would you like to continue, Ma’am?” I nodded and he unzipped his pants, pulling out the bulge I felt against my core just moments before. He shifted me on the swing and slid his hands between my thighs to find me drenched. When the officer slid his fingers inside and pressed his thumb against my button, then wiggled them all at the same time, I saw stars explode behind my eyelids that I hadn’t seen in ages. I was writhing and holding onto the chains for dear life as I thrashed against his hand.

As I caught my breath, he was licking my climax off his fingers. Once they were cleaned off really well, he kissed me and slid inside me so fast I almost cried out from the shock and flood of passion that engulfed me.

“Oh, Officer,” I cried against his uniform as he used the swing to match the movement of his hips, back and forth, back and forth, our lower extremities met and parted only to be brought together again and again until I clawed into those biceps too tight for his sleeves. When I did that he ground himself against my hot wet core and shifted his hips in circles. I felt like he touched every part of me from that one spot.

Now we were both panting and drenched in more things than sweat, stickier, sweeter tasting things. He kissed me again and extricated himself from my body. After he put away his extraordinary length, he tipped his hat at me and said, “Ma’am, if I catch you in this park again, we’re going to go another round, you and me.” The glint in his eyes and the smirk on his face told me everything I needed to know.

I would be returning to the park again tomorrow night.


Sep 20

Mischa Eliot

What would you tell your younger self?

Writer’s Digest has a weekly writer prompt and I thought I would participate.

What I Would Tell My Younger Self: You’ve been given one-time access to a time machine to visit your younger self. After a brief pause, you know the when and the where, hop in the machine and take off. When there, you chat with your younger self but offer one piece of advice to him/her that you hope will change his/her future for the better. Start with your arrival in the time machine (and what does your time machine look like) and end with your arrival in the future noticing something that has changed.

It didn’t take long for me to come up with my answer, however the problem is when do I tell myself? When I’m 16 and love reading everything I can get my paws on? Or when I’m 19 and have discovered new and exciting things on the internet along with a group of people who influenced who I am today? And one of them I consider family to this day. Or perhaps when I’m the magical age of 22 and writing but not getting anywhere with it? Maybe when I’m 30 and not working and going a little stir crazy?

I didn’t do a very good job following the prompt because I’m not exploring what my time machine would look like (it would be the one from the movie that was also featured on Big Bang Theory, come on…) but that’s irrelevant. I know the advice I would give: Never stop writing. I would tell myself no matter what it takes, write. Write everything down, every little detail. Write it all down – the good, the bad, the ugly. Write stories, Write articles, Take writing classes that are actually capable of teaching you something.

Grab the muse and hang on for dear life and see what you can really accomplish. I don’t have to win awards, I don’t have to be famous. I would love to be able to live off my writing and travel and experience exciting things. So, yes. If I could go back, I would tell myself to keep writing, keep imagining, keep creating something wonderful.

If I could do this, I would probably go back even younger. It’s the only thing that I would want to change about my past – all those years I wasn’t writing. Even if I had only written 1000 words a day, just imagine how many words that would have been for all the days, months, years that I didn’t put word to digital screen. It’s absolutely mind-blowing. And I will never let that happen again. As long as I can see, as long as I can type – and when I can’t do either perhaps I can get dictation software, but hell, even then – I will not stop writing.

Grab your dream. Grab your muse. And don’t let go. Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t, that you’re less than, that you’re incapable, that you don’t have talent (sometimes you need talent, but you can fake it til you make it).

Now go out there and find your spot in the sunshine.

Sep 18

Mischa Eliot

Masturbation Monday: Flipping the Switch – Part One

Masturbation Monday: Flipping the Switch – Part One

masturbation-monday-week-107Work had been stealing my sweetheart all fucking month and by the time he got home he was too tired to do anything. Sometimes even too tired to sleep. He’d toss and turn all night long, trying to get those precious Zs. We couldn’t even keep our scheduled playdates. And when he cancelled our playdate for the one day he had off to go out with his friends… well let’s just say this grumpy kitty sharpened her claws.

I decided to have a night out clubbing with my girls since he was going out with the guys. I didn’t know when I’d be home, but I knew he’d pay when I got there, in a very delicious way. A way that he normally makes me pay when I’ve misbehaved. My inner submissive was turning into a dominant. I was going to show my man what happened when he forgot my needs.

In order to have courage and most of my faculties, I only drank two alcoholic beverages and then tossed out the designated driver line at the other places we went. It gave me free water or soda to drink and I was also able to fend off the sweaty hands of strangers as they tried to paw me on the dance floor.

When I got home, Grant was sound asleep. My lips puckered and I pulled out the fuzzy handcuffs that were reserved for me. Using the little bit of light from the hall nightlight, I captured one wrist and cuffed it to the other above his head through the slats of the headboard. I grabbed two more and cuffed his ankles, one to each corner. I pulled the rest of the covers off of him and turned on the lamp. My honey was naked. How sweet of him to make things easier for me.

He was blinking from the invasion of light. We always slept with it as dark as possible. It had been something for me to get used to when we first moved in together. It was difficult to go to the bathroom when you’re writhing on the floor after bumping something precious into the bed frame, after all.

“Babe? What’s going on?” I waited. I wanted him to realize what happened. And then I couldn’t stop the evil smirk that appeared as he went to rub his eyes, but found himself trapped instead.

“Babe?” He only called me babe when we weren’t in play mode. When we were in play mode I was kitten or slut, depending on which role he had me playing. Tonight, I would be called something else entirely. Mistress.

“You can call me Mistress.” I went to rummage through the toy trunk – yes it’s an actual trunk – to find something to torment my partner with that would get his attention. I didn’t want to hurt him. I wanted to tease him until his balls were blue like my metaphorical ones after not being utilized for a month.

I started with a riding crop. As I drew it down his body, I paused to tease his nipples. I dragged it along his thighs but didn’t touch his cock or balls. His cock, just lying there, barely half mast, started to perk up.

“Babe… what the hell is this about?” My temper flared about his ignorance and I paused in my ministrations. I wanted to smack him with the crop, but it was best if we discussed the rules before I started officially doling out punishment.

“You may call me Mistress. Your safe words are Yellow and Red.” I wouldn’t tell him that I’d thought about leaving or cheating or begging and pleading for attention. I would find a way to work this out.

If you’ve enjoyed this post, please read Part Two of Flipping the Switch!

You can find more delicious naughty stories over at Masturbation Monday hosted by the lovely Kayla Lords. If you haven’t submitted your own story as well, and write romance, erotica, or some combination of the genres and sub-genres, please consider doing so.

Link: Masturbation Monday

Link: Kayla Lords

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