Jun 192013
 

Once again, my ass is popular… or at least, discussions of my ass… or asses in general. So now you know why shaving my asshole was an issue, right?

In some very thoughtful responses to my post on how I came to love ‘ass worship’, quite a few commenters suggested they understood what I meant by ‘mind games.’ That idea has always been interesting to me (the navel-gazer that I am), and I was surprised at the showing of understanding, agreement, and support. I’m flipping the idea over in my brain and plan to write on it soon.

But for now, let’s focus on what I did expect… which was a question about the potentially squicky aspects of ass worship… linebreaksm

Analingus to Cunnilingus: Health Issues?

I considered addressing health issues in my last post, but I figured mentioning hygiene in a post in praise of ass-worship might detract from the actual praise part. :) Since I didn’t mention it, I expected someone would… That someone was Grumpyoldswitch, who asked:

Without wishing to poop the party, are there any known hygiene or health issues involved in performing analingus and cunnilingus during the same session?

Question (In Plain English): Is it bad to have someone lick your asshole and then lick your pussy?

Short Answer: Yes. (yes… but… explanations and TMI notes below…)


Goes Without Saying (But Worth Repeating): STIs and STDs

First, the biggest health risk (in any sexual contact) is the transmission of STIs. Common sense should tell you to get tested for STIs, STDs, IEDs, and WTFs.

Dumb Domme Personal Note
Personal Note (TMI) #1: J and I have both been tested, we are infection and disease-free, and we are currently monogamous.

The Obvious: Fecal Matter

The obvious hygienic issue is fecal matter.

For the record, fecal matter is actually “stored” in the colon, not in the rectum (the part closest to the anus). While traces of fecal matter can be present in the rectum and on/around the anus, luckily, those can be easily washed away.

So… you know, do that. Wash. Besides that, eat a fiber-rich diet, move your bowels and take a shower right before play. If you’re really concerned about cleanliness, use an enema or two (or four) before any anal action.

Dumb Domme Personal Note

Personal Note (TMI) #2: I take hygiene a little too far. When I realized my butt was going to be the focus of some attention, I overprepared. I didn’t eat solid food for two days beforehand. I’m not kidding. Then, the day I was going to see J, I used two OTC enemas in the morning, and two more before we got naked. Post enemas and prenakedness, I took a shower and cleaned thoroughly. Really. Fucking. Thoroughly. (Side note: do not use a sisal loofah on your anus… it’s not a good idea. Don’t ask me how I know.)

Unfortunately, ‘rimming’ didn’t happen that night, due in part to the fact that I had NO food in my system, had a few alcoholic drinks, and things went south from there (things went south in the bad way… not in the good way).

Less Obvious: Bacteria

The less obvious issue in following oral-anal contact with oral-genital contact is bacteria (particularly when the receiver is female/has a pussy).

The vagina is a curious little ecosystem. When healthy, the vagina has proper levels of good bacteria and it’s completely self cleaning. When you introduce ‘bad’ bacteria into the ecosystem, the whole thing can get thrown out of whack. That sort of ‘bad’ bacteria can come from a sex toy, a finger, a penis, a vegetable, whatever. To lessen the risk of transmitting bad bacteria, clean your sex toys, fingers, cock, vegetables (whatever) well, with hot water and antibacterial soap (you can even boil some sex toys… but not fingers… don’t boil your fingers). But, even if you wash meticulously with antibacterial soap and hot water, bacteria can still be introduced into the vagina (since its impossible to fuck in a completely sterilized environment).

And yes, ‘bad’ bacteria exists in the rectum and around the anus. No matter how little you eat, no matter how much you wash, and no matter how many enemas you use, the bacteria is still going to be there.

The biggest bacterial risk of moving from analingus to cunnilingus is introducing bad bacteria — E. coli specifically — into the vagina. It can cause bacterial vaginosis, yeast infections, and even urinary tract infections.

To avoid these risks, the best course of action is to perform cunnilingus first, and then move on to analingus. If you want to switch back and forth, numerous sources suggest that after analingus, the ‘giver’ should rinse her or his mouth with an antibacterial mouthwash (the stingy kind with alcohol it it) for at least 60 seconds, and of course, the giver should also wash her or his face, hands, and anything else that came into contact with the receivers anus or rectum with hot water and antibacterial soap (I also recommend using a good stiff nail brush for scrubbing around cuticles and under the nails).

Dumb Domme Personal Note
Personal Note (TMI) #3: I’m meticulous about washing and using enemas, and thankfully, I’m not prone to bacterial vaginosis, yeast infections, or urinary tract infections. While I realize there’s a risk, I don’t care that J moves from my cunt to my ass and back again. It’s a risk I’m willing to take.

Related: You Kiss Your Domme with that Mouth?

As if this post weren’t squicky enough, it’s important to also remember there’s a risk of other sorts of nasty infections and illnesses involved in moving from oral-anal contact (rimming) to oral-oral contact (kissing) — those nasties include salmonella, shigella, and giardia. The best practice is to use mouthwash, antibacterial soap… all that.

Dumb Domme Personal Note
Personal Note (TMI) #4: I kiss him after. Again, I’m meticulous about washing, and while I know there’s bacteria, for whatever reason, kissing him after doesn’t bother me in the least. (And besides, putting his mouth on my ass doesn’t bother him… so why should putting my mouth on his mouth bother me?) Go ahead, judge me. While you do that, I’ll be enjoying hot kinky sex…

Bottom Lines:

Talk about your bottoms, your lines, and your bottom lines with your partner(s). Get tested and educate yourself. Then, find yourself a nice boy and sit on his face…*

Dumb Domme Personal Note
Personal Note (TMI) #5: J and I exchange(d) a lot of our sex preferences and ‘new ideas’ in the form of written fantasies. Way early on, when J was floating the idea of ass worship, in one of his fantasies, he actually wrote out the process of going to brush his teeth, wash his face, and use mouthwash after licking my asshole. Like, he wrote it into the fantasy. How sweet and adorable and responsible is that?  :)

 


*Alternatively: find yourself a nice girl and sit on her face, or find yourself a nice girl and get to licking, or find yourself a nice boy and get to licking…
 

Jun 182013
 
condoms

Photo courtesy of Behind the Chintz Curtain

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Jun 162013
 

A long, long time ago, when J and I were still getting to know each other, we danced around the details of our sexual preferences. When we got to the topic of anal play, J asked if I had even been the recipient of “rimming.” I had not, nor did I understand the appeal. What could a tongue on my asshole possibly do for me?

J responded with a sigh: “It’s a shame that so many women have never enjoyed a proper rimming.”

And that sentence? It was fucking hilarious. He said it so matter-of-factly, as if he were speaking of something totally non-sexual, like steak, or live theater, or a pedicure.

I laughed, said I wasn’t all that interested, and that was that. (or so I thought)
linebreaksm
Here’s the thing: J is both orally fixated and completely indiscriminate. He’s a mouth slut. The object of his oral attention doesn’t matter much — if his mouth is on it, in it, or around it, he’s a happy man. For that, I am a lucky woman.

The boy has a very talented mouth. He has beautiful lips, perfect teeth, a strong jaw, and a surprisingly dexterous tongue. He’s a lovely kisser — attentive, responsive, and his kisses run the range from sweet, slow, and tender to predatory and aggressive. His lips and tongue are magic on necks, ears, nipples, collarbones, fingers… and everywhere else. Bonus: he adores giving oral sex. Double bonus: he’s amazing. Triple bonus: he has impressive stamina.

The boy has a black belt in giving head.

I learned that fairly quickly. But along the way, here and there, J hinted at “ass worship.” By hinted, I mean he mentioned it in his fantasies, made ‘suggestions,’ and occasionally, he just went ahead and licked my asshole. I’m a little slow sometimes, but eventually, I got the hint.
linebreaksm

I didn’t say no, I just didn’t say much of anything. I had (have) enough issues receiving cunnilingus, so anything else was outside of my ability to consider.

I was a tiny bit curious, but the language alone was a complete turn off. The image in my head of “ass worship” was from bad porn — I couldn’t imagine myself bouncing on his face yelling “lick my ass! LICK MY ASS!” It’s just not me. *shudder*

er·rant, adj., /ˈerənt/

1: straying outside the proper path or bounds
2: moving about aimlessly or irregularly

But now and again, an errant tongue during oral sex made me curious…

By errant tongue, I mean that when he was licking my pussy, his tongue strayed ‘the proper course’ to get at my ass. Of course, he only spent a second there before moving away… as if it was just an accident, as if he had been overzealous and momentarily lost control of his tongue. Riiiiight.

By curious, I mean, ‘oh… that felt good.’

J’s ‘errant tongue’ is just one example of why he’s a fantastic submissive for me (and to me). I’m not your textbook ‘take charge’ demanding, do it now, do it this way, sort of dominant. This is my first D/s relationship, and besides that, I have a fuck ton of hangups — body image issues, insecurities, a history of bad sex, fear of embarrassment, gender enculturation, etc. — I can’t just turn all of that off.

To his immense credit, J walks a very dangerous line in suggesting anything, particularly when he thinks he knows better than I do what I’ll enjoy. It’s risky — he wants me to enjoy myself, and if he suspects there’s something I’ll like, he’s got to figure out how to make that happen.

Sometimes it means making me feel comfortable and safe.

Other times, it means I need to be convinced it’s something he wants as much (if not more) than I do. (If I ‘give in’ to something he wants, it circumvents any cognitive dissonance I might have over wanting it myself.) When convincing isn’t enough, I need coaxed. (We call it ‘begging,’ because that’s how it’s enacted — he ‘begs’ and further convinces me it’s something he really wants, and acquiescing to him feels safer to me than acknowledging my own desire… please Ma’am, let me lick you… please, please? Okay, okay… fine. If you really want to lick my ass….).

Sometimes, I need pushed — literally. J physically moves me into a position or just goes ahead and does something before I have a chance to process what’s going on.

Note: I realize a lot of this is mind games — not the evil kind, but the kind I need us both to play for me to feel comfortable and safe enough to try new things (particularly things that make me feel vulnerable). It’s not something I’m proud of — it’s immature and self-centered and ridiculous. I’m self-aware enough to see that, but I’m not always in a position to fix it. I’m very lucky to have a partner who knows me well enough to recognize my shortcomings, who is smart enough to figure out how to work with them, and who loves me enough to put up with any of it.

Anyway, his ‘errant tongue’ was one such way of pushing me…

One night, in the middle of oral sex, his tongue went rogue and ended up dangerously close to my asshole… but only for a moment. Before I could protest, he was, um, back on track. Perhaps it was just a slip of the tongue, (so to speak), so I didn’t mention it.

The next time he went rogue, he lapped at my asshole for a few seconds. I still wasn’t sure whether it was on purpose or whether he was just overzealous, and it felt pretty damn good, so again, I didn’t protest.

It happened more and more frequently. His errant tongue’s adventures only ever lasted a few seconds before he retreated. Smart man… he never gave me enough time to stop him. (He knows me well.)

I assume my lack of protest was encouragement enough… and one night, he got very brave.

He had been licking pussy for a while, and for whatever reason, I was just enjoying it without the usual orgasm frustration (I have orgasm issues). When I wasn’t paying attention, he moved my hips a few inches, locked his arms around me, and I was stuck (not that I fought it much… sometimes I enjoy it when he’s aggressive).

He started lapping away at my asshole, and this time he didn’t retreat. Within a few moments, I gave in to absolute bliss. (Have I mentioned that boy’s mouth is magic?)

It was amazing — pure pleasure. It’s definitely sexual pleasure, but it’s different somehow. It’s luxurious — warm, soft, more relaxed. It’s pleasure that rolls in gentle waves that never crest and never crash. In that way, it’s entirely different from oral sex where the goal is orgasm. It’s different because there’s no build and no goal — it’s without frustration and without tension.

And because there’s no tension and no pressure, I can be entirely passive — physically and mentally. I’m doing nothing more than being served, and that’s emotionally satisfying in a way I didn’t expect.

It’s worship. As much as I hate the term, there’s no better word for it… and I fucking love it.

I’m lucky he’s willing to take risks. He’s lucky it ended well.

So, ass worship? Yes please. :)

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Jun 132013
 

He had been bound and kissed, stretched and fucked, loved and beaten until there was little of him left. Nearly all of him was mine. He wanted me to take the rest — he begged for harder, faster, more. Past a point, he is so much mine he can’t be trusted to act in his best interest. Despite his want (and despite my own), I decided he would take no more that night.

After I untied him, I lay down at his side, propped up on my elbow so I could watch his lovely face. Eyes glassy and unfocused, lips slightly parted, he turned to face me. I couldn’t tell if he was entirely present or a million miles away. With a hand on his chest to anchor him to earth, I felt his heartbeat, slow and steady, his breathing, deep and even.

I leaned down, my face to his, and whispered my love and violent adoration between his parted lips. There was little indication he was even listening until I paused to take a breath. His lips closed, he swallowed, and opened up once more.

I studied his face for a moment, leaned in closer, and spoke sweet, sick words of my possession into his willing, open mouth — I told him what I’d taken and the ways I’d already made him mine. Hushed but nearly hissing, I detailed my unsatisfied desire — I claimed whatever he was holding back, what was left for me to have.

I watched every word slip between his lips and sink into his throat.

I paused. He swallowed.

He was hungry — perhaps as hungry for my possession I was eager to possess.

My words imbued with purpose, more promise than poetics. My voice was slick and silver, it’s cadence more characteristic of incantation than meaningless sweet nothings. I didn’t want him to hear me. I wanted him to eat my every word. I wanted to shove them down his throat. I wanted them to sit heavy in his stomach — to fill him up and make him hungry, to nourish him and make him sick.

I paused. He swallowed.

Eyes still blurry and unfocused, his lips parted, he awaited more.

 

Jun 112013
 

It feels like summer in the sunny subtropics, but it isn’t. It’s still spring.

I hate spring.

For a number of reasons — personal, professional, medical, historical, and coincidental — this time of year has never been very kind to me. I’m eagerly counting down the days until the first official day of summer — there are 9 days left, if you’re wondering.

Five years ago, work and life got so unmanageable that I made (what seemed like) a ‘rational’ decision to abandon it all — my job, my apartment, my family, and my friends. I decided I’d leave it all behind and live on the beach for a while — not by the beach, on the beach. Willfully ‘homeless.’ I’d spend my days reading in the sunshine and playing in the surf and my evenings in the company of strangers at salty dive bars. I’d sleep on a bed of sand under a blanket of stars.

I loaded up my backpack with a beach towel, a few books, and some cash, and took off on my bicycle wearing a bikini and a pair of cut off jean shorts. I had nothing else with me. After just a few days, I was dehydrated, sick from eating nothing but bananas, and badly sunburned. A few days later, my bicycle broke. In all, I lasted nine days before I abandoned my plan — not because I was hungry or burned, and not because my bike broke — but because my bikini top did. undertow2

Four years ago, around the middle of spring, I had trouble keeping weight on. It wasn’t willful, and despite my best efforts to keep healthy with supplements and protein shakes, I got dangerously thin and severely anemic. I was tired and weak and covered in bruises that appeared to have no cause. The only reason I managed to pull myself out of bed every morning was because I was scared to death of what might happen to me if I didn’t.

Three years ago, on the night before my 29th birthday, I came to consciousness in the middle of the road. Despite being in my own neighborhood, I couldn’t figure out how to get home. In a sense, I spent the months that followed finding my way back.

Two years ago, spring had me reeling from some personal losses and professional setbacks. There were some residual medical issues from the year before, but nothing nearly as dangerous.

Last year, spring wasn’t so bad, and this year, it’s better than it’s ever been. I’m happy, healthy, stressed but dealing, and nothing terrible has happened. It’s been so uneventful, in fact, that it’s made me nervous. Since February, I’ve been anxious, waiting for something to happen.

I’ve been waiting for falling shoes (so many have dropped in the past few years that I’ve lost track of pairs… I’m expecting more than one).

I’ve been waiting for the undertoad…

linebreaksm

From Chapter 18 of John Irving’s The World According to Garp

Duncan began talking about Walt and the undertow — a famous family story. For as far back as Duncan could remember, the Garps had gone every summer to Dog’s Head Harbor, New Hampshire, where the miles of beach in front of Jenny Fields’ estate were ravaged by a fearful undertow. When Walt was old enough to venture near the water, Duncan said to him — as Helen and Garp had, for years, said to Duncan — “Watch out for the undertow.” Walt retreated, respectfully. And for three summers, Walt was warned about the undertow. Duncan recalled all the phrases.

“The undertow is bad today.”
“The undertow is strong today.”
“The undertow is wicked today.” Wicked was a big word in New Hampshire — not just for the undertow.

And for years, Walt watched out for it. From the first, when he asked what it could do to you, he had only been told that it could pull you out to sea. It could suck you under and drown and you and drag you away.

It was Walt’s fourth summer at Dog’s Head Harbor, Duncan remembered, when Garp and Helen and Duncan had observed Walt watching the sea. He stood ankle deep in the foam from the surf and peered into the waves, without taking a step, for the longest time. The family went down to the water’s edge to have a word with him.

“What are you doing, Walt?” Helen asked?
“What are you looking for, Dummy?” Duncan asked him.
“I’m trying to see the Under Toad,” Walt said.
“The what?” said Garp?
“The Under Toad,” Walt said. “I’m trying to see it. How big is it?”

And Garp and Helen and Duncan held their breath; they realized that all these years, Walt had been dreading a giant toad, lurking offshore, waiting to suck him under and drag him out to sea. The terrible Under Toad.

Garp tried to imagine it with him. Would it ever surface? Did it ever float? Or was it always down under, slimy and bloated and ever watchful for ankles its coated tongue could snare? The vile Under Toad.

Between Helen and Garp, the Under Toad became their code word for anxiety. Long after the monster was clarified for Walt (“Undertow, dummy, not Under Toad!” Duncan had howled), Garp and Helen evoked the beast as a way of referring to their own sense of danger. When the traffic was heavy, when the road was icy — when depression had moved in overnight — they said to each other “The Under Toad is strong today.”

linebreaksmThe Under Toad has been my unwelcome companion for months, waiting just below the surface.

He may come in the form of test results, a career-killing decision on a project, or a phone call from my father in the middle of the night… but I doubt it.

This year, I suspect the Under Toad is a jetliner to San Francisco, a goodbye at the gate, and the cold comfort of always knowing it was coming.