Feet

As has probably become clear by now, I am something of a foot fetishist. I find that no other part of the body has skin as smooth as the top of the feet, and I adore kissing such velvety skin.
The feel, the taste, the smell... I know feet have a reputation for smelling bad, but I find that Colombina's feet smell wonderful, and taste better.

I love kissing, licking, nibbling and rubbing her feet. And I love her reactions to all of these things.

In an earlier post, Colombina mentioned that I find that part of the appeal of footworship for me is that it is a submissive act. That is true to an extent- I find it very hot to be *told* to kiss Colombina's feet- but I also enjoy doing it of my own volition- because it seems to bring such enjoyment to us both.

It seems *very* unfair, therefore, given how nice I am to Colombina's feet, that she takes so much delight in being mean to mine. She drags her nails down my soles, she bites them, she scrapes them with her teeth... What did my poor feet do to deserve such treatment? And why does the rest of me enjoy it so much?

Blushing cheeks

I love being spanked.

Correction: I love being spanked by Harlequin.

Which, to be honest, is not something I would ever have imagined.

I have always enjoyed having my bottom touched, but I never thought of asking anyone to elaborate on that despite how much I enjoyed it. Like, that thing you are doing with your hand and the squeezing? Would you mind doing it a little bit harder, and for a little bit longer? Like, maybe, ALL DAY LONG longer? No. I was one of those women afraid to say "Stop moving those hands and the blowjob deal is OVER, buddy".

So the first time Harlequin bent me over (a kitchen sink; I was doing the dishes) and landed a blow smack on my behind, there was no frame of reference for what had just happened other than "Oh, my GOD, do that again". And, being the sweet, compassionate, caring partner that he is, he was happy to oblige. And that one spank soon became a few more, and my bottom had never been this happy.

There is something feral about Harlequin when he grabs me around the waist and bends me over or throws me on the bed, making me tingle with anticip-pation. It's something that makes me want him even more that I normally do, which is *a lot*. Think supernova numbers and maybe you'll start to approximate. There is a delicious mystery in those first few moments of wondering "Is he going to pull down my trousers?" "Is he going to take off my knickers?"

And then comes the rubbing. Oh, oh, sweet rubbing. I love having my bottom rubbed just as much as I love having my feet rubbed, if not more. Inventors of the world, I'll let you take the credit for a pair of knickers that rub the bottom constantly if you'll send me the first prototype.

And one of the things that make me love the rubbing part so much is that knowledge that the beginning of the spanking is inminent. That I can almost feel that very first time when his hand lands on my bottom...

And there it is. The first spank is always my favourite. Because afterwards, there is always some more rubbing, which is Harlequin's way of saying "Are you okay?", and "Are you ready for more?", and "My, your bottom is gorgeous".

And because the first spank means there are more spanks to follow.

Harlequin excells at the manipulation of my bottom. He just seems to know when I am ready move on from his hand to more expeditive implements (do remind me to talk about the World's Beautifulest Flogger, currently in our posession, at another time), and when I need a good rubbing. He just knows how to get my bottom to turn the most interesting shade of red, and how to intude the most delicious, bubbly shivers...

And he has the most absolutely perfect timing for sliding his hand between my legs. Yes, I am indeed a lucky lady. And no, you may not borrow him.

Shudders

I like shudders.
For those of you who are not aware, a shudder is that feeling when your lover says something that turns you on so much that you feel like a bucket of ice has replaced all your internal organs, and you are left as a little puddle of arousal on the floor.

To begin with, these shudders were infrequent, until we found the right name for them, and started producing them in each other intentionally. Then we began in earnest, sending each other text messages intended to make each other shudder. I remember on one occasion, Colombina was in a meeting, in a meeting room that had wireless internet.

We took full advantage of that.

Recently, though, we noticed that the shudders have tailed off considerably. We were worried for a moment or two, before we realised why.

Being in a long distance relationship means, at least for Colombina and I, a lot of cybersex. But the problem with cybersex is that it can get monotonous.

Right now, I would like nothing more than to worship my beautiful Colombina's beautiful feet... To rub them all over, to begin with, and then gently kiss the top of each foot.

To pick one up, and slide my tongue from her heel to her toes. To place each of those toes in my mouth, and lick and suck and nibble it. To slide my tongue in between each of her toes, before placing her whole foot in my mouth, dragging my teeth gently across her sole and running my tongue everywhere.

Now, if I were to do that to the other foot, I am almost certain that Colombina would not object. But to describe doing it? Not so exciting.

And here lies the problem. But I feel that the ending of the easy-shudder phase is the equivalent, for us, of the end of the can't-keep-our-hands-off-each-other phase. And it doesn't seem like that phase is ever going to come to an end.

How can it, when I am faced with the prospect of being able to touch the most beautiful girl in the world?

Red Rant

My period came today.

That is definitely a cause for rejoicing. My period is *always* on time, and now it was almost a week late and I was starting to get ideas.

Although now I realize that it is not late, February is just three days shorter than January and March and even my punctuality-nazi cycle couldn't make up for three days. I had just counted wrong. YES, I am THAT DUMB.

And now I am in SO MUCH pain I am starting to wonder what is the big deal about being pregnant. Ah, yes, that's right, a baby comes out of your vagina after nine mensturationless months. Oh, poo. What's that you say? Swollen ankles? Nausea? Having to pee every thirty seconds? Walking around with an elephant attached to the mid-section? OKAY I GET IT.

Menstruation is the one thing that I can't really share with Harlequin. Or that any woman can't really share with their partner. Except if that partner happens to be another woman. Those lucky lesbians! Oh, yes, and a man with a menstrual fetish, I guess. Although the thought of having anyone else's body parts within a foot of my uterus in these moments of abhorrent suffering makes me want to *kick*. So don't come offering sexual favours if you value your life, I AM WARNING YOU MENSTRUAL FETISHISTS.

Most men I've known show reactions that range from sympathetic indifference to woman-I'd-rather-have-my-eyeballs-clawed-out-than-hear-about-the-blood-that's-cascading-down-that-orifice-of-yours-that-I-usually-rather-like. The thing is, no matter how compassionate they are about our periods, they are practically oblivious to them, except for the "no sex for three days" consequence, I guess. It's an invisible pain that they can't fully comprehend because THEY DON'T HAVE THE EQUIPMENT TO REPLICATE IT (and offering to kick them in their nether regions won't quite do it, I am afraid). So when your loving partner looks at your bedraggled face and wonders what exactly you are doing in your dressing gown and pyjama bottom and a cup of tea at three in the afternoon, and you tell them your communist friend decided to drop by, don't resent him for not understanding. Is the price we pay for the ability to multitask, boobs, and prettier feet.

Oooh, I could SO do with some foot-loving right now.

Stage Fright

A few weeks ago, Harlequin and yours truly participated in a Haunted House that preceded a scary show. With several bits and scraps from around the theatre, we composed the following outfit:

I was wearing a pseudo-edwardian shirt, black with white lace around the collar and cuffs, a black, long skirt, a black lace veil that covered my hair and my eyes and cascaded down my arms. Oh, and a plastic black hat that was not aesthetically neccessary, or even all that pleasant, but that was essential to keep the veil in place and hide the scruffy ponytail I had bunched my hair into. My face was painted white and my lips black, with the corners of my mouth elongated in two jagged lines.

And Harlequin? We painted his face as cadaveric as possible, and we got a large piece of fabric to cover him with. We positioned ourselves in our place, a somber corridor lit by one single candle, with cobwebs and spiders dangling all over the place (all fake, of course. I wouldn't have been able to stand anywhere, let alone scare anyone, if there had been ACTUAL SPIDERS dangling ALL OVER THE PLACE) me standing and him sitting next to me. The black fabric he was wrapped in made his body merge into my skirt, giving the impression, in the dim light, that I was wearing a large, albeit, slightly lopsided petticoat.

Maybe you are wondering where the costume is going. Well, once positioned, I put my arm around Harlequin's head, et voilà! We had the fantasmagoric bride with her skeletal groom's head tucked under her arm. And it worked! We unsettled people walking by. Many wondered whether Harlequin's head was real, and he was happy to demonstrate cackling or screaming.

At one point, he put his hand around my knee to steady himself. Maybe now is a good time to reveal that the skirt I was wearing had a gash on the side, and his hand had sneaked through it to rest on my bestockinged leg. Did I say rest? Well, you obviously still don't know Harlequin if you believed that. He started sliding up the inside of my thigh, until he could climb no further. And then, the nerve!, my beloved incorporeal head started to explore the area with his seemingly invisible hand. All the while I was having trouble keeping a straight face and focussing on the task at hand, which was to scare innocent members of the audience, and not indulge in activities that might make me want to detach from my oversized petticoat to jump him.

"If we are going to do this again tomorrow", he said, "it would be better if you weren't wearing any knickers."

"No tights either, I presume?", I added.

"Definitely not."

Fun and Games

Strip Scrabble.
For every letter above five that is in a word, one item of clothing must be removed. When all clothes are gone, services may be traded instead.

The cream game.
By special means, which I will explain to anyone who asks in the comments, both players have their hands fastened behind their backs, with a bowl of cream in front of each on the floor. Players must lick the cream up. When one player finishes, players release each other, and the winner pours the remains of the loser's cream over their feet, from where the loser must lick it all.

Tug o' war.
You will need two anal toys. I recommend something like this; the important part is the little loop at the end. Tie a piece of strong cord between the two loops, and insert the toys, one each. Now, get on all fours, facing away from each other. The goal is to pull your opposition's plug out while holding yours in. NB: For bonus anarchy points, play on a plastic sheet covered in chocolate sauce, or something equally sticky. Loser, of course, has to lick the winner clean.

Tug o' war II.
A clothespeg is placed on each player's tongue, and these are connected by a string. Players get on all fours, facing each other, and pull. You may grip the peg with your teeth, but this will put more pressure on your tongue. Whoever pulls the peg off the other is the winner, and then has oral sex performed on them by the other, with their poor, sore tongue...

Dice Game.
Each player rolls a six sided die. Whoever get's the lowest roll is bent over, and has a number of icecubes relating to the difference between the two numbers placed in their bottom. A tie results in a re-roll, and one ice cube being added to the eventual total.

Awakenings

I remember the first time Harlequin kissed my feet.

It was also the first time ever we had some kind of physical intimacy, at the very brand new beginning of our relationship, we could say.

We were staying at a friend's house over Christmas, and I snuck into the living room where he was sleeping, to bid him goodnight. Yes, *that* is what the kids are calling it these days.

We started kissing. Serious kissing. That wasn't our first serious kiss, however. That had happened a few hours earlier in the car, when our friends made the mistake (or had the wisdom, I guess we'll never know) to leave us alone in the car for, oh, I don't know, two minutes. And in those two minutes we locked lips and barely came out for air and there was this voice at the back of my head chanting "Must... have... him".

But I digress. There were we, on a couch, kissing each other very sweetly, and urgently at the same time (I had always wanted to kiss someone *urgently*). My clothes came off a lot faster than I had anticipated, but I didn't regret seeing them go. There was the urgent need to touch, to smell, to taste, to feel (I had always wanted to feel an urgent need to all that), and a lot of things happened, I don't remember exactly because I was on a high of urgency, but I do remember thinking "I had never felt this good. I had never felt this attractive.", because, the way Harlequin was looking at my naked self, a self that I violently struggle with (more on that at another time, perhaps) like I was the most gorgeous, attractive and delicious woman ever to walk this earth, and everything about him told me that he wanted me, and that was intoxicating.

At some point, though, I was sort of lying upside down on my back on top of him, and his hand went down my leg from the knee, went past my ankle, held my left foot, and then, looking me in the eyes, he politely asked:

"May I kiss your feet?"

I was startled by the request. I had had my feet kissed in the past, but nobody had ever asked for permission to do so. (Not that I minded. I *love* having my feet played with. Hell, I was *happy* that my feet were a free-for-all buffet).

I was wholly unprepared for the delicate, passionate way in which Harlequin brought my foot to his lips and started to worship it. How he reveled in it, how sincerely he told me I had the most beautiful feet he had ever seen, or kissed, thus making me blush ("He thinks my feet are beautiful!"). I think it was that, the foot-kissing, that forged our physical intimacy on that first night.

I know that for Harlequin, foot worship is an inherently submissive act, as is for most people who are in the BDSM scene. But because of that first time, where he kissed my feet as a way to know me, as a way to love me, in such a sweet, sweet manner, I will never be able to see it that way. To me, kissing, licking, nibbling the feet of someone you love is an act of trust, a display of love, a way to shower them with affection. Maybe it is because I have a very unorthodox and unprejudiced approach to the whole kinky scene, but to me, nothing says "I love you" like showing love and respect to the part of someone's body responsible for holding up their entire bodyweight for most of the day. I don't see it as a kinky or submissive act, to me, it's just love.

Which is probably why I LOVE doing it to Harlequin and I LOVE having him do it to me.

And yes, I had my feet kissed practically right under a Christmas tree. Colour me profane.

d/S

Colombina loves having her bottom touched.

She loves having it stroked, squeezed, spanked, licked, bitten... Whatever it is, if it involves her bottom, she loves it. I love her bottom. It such a wonderful shape and size, and being mean to it makes her moan ever so prettily.

Until I met Colombina, I had never had the desire to spank anyone. But when we met, it developed exceptionally quickly. Now, when we are together, she gets spanked around twice a day. I just bend her over, or throw her onto the bed, and lay into her bottom with my hand, or a book, or our gorgeous flogger, or whatever is to hand.

It turns a beautiful shade of red.

But that's not all I like doing to her bottom.

I also love putting things in it.

Fingers, butt plugs, vibrators, beads, my tongue...

And she seems to enjoy it too. Especially the latter.

Which brings me on to one of the things I love most about sex with my darling Colombina.

If you watch fetish porn, you get very used to the D/s thing. The Master/slave. The W/we.

But it's not like that with us.
Sticking your tongue in someone's bottom is, by those standards, a very submissive thing to do. No self respecting dominant would dream of doing something so Dirty. But when we play, I will go from doing my very best to turn her bottom purple, to sticking my tongue in it, stroking her clit, kissing her feet... Just like that, the roles are reversed, and it is so much fun.

When we first started talking about sex, we worked out what parts of our psyches wanted what. And it's a lot of fun going from the Dominant One, and being called Sir, to being the greedy little slut, and being called fucktoy.

We, the undersigned

There's an annoying lady in my language class.

As in, really annoying. She struggles a lot with the language, and that's, you know, perfectly legit. And she sees fit to correct everyone, classmates and teacher, and that's, you know, NOT.

But sometimes she will be the protagonist of an unexpected humourous moment, and that, I think, more than makes up for the annoying. The teacher was asking which of us had partners from other countries, so that we could explain in what language we spoke. Long after we moved on to another topic, Annoying Lady interrupts to ask if the question was meant in the present, or if past experiences could be shared. Sure, go ahead, the teacher, in her infinite patience, says.

"Well, I... not at the same time!", she starts.

The class erupts in peals of laughter in mock-scandal, and I can't help but think that, among all my classmates, she is the less likely of all to be polyamorous. Or a cheater. Too disorganized, see.

I felt compelled to share this anecdote, because this is what this blog is going to be like. A tumbling cascade of the loving and the sexy, of the funny and the ridiculous. Because this is how Harlequin and myself live our story.

Harlequin and Colombina are, obviously, pseudonyms. As liberating as writing this blog might be, I certainly don't want anyone to know that intimate details of my private life are intimate details of my private life. And I think that the anonymity (thank you, internets!) will be all the more liberating.

We met through a series of coincidences that goes to show just how strange and wonderful life is (the strangeness and wonder of this life of ours is, I realize, one of the more overused phrases in this relationship), and so far, this has been the biggest, bestest, beautifulest love affair of our entire lives. We are so IN LOVE that we don't bat an eye at the arguably cheesy and/or twee choice of our nicknames. We can afford to be as ridiculous as we want. Why? BECAUSE WE ARE IN LUUUURVE AND WE DON'T CARE HOW LOW WE FALL, THAT'S WHY.

Harlequin is kinky, I am a former chronically insatisfied reborn into an insanely curious budding painslut. We turned each other's tables so much that I got him to question his own kinks, and he got me to explore my own. We have so much sexual chemistry that *sparks* have been known to jump whenever we get together (through a fortunate combination of static and RAWR). I don't mean to gloat, but hell, I was starved off sex for years, YES, THE SEX IS AMAZING, thank you very much.

So this is what our Midnight Delicacies are going to be like. Some sweet, some spicy, some mysterious, all mouth-watering.

Welcome, and enjoy the ride.

The Maze

I want a maze.

About a week ago, Colombina and I were in a maze. The literal, physical kind, tall hedges and everything. As you might expect, this setting was perfect for a little teasing. Here some biting, there a stolen kiss or two.

There was always the risk that someone would walk around the corner, of course. But that made it all the more fun. It was risky, but not too risky.

Then I started thinking about what we could do if we had a maze all to ourselves. That would be fun.

Colombina would be stripped completely, and have her arms tied securely behind her back. Then she would be sent into the maze.

With a 30 second head start.

After that time, I would start in after her. Black jeans. Heavy boots. Menacing footsteps, but coming from where, exactly..?

And I would try to catch my dear Colombina.

If I caught her, she would be my slave for the rest of the day. My little fucktoy, to be used as I see fit.

Imagine it, my dear:

You running, able to hear me, but not sure where I am... Glancing fearfully over your shoulder, hoping you can get away... When suddenly you are grabbed, and pushed against the hedge, one hand over your mouth and the other creeping all over you...

Of course, nothing we do is ever that one-sided.

If my beautiful Colombina manages to get out of the other side of the maze, then the tables will be spectacularly turned, and *I* will be *her* fucktoy, made to worship her dirty feet, or possibly crawl behind her all the way back through the maze...

I want a maze.