The Beautiful Kind

Black Snake Moan’s alternate title should be Symbolism for Dummies.

GOD it was cheesy. I wonder if the actors would ever stop mid-line and think, “Wow I just said something really hokey.” Maybe that’s why they were scowling all the time, or maybe the scowls were meant to add credibility to the cliches they were spewing.

You can read the bible and get the same sort of crap dished out at you, but the bible doesn’t have a hot, nearly naked underweight vixen being rude on a chain. I would rant more but I already wasted 106 minutes of my life on it, so just consider this a warning to you.

Have you seen this list?

100 Cum Swallowing Tips

It’s pretty hot. And interesting - suggestions include pineapples, tic tacs, Equal, Coke, cough drops, celery, orange juice, getting with Asians or vegetarians, swallowing cum upside down?!

My fav is #63 . GULP (pun intended)

One tip I didn’t see on the list was to sleep through it. That’s what I did the other night. My guy was jerking off and I was watching. It was very late, and the room was dim with candlelight. He was taking a while, so I kinda dozed off. The next thing I know he’s shoving my mouth down on his cock and flooding it with sperm. Talk about a cock alarm clock! Of course, he didn’t realize I was SLEEPING, sheesh. I dutifully swallowed and went back to sleep. Sweet dreams!

Continued from the last post…

There was nothing gentle about this beating, there was no working up to hard blows. It hurt, I cried out, I whimpered. Then,

I floated away.

Acutely aware of nothing except the sounds of the leather against my bare skin and the feel of my sex swelling and hot, I wanted, needed him to shove his cock into my sex. Each blow translated in my mind as a thrust. I needed to be fucked… I wanted him to fill me with anything. I didn’t care, just fill me. Plunge his fingers in me, fuck me with scissors, I didn’t care, just fuck me.

He knows me so well. He knows how to push me over the edge. That cliff of pain, my free-fall of pleasure. Nearing orgasm from the beating, he stops. He grabs me and pulls me off of the couch. With one arm pinned behind my back, head pulled back by my hair, he forces me through my apartment and out the back door on to the fire escape. Shoving me against the cold railing, I feel the cracking paint dig into my legs and stomach like glass. “Tell the world what you are.”

I’m suddenly snapped out of my frenzied, pain-filled erotic space into the reality of looking down from the third floor stoop as cars pass on the street. “Tell the world what you are.”

“I’m a slut,” I whimper. “Please, take me inside now.”

He pulls my hair harder. “No, I want the world to see what a slut you are. I want your neighbors to know whose slut you are. TELL THEM.”

“Please, take me inside.”

“Tell them.”

“I’m your slut.”

“Louder.”

I yell, “I’M YOUR SLUT!”

Suddenly I’m inside… on my bed, tears streaming down my face, his fingers fucking me. I feel my pussy opening up… god I need to be filled. He takes a plug and shoves it deep inside my ass… yes, fill me. With three fingers moving in my sex, beckoning me, he reaches for a vibrator and starts work on my clit.

The orgasms begin shaking my body. He knows it’s his cock I need now. He turns me over on to my stomach, raises my hips, slides the vibrator inside of my sex and moves the plug in and out of me. I beg him for his cock. I cry and I plead that I’ll not be so arrogant with him. “I’m sorry Sir, please have mercy and allow me the pleasure of your cock.”

“How could I not give my beautiful subbie my cock?” With that, he removes the plug and shoves in his cock… grunting, animal-like. He knows he owns my ass, that he has ultimate say over my body. He takes what is his and I give it to him.

But I know, I know in the depths of this dark place that he will decide when to take it.

Continued from previous post…

I am his submissive, yet I know what he wants. He wants me… craves me. I know that he loves to have his tongue there in my ass, I know it arouses him. I know he wants to shove his cock inside my ass. I lay there waiting, feeling confident that it is his cock that will come next. I prepare myself for it mentally.

Waiting.

He knows. He knows me well. He knows I am his submissive. He knows it is his job to remind me of that. He knows that I’m there on the bed, wet ass in the air, expecting his cock. He knows that I’m preparing myself for it. He knows I should be punished for my assumption.

My head is suddenly yanked back, his hands clutching my long, auburn hair. Growling in my ear, “You’ll not get my cock, you don’t deserve it.” His fingers reach around and squeeze my nipples until they burn. He pushes me down on the bed and walks out of the room. I lay there ashamed of my arrogance and I wait. I dare not move.

In a few moments, he calls from the other room… “Crawl to me, slut.” I slither from my bed and onto the cool wooden floor, I crawl in to him. He sits in a straight back chair, the light from the candles shimmer on the walls. I glance up at him and can see the sternness in his face. Quickly I lower my eyes and continue crawling to him. He orders me to stop in the middle of the room. On all fours, naked I wait.

He walks over to me and takes off his belt. I hate the belt. “Look at Me.” I slowly raise my head and meet his intense gaze. “I want you to crawl to the couch and lay over the arm.”

I am relieved to know I won’t be on the floor for this beating. I appreciate that he lets me be comfortable when giving me the belt. I pull myself up on and over the arm of the couch, my erect nipples sliding over the rough material. I wait.

To be continued…

Another guest post by The Wild Woman. BDSM, baby. Of COURSE it’s true….

I wait for him, following his instruction. Toys laid out perfectly, candles lighting my apartment, me in the middle of my bed… face down, arms stretched above my head in the diving position, ass in the air, completely nude. I don’t know how long I wait there, it could be minutes, could be hours.

Waiting.

Trying hard to clear my mind, prepare myself for whatever he has in store. Waiting. Sometimes the pleasure comes first, other times the pain. Which would it be tonight? At times, he takes me over the edge with pain and bring me back to my center with pleasure. Other times he takes me over the edge with pleasure, return me to my center with pain. He’s very careful with my balance. What will it be tonight?

At last, the door opens. The wood floorboards creak as he walks through my living room. Butterflies in my stomach turn to knots. I can feel him at my bedroom door, watching me. The muscles in my round ass contract and release, as if preparing for the blows. My sex throbbing, getting moist… as if his mere presence is foreplay.

Waiting.

The creak of the door jam as he goes from a leaning to standing position. Heavy, slow steps toward my bed. I feel his hands on each side of my ass.

Waiting.

He spreads me, the cool air invading the warm, dark crevice.

Waiting.

With one sudden motion, he buries his tongue deep in my tight, musty hole. I gasp. His mouth on my ass makes me feel dirty, embarrassed. He is thrusting his tongue deep inside of me, pulling me apart with his hands. I can feel the wetness as it trickles down my leg.

Then, as sudden as it began, it ends.

To be continued…

(yeah, I’m gonna make you wait too, bitch.)

Check out these journalists in Pakistan demonstrating. They’re stealing my gig! And don’t they know you can get a perfectly good set of handcuffs at the Hustler boutique?

Although the PPP restraint is MacGyver-clever - pantyhose, padlock, pen.

I wonder what household items I have laying around that I could use for bondage props?

- Cheese grater (for ouchie paddle)

- Mesh bath sponge (for ball gag)

- Men’s ties (obvious better use than wearing them decoratively around the neck)

- Cucumber in the fridge (dildo, duh, but you can turn it into a spa treatment by cutting a couple slices from one end and putting them over your eyes as you get leisurely fucked with the cuke)

- Clothespins (for nipple clamps - they really should update that name - NO ONE uses them for hanging clothes anymore, they should just be called nipple clamps right on the package)

Just about every day a friend of mine informs me that their workplace has banned my website. This means they won’t be looking at it anymore because the best time to read pointless crap on the internet is when you’re trapped somewhere and getting paid for it.

I always feel a mixture of indignant disappointment and flattery when they break the news to me. Those corporate fucks tightening the noose of freedom and liberty! And they don’t even have the decency to replace my website with, say, colored blocks or meat on a string to chase like they do at the zoo. Cuz the worker/my friend is sure as hell not being stimulated in that stifling environment.

Mark my words, when people get limited to CNN.com, they start having affairs in the workplace and stealing office supplies. That’s right, The Beautiful Kind is good for morale. I’m so glad I get to work on my couch.

The other night I went to this yuppie faculty party. It was a typical grown up affair - everyone was snazzily dressed and schmoozing, drinking wine, eating cheese and asking politely, as they blinked rapidly behind their designer frames, “So, what do you do?” I fucking HATE that question. The last time someone asked me that I replied flatly, “I sit on the couch,” which made her laugh nervously.

A far better question to ask is, “What do you do for fun?” That way you can skip the part about working in a boring office (the majority of people’s answers) and get straight to the belly dancing or rehabbing old houses, or, in my case, playing with sock monkeys and pez dispensers and writing about my sex life. And if a person should happen to have a cool job they’re passionate about like sculpting, teaching music, or curing breast cancer, that can still fall under the “for fun” category and all’s well.

Anyway, I didn’t fit in at this party and was all flushed from drinking red wine and wasn’t sure what to do with myself when all of a sudden some happy J. Crew model guy entered the room carrying a big tray of individual creme brulles, each glowing with a lit candle. The crowd oohed and ahhed, and he presented it with flourish to the birthday woman, who smiled hugely and blew at the army of brulles. Only a few went out.

Then. The guy turned to the next person (me) and offered the tray. I was confused - was it a yuppie custom to make everyone at the party take turns blowing out the candles? I blew at them, and he still held the tray in my face. I blew again, anxiously wishing he would go away, when he offered instructively, “Take one.”

OH. Fuck. I was supposed to TAKE one, not blow (spit) on them. Well how the hell was I supposed to know what was going on? I just read Amy Sedaris’ book on entertaining (I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence), and it gave no guidance whatsoever on what to do when someone confronts you with a tray of desserts on fire.

I acted on instinct - when someone shoves something in my face, I blow it. (You could see that one coming, couldn’t you?)

As soon as I realized what he intended, I was mortified. It was hands down the 2nd most embarrassing thing to happen to me this year. (The 3rd most embarrassing thing was when I drunkenly jammed with my ex-husband in his basement. He played the electric guitar obscenely loud and I shouted along - NOT my idea, was just trying to be a good sport. I burn with shame when I think back on it. The 1st most embarrassing thing involved a 500 lb. man, and that’s all I’m going to say about it. Mortifying Moments - now that would be a good list/blog idea. Why don’t one of you take it and run with it? It’s all yours!)

Dear Slut,
I’ve tasted almost every girl I’ve been with. I love eating them, knowing that I’m giving them pleasure. Hell, sometimes I get so turned on about it that I almost finish myself while tonguing them.

Of course, my last girlfriend was no exception - I went down on her the first night we met. She was bold down there, just the way I like it. She was already wet, but something strange occured to me - her juices were very, very salty. That was a huge turn-off for me, but I finished her anyway.

My question is, what should a guy do when his lady’s liquids aren’t tasting very good? I tried spitting on her cunt and it kinda worked, but by the look on her face I could tell it was gross for her.
- The spitting camel who wants a low-sodium diet

Dear Lo-So,
I wish I could have been a fly on the wall watching that quick fix!

How hot of you to get off on eating pussy so much. Gold star for you. And you finished Ms. Salty up despite being turned off. Military Medal for you. Truth is, I would hate for someone to suffer through oral with me and would rather them speak up so I can rectify the situation and make it good for both of us.

Now should you say, “Your pussy is so rank it’s making my eyes water, go boil it” ? Or even “You smell down there, go take care of it” ? Of course not, but you could speak up in a gentle, less threatening way (I realize it’s harder to be frank with someone you don’t know well.) You could say something like, “You taste a bit soapy from the last time you washed, would you mind rinsing off a bit?”

She might be taken aback but will probably go take care of it (if she gets all offended and the night is ruined, well she’s hypersensitive and needs to chill out, sorry my advice spoiled your evening.) When she gets back be sure and give her lots of positive attention, start over, kiss her, work your way back to the apex of her legs and make sure she knows how much you love being there.

I’ll bet Ms. Salty wasn’t quite expecting to get to Third Base with you since it was your first date, so she might not have been prepared. If I think there’s a good chance someone is going to be messing with my pussy, I rinse off first, cuz I get funky just from sitting around all day. It’s good to take a preventative approach. (Just out of curiosity I wonder if you ate her again after that and how that went.)

And a shout out to all the folks out there who ate me when I was not-so-fresh and suffered through it - you get a Military Medal too. And now you know it’s OK to speak up next time!

PS: The site I snagged the photo from is a real trip. Start at the bottom and work your way up.

Send your salty questions to love [at] thebeautifulkind . com

A dirty little four-year-girl at the library, wearing orange crocs on the wrong feet

AHAHAHAHAH 

PS: Good croc bashing here.

I can’t stop watching the latest Salad Fingers episode.

And check out this bizarrely beautiple display of boobies!

Shhh right this second my musician dude is in the basement practicing with a violinist for a concert performance tonight and he has no idea but I am up here CREAMING.

To them, it’s just a gig, but to me, it’s an invisible snake crawling up the stairs and licking me seductively with his forked tongue - music to my crotch.

So fucking hot, I can’t wait to play him later.

“Why are they all jumping on my cock muffins?”

- my guy, complaining about how the cats always tapdance on his crotch

Dear Sis,

Remember the other night, when we were talking on the phone about how the parents are coming to visit you for Thanksgiving?

Well while we were chatting, Mister Man came up to me as I lounged around on the bed and, well, he lifted up my nightgown and mounted me mid-conversation. Frankly I’m surprised you didn’t hear him growling.

So that’s why I cut the call short and haven’t talked to you since. I’m afraid it will instigate another drive-by fucking. Waitaminute, that actually sounds pretty good. In fact, from now on whenever I’m horny I’ll skip the foreplay and just call you.

I know, I know, I’m sure it’s weird for you to be lumped in the same arousal category as fuck-me pumps or lesbian porn, but hey, I really appreciate you being my prop. Thanks sis!

Love, The Beautiful Kind

1. Claude Steele - A brilliant social psychologist with a European porn star name

2. That cop I dated earlier this year - He wasn’t nicknamed “The Energizer Brother” for nothin’.

3. Sojourner Truth - “Ain’t I A Woman?” My god YES.

4. Morgan Freeman - I visited his blues club down in Mississippi a few years ago, and he showed up and got down with the patrons! I’m usually not a celebrity whore but I did get all excited and took his pic from afar. Me= dork

5. Stefon Harris - I saw him perform on Halloween night and OMG it was hot. Watching him play the vibes (my new favorite instrument btw) made my nipples hard. He was channeling spirits I tell you. The silver watch on his right wrist flashed in the stage lights and it was like he was harnessing time and energy. I know that sounds cheesy but crushes often render a person senseless. Eek his website is as cheesy as me - the intro has him pop up and juggle mallets, now I’m giggling nervously.

6. Angela Bassett - Duh

7. Van Jones - Founder of the Ella Baker Center for Human Rights, he’s all green and feminist and pro-education and books…peace and opportunity, baby.

8. Samuel L. Jackson - Even though he’s obsessed with golf

9. Harriet Tubman - A strong, take charge kinda woman, if she were alive in this century she would totally wear a strap-on.

10. Obama - Does he count as black?

11. Josephine Baker - She doesn’t even need to wear a skirt fashioned out of bananas. Say, was that a racist costume or just the second best use for a banana? Is writing this list racist? Let me look it up… “racism: hatred or intolerance of another race or other races.” OK so this is definitely not a racist exercise. Just tasteless.

12. My friend who speaks German and lives with bunnies - I so want to pet her rabbit.

.

Bonus! Token white guy: Phil the sommelier at Remys - Heads up, he’s snazzy and adorable. The dapper and colorful outfit he wore the other night was practically Willy Wonka-ish. He could have his own children’s television show or swanky gay bar looking like that. Go check out his hedonistic wine flights and tell him I said hi!

I was at my friend S’s Jewish wedding the other day, standing next to a woman I went to high school with who I hadn’t seen her in years. I figured she was cool, since we used to hang out a lot and make marzipan together, so as the wedding concluded and S walked down the aisle of the synagogue, I turned to the high school chum and whispered wryly, “You know why a Jewish bride smiles so much on her wedding day, don’t you?”

She grinned, puzzled, and said, “Why?”

With a mischievous glint in my eye, I delivered the punchline. “Because she’s thinking, ‘I never have to give another blow job again!’”

Immediately high school woman’s face fell, and she stammered all horrified, “This isn’t the appropriate place for that!”

True, we were in a holy place filled with old Jewish people with moist eyes and children, but they weren’t paying attention. And are you kidding?! We were in a sanctuary at a Jewish wedding - the PERFECT place for such a joke. And geez, it was just a joke. My friend S is a total cocksucker (why that term is considered negative is beyond me - it should be a term of endearment.)

I said, “Oh come on, you’re from San Francisco, aren’t you all down with that?”

“We’re more P.C. out there, actually,” she said huffily.

Oops.

A week later when I told S about my gaffe, she laughed and said primly, “I’ve given six blow jobs since then.”

Mazel Tov!

…unexpectedly, and here is what was in our bathroom wastebasket in plain sight:

- a rice milk container

- the packaging from a shave kit

- a headful of human hair

- an enema box

.

.

.

I know, I know, I can’t really explain the rice milk container, either.

Oops, it happened again. A 25-year-old teacher ran off with a 13 year-old-student to Mexico so they could fully realize their love relationship.

From a NYTimes article:

The teacher, Kelsey Peterson, a sixth-grade mathematics teacher and a basketball coach at Lexington Middle School, was arrested in Mexicali, Mexico, on the California border.

The boy was an eighth-grader at Lexington Middle School, but the district superintendent said that he had been in Ms. Peterson’s sixth-grade mathematics class.

I know it’s very dude of me to support this scandal, but seriously, how cool is it that Kelsey is a cougar at age 25?! And kidnapping a kid aka lover and taking him out of the country - how reckless! How daring! That takes ovarios.

And oh my lord the media is lasciviously licking it’s chops over the lurid details, describing letters that contained such sweet nothings as,  “he called her ‘Baby Girl’ and said their relationship was ‘just not about the sex but it was pretty good.’” Obviously, society is jealous.

And think about the kid - here he is in Nebraska in a math class, and suddenly that has turned into rendezvousing in Mexico with an older woman and being on the lam! AND getting laid. C’mon, what were YOU doing when you were 13? I was sitting around miserable in the school library being picked on by other kids for not having designer clothes. I wish some sexy older lesbian teacher could have whisked me away from all that.

It’s too bad their little fling will land her in prison and him unable to return to the United States. They sent him off to live with his grandmother in Mexico, and now she’s rendezvousing with the FBI.

OK so what if this had been a 25-year-old dude and a 13-year-old girl? Duh, I’d be creeped out.

I KNEW scientists were perverts!

A recent study that took place in a strip club suggests that human females go into heat, just like other animals. Apparently we’re just too dense to be consciously aware of it. From a World Science article (god they have one of the ugliest websites, it looks positively paranormal, not scientific):

Surveying strip-club lap dancers who per­form erot­ic dances for for cash, they found that tips vary by an aver­age of 45 percent de­pend­ing on the time of the month, corre­spond­ing to the length of the ovu­la­tory cy­cle. That’s the one-month cy­cle in which a ripe egg is re­leased from the ovary, be­com­ing avail­a­ble for fertil­iza­tion.

Dur­ing peak times of the cy­cle lap dancers made $335 per five-hour shift on av­er­age, com­pared to $260 dur­ing typ­ical pe­ri­ods, the re­search­ers found. Dur­ing men­strua­t­ion, the wom­en made only $185 on av­er­age. The peak earn­ings dur­ing a cru­cial phase of the cy­cle could only lead to one con­clu­sion: fe­males were in heat, the in­ves­ti­ga­tors said.

I want to know who thought this study idea up, clever bastard. All right, so the data was collected online, not by some drooling guy in a lab coat lurking in the corner with a clipboard.

Anyway, women on the pill don’t experience a spike in earnings. I’ve been on the pill for years and recently went off it and am curious to observe how my behavior changes, as well as those around me. So far it looks like things get pretty feverish around the 23rd of each month (my period hits around the 12th). Instead of having 30 days of general horniness, I have a week of SUPER horniness. Just what I needed - my horniness concentrated. It’s like having a super power.

Ovulating = SHA-ZAM!

I just found out from reading Pretty Dumb Things blog that there’s a new nickname for a woman’s crotch region - vajayjay. (THIS is why I avoid watching television or knowing what’s going on in the real world.) And the NYTimes writes an entire article about it?!

Here are words that better describe the damn thing:

- pussy

- cunt

- vagina - nooo, it’s more than just the birth canal and penis cozy, people

- vulva

- yoni - dangerously new age, it means “sacred feminine place” which would encompass all of the woman’s lovely bits

- bing bing snickerdoodle. OK maybe this one is just as bad.

So what should we call dicks - dingalings? Weeweecacas? Ya know, I think they should differentiate between flaccid and erect - flaccid, it’s a penis. Hard, and it’s a COCK.

God I hate euphemisms.