Good afternoon, my little pumpkins!
Before we begin, can I please just say two things?
1. I need an orgasm.
2. I need a spanking.Outside of my immediate need for these two items, I have to say, life is pretty grand. Mr. Cupcake and I jut celebrated another wonderful anniversary. The…
Wrong blog!
Most people worship something. God. Nature. Music. Food. Something in their world that gives strength and takes excess emotion. For me? Well, I worship cock.
Perhaps it’s wrong to give a man so much power. To place so much need on something completely outside your control. It may be wrong to yearn for the feel of my mouth stuffed, or my tongue depressed as you slide over the saturated taste buds, slipping past my defenses and into my throat. Is it wrong to love the feel of your frenulum straining to contain your length?
Lick. Stroke. Rub. Press. Rub. Gurgle. Lick. There’s such rhythm in the frantic slurping of my saliva on your skin. Or of my hand, soaked with my spit and your excitement, as each finger runs circles up and down the length of your veins. Is there anything more beautiful than the string that connects your head to my lips? Does that string ever reach my heart?
I want to know your cock as it pushes through my cheek. I want to feel the power that comes as you grab my hair and force yourself further into me. I want to lose my breath as your girth blocks my airways and I become nothing but yours. I want to accept the challenge of your every moan. I can do better. I promise. Just wait and see what’s next.
I am demonstrative. I am faithful. I am devout. My worship is my work and I am the motherfucking CEO of your cock. I’ve perfected the art of pouring my emotion through my lips. I’ve perfected the art of sucking in your strength with all I’ve got.
-=C&C=-
(via zaftigchaser)
The only word to describe this is awesome.
This was great writing to narrate! From cupcakesandcum on tumblr comes this dirty, raw, evocative and provocative sexual monologue about the five first encounters in a short relationship. One pair of stockings with terminal runs, and I went for the humor too…
In the audio I went for rhythmic spoken word, adding in some character voices and some (hopefully steamy) sound effects… 5 mins.
All rights reserved. Russil Tamsen is a narrator, comic improv actor, book editor, and author of 21 ebooks. Please visit his ebookstore at QuirkEbooks.com
alittletease
I really can’t tell you how much this means to me. For a while now I have been struggling to figure out who I am and what I’m doing with my life. My motto has been “interesting choices” since I started this blog. But I’ve had a hard time finding my “sexy and awesome” lately.
I’m sure it’s part of why I’ve had such a hard time writing fiction- that creativity I need to find the right words just hasn’t been there. I have been stuck in my head.
I know I need to find these things inside myself and not from another person or even a string of random cocks. But old habits are hard to break. I’m working on it.
Regardless, I appreciate your admiration. Please know it’s returned. Everyone has sexy and awesome. Especially you! Thank you for sticking through this with me.
There was a softness there. In his eyes. In his touch. But, there was no smile. This wasn’t fun. It wasn’t for laughs. There would be no shivers of giggles running down my spine.
All of his hardness was inside me. His hips slammed into the puddles of my skin, splashing us both with my salty rain. Leaving tear tracks down my thighs- proof I would weep for him a thousand times over.
I could feel the muscles of his fingers flexing behind my head as he threaded them through my hair. His breath was my breath. We had to share- there simply wasn’t enough air. And as my lips leaned forward to meet his, our noses making introduction as our tongues readied for battle, I knew I had already lost.
I gave away my secrets in the push of my pelvis. My fingertips wrote our love story on his chest- one that would begin and end with his nipples. My mouth wanted to worship him, to savor his taste and get drunk off the rush of blood that would come as his head slid down my throat. But my selfish cunt couldn’t let go.
My selfish cunt. Sometimes it was just an extension of my selfish heart. Other times it was the poor man’s excuse for forever.
Right now it was both.
-=C&C=-
(via athousandlittlepapercuts)
The Sausage King is my boyfriend now. As part of that deal I agreed to a structured non-monogamy where my vajayjay plays host to only two cocks- Mr Cupcake’s and the Sausage King’s.
Strangely, I’m ok with the theory. I’m having a lot of sex. But I’m still struggling. Because, lets face it, kiddos, it was never about the sex. (Well maybe a little!) It was about finding connection.
I lead a non-traditional life. I live apart from my husband a lot. I travel for work a lot. I live hundreds of miles from my closest friends. My life has been in such a state of upheaval in the past three years that I had no time or ability to cultivate real relationships. I’ve had no ability to be anyone’s friend- not one they could count on, anyway.
So I’ve been lonely. And I hate being lonely. I’ve filled my life with boys and cocks. I don’t regret it. It did the job. But now I have this new relationship. And it’s complicated. But at the heart nothing has changed. My life is still in chaos.
And I’ve shut off my release valve. Blown up my backup plan. I spent the past week in NYC for work. I didn’t meet anyone because I was afraid I couldn’t resist fucking them (or feeling pressured to fuck them). I felt unbelievably lonely.
I know what the answer to this problem is- real friends. But I fail to see how that happens for a gal like me.
So we are left with a chicken and egg scenario- do I end up screwing up the non-monogamous monogamy or do I end up such a needy emotional mess that I drive the Sausage King away?
I suppose this is bad news for you, marshmallows. Bad news for the Cupcake brand. But the good news is that I’m returning to fiction writing. If only I can find the words…
I met the Sausage King on one of my dating websites right at the end of Birthday Week. I was overwhelmed. I was getting ready to leave for Europe. I was intrigued, but really, I had no time for the queue. The last thing I needed to do was to add someone to it. But there was something about his dimple and his smile and so I gave him my yahoo messenger name and went back to concentrating on what I had and whether I was so focused on quantity that I had lost sight of quality.
The Sausage King has sent me some messages earlier in the week, but I had been fairly non-responsive. I spent most of my evening that Thursday packing. But I was bored and Mr. Cupcake was seeing the mini-tart and I couldn’t go home to the country estate until they were finished. The Sausage King and I had been exchanging a few messages. Suddenly, he asked if I wanted to get a drink.
I explained that I didn’t have much time, that it really could be only a drink, but he wanted to meet. So we made plans and met up at a bar a short time later. I’d be a fool not to admit I was nervous. I knew basically nothing about this guy. But I knew I couldn’t fuck him (I was out of commission), so I figured I could hold my own even if he turned out to be a creepo.
I saw him waiting for me outside the bar. Leaning against the wall. He looked so comforting. So tall. And that dimple was even better in person! We went inside and got drinks. We talked. I remember thinking at first that we couldn’t be more different- he was laid back, wearing a bandana and tye-dye. I was my normal girly-girl self. He was sweet. And complimentary. A gentleman. He made me laugh. And smile. And blush. He leaned across the table and kissed me. And before I knew what was happening, I had butterflies.
Despite my common sense I brought him back to my apartment. We kissed and touched and I could tell by his lips that he was special. They fit like puzzle pieces into mine. We kissed like metal and lightning in a storm.
Two days later he drove to the country estate to take me to dinner. An hour and a half each way. To see me. Because two weeks was too long to be apart.
Then I flew away. Nearly 4,500 miles. It can be primitive for a tech-savvy girl without her iphone, but the Sausage King managed to keep in touch. We exchanged more than forty emails over the 10 days I was away. We hadn’t had sex. We were just getting to know each other. Like friends. Pen pals living in different worlds.
We had made plans to get together as soon as I got home. But the moment I stepped into the Madrid airport to come home I experienced the worst pain known to man- otherwise known as a kidney stone. A clinic, an ER, a hospital, and a doctor’s visit later, I spent five messy days in the city trying to recover. The Sausage King sat by my side when Mr. Cupcake couldn’t be there. He brought me flowers.
I’ve seen him almost a dozen times since I’ve been back in the country. Sometimes only for a short time, but as often as we both can manage. Mr. Cupcake dubbed him my boyfriend. He’s different. I’m different with him. The sex is amazing- inspiring and mind-blowing all at once- but what’s most important is just having someone to hang out with and talk to. It’s comfortable. Our friendship is blooming right alongside the cherry blossom trees outside my window. And I must admit how my heart skips a beat each time he serenades me with his guitar.
I don’t know where this is going. It’s rare that I find infatuation like this. I don’t know what will become of the queue. Of the other men I’ve been seeing. I’m going to NYC for work for a week. I’ll be away again. It’s likely I’ll be with someone else. I don’t know how I feel about that yet. The Sausage King is married. It’s not an open marriage. This relationship is complicated. Messy. But worth it. It’s definitely the interesting choice.
The Sausage King is a good man. He’s smart. Funny. Charming. So handsome. And when I’m with him I feel like I’m a phoenix just beginning to fly- burning all over with air under my toes.
Maybe he’s a birthday wish come true. A belated gift.
Maybe he’s the FWB I’ve been searching for.
-=C&C=-
I am still here, marshmallows.
I did not decide to pack up and leave. I would never abandon you. Instead my domain name expired while I was away and it took forever to make it work again.
Longest 72 hours of my life!!
I have so much to share. My trip abroad was amazing. The Cupcake and Paris were meant to be. I fell in love with Mr. Cupcake all over again.
And then there is him. Who I have been teasing you with and who I have all but abandoned the queue for. He just left. We are spending so much time together and I always hate seeing him leave. He’s special. I can’t wait to tell you about him.
Tomorrow. I promise. Tonight I’m still basking in the after glow of incredible sex.
All is well in the cupcakeverse. Sweet dreams, pumpkins.
By this time tomorrow night I will be on a plane bound for Rome and the start of Mr. and Ms. Molly Cupcake’s European Adventure. I am more excited than I can begin to explain. Hopefully I come back with stories spilling out of me like carbonation fizzing from a cup.
When I wrote my last post, TBMike had cancelled on me (due to legit reasons) and I was feeling hormonally depressed. What a difference a day and a dash of bravery makes. Instead of sitting home waiting for Mr. Cupcake to finish his date so I can drive home from the city, I took a chance and met a new boy for a drink. One hour turned to four. I couldn’t fuck him and yet I didn’t want him to go. Today this boy drove over an hour to see me one more time before I left.
And as I sit here with a ravaged mouth and ridiculous smile, I can’t help thinking that this guy might check all the boxes on the Cupcake Ideal FWB list. I can’t write about him (properly) yet. I can’t even give him a nickname. But I needed to memorialize him here, in some small way, before I go.
When I get back, maybe he’ll be waiting. Maybe this crush will fizzle out like the carbonation. Or maybe we’ll shake and bump and explode into the sky, sparking like champagne and stars. I’m wishing for the champagne.
I already feel tipsy. And nothing feels better than being drunk on infatuation.
-=C&C=-
1. When I am drunk, my nose itches.
2. I have to make it through two more days of work before I can escape to Madrid and Paris.
3. My neighbor thinks I’m a whore.
4.I have two stories to write. One involves new experiences and a new man. The other involves that comfortable, ridiculous sort of intimacy that begins with lots of laughter and ends with cum on your glasses.
5. I am not pregnant.
6. In honor of the VM breakthrough, I will only refer to you as marshmallows for the foreseeable future.
7. I may or may not remember how to write fiction.
****
Number 1 is just a random fact.
I’m pretty sure that #2 makes me unavailable and therefore uninteresting to just about everyone in the queue. Similarly, the addition of #5 is making me complicated and messy and sad. Everything feels like rejection! I was walking 15 feet behind someone today and they didn’t wait to hold the door for me. I took it as proof that they were offended by my very existence on this earth. Obviously, Molly Cupcake can only exist as sex goddess or lump of crud. Today, the world chooses lump of crud. Mr. Cupcake, of course, saved the day. He rescued me from my pathetic self and took me out for tapas and sangria and lovely, lovely desserts.
I am more excited than I can handle about #2. It’s making it difficult to deal with #4. Which leaves just about no room for #7 pre-trip. However, on said trip I plan to do the following if #5 does not get in the way: buy a sex toy souvenir, go to a cabaret, visit a swingers club, cash in on my birthday threesome with a foreigner and Mr. C, and kiss the love of my life in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. I’m hoping these will inspire #7 (and maybe more!) to reappear on the blog once I return.
As for #3- well, he has run into me and my visitors twice this week. He now gives me curious looks. I’m moving in two months, so IDGAF!
And finally, it should be said for the record that I still listen to the VM soundtrack at least once a week. I have wet dreams about Logan and I’m pretty sure that’s why I’m attracted to complicated, brooding men.
Complicated.
Brooding.
Men. (preferably with pretty cocks)
Got it, marshmallows?
I had a girl named Dana
From Santa Anna
She was a waitress at the copa cabana
She was slammin and her ass was jammin
Like Janet Jackson in the Rhythm Nation
Her brother Jason had a girl named Grace
You could see her ass from outer space
So I landed on the planet
And planted a capone flag in it dammit
This is legit Capone. His words and photos. (He makes me sick with his talent.) I’m scared to death of the damage he can do on here. But if you’re a female within six states of Pennsylvania or New Jersey, you should probably fuck him at least once. Regardless, you should follow him.
This is probably harder for me to write than it will be for you to read. But bunnies, prepare yourselves.
Ms. Cupcake is sometimes wrong.
Yes. It’s true. You heard it here first. The Goddess of Sweets can sometimes go sour.
And what brought me to this sad but true conclusion?
ToyBox Mike.
I think it was obvs that we had fun on our date. We made plans for a second one. There was a lot of time between last Monday and this Thursday. We talked, but I’ve been distracted by Capone drama and decided to slow things down this week, so I have been huddled up alone and pathetic in my apartment. Feeling oh-so un-sexy.
That part was certainly wrong. This cupcake is always sexy, even in a pout.
But what was I really wrong about?
Remember when I said that TBMike was a “little d” dom? WRONG. Wrong, wrong wrong. So very wrong.
Mr. Cupcake had a hot date in the city on Thursday, so I was making my trek back to the country estate regardless. When I asked TBMike if he’d like to reschedule, he offered that we should meet at his place. Conveniently, he lives midway between the city villa and the country estate.
I was excited, but not really sure what to expect. I knew we were going to play with his toys. I was curious if he had some sort of dungeon set up. I mean, that’s a logical expectation for someone who carries a toy bag around, right?
I found his apartment and I eased into the familiarity of his conversation over a glass of Irony (wine, pumpkins. It wasn’t bad). We talked about nothing specific- my travails with Capone, my interest in the swinger life, and his amazing girlfriend (who we shall call Ms. ToyBox until we can get her a proper nickname). And, of course, how much I adore Mr. Cupcake.
I finished my glass of wine and I could tell we were both anxious to get started. I think there was some excuse for me to look at something in his bedroom and when I turned around he pulled me close and kissed me. It started slow and crawled to a burn. I was so distracted by the commanding way he grabbed my hair, angled my head and took what he wanted from my lips. Before I knew it I was leaned over his bed as his hand was rubbing and smacking my ass.
I shed my sweater. My shirt. My pants. Eventually my bra. I was left in my pretty purple thong while TBMike tried (velvet) paddle after (ping pong) paddle against the cream colored flesh of my protruding ass. I tried to be a good girl and not arch into the spankings, but I couldn’t help myself. I just love to be spanked!
He lost his pants and I felt him hard against my ass. What a lovely feeling- a hard cock massaging the crack of your ass. I reached back and touched. Slid my hand along his length. He kissed the back of my neck. Bit me with his teeth. He grabbed hold. I felt chills everywhere. I was moaning. It felt incredible.
He let go and I slid my hands up my shoulders, grabbing my hair and pulling it up.
“You found my spot.”
“Of course I found your spot. I know where your spot is.”
Oh, he knew me. We’d barely spent a few hours talking in the length of time since we’d met, but he knew every inch of me. He muttered his words before sinking his teeth back into my spot. Sucking on it. Circling with his tongue while his teeth stood watch on my skin. Chills were flowing through my body like an uncontrolled pulse of electric current and all I could think was that the way he was holding me with his teeth was like the way a cat would carry around a kitten. I was a kitten. I was purring.
TBMike slid in front of me and guided my mouth to his cock. I went willingly and savored the opportunity to taste him. Thank him with my tongue for finding that magic spot. He teased that he was going to cum but there was no way we were ending things that soon, so I stopped.
I laid on the bed on my stomach. Content. TBMike got up, ready to move onto the next toy. He reached for the restraints and buckled them to my wrists and ankles. He grabbed rope (It must have been rope, though to be honest I was too blissed out to check). Hog tied me. Put his cock back in my mouth. It wasn’t a great angle, so that didn’t last long.
He untied me. I laid on my back, head at the bottom of the bed and he tied me down. Would you be surprised if I said he had rope pre-tied to his bed for just such an occasion? I wasn’t.
He started with the nipple suction thingies. I don’t really know what they’re called. But he’d suck my nipples and then put it on and I’d watch my nipple grow huge inside a tube. I could feel it. It was amazing.
Soon the suction moved to my clit. TBMike got the flogger and landed blow after blow across my chest. Within minutes I was shaking. Pulsating. Tremors running through my body. He added a vibrating wand to my clit. Alternated between sucking and flogging my breasts. At some point he used the Wartenburg Wheel. I was thrashing. Lost. Chills were running over my entire body. I was so close to cumming I could cry. My orgasm would dance in front of me before my brain would come to snatch it away. My brain- sadistic fucker.
I was moaning. My entire body was over stimulated. I felt everything. Every movement of air in the room. Every strap of leather against my raised skin. Every spike of the wheel. The pull of the pressure on my clit. I felt it all. It was euphoric.
TB must have realized I was at my limit. That or he heard how hoarse my moans had become. He asked if I wanted water. I said yes. He stopped, left the room to take care of me.
He came back and untied me. Sat me up. I was shaking. I felt so cold. I sipped the water and he covered me with a blanket. I couldn’t warm up. He put me under the covers of the bed. Pulled me to him. Gave me his body warmth. He talked me down. Made me laugh. Kissed my forehead. He was a pro. A total Capital D Dom.
But my body just couldn’t calm down. I was shivering. Shaking. So cold. Giggling like a school girl. I wanted to go another five hours. I wanted release. I didn’t want the high to go. I was already fucking addicted.
TB and I talked about my reaction. The allure. My eternal gratitude to Ms. ToyBox. Finding a regular spot on his schedule. I snuggled into him and he took care of me.
My thong was still on. It hadn’t come off. Just pushed to the side to accommodate TB’s teasing. I’m not sure what gave him the idea (other than he probably was ready to go to sleep), but TB thought we should try and make me have an orgasm as a way of warming me up.
It was a capital idea.
He used his fingers and I used the wand and we tried. Oh boy did we try. I was too overstimulated. I tried my fingers. It wasn’t working. I needed cock.
I begged. I did.
TB obliged and put just the tip in. It wasn’t enough. I begged some more.
I was cock crazed. I needed to be fucked. He slammed and I grabbed and bucked and held the wand to my clit for dear life. I wanted it. I could feel it. I was so close. I could reach out my tongue and touch it. I wanted to lick the fucking face off my orgasm. But before I could grab it, TB pulled out an emptied a gigantic load of cum over my chest and stomach.
Well, of course I had to stop and play with it. Taste it. Lick it. Rub it into my skin. I returned one hand to my clit and TB returned his lips to my nipples in between whispering dirty, dirty things and sweet Jesus that orgasm finally came. My body waved like a flag and my mind finally shut off and I floated. Sated.
TB got me a hot washcloth to clean off what remained of his cum. He placed another one on my (still cold) feet. I closed my eyes and snuggled into the serotonin. Finally warm.
I left shortly after and drove the rest of the way home. Maybe teleported. I kept waiting for the crash to come. But it didn’t.
I’ve always flirted with BDSM. I got a glimpse with Mr. Smith. I knew it was real and I’ve been searching for it since. I never expected it to feel like that. I’ve been on the bunny slope. Now I’ve got a taste of the wind at my back.
I want more.
-=C&C=-
So true. It takes both to collide with my world.
(Source: chickenshit, via putyouinmypocket)
Today, I’m done with it. Interesting choices, pumpkins. It’s not all meant to be.
Burn, baby. Burn.
(via jewnjureidini)
I am legit eating cheese for dinner.
I turned down three boys.
I am wondering if my choices are good ones.
Time will tell, I guess.
Pre shower.
My man just reblogged a picture of me and included the tags #this is mine by the way #case you...
Documenting these curls before I put my hair up for yoga. Perfect hair day.