Showing posts with label Featured Bad Girl. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Featured Bad Girl. Show all posts

Monday, August 8, 2011

What Makes a Hunk?

Today we are hearing from Lydia over at Sensual Ride. She writes an awesome erotica centered book blog and today she's talking to us about what makes a hunk.


What Makes a Hunk?

What do you first think when you hear “erotica”?

Sex?

Well, yes. I’ll give you that one. However, I was leaning more towards the men. The hunk, or hunks, of the erotica novel. So…what makes an erotica hunk? What makes us drool, pant, wet, and wanting more?
To be honest, I can’t answer that as everyone has different tastes. I could say it’s a dominate man that’s not afraid to tie the woman up and give her a few spankings for being a bad girl, and you could scoff and close the window. And we don’t do that do we? No.

So, these are some things I think make an erotica hunk. And I’m going with just a regular M/F couple here since it will keep it simple.

Number 1: Personality

Like the plot of the story, the hero is just as important. We have to somehow connect with the hero whether he’s a Dom in a BDSM story or just an average man attracted to the heroine. He can’t just appear on the page, ravish his partner, and then leave. That’s what the quick reads are for. The quick fuck we need, not caring about the characters; just caring about the sex. Hell, the characters could be strangers for all I care.
I won’t say he has to be sweet because lets face it; some women want a bad boy. And the right bad boy would be a bastard to everyone, but as soon as he looks at his woman, he’d do about damn near anything because she has him wrapped around her pretty little finger.

Number 2: Alpha

He has to be strong, and not just physically, but emotionally. He has to have strength that keeps him going, keeps him in the chase for the one he’s after. He can’t just give up and be a wimpy ass because the girl said no to a date. It’s why she said no to his sorry ass in the first place. Though, if he started becoming a stalker we’d have problems.

He can be a silent Alpha because everyone knows, the silent types are always the freakiest and the ones who most surprise you. He can be a geek who has social issues for all I care, but when it gets the bedroom, I want him to be able to dominate that woman. And not only that, but he has to be able to step up when it’s time.
And like any good Alpha, he knows when it’s a good time to let another take the lead. He has to know that he can’t dominate each and every time, but let the woman lead. That’s right, he has to know when it’s time to let her tie him down and ride him till he’s stupid and speaking gibberish. It’s a win-win for both I think.

Number 3: Mind blowing

At the beginning, I said that when you hear “erotica” you think sex. And let’s be honest, no one wants to read an erotica where the sex is tame or even mediocre.

The hunk has to have a way of pleasuring their woman that makes sure they never go to anyone else. Even when their having a quickie, they have to leave their woman, and us, weak in the knees and breathless. Yes, the emotion adds to the pleasure; however, we, and the characters, don’t always have time for making love. Some moments call for a quick fuck.

They also have to be willing to try something different or pushing the woman to see how far she can go. And when I say push, again, I don’t mean the whole Dom thing by tying her down and spanking. That would go under trying things. No, when I say pushing her, I mean something like prolonging orgasms. See how long they both can hold back and to come to one major orgasm, or how many orgasms he can give her before she cries uncle and is contemplating putting on a temporary chastity belt so he can keep his hands to himself just so she can sleep.

There are more points to an erotica hunk, like his physic, but that’s pretty given. I mean, have you ever seen an erotica cover with a chubby guy. Don’t get me wrong, chubby men need love too, but the hunk has to be…well a hunk. He has to be fit. The woman doesn’t really matter. In fact, I like reading an erotica novel with a woman with some meat on her bones - more to love - since not all women are a slim, blond hair, blue eyed skank.

Now, if anyone finds a man that fits the erotica hunk characteristics, send his ass my way. I could use a hunk to ravish.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Bad Girl Meteorologists

Today we have SaucyB guest posting for us about how things would be so much easier if Bad Girls were Meteorologists! Thanks SaucyB! Check out her blog and follow her on twitter!
At this writing, we’re having a massive heat wave here in my home state of New Jersey.  And while the weatherman certainly does his best to work that Doppler radar, I think the weather forecast would be a lot more accurate, and a lot more informative, if bad girls were meteorologists.  

Allow me to demonstrate…

Traditional Forecast:  90F Mostly cloudy skies.  Hot and humid.  Scattered thunderstorms likely.  Chance of precipitation 70%.
Bad Girl Version:  It will be the meteorological equivalent of ass outside today.  Put down the flat iron and pick up the scrunchy. It’s totally not worth the effort.

Traditional Forecast: 40F Rain, heavy at times.  Windy.  Chance of precipitation 80%.
Bad Girl Version: It’s going to be total shit outside today.  Do yourself a favor - pop in a good movie, pour yourself a drink and just sit this one out.

Traditional Forecast: 85F Sunny with clear skies.  Chance of precipitation 0%.
Bad Girl Version:  Girls, get yourselves to the salon and get your cha chas waxed because you’re going to want to put on a bathing suit and catch some rays today.

Traditional Forecast: 98F Mostly sunny skies.  Hot and humid.  Heat index near 110F.  
Bad Girl Version:  Tit sweat is imminent.  If you love granny, keep her inside in the air conditioning.

Traditional Forecast: 25F Sunny.  Clear skies.
Bad Girl Version: Colder than a witch’s tit.

Traditional Forecast: 15F Partly sunny skies.   Windy.  Feels like 10F.  
Bad Girl’s Version:  Colder than witch’s tit in a cast iron bra.

Traditional Forecast:  4F Mostly cloudy.  High winds.  Feels like: -2F  
Bad Girl Version:  Colder than a witches tit in a cast iron bra on the shade side of a mountain.  Oh for fuck’s sake, just do NOT go outside today unless you want to freeze your balls off!

Traditional Forecast:  30F Cloudy with heavy snow showers.   Accumulation of 16 - 18” expected.
Bad Girl Version:  Brace yourselves, school is going to be closed and those little fuckers probably aren’t going back for a good two days.   Cigarettes?  Smoke’m if you got’em.  Xanax prescription?  Make sure that shit is refilled.

Traditional Forecast: 75F Sunny with clear skies.  Light breeze.  Chance of precipitation 0%.
Bad Girl Version: Go call out sick.  It’s to going to be way too nice outside to waste the day rotting in your office.  And let’s be honest, you really didn’t want to deal with your douche of a boss today anyway.

So who wants the job?  Which bad girl out there is ready to put weather girl on their resume?

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Talk to Me Thursday with Esme

It's another Talk to Me Thursday! Today we sat down with Esme. You may remember her guest post from last November.


1. What makes you a Bad Girl? 
I try to live without regrets. If I see it and I want it, I go for it. Does that make me a bitch? Probably. Who the fuck cares.


2. What would you say is your theme song? 
A number of songs by P!nk. So What, Raise your glass,U & UR Hand. I have a whole list of her crazt, 'Fuck you, I'm gonna be me' songs. These days I am also digging Bad girlfriend by Theory Of A Dead Man. No one song can describe me.

3. Where is the baddest place you have ever had sex?
I had sex with one of my coworkers in my ambulance, and next door at the police department. I also had sex with my ex on the hood of his parents Camero during a holiday party. I love that thrill of getting caught and/or losing my job over it.

4. What are your top 3 picks for sex positions? 
Does 'yes-please' count as an answer? Me on top, doggie-style, and this one where I am kind of on my side, but kind of on my back - don't know what it's called. I've only had one person do it and it's awesome. 

5. Why did you start blogging? 
I started writing because friends talked me into it. I had people waiting by their phones to hear about my dates... I really seem to find the winners. Look at the crap that happens to me! I feel like writing a book is a lot of stress, and I dont' think that I'm that great of a write. Plus, blogging is immediate satisfaction. I'm all about that.

6. What do you do when you are not blogging?
A bunch of everything. I'm a mom, a great friend, a bartender, a flirter, a daughter, a traveler, a lover of fine things, a sister, a down-home girl, a sports nut, a firefighter/paramedic, a lover and a fighter. So when I'm not blogging, I'm just busy being my fabulous self.

7. Who is your favorite Bad Girl in history? Why?
Mae West, hands down. I know she gets used often as an answer, but she truly was an amazing woman. Who else goes to jail for corrupted morals? I am also a huge fan of Elizabeth Taylr. I loved the way she flipped through men. She seemed to wave them away with a flick of her wrist. She also lived her life without apologies. I admire that.

8. Can you describe a Bad Girl moment you have had? 
Hmm... I have seemed to have a lot the last couple of years. But i think having sex in the police station ranks right up there. It was after hours, and we really needed to get our freak on... we walked (ran) next door (our departments were connected), locked the door and had one of the best quickies of my life. Only after it was over did we look for security cameras... we dodged a damn bullet on that one.

9. Thongs, hipsters or none? 
I love hipsters and boy shorts. Thongs just irritate me. I feel like thongs were made for men. I prefer to wear what I think is sexy.

10. Can you suggest a Bad Girl to us? Why her?
Simmarah over at thedatingritual.com. She isn't afraid to speak her mind, isn't afraid to take chances. Check her out.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Talk to Me Thursday with Nanny



This week we are talking with Nanny Berry from Naughty Mommy Reviews and Junk. Check out what she had to say and then go visit over at her place!

 NaughtyMommyReviews

1. What makes you a Bad Girl? 
Well, I review sex toys for a living. I used to write naughty books, and still write dirty stories on my blog. I'm kind of obsessed with sex.


2. What would you say is your theme song? 
I don't really have one, but I've always liked Witchy Woman.

3. Where is the baddest place you have ever had sex?
Um.. in the woods behind my aunt and uncle's house.

4. What are your top 3 picks for sex positions? 
Doggie Style, Standing with him behind me, and one where I'm on my side and he's on his knees with one leg behind him and one up in the air.

5. Why did you start blogging? 
To review sex toys, and bitch.

6. What do you do when you are not blogging?
Housework, corral kids, wifely duties, boring stuff like that.

7. Who is your favorite Bad Girl in history? Why?
Mae West. She's just so witty.

8. Can you describe a Bad Girl moment you have had? 
Uh... I don't know. I used to flash trucks off the over pass near my house.

9. Thongs, hipsters or none? 
All of the above, it depends on my mood or if it's laundry day.

10. Can you suggest a Bad Girl to us? Why her?
Jess from Jess Resides Here. She's an awesome blogger and naughty too!

Monday, July 11, 2011

True's Angels and Demons

Today we have True from True Pleasures guest posting for us! If you're familiar with her you know she has a few personalities hiding inside of her and today she's telling us about her different sides. Check her out and show her some love!

True Pleasures
Angels and Demons

Many of us have different personalities that we turn on or off around certain people. It’s just another way of keeping the peace. Sometimes, certain personalities are stronger than others, though.

Inside my being, I house an angel and a demon; a succubus, to be exact. These two have always been present, and my knowledge of them goes back as far as I can remember in my childhood.

To most people in real life, and to my husband early on when we were dating, I appear as the typical Goody Two-shoes. My family has no idea about my succubus side, and my husband only found that out the year before we got married. Before that, I was his deliverance from depression, his saving grace. Often times, he’d call me his angel.

As an empath, I care deeply for his feelings and health. I suppose, to others, I would look like June Cleaver. Honestly, nothing makes me happier than making my husband happy. I will always watch over him as his guardian angel. If anything is wrong, expect me to be there in a heartbeat.

Still, I’m a little trouble-maker, or so I’m told. I just like to play and mess around with him. When I try to pull the but-I’m-just-a-little-angel act, he’s quick to remind me of the ceramic pair of horns I have. Why would an angel have horns?

Simple answer: the succubus took over and made me buy them. I’ve been horny ever since I can remember. Why not have something to represent that? Having a soft, warm body in bed next to me that could so easily be taken advantage of just spurs the succubus on further. It doesn’t matter what time it is, if he’s making a blanket tent, it’s an invitation to lick, suck, and pounce him with no other thought than the pursuit of pleasure.

So, what’s it like to have such conflicting personalities? They can easily cancel each other out, but the angel usually wins if there is some sympathy or improper company involved. Otherwise, it’s go time.

And no, I don’t have multiple personality disorder. This is simply an explanation of two very different facets of my personality.

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Talk to Me Thursday: Lady Estrogen


We're going to start a new little feature called "Talk to me Thursday" where we will ask "Bad Girls" to fill in the answers on our little questionnaire so we can get to know each other better. If you're interested in being featured just e-mail us and we will get you on the list!

This week we are talking with Lady Estrogen. you might remember her guest post from January.

Adventures in Estrogen
1. What makes you a Bad Girl? 
The list is so long, I had to start a blog about it; you may have heard of it. hehe. The book is on its way!

2. What would you say is your theme song? 
Mutha Fukka on a Motorcycle by Machine Gun Fellatio (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZGz0oyWJnks) It's so funky and rough. I love it! It better be played at my funeral, is all I'm saying.


3. Where is the baddest place you have ever had sex?
In the tall brush on the edge of a beach - midday - with families on the beach just a few feet away. My boyfriend had to keep his hand firmly over my mouth.

4. What are your top 3 picks for sex positions? 
A. Doggie-style, by far, then B. Missionary, with him holding my ankles up high in the air, and C. Reverse scissors or spoon fucking. I'm not good with official terms, I'll just putting that designation out there.  


5. Why did you start blogging? 
I had so many weird stories and thoughts I wanted to write out before I started to forget them - which I'm sure will be happening any day now.


6. What do you do when you are not blogging?
Design; chase around toddlers; slowly lose my mind... and think about what to blog next. I have a husband around somewhere, but I forgot where I put him last.


7. Who is your favorite Bad Girl in history? Why?
Lady Godiva. She rode naked on a horse to protest her own husband's harsh taxes... in the 11th century! That is so bad ass; she's my hero. 


8. Can you describe a Bad Girl moment you have had? 
I once went on a kids' jungle gym with my boyfriend after a night out and had sex on the enclosed platform area while his mother was waiting for us in the parking lot... she was early. Oops!


9. Thongs, hipsters or none? 
Hipsters, definitely. I can't stand the feeling of material wedged up my crack; I don't care how sexy it's suppose to be, that shit just ain't worth it.

10. Can you suggest a Bad Girl to us? Why her?
Saucy B! Because she really is saucy & she rocks my tits!

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Guest Post from Rockin' Mama!

Hey there bitches. D is posting this for me today because my computer is still being a fuck tard. I have a special treat for you today. If you don't know Destiny already, you are really missing out on a Bad Girl. Go follow her, and let me know [In a different comment] that you do, and get an extra entry in the giveaway!


Waterbed Love

I was a late bloomer across the board growing up. No boobs, ass, or sexual experience. So when it came time to have sex I obviously had no idea what to expect all I had to go was moves from watching Dirty Dancing and the horror stories from my whore bag friends because they were getting it on in middle school while I was always curious I was the last one in the group to “lose it”.

 I started dating this guy freshmen year and even though I ran with whores I didn’t even do hard core sucking face till a year after we were together. It would take another year to pass before I actually went “all the way.”

I knew his parents hated me so when he invited me over I was ify about being in his house while they weren’t home. I did all that I could just to be accepted by them, nothing worked, so I really didn’t have nothing to lose! So I thought.

I walk in and it was straight out of the fucking movies. Trail of rose petals leading down the stairs, into his bedroom, scattered across the WATERBED! Candles lit, and the cheesy fucking music playing. My heart starts to pump out of control; I’m freaking the fuck out. I want to run.

I don’t. I loved this guy and he’s been good to me. Hell he’s the quarterback of the football team! No, I’m not the cheerleader bitch. I’m the “why is he with THAT girl?”

As paranoid as I am, I go with it anyway.

Interesting first time let alone experiencing it on a fucking waterbed. I can’t seem to concentrate on him or the romantic music because right by my head is the water swooshing back and forth….back and forth. The blankets start to creep so now not only do I hear nothing but the water, heavy breathing, my back is now against the cold ass bed. It lasted an entire 3-4min tops. I couldn’t help but think “is that IT?” This is what my friends have been doing for years now! WOW.

Aside from the pain I wasn’t told about the blood!  So what do I do…FREAK! It’s everywhere! The condom looks like it was dipped in cherry pie, the blankets are a mess, and poor ME! I swear I thought I was going to die, and it was his fault.  Of course he asks if I’m okay, but I can see the look on his face that he is pleased with the outcome. Bastard.

Over all “IT” was the best thing to happen to me, after that I was no longer the virgin of the group, I now understood all the jokes. I wasn’t like the rest of my friends either; I actually had a “good” experience according to them. It wasn’t in the backseat of a car.

If I knew it would only take a few minutes out of my life I probably would have had sex sooner, BUT I would have had to trade the experience for a shittier one. No thanks. I will keep the cold waterbed, swooshing water, and bloody aftermath. Best thing to happen to any 16 year old girl right.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Cinful Cinnamon's Swinging Lifestyle

We have another fantastic Guest Blogger hanging out with the Bad Girl's today! Check out Cinful Cinnamon!



     I have really enjoyed reading the blogs of the Bad Girl Bloggers.  They are all MUCH younger than me, but I do enjoy their writings and attitudes.  I've asked them if I could guest post for them, and have been graciously been given permission.  Ok, now that the niceties have been taken care of, let's get down to the DIRT.

     I've been a Lifestyler (or Swinger if you prefer) for almost 15 years.  In that time, I have had countless experiences with other singles and couples.  Some fan-fucking-tastic, and others that sucked in ways that are neither pleasant or rewarding.  How I happened to stumble upon swinging in itself is a decent story. 

     The first time that I heard anything about Swinging was LONG after I had gotten out of the service.  Until then, I had no clue that what I was doing with other couples even had a name.  One night, I happened to be a a co-workers house, the drinks were flowing, we were playing strip poker.  And before I knew what had happened, I was face planted in the wife's pussy and was getting rammed from behind by the guy that I worked with.  That relationship went on for some months; until I realized that this couple was taking up all my extra time.  I didn't even have time to date and find my own man because each of them were calling me to meet them; together and separately all the time.  I was fortunate in the fact that I got orders and was sent to another country. Gawd only knows how else I would have gotten out of that relationship without hurting or having feelings hurt.  I thought it was a one time thing, did the rest of my time in the Air Force, got out, married and had my son.  And life moved on. 
    
     After I had been divorced for a few years, and lived as a lesbian for a while, I began to miss cock.  The woman that I was living with at the time and I broke up and I had an itch that just wasn't being scratched in the right way.  About this time, I'd been on the computer kinda “looking” around and somehow found a site about “wife swapping”. The picture above of the bowl of keys is what swinging used to be called.  Key Parties.  People would meet at others home and put their keys in a bowl.  At the end of the night one at a time, people would draw out the keys of someone they didn't know, and that's who they would “swap” spouses with.. My fucking head almost exploded.  I couldn't believe that people had been doing this stuff right under my nose!  Or maybe I was upset that I really hadn't invented it. Either way, I sat and read about this swinging thing until my ass got numb; which if you've seen my ass, you'd know would take some time. I also found out that there were clubs that catered to people that did this swinging thing.  I quickly found out where the closet club was, and planned a trip.

     After looking at pictures of the club, and seeing what the people wore or didn't wear there, I bought an outfit that was sexy and drove to the club.  I took my own wine and looked forward to getting into the “scene”.  It didn't take long to figure out some very important details.  Single women were rare and sought after by EVERYONE.  Bisexual, single females such as myself, were treated like gold.  They were so rare, that some referred to us as Unicorns.  I thought I had died and gone to Fucking Paradise. 

     There were many things to learn about this new lifestyle that I had chosen.  And I learn something new everyday.  But if you are polite, and respectful....you get all the BONUS COCK AND PUSSY that you can handle. 


Monday, January 31, 2011

Lady-Like Pervert's Ben Wa Balls

Everyone settle in and hold onto your panties because today we have the Lady-Like Pervert guest posting for us!


Lady-Like Pervert


Can I just say that in a duel my 'gina would totally kick your 'gina's ass?! She's buff, she's strong and she can shoot a marble straight across the room (undetermined but totally plausible).

No doubt, this will be one of those posts that I later shake my head at and think "Woman, what were you thinking!?" Until then, I will shamelessly detail what I am referring to as my Ben Wa Wednesday!

The other day, the UPS man who frequently delivers boxes and packages to my house (normally full of golf paraphernalia for my husband) arrived on my porch with a nondescript cardboard box from www.pinkcherry.com... let's call him Reindeer. In the box were several items from my partner Nancy at Pink Cherry... let's call her Elf. Santa's little helper had emailed me a few days prior and told me that my wishlist had been received at the North Pole and that despite appearing on his Naughty list several times, Santa thought I was foxy and was going to grant me my items regardless.

In the traditional Christmas story about a little girl who catches Santa by her tree, Santa gives Sally a wink before wishing her a Merry Christmas and shooting up the chimney and out of sight. I kid you not, UPS man gave me the same wink before wishing me a good day and darted down my driveway.
Like a little girl, I squealed as I carried the box into my home, shaking it close to my ear attempting to identify the contents inside. Those contents included several items from my wishlist, one of which were a set of genuine bona-fide Ben Wa balls.

When I wrote to Santa this year, I intentionally asked for toys that were outside of my comfort zone and were experimental in nature. I will review and blog each of those items, the first of which are the Ben Wa balls.
Ben Wa Balls have been around since about 500 A.D, initially used by Geisha in the orient. I chose the traditional basic version which are essentially two small marble-sized steel balls.The feeling of the balls floating freely in the vagina and constantly massaging the vaginal walls are said to cause intense sexual arousal. To keep them in, you have to flex your PC muscles constantly which is great for rebuilding relaxed tissues.

Ok... back to me.

Last night my galpals and I were out for sushi and discussing the next day's pending adventure.

"I'm going to attempt to carry those bad boys around all day!" I boast. "I'm just not sure how I am going to pee with them in!"
Beth tries to rationalize and concludes, "The muscles you will be flexing are the same ones you will need to push out your pee!" Hm...dilemma.

"I know! If those things pop out while I'm peeing, I am not sticking my hand in the toilet at work to retrieve them! Flush! Bye bye Ben Wa balls!" I'm waving.

Laughing before the words have left her mouth, the wise and resourceful Kristen advises, "You should just pee through a strainer."

Ha ha ha... Kristen!

So this morning I wake up, and while the rest of my family sleeps, I jump in the shower and slough away all of my sleep with a raspberry-almond smelly soap set. Still naked, but towelled off, I tip toe over to the closet and retrieve my project for the day. Hubby has snuck out of bed, so I call down the stairs to him, "Can you google how high I should stick them?"
(Henceforth I hang my head in embarrassment, but I will soldier on and be candid. Faint of heart, please turn back now)

Naked, I lay back on my bed, Hubby perched at the best seat in the house."Here goes nothing!" I say.
I place one of the balls barely inside my vagina, so that it is still peaking out, then give it a gentle push. Whish, it disappears.

Wide eyed and astonished, I exclaim to Mr. Perv, "Did you see that?? My pussy was like a vortex! It just whooshed and sucked it up!!" I'm convinced this is about the coolest I have ever seen and judging from the look on Hubby's face, it's cooler than that.

I place the next one. Gentle push, but it just sits there. Hm. "I can still see it..." Hubby commentates. This time I have to push it in and up with my finger.

"Wowww...." He says softly.

I get up and move around and report that it feels kind of like a tampon but colder. I get dressed and several times I feel those little buggers sliding out. Oh no you don't, and I stuff them back up there.
"You gotta squeeze to keep them in!" Mr. Penis says to Mrs.Vagina. No shit! I know that and I'm trying! Only every time I squeeze I end up pushing them out! I had two kids via c-section, I'm 34 years old and wear junior, sometimes regular Tampax Pearls, basically I am strong as an Ox down there and if I sneeze I'm about to shoot someone's eye out!

"I'm trying! I can't get them up high enough, my finger's not long enough."
Screw it. I grab the first thing in my reach, and since I was mid-makeup application, it happened to be my mascara. I give him an I-can't believe-I-am-about-to-do-this look, prop one leg up on the counter and slide my mascara into my girlie parts, successfully placing the balls nice and high and snug as a bug.

Clenched and contracted, I start my day. I find the parking spot at work that is closest to the door and scuttle to my office, walking through the halls like a woman with a pickle stuck up her ass.

It's roughly 9:00am and I'm wondering when the horny sensations are going to kick in. If it's possible to be tired from squeezing your vag, then yes I am. Or maybe I'm just annoyed. Regardless, I'm standing in the photocopy room conversing with two of my colleagues when I get an Uh-oh moment. I stop my sentence mid-flow and glaze over. Colleague A looks at Colleague B with a what-is-she-doing face, and I slowly start to shimmy from the room leaving them speechless. I wore pants intentionally today but have visions of a marble scooting out my pant leg and across the copy room floor.

Alone in the washroom, I retrieve the first ball no problem, but have to fish the other one out with my finger. I'm laughing at myself in the bathroom and praying no one can hear me.
Ball-free, I'm feeling like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Back to work, busy busy bee.
Hmmm... I shift my hips around in my chair and am aware of very pleasant sensations emulating from my nether regions. Half an hour later, I'm still feeling pleasantly stimulated and actually a little moist down there. 

Well I'll be damned...

Here is my conclusion: These Ben Wa bastards were a bit of a pain in my ass. I was constantly distracted from my daily tasks in fear I would unclench and have them pop right out of me. However, once those buggers were removed, very cool things started happening. The clenching and squeezing obviously sent extra blood flow to my pelvis for several hours. By lunch time, I am attempting to focus on various professional tasks, but my senses are more than a little erotically heightened. I decide to eat lunch alone in my office with the door closed... I'm way too horny to be released into the wild.

Monday, January 10, 2011

Lady Estrogen's Pleasurable Experience

Hold onto your pants cause today we have Lady Estrogen guest posting for us! Check out her site and never-ending supply of awesome stories.


Adventures in Estrogen


One of the guys that we hung around with on campus reeked of ‘coolness’. He was brown and yummy – but completely not my type. For starters, he was a tiny guy – like I could snap him in half if I tried to ride him like a bronco. He had a strong jaw line and soft round lips; he was definitely attractive and I always loved to appreciate boys of beauty, even if I couldn’t picture myself actually screwing them.

He was fully aware of his own cuteness factor, there was no doubt. His flirting angle was the ‘cuddly baby bear’ move and he would give out hugs left, right and center – hugs that were accompanied by ‘fuck me’ eye pouts and pursed, moist lips. Some nights he would cuddle up to me on the couch like he was my pet, my sexy, sexy pet – but it was still completely, 100% plutonic – not even a whiff of sexual tension existed between us.

One night we had taken to our individual rooms to study before exams begun. He came over for a visit, not just with me, but the entire house of us girls. He was like the non-threatening fox to our hen house. He came into my room and sat on my bed; he could see that I was stressed.

“Come over here. I have the wickedest hand massage technique I can do for you. Not only will it help you relax, but it’s been known to make some women climax!” He grinned and raised his one eyebrow while I glared at him. OK. So, that declaration caught my interest.

The rooms were more like prison cells; just enough space for a single bed, a desk and dresser... and nothing more. Unlike normal bedroom situations, the beds on campus were often used just for hanging out and chatting – there wasn’t anywhere else – so I joined him on the bed, still with no sexual inclinations.

He began to massage my hand and yes, it was fucking fantastic. I wasn’t quite feeling my clitoris swelling or anything, but it was definitely sensual. I could tell he was enjoying giving me this pleasure – he loved women, all women. He gave me another smile and while continuing to massage me with one hand, he started to rub himself with his other hand. I didn’t recoil in disgust, so he took that as his queue to take it one step further and he put his hand down his pants and began to masturbate. He wore fairly baggy jeans, so it was easy for him to perform this act without having to undress. I was wearing jogging pants and as I sat on my bed with my legs kiddie-crossed I took my free hand and began to masturbate as well. He released my hand and we both focused on satisfying ourselves, however constantly making eye contact that was deep and intense.

He grabbed my hand again and held it tightly while he climaxed. I was so fucking turned on and I came shortly after. We both moaned really quietly, together, and then we started to giggle.

We never got undressed.
We never saw each others’ bodies.
Apart from the hand massage, we didn't touch each other.
We never even kissed.

It was one of the most unexpected and bizarre yet hottest sexual experiences of my life – and we never spoke of it again after that night.

Monday, November 1, 2010

Guest Post- Esme

Morning Bad Girls- Today I have a special treat for you from Ms. Esme over at Love, Esme.

She wanted to give us a look into Dating After Divorce- so let's hear what she has to say...

If there is one, fucking huge, difference between my pre-divorce life and post-divorce life, it has to be the dating. The god-damned dating. Who knew one 6-letter word could send cold chills down my spine, make my heart seize, and my brain fart…all at the same time. I hated dating. With such a passion, that I married the first man who showed an interest. Not my best plan, I have to admit. No…I don’t recommend it…but I did learn. So much of dating, I think, has to with age, confidence, and all out bad-assery. Yes, it’s a word. I just invented it. Fucking deal.

When I dated in my late teens/early twenties (because I did not yet have the confidence in myself to date as a younger woman), I still cared WAY TOO MUCH what people thought about me. I didn’t order the expensive things on the menu, because I didn’t want to be that person. I didn’t argue or debate with my date because it was just impolite. And if it was a god-awful waste-of-time date, I gave him 3, 4, or 10 more dates because I felt horrible for turning him down. See the pattern that developed here? I let myself become a fucking doormat, allowing any ass-hat to come along to take advantage of my sweet nature. My parents raised me to be polite, and I took it WAY TOO FAR.

Fast forward ten years. Ten glorious, learning and growing years. Dating? I fucking love dating. I love no-holds-barred dating. I love the whirlwind first date, where I make that dude’s head spin so fast he has no idea what the hell just happened. I breeze the fuck in, see if it is someone I am even remotely interested in meeting a second time, and get the fuck out. Never more then an hour and a half. A bad girl always has an excuse handy. This works for me for two reasons. One: Douchebags ALWAYS reveal themselves within an hour. Two: It gives me an extremely quick out when things do not go according to the bad girl fairy godmother‘s plan-because in her world they would all be amazingly hot half-dressed men ready to go for some intense…wait…I digress…

Case in point-I met a guy at a bar one afternoon. Within 15 minutes, he revealed the following: he had 8 kids with 3 different women, he wanted me to cook breakfast for them in the morning before school, I was never under any circumstances allowed to look in his wallet or at his phone, he had done something worth an ex-wife stabbing him, and he is not a huge fan of sex-or tits-but will play with mine if my fucking heart desires. I smiled at this guy as I leaned in to him some. I slowly lowered my eyelashes and traced my fingertip around the rim of my beer glass. Normally, I said, I would get up, put money on the table to cover my drink, thank you for the date and walk away. I raised my eyes so they met his and continued, But I am not even going to pay you that small courtesy. I got up and gracefully threw my trench coat over my shoulders as I walked away. I never looked back at his fucking ass. And you know what? It felt PHENOMENAL. The only thing that would have felt better? My stiletto in his fucking eye socket.

But Esme, you ask, what happens when you actually meet someone you are interested in seeing again? How do your rules work then? My hour and a half rule still stands…it leaves him, and me, wanting more…which in turns sends those chills down my spine. Only this time they feel very much delicious. I am so glad I embraced the bad-assery…

Much Love, Esme


Photobucket



Monday, October 18, 2010

You're Either a Pimp or a Ho- Monday Guest Post!

Introducing Marie from O 4 Her as she explains the meaning behind Pimps and Hos...

I recently heard that phrase come out of the mouth of Kevin "KB" Blatt, the infamous ringleader behind the Paris Hilton Sex Tape. OK, that makes sense coming from him, but he was referring to everyone - including the rest of us "normal" folks. Huh? Now, me being the "fearsome goddess that doesn't like to be told what to do" type, my initial reaction was, “Oh hell no, douchebag!” I mean, no misogynist dude is gonna try and say this applies to me! Or to the other strong women in the world! Or for that matter, the many men in the world with integrity and respect for women! Pimps and Hos? I don't think so, Neanderthal.

But then I started thinking about it (I know, I do that sometimes!) Just for shits and giggles, let's take the analogy deeper than the traditional roles of male and female. Basically what he was saying is that you are either someone who makes the rules, or someone who has to play by those rules, right? This got me to thinking some more. And Googling. Turns out, KB (as usual) was using borrowing someone else's concept.

Enter Ghettophysics. It's a movie. Based on a book. About how we are all either pimps or hos. And with limited releases this month across the country, Ghettophysics has been getting generally positive reviews. Probably because from the looks of it, there might actually be some intelligence behind it all.

You're either a pimp or a ho. At first glance, it seems a little "black and white" (by the way, as much as I enjoy a good pun, this was not intended to be one this time!), and we all know the world don't work like that. But then maybe these terms don't have to work like that either. What if we said that, regardless of your sex, you could be both a pimp and a ho, in various shades at various times. You're roles in the world, the roles you choose, the roles you are given, determine your relative pimp-ness or ho-ness. Cubicle job: ho. CEO: pimp. Average citizen: ho. Congressman/woman: pimp. Churchgoer: ho. Priest: pimp. I'm starting to see the relevance.

I could go on, but I'm pretty sure you get my drift. And I'm pretty much all done thinking for today....*exhale*. OK, I lied - I have one last thought. I love the fact that some of us women have begun to claim the terms "bitch" and "ho" for our own. As strong women, we can say these words and own them. Way to go, bitches! And now it's time to bring it to the next level. Go out and take control of your decisions. Be a bitch, be a ho, AND be a pimp!

Monday, September 27, 2010

This Weeks Featured Blogger says....

Alright, This is The Bad Bitch here waking up early to get this guest post rolling. This bad girl is coming to us from her blogspot known as Awkward Sex and the City- and she ain't lying. She writes about all the topics that can make people blush, squirm, and sometimes even gag a little- but that's why we love her girls... Here's a little taste of her point of view and if you want more, be sure to hop over to her blog...
 
I’m calling it now… I’m totally going to be a home wrecker in the next ten years…. I like dad’s way too much for the average girl.
I don’t know what it is but I find them irresistible, with their permanent five o’clock shadows, and their receding hairlines. And oh dear god if they drink keystone light from the can, fuck me now.
The sad thing is, I’m not being sarcastic. I’m attracted to dads, older men, geriatrics one might say. But I shit you not, if any of you try to even touch my father…I will eat your face, whore. My father is a saint, bitches. A saint.
I was walking down the street the other day and I passed a balding 40ish man and smiled to myself and thought, “Hmm, I really don’t have any standards, do I?”
I actually was thinking about having sex with this man. This balding, pot-bellied man. I didn’t even know if he was rich yet.
To explain him accurately he looked like a mix of Jim Gaffigan and Louis C.K., funny men, yes. Hot, attractive, sexually suitable for most women? Aw, hellllllll no.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not a gold-digger. And I’m sure as hell not ugly. Cute, some say. Gorgeous others say when they want head.
Have you ever accidently drooled on a guy’s chest before? Awkward right? Yeah, older guys don’t notice that shit. Usually they think they drooled on themselves. If that doesn’t sound like heaven to you, then you are the fucking devil… the devil.
I think I like the stability of older men. They’ve given up. They understand the unspoken rules. And they know not to deviate from said unsaid rules. That being, I want, what I want, when I want it.
Follow those rules and you’ll get laid. Young men don’t get that. Older men do.
Boom…guess who gets laid.
And guess who got the Bob Evans early bird special this afternoon? This girl bitches.
This girl.