Friday, January 30th, is FRESH Boobday!


This is the first month of the year, the very first Boobday, and I have asked a very special woman to be Boobday’s first featured star of 2015: Kayla Lords of A Sexual Being (@KaylaLords)

Kayla has been a devoted Boobday participant from the very beginning.  She’s almost always one of the first to send her picture in and she is respectful, organized, sexy, smart, and takes the challenges head on each month.  I admire her for so many things and am honored that she agreed to do this.

Each month I will be highlighting one of you in an effort to say thank you for making Boobday happen.  Without all of you, it’d just be me and my tits.  If you’d like to nominate someone to be featured, email me ( and tell me why.

I asked Kayla to write about what Boobday means to her.  Here are her words:

I’m not usually at a loss for words. It’s just not a problem of mine. But when Hyacinth asked me to be her featured blogger for January, I honestly didn’t know what to say. Thankfully, my Mama raised me right, so “Thank you” was quickly followed by lots of gushing – verbal not orgasmic, although that might be nice…Anyway.

Sitting down to write this post, I had much the same problem. What to say? How to explain Boobday’s impact on my life – both in my mind and in the way I deal with the world?

Let me share a story with you.

I’m a writer – no, really, like books and stuff, lol. For a while, I belonged to what I thought of as a prestigious online writing group. They created a subgroup just for the erotica writers (so as not to offend the audiences of non-erotic writers). We shared each other’s blog posts, promotions, whatever. Until one day…

I received a Facebook message from a “well-respected” author – he still is, I’m just not an enthusiastic fan – declaring that I made the group uncomfortable because my blog posts contained breasts and nipples! He decreed that I needed to stop posting such images to my blog. I admit, after I picked my jaw up off the floor, I laughed my ass off.

He wanted me to stop doing something that made me feel good about myself? He wanted me to end one of the few ways to be my exhibitionist self? He wanted to control something that I did on my blog (the one I PAY to host and have)?! I (politely) told him to get over it, that I wasn’t going to stop blogging pictures of my own body, and no one was forcing him to share the posts.

That was back in the day when Boobday was once a week – so you can imagine just how many times that group saw my tits. I never heard from him again after that (although I’d heard from him plenty prior to that moment – did you know some writers are made uncomfortable by the term “masturbation”? Scary but true.)

I quit the group shortly thereafter, but that moment allowed me to cement my feelings for Boobday in a way that still holds true today. Sure, I know postings pictures of taut nipples caught between fingers is tittilating (ha!). I know the side boob with pert nipple gets people going. But I also know that my body – in all it’s imperfect glory –  is nothing to be ashamed of, and that in my own personal space, I refuse to hide it.

Boobday allows me (and everyone else) to celebrate women’s bodies – natural, beautiful bodies. Which is why I’m sad when a woman tells me she can’t/won’t do Boobday because she hates how her body looks. The more I post my boobs, the more I love my boobs. It’s a wonderfully cyclical thing that only gets better over time.

I can’t help if that makes some people uncomfortable. When you click on a link with the word “Boobday” in it, you shouldn’t be too surprised at what you get. When you follow someone who calls her blog “A Sexual Being” (that’s me, lol) – it should be no surprise that sex is the main course.

Stage whispers: You know at the beginning when I said I was speechless? Yeah, I got over it.

Anyway, that’s my Boobday story. If we’re just meeting for the first time, I’m a sex blogger – mostly BDSM and masturbation and other kinky stuff, an erotic author, a kinky freak, and I run my own weekly meme called Masturbation Monday. The idea is to get bloggers to write something about masturbation or so erotic and hot that a reader wants to masturbate after reading it. And I’m a long-time, enthusiastic supporter of, participant in, and lover of Boobday.

For Boobday Guidlines, click here.

Next month’s theme — in honor of Valentine’s Day — is SULTRY.  Don’t over-think it, ladies, just be yourselves!!



My FRESH-ly brokenhearted tits:

Hy's broken heart

I’m not up for exposing myself today, but you’re looking at fresh wounds, for sure.

The show must go on.

NOT my FRESH tits:

Kayla 013015 FRESH

Kayla fills her hands with booby love.  Follow her: @KaylaLords.

My take on FRESH: freshly washed.


Anon SA 013015 FRESH

Anonymous in South Africa gets sudsy and luscious.

Nothing beats a “refreshing” shower after a hot summer’s day!!


Savannah 013015 FRESH

I love this POV of Savannah’s curves.

I am so fresh that my body was still dripping from my hot shower. I am thinking nothing but sexy thoughts for Will and the feeling of his beautiful lips on my breasts!


SassyCat 013015 FRESH

I love @SassyCat’s take on this.

Here are two “fresh” photos. I wanted to make sure you got them otherwise I would forget.

Zoe 013015 FRESH

Meet Zoe, everyone. It’s her first time here on Boobday and I certainly hope not her last!  Click on the pic to get to her blog.

  This is my first time participating, which makes me a fresh face… er, chest.



Sexy Krystal (@bisexualminx) sent in a wonderful .gif, but I’ve as yet been unable to download it. We’re working on the technical difficulties, though! Stay tuned!

“Boobies are freshest straight out of the shower.”



LaShonna is never anonymous. I like her style. Follow her at @sunshyne0915

It’s after the shower fresh. Relaxed and natural.



Such pretty titties from Mz. Hyde.

Feeling Fresh (and frisky too!) right out of the shower


We’re on a break.

If you’re reading this then I decided to hit Publish.

Our plan for him to stay the night didn’t happen.  Instead, as soon as he came over he told me we needed to talk about our relationship.  I set my gym bottle down by the sink with a thud that matched my stomach’s.

In three years he’s never instigated a conversation about “us.”

Last night, as he was telling me how stressed out he was about his life, I half-jokingly asked if he wanted to take a week off.  Now he was saying it out loud.  For real.  “One or two weeks…”

I bounced around the apartment not knowing what to do with myself.  He’s not happy, he’s unraveling at the seams due to stress, he’s anxious when we’re together, have I noticed how little sex we’ve been having because it’s not a good sign.

I burst into tears and sobbed ugly sobs.  I also sat stoically and let the tears stream down my face.  I asked questions and got upset.  It’s not fair for him to say it sucks, but not tell me what the matter is.  I mean, I know it’s sucked, but it was getting better, wasn’t it??

His eyes were red and filled with tears, some slipped down and disappeared into his beard.  He has no answers.  He’s just… ambivalent, unhappy, anxious.  He didn’t say it, but the bottom line is he isn’t happy with me.

Me, I’ve thought this was just the heavy lifting of a long-term relationship: boundaries, expectations, hammering out all the details to have a [mostly] water-tight relationship in the future.  Him, my occasional anger and upset traumatize him; he is uncomfortable with the conflict and somewhere deep down believes it means there’s something wrong with us.

I don’t know what this means, but it feels like a preamble to a break up.  That’s not at all what he said, but it feels that way all the same.

He told me he still loves me and that I’m his favorite person in the world.

And then we hugged because he was going to leave.  And we cried some more.

Two weeks of absolutely zero contact.  He wanted to call every other day.  I said No.  I didn’t want him to half-ass this.  If he needs time away to get his head on straight, then I want him to have it.  I will never be with another man who doesn’t want to be with me.  I will never convince someone to stay again.  I don’t want him to leave, but if he doesn’t want to stay then he may go.  He’ll have to.

I am devastated.  Gutted.  Embarrassed.  Just yesterday I wrote a post about broaching the subject of living together.  I’m a fucking idiot is what I am.

He said he’d make contact, “In the morning of the 11th!  No, Tuesday night at midnight!” but I don’t know why he said such a thing.

Frankly, I’m afraid to see him on February 11th.

We did it backwards [on the bed].

We were once the Lord and the Lady of our manor, a great big house with two wings.  He lived in the west and I in the east.  I would lay down for sleep and he would come over pale and naked with a raging hardon bobbing as he walked.  No preamble, no date, just raw and royal need.

We fucked a lot.

Now, we are a courtyard apart, a small village.  We have to make an effort; make plans, take the time to clear out a space.  We’re just like everyone else.

But sometimes, we are overcome with passion, the bed beckons, and we forget that the clock has struck 12 already.  We’re the old Hy and TN.

My room was filled with candlelight and a floral scent.  He pressed my knees against the side of the bed and pressed the length of his body along my backside.  He cupped a breast, then the other.  Sneaked his hands under my v-neck shirt and over my head.  My breasts caught on the fabric and bounced heavily as they fell out.

I was pinned between him and the bed when he forcibly bent me over.  I complied and let him smack my haunch, gently, but heavily.  He pulled my pajama shorts down and moaned when he found my bare ass and sex.  I wiggled my rear into his hot bulge all trampy like.

Then, my young lord shoved his lady down onto her stomach and she let him do that, too.

He ripped my shorts off and I raised my hips showing him whatever peek of dark pink he could see between my thick, white thighs.  I heard him remove his own clothing and growl as he climbed up onto me.  I imagined rutting horses, the stallion stiff and proud.  My little lord stallion.

The head of his cock easily slipped past my thighs as he buried himself inside of me.  Two-hundred pounds man pinned me to my mattress.  He thrust a handful of times then stopped, flipped me over, spread my knees with his one and re-entered me.

We were backwards on the bed, my head at the foot.  Different bed creaks screeched around us as he pounded into me and I came with a soft fucking boom.

He kissed me, held me, stroked me.  When I could manage to open my eyes and look up at him he was staring at me intently, groaning and grunting like an animal.  He felt more inside of me than ever before, less a combination of rote movements and more actual enjoyment.  He came with his mouth, told me how hot I was, how much he loved fucking me and I came some more.

The feelings overwhelmed me and for the first time in many months what he did to my body unlocked my heart and I began to cry.

The tears slipped down my temples and pooled into the shells of my ears.  I cried because I was crying, I cried because I saw this on an episode of Californication, I cried because he was my little lord again and not my boyfriend who pisses me off left and right.

I came more, lots more — oh, the cumming — through curtains of tears and begged him to stop.

I laid there and hiccuped on sobs and caught my breath with him beside me hot and also panting.

“You haven’t cried in a really long time,” he said.

“I know,” I whispered back.  “You haven’t been as with me as you were tonight.”

I don’t think he makes any links to the amount of connection he feels for me and how I respond to him, but I do.  When he’s really there — I mean there with me — sex is fireworks, sex is glorious, sex is a goddamned medicine.  It makes everything we work so hard on worth it.  When it’s routine, when it’s done because we haven’t in a while, then it is flat and flavorless.  I almost don’t want it.

I’ve been thinking about the next step with him lately.  I have to renew my lease this month and staying here for another year is the right thing for me and Peyton, but a year is a short time — God knows this last one flew by — and I’m imagining the courtyard between us being gone and being next-door neighbors again.  And by “next-door neighbors,” I mean living together.

It’s a year away before any such move happens, but the talks will start before then.  I’m scared and excited and worried and hopeful.

I wonder if the Lord and Lady of this story can co-habitate, if we even should.  I want tears in my ears all the time, not just on rare special occasions.  Is this lady asking too much?  Fuck if she knows.



I have advice to give: What to do when your man doesn’t cum

Hi Hy!

I’m a huge fan of your blog, and I think it’s one of the greatest (sex or otherwise) there is. I don’t know if you’re into giving advice, but I just started dating a guy and I feel like you could help me with a situation that’s come up.

My boy has trouble coming. It’s something we’ve discussed since the first time we had sex, so I’ve known for the entirety of our relationship. However, two months in, it’s starting to get me down…I know it has nothing to do with me, and I do enjoy sex with him regardless, but after a while it starts to make me feel self conscious and then I can’t come either, and we both end up tired and kind of unsatisfied. It hasn’t caused any major issues yet, but I feel like it could begin to soon.

I know TN has a similar sitch, so I was wondering if you have any advice as to how to get past it and enjoy the experience, without worrying about the end result.

Thanks! Have an excellent new year!
Orgasmless in Orlando

Dear Orgasmless in Orlando,

First, I hope you don’t mind that I made up where you live.  It just sorta went with “orgasmless.”  Second, thank you so very much for emailing me and your kind words!  I don’t pretend to be the expert on anything, but I certainly try to see things from every corner and I am more than willing to share my experience and journey with anyone willing to listen.  And lastly, you and I aren’t the only women who’ve experienced a man who can’t cum and I bet there will be lots of interesting feedback in the comments.  Internet Boyfriend, we need you!

What does sex mean to you?

Sex is fun and hot and messy and fulfilling and nerve-wracking and bonding and amazing and weird and miraculous.  Having said that, we all seem to be very much focused on the end of sex, not necessarily the before and during parts.

We also attribute all sorts of other things to it; meanings that aren’t equitable to the thrusting of body parts.  Namely, our worth and our skills and it’s all tied up with orgasms somehow. 

Men feel like superheros when their partners cum because women are sometimes tricky puzzles, but women take it for granted (if she’s fucking a man) because men are easy as Sunday morning, but the bottom line is: our partner’s orgasms have nothing to do with us.  They belong to those who have them.  Period.

And great sex doesn’t mean there were orgasms. 

It means there was passion, pleasure, and maybe some connection to something or someone.

It’s true that we can be less skilled at certain things, but generally speaking we know what we’re doing and if we don’t we try to learn all the right buttons to push.  We’re very motivated learners once naked. 

Insecurities and doubt creep in when we have a very black and white view of what sex is supposed to look like. We need to feel satisfied with the process, not just the results!

If he doesn’t cum, then I suck

When TN and I started fucking he came almost as much as me.  I even remember a night when I made him cum 3 times.  Man, those were the days —  I didn’t make him cum once in all of 2014.

Yes.  You read that right.

When it first started happening I rolled with it.  I knew from my own personal experience that orgasming, while goddamned terrific, wasn’t required for my enjoyment. 

I don’t know what your personal experience has been with orgasms, dear Orgasmless, but I can promise you I was sincere all those years when I told my lovers who could never get me to cum that I really and truly had enjoyed myself.

If I hadn’t gone through that personally, I might have had a harder time believing TN when he told me the exact same thing.

It was odd hearing it come out of his mouth, though, because here’s the thing about dudes cumming — and it’s unfair and ridiculous for both men and women: We’re taught that sex is good — and over — when he orgasms.

Anyone can argue that isn’t the case, but the general idea about sex in this world has nothing to do with a woman’s pleasure.  Good lovers make it about the people, and thereby all partners’ pleasure, but for eons it’s been about the man and his seed.  Call it for procreation, laziness or shame, the evilness of pleasure or whatever.  But for the sake of me tackling this issue, that’s where I’m coming from.

And the sad thing is, is we’ve bought it!  We all have!  You, me, and the mailman all believe that men are these lustful, spooging creatures who, when put in front of a hot, sexy woman, can’t control himself and will lose it buried deep inside his lady.  And if he doesn’t then there’s something wrong.

Jizz does not equal success

For The Neighbor and I, the closer and more emotionally intimate we got, the less he came.  I would mention it here and there and he would blow it off as just being tired or that he came 6 times already that day.  I didn’t buy it, but I allowed it.

It doesn’t sound like you and your man have that particular issue since it’s starting right from the beginning, but what if sex for him is something deeply intimate no matter the circumstance?  What if there’s deep-seated shame?  I don’t want to play armchair psychologist, or anything, but if he’s a healthy man, orgasms should happen.  It’s a 1+1 equation.  Stimulate a healthy man and he will orgasm.

Since they’re not happening, I have to assume it’s an emotional hitch and those can be very difficult to overcome, if not impossible.  Therefore as his partner you need to do emotional work, as well.

What I’ve worked on all these months — and what I recommend you do — is unhitch his orgasm from the value of your sex. It’s irrelevant.


It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t cum. Not if he tells you it doesn’t.  Not if it seems impossible.  Not if you both can’t make it happen.

However, he can cum for you in other ways.

Cumming other ways

Recently, because I’d gotten stretched thin about this myself, I asked TN to “cum with his mouth,” instead.  In other words, if his cock won’t orgasm, then I want his mouth to share what he’s feeling.  And it’s been amazing.

He’s opened up vocally during and after sex and as I’m losing my shit I can hear the thoughts in his head also losing their shit. 

In the past when his hips thrust into me over and over — knowing that it wouldn’t end in a big release for him at the end — I would drift away a little and not be present. 

Now, with his words I can see us through his eyes and feel his experience. I reconnect to him and then orgasm myself.

I’m not saying talk dirty, just sharing his feelings — though dirty talk would work for me!  I’m suggesting requesting him to tell you how good you feel, how much he’s enjoying fucking you, or how much he loves it, etc.

When a man doesn’t cum our default thought is he wasn’t enjoying himself, but that simply isn’t fair to either of you.  So, clear away the doubt and have him share his pleasure with words instead.

Being ok with ending it

Another thing that might come up for you — because it certainly has for me — is knowing when sex is over. If we rely on the traditional model it’s when he cums. But we can’t do that.

And it isn’t necessarily after we cum, either, because sometimes that’s just a warm up!

It’s taken me a long time to learn when to call it quits. TN (and I suspect a lot of anorgasmic men) can fuck for days. He won’t stop until he’s exhausted, but that can often be long after I’m done.

I had to get comfortable with setting my own limits and not feeling like I was giving up.

Switch goals

So, my advice is this:

  • Think about what sex means to you. Is it really all about his orgasm and yours?
  • Unhitch his orgasm from your worth/ability/sexiness/desirability.
  • Ask him to express his pleasure in other ways besides an orgasm.
  • Learn to be ok ending a session when you’re done.

I hope this helps, Orgasmless in Orlando, and keep in touch with your progress!  I’m certain you and I aren’t the only women who have sex with anorgasmic men.  (And for the record, I think all of this can be applied to the reverse, as well.)

It can be a bit of a struggle internally, but certainly not insurmountable.  We’re still hot bitches. Jizz or no jizz!



I’m all ears.


I’m happy and hopeful, yet filled with a strange kind of familiar emptiness. It’s not depression, it’s realization.

I don’t want to recreate a life where I’m always grasping, always wanting and needing more. I want a life where happiness feels possible, not a pipe dream.

Sex is a small lifeline lately, counter-balanced with a quick mutual masturbation session. It keeps swinging from old TN and Hy to a bleak comfort. A stiff drink to get me through. I don’t know…

Career, me, my baby. We’re all going the right direction. The rest that surrounds it is less acquiescent, it seems. But I’m not even sure where it’s supposed to be.

I have lots on my mind about this blog: a reader’s question to answer, Boobday, thoughts about my body, your bodies, and a deep, burning secret I want to share.

I’m sorry for my absence from you all. I’ve been with you in spirit if not in comments.

I’m still here, listening. Talk to me. Please. I know you’re there, but I am blind.

And a little lonely.

e[lust] #66

Elust #66

Elust 66 Header image

Photo courtesy of CurvaceousDee

Welcome to Elust #66 -

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #67? Start with the rules, come back February 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

For our UK readers, we would like to make a special request that you take a moment and fill out this petition to repeal the new censorship laws.

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Small Breasts

Watching Her Cum

An Ode to Blow Jobs


~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Of Skeletons and Secrets
Would you be bored?


~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
Lust Fish

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!


Erotic Fiction

Unbroken by Oleander Plume
A Meal And A Show
Fucking Snow
Getting Off Is So Much Fun
Wicked Wednesday – Merry Christmas
Advent Calendar 24

Erotic Non-Fiction

Christmas Drinks At The Y
Nothing But Mouth
The things he does
The First Submission
Canadian Mist, Eggnog, Ginger Ale and You.
A Peachy Night
Skeletons In My Closet
Humiliation of an ex-Nazi submissive 28
a most pleasant fuck
Sex on Meth

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Masturbation Fantasy’s Unintended Consequence
All Health Care Costs Are Not Created Equal
Keep Private Lives Private
The Myth of Magnum

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

My Subby Not-Quite-Year
He’s Got The Look
On femininity and rebellion
What Fifty Shades Doesn’t Tell You
Humiliation: hotness and hard-limits
Beginner’s Guide to Electro Sex – Essentials


Because of the Way He Held Me
Cricket – A Lusty Limerick

Writing About Writing

7 Signs You’re An Erotica Writer
Why Do I Do What I Do


Best & Worst of 2014 & New Years Resolutions


Munches, The Club and Beyond (Part 1)

Thoughts and Advice on Sex and Relationships

He brought me bacon.
Menstruation. Does it weird you out?


ELust Site Badge

He had to cum first.


Hy teases IG

I shared this on Instagram earlier this week with promises of more to see.

I have been unbelievably busy the last 3 weeks.  Not only were there the obvious holiday reasons, but I’ve also been doing some freelance work on the side.  It’s eaten up every spare moment I have and contorted my body into rare and awful positions to the point that I just cannot bare to sit in front of the computer for one second more.

But some of that is behind me, thankfully.

Today is Friday and tomorrow a friend from back home arrives all pretty and golden and filled with smiles just for me.  We’re going to drink and talk and hug and go out and I’m going to try to figure out what to do in my hopping hipster town as [basically] 40 year olds.  We’ll likely get all dolled up and hide it all under puffy jackets and scarves, then brave the cold only to sit in a thumping club and laugh at how we’re the oldest birds around.

I’m excited!

I’m also drowning in housework.  You should see my couch right now.  No, really.

Hy bares her tits

No more teasing.

The Neighbor made the mistake of leaning against the mountainous pile of laundry I have resting there last night and the peak toppled like a little avalanche.  He laughed.  I grimaced a little.

I was in Peyton’s room perusing Instagram when he came in; my baby was asleep with my belly as a pillow.  He sneaked into the room and when Peyton roused a little he said, “Hi, Peyton,” and then helped me slip out from under.

On the couch, I was overwhelmed with love.  A strange sensation, frankly, considering the ups and downs of last year, but lately I’ve hit a groove with him.  I have refocused my attentions on myself, my baby, my career, my bank account, and my health and with that inward focus, he has come to me.  And when he closes the distance I feel calm.

I rubbed his thighs and sipped mint tea; he shared his day.  And then I realized that I felt something.  An old familiar “something” that hasn’t been with me in some time.  I wanted him.  I was aroused.

“Come on,” I said as I stood and held out my hand.  “Let’s go lay down.”

In my room, with the door locked we laid down and cuddled a bit.  I had him slip off his jeans and give me his butt nook.  Oh, the delectable delights his big booty gives me, pooched into the cradle of my hips, my hand on his hip and fondling the large package beneath his underpants.  Heaven above, it’s glorious.  Like cake.

We lay like that for some time before he began to swell in my hand.  I pushed him onto his back and realized that somehow the conversation had meandered to transgressive talk, dirty fantasies.  His cock had swollen more.

“I guess my penis likes crazy shit,” he said with a shy smile.  “Tell me more.”

And I did.  I talked about selling my panties to pervy panty sniffers*, of men who call customer care people just to jerk off, of women who love to piss all over their slave boys.  I talked about husbands who pine for a cuckold life and of boyfriends whose girlfriends are size queens who get off on humiliating them.  Anything that grazed the edge of my imagination I yanked it in and gave it voice.

As I spoke he pushed my hand away from the avid listener between his legs and began to pump, not slowly.  I tweaked and twisted his little nubbin nipples and watched him jerk and giggle all the while bent toward my voice and pumping his cock.

“Wait,” I said overcome with a great idea.  “I want to cum, but I won’t until you do.”  I rolled off the bed and ran to my bathroom to grab something I knew would help.

Hy rolls around in bed

I don’t actually sleep with my socks on.

“Here.”  I opened my palm to show two tiny little hair claws, their little teeth lined up next to each other and closed tight like a clam.  He groaned, as I got everything in order: the Hitachi, the removal of his clothing, the positioning of our bodies.  The last thing I did while lying beside him, breathing heavily, was to pinch his little areolas and feed the hair clips’ jaws.

He hissed as I turned on the Hitachi.  I lay on my side, my left breast pinched with my left hand, my right pressed the head of the wand to my mound.  I wasn’t talking anymore, but it wasn’t necessary.

I stared at the blurry arc of his hand, the rapid rise and fall of his chest with the little tortoise-shell devices clinging to him like barnacles, and I listened to his breath catch, his voice break and body twitch.

He was about to cum in under a minute.

My own orgasm bore down on me as if to say, Fuck this, he’s not beating me! and as he began to cry out and spurt hot, thick jizz into his bellybutton I cried out, too.  I floated on the sounds of our release and convulsed from my core.

Before I could stop him, the tiny jaws had been removed.

“Hey!” I protested.  “What are you doing?  I didn’t say you could take them off!”

Ever the petulant one he pointed out that I’d made no clear distinction as to how long he had to wear them.

Instead of being mad, I saw his defiance as a perfect opportunity for punishment at a later date.  “You’re going to pay for that,” I told him, still thick with orgasm, “but another day.  Right now, I’m going to cum again.”

As I turned the vibrator on me again he latched onto a nipple and drew hard and I begged him to finger me.  Forty-five seconds later I screamed and arched my back and clamped his hand between my legs as if to suck him into me entirely.

We both laid there and panted like dogs who’d run through fields.  “That was all pretty fucking hot,” he said.

“Yep,” I breathed back, heart still pounding.  “It was.  Do you usually cum that fast?” I wondered.

“Nope.  Almost never,” he answered.  I smiled.

“Cool,” was all I said.  I was just happy that he came first.

Hy and her big, naked boobs

It’s time I got new pajamas.


[*Ed. Note: I mean pervy in the very best sense.  I’m not judging, it was part of the fantasy talk to call them perverts.  I’m sex-positive, remember?]

2014 can kiss my grits!

I’m in the car all dolled up. Peyton is in the backseat likewise fancified and The Neighbor is driving us to a swanky dinner with friends.

I couldn’t think of a better end to the year than spending it with my two very favorite people in the universe.

And I hope to get laid.

2014 was rough in numerous ways, but it also set me up for a better year in 2015. I can just feel it.

Three years I’ve been Hyacinth and 3 years I’ve grown and blossomed under your warm, sunny rays of love and support. I really can’t believe I’ve been Hy for yet another year. Thanks for letting me.

Thank you, Internet Boyfriend. Thank you and bless you (however you want to take that) and may you have a sparkly, spectacular new year.

When the clock flips over tonight I’ll toast to all of you.



New Year bewbs:


Friday, December 26th, is GIFT Boobday!

BoobdayBannerI have big plans for this time next year.  I realized weeks too late a wonderful opportunity to highlight the beauty of breasts (and you all).   It will be the 12 Days of Boobmas and I’ll ask for volunteers to submit for each “gift day”.  It will be epic and brilliant and I can’t wait!

Also, some of you may remember a monthly Boobday “feature” and I only got one under my belt before I let it totally fall to the wayside.  This is me saying I’ll be bringing it back starting in January.  Woohoo!

Anyway, I hope everyone who celebrated yesterday had a fantastic day and to everyone else, I hope it was an epic Thursday for you.

The Neighbor is buried in family drama and freezing weather up north, but I’ll be picking him up tomorrow.

Next month’s theme is FRESH. 

Big hugs to you,



  • For every Boobday submission, send an email with all of the following info:

    1. an email with the theme name in the subject line

    2. an attached pic

    3. a sentence about why you chose this particular photo

    4. if you want to be anonymous or not

    5. a hyperlink or URL to your Twitter handle (if you have one)

    6. a hyperlink or URL to your blog post (if you have one and post, it must have my Boobday banner and a link back to me and only posted on the last Friday)

    7. make sure your phone and/or camera does not keep your location information! 

    Emails sent to me with all of this info plus the theme will be given preferential treatment.  I will not look up links.



Here’s a little bit of a strip tease.

Processed with VSCOcam with t1 presetA gift to be unwrapped, perhaps?

Processed with VSCOcam with t1 preset  I don’t know, maybe.

Processed with VSCOcam with t1 presetYes.


NOT my GIFT tits:


@BisexualMinx has a creative team behind her and I can’t tell you how much I love that she does.

This is what happens when I let my hubby loose with giftwrap, ribbon, and tape.



The clarity and precision of @pennysblog‘s pictures always draw me in. I want to tug on her braid…

I shot this during my festive self portraits, & I thought it would be perfect for gift Boobday!



Mz. Hyde honors my favorite Christmas son of all time!

I chose this photo to represent everyone’s favorite line in the Twelve Days of Christmas. Fiiiiiiiiive Golden Rings!

Our lovely friend from South Africa shares her gorgeous titty with us again. It’s fun to think about the international-ness of boobies.

I am a sucker for having my boobs touched – so this was a real treat for me!!



@KaylaLords is an inspiration in so many ways. She runs the meme Masturbation Mondays, as well as being a talented erotica writer. And of course her blog is revealing and relatable. Click on the pic to find out more about her.

Is ribbon bondage a thing?



This is about the only kind of garland I’d buy: if it came with Dawn’s tits.

This is the wrapper from a present I was given…
Happy holidays to you all!
Miss V 122614 GIFT

I love this pic of Miss V. Her tattoo inspires me to work harder in order to get my own. And lets not forget how amazing her breast is. A gift, indeed.

The Phoenix, the mythological sunbird it is a symbol of power, strength, renewal, rebirth and immortality and through my kids I have that. Through me…through my body I gave life, I nourished life and that is my Gift! Sending you blessings in abundance!

I fucked two guys on Christmas night: A holiday tradition

No, not this Christmas, sadly.  It’s just me fondly reminiscing again about one of the best nights of my life.

Last year I wrote the following blurb:

Peyton is with my ex for the next few hours and I am home alone watching a bunch of hokey Christmas movies and sipping on cheap champagne. The Neighbor is in colder weather with his family and I am alone with a herd of Christmas animals I’ve volunteered to watch for a few days. Life is pretty good at the moment. I just wish I had wood for my fire — it’s somehow lonelier without one.

Anyway, I thought I’d share one of my favorite sexy Christmas memories and most popular posts with you all today: I fucked two guys on Christmas night.

This year is much the same as last and all the others: Peyton is with my ex for a few hours so I’m alone, I’ve got the herd of animals (but they’re mine this time), no wood for the fire (or a fireplace, but I like to watch the Fireplace Channel so I sort of have one — don’t judge!), and The Neighbor is once again in much colder weather with his family.

What’s different is someone loves me.  Not a bad change.

I love this Christmas Story of mine not just because of its salacious nature, but because it marks the beginning of everything for me.  It happened 4 years ago today, seemingly a lifetime, but just like yesterday.  I can still close my eyes and feel them on me.  That was a night to go in the record books.  And without it I might not be where I am today.

Troy reached out to me recently — filled with his own nostalgia I presume — and suggested that he, Jack and I get together for a drink.  I told him I’d love to.  Troy and I crackle when together and Jack is the perfect grounding unit.  It could be a lot of fun, like old school-time buddies except we’re talking cocks and pussies, not keg stands and finals.

I wish everyone a very Merry Christmas and hope that today brings you much love and warmth!

Lots of love,