Saturday, 27 September 2008

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

Paul Newman is dead.

This video is from one of my favorite films: Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Liz Taylor and Paul Newman are on fire, spitting such hatred at each other that you know it could only come from love gone horribly, horribly wrong.

You can't hate anyone like someone you still love. Indifference is simply impossible. Newman spent this whole movie feigning indifference, but the anger under the laconic surface was palpable--it breathed off the screen like the fumes from the liquor he consumed.

Liz Taylor was more than a match for him here, but still I love his portrait of a broken man. Newman was too beautiful--had he not excelled at playing damage, anger, and steel under it all, he'd have been Tom Cruise. But when he was matched against Cruise in The Color of Money he made the younger man look like nothing.

The Hustler may be my favorite Newman movie, my favorite portrayal of a downward spiral, an adrenaline junkie just one false move away from bottom, but this scene above was too close to my heart not to post.

And since I wrote just a few posts back about humbling myself, I had to use Maggie the Cat, not ashamed to beg for her man. Is Maggie really stronger than me, after all? Less afraid of pain?

Sweet sounds

My Irish boy.
With that sweet, sultry, voice .
Like honey and cigarettes, like danger on the wind.

My Irish boy.
Who spills pure filth from his mouth.
Pure, unadulterated smut , like liquid cocaine.
He wants to do everything I want, and more.
Who's desire for the unknown spurs me on into the blackness, into the spiralling abyss of my longings.

My Irish boy.
Who's voice can make my hairs stand on end and make my pussy moist in a second.
Who can make me forget even myself when he wants.
That voice, that could talk you into doing anything.
I swear it must be a gift from god.


Look at you, all proud and manly, strutting almost.
Look what you've caught, your prize.
My gain.
You obviously think you can get your own way.
Just a small delicate female you can do exactly what you want to.
Do all those things you've fantasised about, without objection..............

Well your wrong.
Im in charge.
You do what I say, what I want.
This is about my pleasure not yours, unless I choose it to be.
Your head tells you to get up, to leave this room now.
Yet your body betrays you, is already excited at the thought of being dominated.
You realise this is exactly what you want, what you've always wanted.
I knew this about you, even before you did.
Its why I chose you.

Friday, 26 September 2008


I've only ever humbled myself for one person.

I would have crawled on my hands and knees across broken glass for him. I begged him and cried for him and chased him and sent him letters years after he broke my heart. I loved him and offered him my heart raw and bleeding in my hands.

I won't do that anymore.

It's a strange thing to know at the same time as you feel like it will never stop hurting, that someday it will. That you can laugh even as you want to cry. To not even be able to give over completely to the sadness because you simply know that yes, this too shall pass.

When you look at me I see mirrored in your eyes our time together. I don't know if you think of conversations halfdrunk allserious or if you think of me naked pressed against you, of my lips, of the taste of me.

They are one and the same thing, really, anyway.

Doesn't matter if you never fuck me again, if I never feel you inside me and hear that little sigh and gasp when you come.

It doesn't matter if I never fucked you in the first place, so there's nothing there to regret.

We crossed a line way back when and we can't go back across it. We certainly can't pretend it didn't happen.

Everyone I've ever walked or skipped or leaped or dived across that line with, I can see it in their eyes. They remember the feel of me. Even if they only brushed my skin with one finger, then headed back the other direction out of fear or honor (who can say), they remember that feeling. They know.

And so I won't chase it, I won't ask for it, let alone beg for it. I know that this will pass.

And I'll go back to dreaming about the one that never did pass. The one who still comes to my dreams and I offer him, smiling, pieces of me. Another chunk to add to the parts he already owns.

After all, I can't ask someone else for what I don't have to give.

Tuesday, 23 September 2008

To answer your question

Sometimes when I make myself come I don't think about anything. My own skin is enough.

Sometimes I think of the past, of people I've loved and things we did, or things we didn't do. That's when I'm feeling sentimental.

It's not often.

More often, I picture whichever pretty thing has flittered across my imagination that day, whether it's someone real or some make-believe movie-star thing, or maybe even a story I make up in my head, a person that doesn't exist (but I'd like them to).

I believe in the heady rush of orgasm, the heat of skin on skin, the sweetness of kisses, the sharp sting of teeth on flesh. I believe in your hands sliding over the curve of my ass when you slip inside.

I believe in your voice in my ear, whispering ragged things both filthy and beautiful.

I believe in the difference between how it feels when I'm alone, shuddering silently, puncturing the air with only a soft gasp, and when I'm with someone, when it's breathtaking in its intensity, when I collapse against them, sweat dripping, breath quivering, body shaking, my cunt one raw nerve.

I don't know if I believe in God, but I believe in this.

And I believe in love.

And I believe in magic.

Saturday, 20 September 2008

candy sweet

I've got a belly full of sweet things from today and a nice buzz left over from the night before. Candy and cookies and cupcakes and champagne, all tripping across my tongue instead of skin and sweat.

Sweet things and pretty things, flavors and sensations, bubbles going to my head and thoughts warming me.

Sublimating desires in treats and spoiling myself, licking my fingers and touching my skin, nostalgic for a time when kissing alone was good enough to thrill me for days and skin on skin contact brought a better high than any drug I ever tasted.

What do you want to ask me?

Tuesday, 16 September 2008

via 透き通った・・・

fuck you

Old bit of writing from February '08.

Fuck you for telling me you fancied me. Fuck you for ringing me all the time to say goodnight. Fuck you for being so kind and charming.

Fuck you for going from that to ignoring texts. Fuck you for hanging up on me cos your lass came in.

Fuck you for forgeting to pick me up that Friday after you promised and you knew how excited I was to see you. Fuck you for making me wish that I would die.

Fuck you for making me cry in the pub then sneaking out the back way without saying goodbye.

Fuck you for leaving me to go down to the river in the pitch black by myself so I could wash the mud off my knees after we'd been in the shelter.

Fuck you for never making me come.

Fuck you for looking at the scars on my wrist all the time.

Fuck you for using me for a shag. Fuck you for telling me that at the end.

Fuck you for stroking my hand and knee and face in the car back to your place. Fuck you for telling me you thought the world of me. Fuck you for kissing me really nicely.

Fuck you for barely looking at me after you shagged me. Fuck you for refusing to hold my hand in the car on the way back.

Fuck you for ringing me that night and telling me you'd made a mistake keeping me at a distance. Fuck you for telling me you wanted me, you wish I would feel for you what I felt for my best friends. Fuck you for telling me I had so much love to give. Fuck you for telling me how loyal and loving I am, fuck you for even thinking you deserved that, let alone asking for it. Fuck you for telling me everything would work out and we'd be so close and it would be so good.

Fuck you for ignoring me for a week after that phone call. Fuck you for ringing me and waking me up a week later and telling me you didn't want to see me again. Fuck you for saying there was no point in giving me your new number. Fuck you for warning me not to tell anyone in case your lass found out. Fuck you for cutting me off completely.

Fuck you for staring at my legs when we were watching the rugby. Fuck you for joining our table. Fuck you for barely stroking my back as you walked past. Fuck you for leaning your legs close to mine like you used to to see if I was in a mood with you. Fuck you for trying to get me by myself. Fuck you for not succeeding. Fuck you for not saying sorry.

And fuck you for looking so embarrassed when you saw me at nursery last week. Fuck you for not asking how I was. Fucking you for watching me the whole time I was holding the baby and letting her bite on my fingers because her teeth were hurting her. Fuck you for looking down my top when I was crouched down looking at a toy of one of the little ones. Fucking you for running past me after your son and shouting bye. Fuck you.

Fuck you.

(image-sex happy)

Monday, 15 September 2008

Lipstick traces

Lipstick kisses leave marks--you have to commit to it when you want to kiss away my lipstick, because everyone will know what you've been doing. Everyone will know from the color of your lips that you've been kissing me.

I leave red marks on your pale skin, and leave red round raised bite marks as well, that will turn purple before they fade away, reminding you each time you pull your shirt over your head: I was there. I tasted you.

I pushed you back against the wall and kissed you and we had to leave the bar because everyone would have know. Not that I minded, when we walked out the door arm in arm and your lips were still tinged red from mine.

We didn't make it to the bedroom.

The couch was good enough, right inside the door. I pushed you down and straddled your lap, sank my teeth into your shoulder and you reached up under my dress for my underwear, yanking them down so you could touch me, feel me, slip inside of me. I pulled your shirt over your head so I could feel your skin, pressed against it, rode you hard.

I can only come when I'm on top.

Right there, on the couch, my knees raw from the vintage velvet, my face red from the stubble on your face, I came harder than I ever had. Your hands on my hips, your mouth against my neck, your own teeth against that spot where my neck meets my shoulder. I was exhausted by the strength of my orgasm, so you had to move me for your own.

It doesn't take long.

You played with my sweaty hair, dyed red that time, and I ran my hands over your shaved head. I didn't have to worry about leaving marks or causing pain. You always liked my mouth, wherever I put it, and you liked me to be rough with you.

We had to wash the traces of each other off, afterward. Wash off the lipstick and sweat and smell of sex before curling into the giant bed on the white sheets.

No lipstick marks on the pillowcase when I wake up, but we have matching red rings on our shoulders.

Saturday, 13 September 2008

Sugasm #146

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #147? Submit a link to your best post of the week by emailing me directly at radicalvixenatgmaildotcom Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Nipple clamps, butt plug, Hitachi - oh my!
“Once the plug is in, I’m going to send you on a little walk.”

I discover transcendental orgasm
“It was peaceful, and like holding on to a live wire at the same time.”

When We Were Kids: Thoughts on BDSM
“The tying was always my favourite part, whether I was the one tied who had to escape, or the one who got to do the tying.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Sugar Bank

Editor’s Choice
Like a Prayer - Part 2

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

Image from Le Chagrin

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Erotic Writing and Experiences
Bite Me
Lunch Date
On the phone
People we’ve always wanted to be
Submitting Again: Part 3
While it rains outside…
Your Gorgeous Polish Girlfriend does not feel like having sex tonight

Sex Work
The Age of Porn: Performers, Attraction, and Age
So there I was, with a caller…
The Whore in the House Next Door

NSFW pics
Dana by Goncharov (Met Art)
Fetish Model & PornSLUTkitty Gets Her Head Tattooed
A Fully Naked HHNT
Not a masochist

Sex News, Reviews, & Interviews
The Lelo Mia
Nea: by Lelo
Njoy’s Amazing Butt Plugs - A Sex Toy Review
Sex News Roundup

BDSM & Fetish
After the Party … (part III)
Catalina loves Naughty Secretary Roleplay
Charlotte Vale And I (Mz Berlin) In Bondage Gangbang On The Training Of O
The Enigmatic Angel’s Kinky Cinematic Journey
The Pleasure Of Torment
Push Button Behavior Modification
The Sarge And Backdoor Bondage Have Great Impact Play And Hogtied Style Bondage Content
Shoes, it’s really all about the shoes.
Snap, Crackle, and Pop
Whipped Pussy Reminds You To Always Keep A Spare In The Trunk

Sex Advice
Help, my boyfriend won’t go down on me!

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Can A Threesome Help You Find Your True Love?
Eco Sex and Green BDSM
Femme is a Noun, an Adjective, a Verb…
If You are Charming Smart, but Ugly, I Fuck You For Sure!
It’s a struggle.
Stripper Milf versus Stripper Teen: 69 points to ponder
Where The Hell Did My Boobs Go?

Friday, 12 September 2008

I Remember

I drempt last night of him, of my baby, my soul mate.
I dream less frequently of him now, after nearly 3 years, but it still gives me the same feeling, that slightly sick, slightly happy feeling of being close to you again. It wasnt a sexual dream, I think we were shopping, its usually the mundane things you remember, not the moments of intense passion or happiness. But it got me thinking of you. Got me remembering of how it was with you, my first, and, i wished, my last. It inspired me to write...

"Your fingers caress my flesh as if they would push through it, as if they sought to enter my skin, to touch my soul and never let go. Your mouth eats at mine as if you would breathe your last breath from me. Such urgency I have never know, never understood till now. Never been a part of till now. Its not that I want you in me, thats not enough. I want to be part of you, flesh melded into flesh, spirits entwined, pressed so close that we are only One, moving together, living together, dying together. If only"

And how I've grown since then. How my apetites have changed. How responsible I now know you were for bringing my true self, my true passions and desires out of me. Just for being you. How much fun we would have had exploring them, understanding them. I hope this makes you happy, cos it certainly makes me smile that old wicked smile of mine.

Thursday, 11 September 2008

Pain and Pleasure

Tongue dancing across perfect flesh, hot breath on flushed skin.
Eyes fluttering shut, skin prickling to your every touch.
Lost in flesh and scent, nothing else but you.
Lips full, parted slightly.
A glimpse of teeth, of what's to come.
The promise of pain and passion, of marking and bruising.
Moisture on my thigh, a flash of tongue.
Then pressure, teeth grazing skin, biting down.
Grabbing at flesh, piercing skin.
Head bowing, spine arching.
Harder, bite harder, begging.
Moaning, throbbing, wanting.
Then the release, dizzyness, learning to breathe again.
A perfect white imprint of you in my pink flesh.
A reminder.


Im new to blogging, a virgin of sorts, but not to sex.
Its fair to say i love sex. Ask anyone who knows me. I love everything about it. I love sharing it, talking about it.
So im gonna write about it. Everything. Things i do, things i want to do, things i don't want to do. And while you read, i want you to imagine it.....

Bella, my pseudonym, is a charcter i have a certain obsession with, so i searched for famous women with the same name. And I found lots of them. Queen Isobella, Bella Starr, who was an american outlaw, known as "The Bandit Queen" and Bella Flores, an actress from the 1930's who was best known for her iconic portrayal of film villains.... sounds like a have a lot to live up to!


Wednesday, 10 September 2008

Monday, 8 September 2008

On the phone

It was a dirty little secret.

He would call me up in the middle of the night and we'd spend hours on the phone. I liked his California drawl, his laugh, his unironic use of the word "gnarly" and the things we would talk about, argue about.

We would talk until I was half-asleep, curled in my bed, stroking my hands down my own skin. It wasn't even dirty talk, not really, though sometimes he'd laugh and tell me that he was looking at my pictures right now, and my hand would creep down between my legs...

I never told him what I was doing.

I kept my toy beside my bed.

I reached down for it, pulled it out, and switched it on, keeping the phone next to my ear on my pillow. It was a quiet one, but it did the job, teasing my already-wet cunt. The vibrations made me shiver, but I had to keep my voice calm, to pretend that nothing was different, that I was enthralled with his story.

His voice was hazy, his words unimportant, as I stroked myself, breathing deeply, calmly, not allowing my hips to shake or my voice to break, just a tiny catch in my breath. The sweat was rising on my skin, I reached up to steady the phone with one hand and moved the other one faster, the vibrations thrilling me...almost there, yes...and I came, holding myself still, letting only the softest of gasps escape.

"You know what I mean, dude?" he said in my ear.

Oh, yes, I do.

Saturday, 6 September 2008

Sugasm 145

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #146? Submit a link to your best post of the weekby emailing me directly at radicalvixenatgmaildotcom Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Being Civil
“They couldn’t understand what the appeal of a civil union was for us.”

Clandestine Rendezvous
“He turned around to kiss me and I melted.”

Hotel Sex
“The excitement is too much for both of us”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Sugar Bank

Editor’s Choice
You Can’t Make This Shit Up, Part 2

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

Image from fine nudes

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Let’s Pretend…
Masturbaticon I
Our Peculiar Erotica
“Pay No Attention To That Man Behind The Curtain”
Taking Charge of Your Own Pleasure
Tease and Denial: In Defense of Subtlety
Things that make you go Mmmmmm

Sex News, Reviews & Interviews
Babygate Continues!
Vibrators of the Future

Sex Work
Pillow Humping Cam Pussy

BDSM & Fetish
Arms to the sky
brock’s Last Task
My surprise for Daddy
Naughty, Naughty…Nice
The New Pet (fiction)
A proper thank you
The Runaround.
Welcome to Kinky Sex Link

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Bare back HNT
HNT - Stripping for the Bath Brush - F/m Spanking Pic
Sasha Grey (NewNudeCity)

Erotic Writing and Experiences
8:55 - On My Way…
Asian massage parlors
Brains in her cunt
The “Ex-Pat” Love [2nd. Revision]
Fantasy Friday: Lips Like Sugar
In the Early Morning Darkness
Not Quite Poetry
On the Back of a Motorcycle
Your first time with me

Thursday, 4 September 2008

A long time ago

I remember his lips. Very well. The way they felt on mine, on my skin, the way his hands felt.

It was so long ago, our fumbling mistakes and miscommunications. Our perfect kisses and not-so-perfect orgasms.

One night, though, when we kissed for hours until our lips were bruised, our bodies pressed together, even when we moved and shifted positions we didn't lose that contact, as much of his skin on mine as we could possibly get, and we ended with him behind me, his arms so close, his lips on my ear and his fingers on me, moving slipperysmooth and his whispers against me.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Nothing I've ever felt has topped that. Never.

He was so fucking beautiful. And so very much mine.

Wednesday, 3 September 2008

Monday, 1 September 2008


I have a couple of stories I want to share with you.

I don't know if I can do them justice right now.

One of them is true. One of them is only in my head. I'm not going to tell you which is which. I'm not going to tell you who they're about, or if it's the same person.

They're moments that haunt my dreams, make me shiver and smile when I'm reading alone, make me slide my hands under my skirt...

Thoughts of the stubble on his cheek brushing my thigh...

Thoughts of his voice whispering in my ear...

I will share them soon, I promise.

by Serge Guerand, via Le Chagrin