Re-running one from a few years ago. I have a ton of new subscribers, so I thought I might run a few of the older ones now and again. Listen on iTunes or on Libsyn.
I had a massive spike in podcast traffic at the end of April, but I don’t know where it came from, and it’s driving me crazy. Did someone mention me on their own podcast? If you’re a new listener, please let me know where you heard about me!
Ok, enough of the ego trip. Enjoy the podcast.
It’s my three year blog anniversary. Three years ago, if you asked me what I expected to happen, I would have said that maybe a few people would find it and read it, and maybe it would last six months if I was lucky. I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.
How did I even start blogging? I call this blog my revenge fuck. It started as a rebellion against one person. No, not one of the ex-boyfriends I’ve written about, but an editor. One of my friends asked me to proofread a piece she wrote for an anthology about true sex stories. I was blown away by the concept, and I wanted in. Even though it was past the submission deadline, my friend talked the editor into letting me submit a piece, as long as I could get it in by the end of the weekend. I wrote my ass off for three days and sent it in.
Then I waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
Then I was rejected. The editor was more interested in big names to promote book sales, I later found out. (I’m not quite as naïve about the publishing industry now, I realize that’s just how things work.)
“What the fuck?” I thought. It was one of the best things I’d ever written, I knew it. So I broke that one big long story into a bunch of smaller stories, picked a pen name, bought a domain name and I published it myself, starting with a very short story called “Mister slaps me a second time.”
And here we are, three years later. I never would have imagined. I’ve published several books on my own, I recently wrote a new book for Fleshbot Fiction (shameless plugs, because, hey, if you don’t tell people what you’re doing, they won’t know!) And the podcast, my god, that’s gone farther than I ever would have imagined. I feel like the queen of my own little perverted empire.
I wanted to share a comment I got recently from Marascha Black, who listens to my podcast. It’s one of the best compliments I’ve ever received and it reminded me that what I write is more than stroking my own ego.
You’re a self-made success with quality work and more to come. Very few people can start a podcast, build and maintain a following and garner a book deal. All the sexual life lessons/people that you’ve experienced and committed to print and podcast in life helps so many people in owning their sexuality fearlessly. It’s made you stronger. In these times (wherein a majority of society still rewards women that apologize to no one in pursuit of pleasure by slut-shaming at the stake) you are a one woman middle-finger salute to that bullshit.
Thank you all for a wonderful three years, I couldn’t have done any of this without any of you.
Two new audio goodies for you today!
First, the regular podcast episode: “A Little Fantasy.” Grab it on iTunes or here on Libsyn.
Next up, a steamy excerpt from my new book “My Girlfriend Jake,” an all-new fiction piece published by Fleshbot Fiction. Listen on iTunes or Libsyn.
Enjoy!
I wrote a brand spankin’ new story exclusively for Fleshbot Fiction. It’s full of kink and gender play, I think you’ll love it. Go pick up a copy on Smashwords!
You enter me first, your hand trembles as you guide your cock into me. You’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, long enough that you still can’t believe it’s real. Will I feel the weight of him as he slides his cock into your ass? He pushes into you easily, I feel the tremor deep inside of me.
We rock back and forth awkwardly for a few moments finding our common rhythm. We adjust knees and elbows, and suddenly we’ve found it, we all move as one. You fuck me on the same stroke that he penetrates you. We settle in and go deeper.
I stuff my fingers into your mouth, forcing you to lick and suck them. The sweat rolls off your neck, dripping down onto my breasts, every thrust from him echoes through you. You close your eyes, drowning in the moment.
My eyes lock with this stranger over your shoulder, we share a moment, sharing your body. Our rhythms change, we’re fucking each other now through you. We keep our gaze steady, your body is only an instrument of our pleasure. Do you even notice? Are you so completely lost in all this sensation, his cock buried in your ass, your cock slamming into my pussy?
We move as one enormous fucking beast, the bed creaks and groans against our weight. We pause, untangle, shift. Now you come at me from behind, I’m on my belly. My fingers press against my clit, you lay against my back, each of us only focused on what’s in front of us. You bite my neck, sinking your teeth in as he rams you, his hands clenched firmly on your hips, guiding you into me, guiding himself into you.
Your cock swells, filling me, your thrusts powered by his momentum. My fingers are frantic, I try to keep up. I feel your head raise up from against my shoulder, he’s grabbed a handful of your hair, now it’s the tipping point. All this energy courses through you, you’re coming, he’s coming, I’m coming and we all cry out and shudder and thrust. You’ll turn your head and kiss him deeply, not just for you, but for me too.
We’re in a museum, and we’ve wandered into the children’s wing. Kids are shrieking happily, making giant soap bubbles and pressing big red buttons that light up giant displays of frogs or dinosaurs. There’s an art area tucked in the corner, the only people sitting there are tired parents with armfuls of coats and sweaters watching their children run around the room at full tilt.
Edward sits down in front of a comically small easel, made of sturdy yellow and blue plastic. He tears off the top sheet of paper and arranges several colors of magic markers in front of him. For a long moment, he stares at me. Just when the feeling is getting uncomfortable, he picks up a black marker and furiously begins to sketch. The marker goes dry, he picks up the green one instead.
Within moments, with just a few well placed lines, he’s replicated me in multi-color: the bump on my nose, the loose hair falling from my ponytail. I look beautiful, and it surprises me. I’ve never seen myself through someone else’s eyes before. Continue reading
No, I haven’t fallen off the face of the earth. I know I haven’t updated my blog or podcast in more than a month, and I apologize. Life happens, stuff gets in the way.
On a much happier note: I’ve been working hard on a contribution to a brand new project that just launched: Fleshbot Fiction. Just handed in my manuscript, I think it’s probably the best thing I’ve ever written. When it goes live, I’ll announce it.
I’ll be back next week with new material, and I’ll be recording new podcasts soon.
UPDATE: Hooray! iTunes is working again!
So, I recorded new podcast last week, and I’ve been waiting for it to hit iTunes before I announced it…but apparently iTunes is having massive, widespread uploading issues right now. I don’t know when it will be fixed, but it’s not just me, apparently, it’s affecting tons of other podcasts.
Fortunately, you can listen to the latest episode right here if you don’t feel like waiting: http://daisydanger.libsyn.com/this-is-one-of-those-paramount-moments
Or you can subscribe to the podcast on iTunes (if you don’t already) and wait for it to show up there. Enjoy!
I’m weak, still sticky and exhausted from the marathon sex session we just had. Nick asks if I feel like going out to get something to eat. I tell him I’d definitely need a shower first. Just the thought of getting up makes me tired.
He kisses my forehead, says he’ll get the water all warmed up for me. He gets up, I close my eyes and nearly doze off. Soon I hear the water running, the soothing sound tempts me, so after a few minutes, I get up to join him.
I push the shower curtain aside, ready to step in. Nick stands under the water, dark damp curls cling to the back of his neck. The steam is scented with lavender, he’s been using my soap.
Nick steps aside to let me under the hot stream. The spray hits between my shoulder blades and I let out a deep sigh. It trickles down my back, my hips, and converges in a stream between my legs. Nick kneels in the tub, catching the stream in his mouth. He grins up at me and I pat his head.
“Silly,” I say with a lazy smile. I’m still floating high above the clouds in delicious subspace. I feel light, as if I could drift away any moment. Continue reading
