Monthly Archives: August 2016

Confessions of a lazy lover…

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I confess, I’m a lazy lover.

I expect the guy to do most of the work.

I like to lay there & be serviced.

I’m rarely keen to suck cock. It’s uncomfortable to hold my mouth open like that so even if I give a ‘blow job’ I’ll mostly lick, suck on the tip & use my hand. I’ll give deep throating a shot for like a half a second.

If a guy isn’t willing to lick me until I cum I think he’s a jerk…even if it takes me a loooong time. I don’t care if it’s uncomfortable for him. If my pleasure isn’t important enough to him to endure some discomfort than fuck him. However I’m a bigger jerk because if a guy is having a hard time cumming for some reason I give up easily & don’t care. I won’t work at it or let him fuck me for longer than I want just so he can have an orgasm. I feel like if I stay close while he jerks himself off (as a last resort) I’m being generous enough. Yup, I’m an entitled jerk.

Speaking of entitlement & other attitude problems…I feel like most guys should feel very lucky to get a chance to fuck me. Am I the best looking woman out there? Nope. Am I the sexiest? Nope. Do I have mad bed skills or am I a freak in the sheets? Nope & nope. So why do I have such an attitude problem? Gee, maybe years of hundreds of guys telling me that I am the sexiest & most exciting woman they’ve ever seen. Yeah, that might have gone to my head. This job can fuck you up even if you try to not let it. Even if I rationally know that it is a fantasy all those guys are seeing. That in reality if they got a chance to fuck me & I just laid there while they licked & fucked me they may not feel like they’d won the lottery. (Disclaimer, I’m lazy but I’m not a dead fuck. I do move & moan, I do fuck back. I’m not a starfish…but I’m not a bucking bronco either.)

Years ago I took a swing at escorting. I didn’t think I’d be into it but wanted to say I’d tried it. I wasn’t very good at it. Do you know why? Have you been paying attention here? I’m a lazy lover! Being an escort means servicing the client. It means you have to work. It means you need ninja level bed skills. Okay, well that’s what really good, highly paid escorts need to run a successful business. I wasn’t well-suited for it.

Why am I writing this today? I felt like confessing. I felt like getting it off my chest. After having a sexual encounter with a potential ‘guy-on-the-side’ who said I gave him the saddest hand job he’d ever had. To be fair, I wasn’t that into touching his half hard dick after he came up for air without making an effort to give me an orgasm. He was actually lucky I didn’t rip his dick right off after that lack-luster oral performance…but there was no point in getting angry. I just called it off & sent him away. We obviously didn’t click sexually…because when it clicks…my good god. If a guy loves licking pussy I can tell. My pussy tastes like candy & it doesn’t matter if I’m thrashing & screaming like I’m possessed, if a guy likes licking pussy he fucking LOVES my pussy, nothing else matters…and my hand job skills don’t factor in because his dick is so hard from licking my pussy he’s ready to fuck that amazing pussy & there would be no handy work required.

I’m not interested in working to make a guys dick hard. If his dick isn’t hard just being pressed against my naked body, kissing me, than he’s not horny enough for me. I like to feel wanted. Don’t we all?

So, hopeful suitors…if you’re into selfish, lazy lovers with entitlement issues, look no further. I will demand you pleasure me in whatever particular way I want, I will expect that gives you enough satisfaction that you won’t ask me to do anything special for you. I won’t work to make it work. If you’re not hard & into it for any reason I’ll call it quits & send you away. I’m basically a complete bastard sexually.

As hopeless as that all sounds…my current partner is the best sex I’ve had & we’re oddly compatible in all our mutually quirky ways…which perhaps makes me even less tolerant of others short-comings. I still like a bit of variety as does he, even if more often than not it leaves us feeling more grateful in what we have in each other. (We practice consensual non-monogamy, in case you’ve missed that from previous blog posts.)

Mistress T (well, not really. In this case it’s certainly the woman who plays her. Mistress T is a sexual dynamo…or whatever your fantasy tells you she is. *wink*)

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UPDATE Aug 31, 2016: In a million years I would not have anticipated the response I’ve received from this blog post. In addition to the comments left here I have received numerous emails from men who resonate with what I’ve written. Men who crave to serve a woman orally & sexually, who expect nothing, even prefer to not have any reciprocation. In some cases this is a submissive act but for others it’s simply their sexual preference. I would never have guessed!

Performance

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It has been an interesting week.

I went to a play that was very emotionally moving. I went back the next night & the next. Three nights in a row I sat there, knowing what was coming & let my heart be ripped wide open. I cried. Tears pouring down my cheeks, too paralyzed witnessing this moving display to even wipe my face. All around me I could hear quiet sniffles as others were crying too. The feeling of being in a room of people all experiencing the same intense feeling is powerful. In such contrast to our normal lives. Non-connections with strangers. Often feeling so little.

I offered to film the performance the fourth night as a gift.

I sat there last night holding my camera. The camera that I’ve had such an intimate relationship with for years. How many times have I set it up, turned it on, checked the lighting & frame? Looked at myself in the viewfinder & turned it on? Turned it on & turned into someone else for 10-20 minutes. How many times I’ve stood in front of that camera & looked into the lens as if I’m looking you right in the eye. Imagining that I’m penetrating your soul. I’ve held eye contact with my camera, said & done more personal things for it than I have for almost any real human. I’ve often said that if aliens looked down & observed me they would think that I was in love with my camera, that we’re in an intimate relationship.

I sat there last night & held my camera. I looked through the viewfinder at the same moving performance I’d seen the last three nights in a row. When the moments came, the hard moments, the gut-wrenching moments I was ready with my tissue…but the tears did not come. I did not get the tightness in my throat. It did not feel like I got kicked in the gut. I did not feel like I could collapse on the stage with the performer & sob with her.

I felt nothing.

The play ended & the lights went out. We all sat there in a moment of darkness. Everyone else changed forever. Everyone else wiping their tears & struggling to take a breath to compose themselves. I stared at the viewfinder with its timer, telling me how much battery life was left & how much recording room. I felt alarm at my numbness.

I have processed this experience & I am guessing that after years of being someone else with that camera that I’ve rewired my brain. That I disconnect from my authentic self to perform…which is not surprising or necessarily bad…but it’s important to be aware of. I have not been able to write my book while working, even when working very little. I could only write when I took a couple months off earlier this year. I can’t do both at the same time. So…here is an advance heads up that I will be taking another couple months off at some point in the near future to invest time in writing my book, which I feel very driven to do. I already have a few extra months of content filmed so when I’m ready I can do it. I still love what I do. I don’t want to stop or even take time off…but it’s in conflict with something else I really want to do. Such is life.

I’ll say what I’ve said many times…this blog is about getting to know me more intimately…in case anyone is pissed off there was no jack off material again. That’s what my vids are for:-)

xo

Mistress T

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Going on the sly

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Let me be clear: this post is in no way meant to be enticing to those with a fetish for toilet play. The types of video’s I’ve made in this genre have nothing to do with real life. Therefore I will endeavor to use terminology that is not titillating. You should still be able to follow along.

I’ve had my share of flings & one-night stands over the last couple of decades. My preference is usually to not spend the night for one particular reason: I am very ‘regular’ & always ‘go’ as soon as I wake up in the morning. That can make things awkward with a new person, especially if they are hoping for morning sex.

I recently had a one nighter with a fella I just met. (I still have a wonderful boyfriend, for those on the ball…we’re open about the occasional dalliance as we realistically understand monogamy doesn’t usually work…but that’s a whole other topic). This fella was a friend of a friend so I felt comfortable going for it after a brief flirtation. I was out of town though so ended up spending the night at his…& found myself in an awkward predicament I thought my fans might find amusing, cringe-worthy, interesting or at least a nice break from the US political gong-show.

When we arrived at his fancy custom designed home I got the tour. I made special note of the locations of the bathrooms. One on the main level near the kitchen. One in the guest bedroom. One in his bedroom. But wait, what in the actual fuck? The toilet in his open-style bedroom was basically right out in the open. Sort of tucked behind a half wall with no door, fully in view from the bed & most of the room.

I was pretty confident this had nothing to do with a fetish. This was just a design concept that made perfect sense for a single guy.

The sex was fantastic. Lots of fun. We drifted off to sleep with me feeling impending doom about what’s coming in the morning: he had mentioned that he likes morning sex.

From a deep sleep at early light I felt him slip carefully from the bed & out of the bedroom. I slowly start to become more alert…& as it goes every morning my body switches into evacuation mode. I start to panic. In the morning light the toilet sits there half out in the open like a clown at a funeral.

Like a lot of people, women in particular, I like to be discrete about my lavatory visits. I try to be fairly stealth about it. Why? To create the illusion that I don’t even do that nasty bit of business? Classy ladies don’t vacate their bowels? Who knows, but at 40 years old I’m still trying to do it on the sly & the last thing I want a temporary lover to be thinking about or visualizing is what I’m doing in the washroom for 15 minutes.

I listened but could not hear him. I decided to take a risk on the open toilet. I could try to make it to one of the others but I didn’t know where he was & if I would get intercepted. I worried he might think I was snooping or worse, he might actually know exactly what I’m doing. God forbid.

I sat there, like a deer in an open field during hunting season. My bowels locking up in fright & cramping in urgency at the same time. Trying to relax, bargaining that if he walked in I could just ask for privacy. So what if I was doing a #2 for Christ sake. Everyone does it. I could make a joke about it. Maybe I’d even seem cool to not care. But then I heard a noise & my butt clamped shut as I jumped up, flushed & hurried back to bed.

A few minutes later he came back in as I pretended to still be asleep. He slipped into bed & started cuddling me. The last thing I wanted was to be touched. He asked if I’d like to have sex or if I was more hungry? He could make me breakfast or we could go out, then have more sex later. Again, SO wasn’t interested in sex as my poor body sent out alarm bells that it was time for our morning routine. Keeping my game face I tried to suggest as sensually as possible that we go out for breakfast & have sex later. That would allow me to ask to ‘freshen up’ before going out. A great plan! I could use the guest room under the guise of wanting to test out the “James Bond” washroom cleverly hidden behind sliding doors.

I nearly sprinted to the door as he followed & got me a towel…trying to sneak in a little sexy fondle & kiss. Bless his heart. He was actually perfectly lovely but it was everything I could do to not squat right there & relieve myself. I was a woman on a mission. He no sooner left & I got down to business. It was such a relief. I think I heard angels singing. But the moment I flushed he opened the door & walked in saying he was worried I wouldn’t be able to reach the shampoo on the high shelf in the shower. I was MORTIFIED. Was he fucking standing right outside the door waiting for me to finish??? Could he smell it?!

So much drama over a natural bodily function. Why all the fuss? I don’t know but I don’t think I’m anywhere near being more okay with it than I ever have been.

Cheers,

Mistress T

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