Jul 252014

That’s what Luna told me, half explaining her own behavior, half explaining that of other women.

She gave me an ultimatum: Never mind my existing date that night. I had to see her. (If italics could communicate a whine effectively, that’s what they’d be communicating right there.) She was willing to meet me before that other date. But I had to see her, too.

When governments say they don’t negotiate with terrorists, they’re never telling the whole truth. I will make no such claim here. But I will say, I didn’t cancel my plans. I didn’t see Luna. And she warned me that I was making a big mistake, that I’d never see her again.


Those are two different assertions. They were one and the same in her mind. But in mind, they were very different. I like Luna. She’s fucking gorgeous. Her face is pretty, her lips are pouty, her body is spectacular. She sucks my cock expertly, she allows me to use her exactly as I see fit, and she fits, nicely, on my cock. So it certainly would be disappointing if I never see her again.

But was I making a mistake?

That’s a very different question.

Luna’s hungry to be told she’s the prettiest, the most desirable, girl. And she is exceedingly pretty, exceedingly desirable. But I’m not really in the elative business. If giving Luna what she wants means telling some other woman, implicitly or explicitly, with or without her knowledge, that she’s less pretty, less desirable than Luna, then I have no interest. “Just lie to me,” said Luna.

I’ve lied a lot in my life. It’s not really so much what I do, nowadays. I don’t mean to be a dick. I don’t mean to be a stickler for honesty, of that sort that no one wants (“Yes, that outfit makes you look fat.” “No, I don’t like your haircut.”). But I explained to her: “When I’m with you, you are the most beautiful woman in the universe. When I have sex with you, it’s the best sex I’ve ever had. If you want me to say more than that? I can’t help.”

Anyway, days have passed.

Threats only work if you’re prepared to carry them out. It didn’t seem she was.

The power dynamic hasn’t switched entirely: she knows I want her. A lot. She knows precisely what I want to do with her, with her mouth, with her breasts, with her cunt. She knows just what I’m capable of.

And I know that she wants me to do those things.

The only question, now, is when….

Jul 242014

I said I was back, that more writing would be forthcoming, but I overestimated my back-ness.

I am, now, truly, about to be more back. Though with some interruptions. So no promises.

I am, however, hopeful.

Meanwhile, I hope you’re having a great summer (if you’re in the northern hemisphere).

Jul 172014

I was, recently, at a strip club, with a date. I may or may not write about that evening. But let me just tell you about the phenomenally sexy dancer/stripper/woman working there who stole my heart (my cock).

There are all sorts of things to say about her: unlike most such people, she was (I think) born here. Her first language is English. Among people, this isn’t particularly important to me. But among women working in strip clubs, it’s a huge turn-on, because the interactions that are available between a strip-club patron and a dancer are so structurally overdetermined that a language barrier makes escape from the most boring, bland, “Where are you from? What do you do?” interactions really hard. Whereas, with a woman whose first language is English, it’s at least plausible that you could quickly find yourself discussing, say, her graduate degree (if she were so inclined).

Not so in this case, alas. In this case, we didn’t progress too far conversationally (though we did discuss the existence of this blog). No, the only place our ability to communicate efficiently really came in handy was when she invited me to pull her hair (I had been sliding my hand under her hair, against her scalp, as if looking for a good clump to grab) and to spank her (I had been kneading her ass, lifting and lowering my hand gently, as if spanking her in slow motion).

“I’m not, generally, the permission-seeking type,” I said (half-accurately – I don’t often seek permission explicitly, but I often obtain it).

“You’re not?”

“Well, in places like this? I’m a perfect gentleman. But elsewhere? Not so much,” I said, pulling her hair a bit harder, tilting her pretty face back toward mine as she sat on my cock, her back to me.

“You can pull my hair as hard as you want, as long as you don’t pull it out,” she said.

The other dancer, an Eastern European blonde, chuckled as she pressed her mouth into my date’s pussy, against her navy boyshorts, exposed by the flouncy dress that by now was well above her hips. “That’s going to be in your blog,” she said. (She was, evidently, correct.)

“You can spank me, too,” she said. “Just don’t bruise me.” I did. And I didn’t.

My dancer – call her Amy – was a phenomenal specimen. She was tiny, pale, brunette, with wavy hair, a pretty pretty face, and a bright white smile with perfect teeth. Maybe 26? Her breasts were B-cups. At first, it seemed, my date was going to choose her. But then along came Olga, the tall blonde, and my date was smitten. Which was nice for me. Because Amy was just about the only woman in the club for me. (Other, of course, than my date, who was by this time otherwise occupied.)

Amy had a tiny (like, shockingly tiny) waist above (relatively) wide hips and a perfectly heart-shaped ass. She worked her ass, lifting it in the air for me, waving it in my face, and lowering her g-string nearly all the way, tempting me (daring me?) to slide a finger into her pussy. I didn’t. In a strip club, I am a PERFECT GENTLEMAN. Seriously. I never ask for permission to proceed. I never push boundaries.

But if, for the first bit of our time together, she was all about her ass, for the second bit, she was all about her pussy. It was in my face, close enough for me to smell (through the tiny black g-string), almost close enough for me to taste. It was pressing against my arm, against my hand. I finally gave in and pressed my thumb, my fingers, against her clit (through her g-string, natch). In that strip club way, I had no sense of whether actually felt good to her, if she actually enjoyed it, but she was a good, not overly dramatic actress. She effectively communicated, to me, and to my date, the sense that she was enjoying herself very much thank you.

She was a generous tease, Amy – she stroked my cock through my jeans, rode my cock hard, soft.

I actually went back later that evening, after my date and I had gone our separate ways, hoping to find her again, but no dice. Oh well.

Here’s hoping that wasn’t the last time I see her, though I doubt I’ll be back to the club any time soon. (In my current iteration of existence, strip club visits are quite rare, and generally on dates.) It had probably been a year since I’d been in that club. Two years, actually.

Truth be told, I’d rather see her not in the club, anyway. Winking smile

Jul 152014

She stands 5’3″. She is athletic, muscular, pretty. Her hips flare out. Her solid, meaty ass fills her tight blue cargo pants – pants that weren’t intended to be tight, that were designed to fit generously.

Her blonde hair, straight, layered, falls to just below her shoulders, shoulders which are covered by a fuchsia linen top, over a black cotton tank.

Her eyes are blue, clear. They meet no one’s gaze.

Her cheekbones are high. Her fingernails are painted an orange that clashes with her top.

She doesn’t smile as she reads the newspaper on her phone.

She barely acknowledges the generosity – whose motivation surely is suspect – of the man who gives up his seat to her, but not to any of the other plausible candidates for it, including a somewhat shaky-on-his-feet sexagenarian.

Jul 152014

In the context of erotic writing, compliance means, simply, “Doing as I ask.”

But in reality? It’s somewhat more nuanced.

Here are some things it’s not:

  • Blind obedience.
  • Abandonment of principles.
  • Never saying “no.”

I acknowledge that I may have contradicted some of these principles in previous of my writings. When I have done so, it has been for literary and erotic effect. For example, I have said many times that “perfect compliance” is something I crave, and that in part, this consists of “never saying ‘no’ to me.”

While it is true that, in a sexual relationship, I find “never saying ‘no’” hot, it is, honestly, at least as hot to me, and often hotter  (even if it makes somewhat less hot prose) to be told, respectfully, “I really want to give you exactly what you want, but, in this instance, I don’t think I can. I respect that you want it, though, and so want to give you something else, of equal or greater value to you, to make up for my inability to give you what you ask. Would it be acceptable if, instead of ‘x’ I did ‘y’ for you? Or, alternately, may I ask you to propose an alternative that takes into consideration the reasons I’m unable to do as you ask?”

That is perfect compliance.

Jul 132014

Vacation is over.

Writing will resume shortly.

But I welcome inspiration.

Give me some?

Jul 092014

Sofia is the best pornographer I know. Just sayin’.

She is my first, most compliant, most sexy, artful, responsive, provider of porn and other virtual stimulation.

In coming days, I will strive to make you the beneficiary of this.

Jul 082014

I’m on vacation with my family, having a delightful time. My computer and phone have hardly been part of the experience. My silence will end, in a week or so.

In the meantime, I hope you’re having a good early (northern hemisphere) summer.

Jul 032014

Compliance is such a turn-on for me.

Imperfect compliance is such a turn-off.

Some doms get off on, really enjoy, training their subs. I don’t. I have nothing against – enjoy, even, working with a woman who’s learning about (her) submission. But training implies a certain level of… resistance… on the part of the submissive. This holds no appeal to me.

If you and I are engaged in dominance and submission together, I don’t want to train you, particularly. I want you to be good. I’m entirely o.k. with your learning. What I have zero patience for is your willfully testing my limits, pushing back. That just holds zero appeal.

Continue reading »

Jul 012014

Anyone who has a creative kid between the ages of 6 and 12 or so should visit GoAnimate. They have a cool site that lets you design your own cartoon. In our household, we’ve spent a HUGE amount of time on the site.

I never really thought of it as having anything to do with my dissolute life until… last night, I got an e-mail from someone who wrote me.

Dear N. Likes,

I greatly enjoy My Dissolute Life and thought you may be interested in a short cartoon I made. “So, You Want to Be a Dom?” is about a man who wants to be a Dom, but doesn’t actually want to be a Dom, or even know what one is:

If you like the video, I’d love for you to share it with your friends and followers. 

Thanks for watching!

-Libertine Video

Needless to say, I enjoyed the video – perhaps much more than I would have if I weren’t already very familiar with GoAnimate. I hope you enjoy it too.