This Blog Has Gone International

 

So I took a look at my stats just now – it’s something I like to do once in a while, just to gauge how some writings are working for people – and I couldn’t help but notice this blog has kind of gone international, which is really effing cool.

 

I mean, I started out in a dark bedroom, nervous as hell that what I was writing was going to be perceived as weird and naïve. I’m still that way after three years writing here, though less so.

 

Never ever did I think I’d get much of a response from anyone, let alone reach places like Mexico or South Africa.

 

Before I get giddy about all things writing, internet and stats, I just want to say thank you to each and everyone of you. Even if you don’t comment, are shy to comment, whether your English isn’t good (in your eyes) or you don’t know where to start. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. This support means a tremendous amount and helps me to write, even on my most anxious days.

 

Now, for anyone interested: USA is the biggest source of hits most days, usually followed the UK and Australia. That may or may not be myself and my kitten though. If any Aussies are lurking, please stand up! It’d be nice to connect.

 

Outside of those top three, things vary. I’m not a tech guy, I don’t know what’s a genuine reader or a bot. For all I know, AI could be taking a liking to BDSM and found my blog. There’s a Sci-Fi story for later – an artificial person discovers BDSM and yearns to be human.

 

Anyway.

 

Usually Canada knocks Australia out of the top three, sometimes it’s Germany that takes that place. Spain, Brazil, Portugal, France – these are all places I’d never ever thought I could connect to.

 

I’m not going to delude myself. Not everyone that comes by would like my writing, that’s the nature of the beast. I know this. Still though, I am just like a kid in a candy store, just grateful and giddy and eager to know everything and I’ve always been a bit of a chatterbox despite any language barrier or difference of opinion.

 

So. If You’d Like, feel free to drop by the comments section and say hello. If you are self conscious, feel free to email. If you feel you aren’t good with English, write anyway. I love language, I would work to translate and communicate.

 

But absolutely no obligation to anyone.

 

I’m just happy you guys are along for the ride.

 

Canadian Purr

Your skin feels cool to the touch.

As I trail my hand up your thighs, darting under your skirt, I can feel the goosebumps raise beneath my open palm. 

My other hand, my free hand, is against your throat. Your cool threat, your throats clenched tight under my grip. So tight I can feel you try to breathe. You might be panicking.

Panicking for the air, for saliva to coat your tongue. 

All I want is to hear you purr. 
Canadians are quite lovely, I had been told before I arrived. Quite lovely indeed. 

Friendly, as the cliche went. Polite, lovely and friendly. 

And when I sat by myself on the tour bus, nestled into my assigned seating, I must admit I was taken aback by the sight of you, miss tour guide.

You, with your almond coloured eyes, sandy blonde hair, the way you say ‘pardon me?’ which just rolls off your tongue with cute accent. 

As soon as I laid my eyes upon yours, upon your slender frame, your white turtleneck hugging your neck and breasts, I knew. 

I knew I wanted to hear you purr.
That was five days ago now.

Now, we’re quite acquainted with each other.

I mean why else, on the night we’ve hit Banff, would you swing by my room, even when I asked politely?

And here you are, with your white skirt and grey woollen jumper. Laid back. I like it. 
I also like the warmth radiating from your cunt. From behind your…oh…oh my. Black lacy panties? Beautiful and classical. 
You struggle now but I hope you reconsider. I really do want to purr and I don’t really want to force it out of you. This is my holiday, after all.
Behave, will you? I surely hope you will. You struggle as I reach down to peel your panties back, but I have you under control. You try to bite at me but that just makes me harder. 
‘Open your mouth’ I say. 

You refuse.

I ask again.

You refuse. 

I squeeze tighter. 

You relent.

I stuff your panties into your mouth. Taste yourself. 

You spit it out instantly but I’m giggling. Don’t give me that look, it was worth it. Lighten up.

It takes a little longer to remove your jumper, even longer to remove your blouse. 
When I see your round full breasts, threatening to bust out of your bra, I can’t help it. My hand wanders, trailing up your thigh.

I start to curl my finger around your trimmed pubic hair. You whimper, something animalistic and guttural. 

You’re shaking by the time my index finger is curling along your clit. You’re slightly wet, whether you like it or not. 

You don’t, of course, judging by your muffled cries. But I don’t mind. 

I take my index finger from your clit, slip it under the cups of your bra and rub it in your soft nipple till it hardens.

You grunt in disgust. 
Your scream is stifled. No. Don’t do that again. 

I drag you across to the bathroom sink of the hotel by your neck, tearing into my back pack with my free hand. 

It takes some digging, some juggling to keep you under control, but I’ve found it. The maple tea leaves you made for the people on the bus.
We’re gunna have some tea.
As I boil the jug, I tell you to kneel. 

As I prepare the cups, I tell you to stay still.

You glare at me, with a fire so bright in your eyes, but you relent. 

With the jug boiled, I pour into the cups, stir it around. 

The scent of maple fills the air. 

You start to sob but I tell you to hush, with a finger to my lips. I can taste you. 

With the same free hand, I take a sip. It’s smooth but intoxicating. Honestly the best blend I’ve ever have. 
I then take out the tea bag, push you back into the bed and put my weight against you. 

You struggle. 

I run the tea bag across your cheek.

You struggle.

I run the tea bag across your breasts, past your hardened nipple.

I leave a trail of hot maple tea down your stomach, your body seizes at the touch, at the unknown invader. 

I rest the tea bag on your clit – and what looks like a fierce spasm jolts your entire body.

You freeze, gasp and let out a low cry. 

Will you purr for me now, I wonder, as I lower my mouth to taste your maple flavoured cunt.