That Time I Called 911 On My Vibrator

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I think the reason I love writing erotica is that the sex is always just so seamless. No one loses an erection or queefs or suddenly realizes the day of the Big Moment that they’re getting their period. Everything is just Porn Picture Perfect. As it should be.

In real life it’s so different. We aren’t perfect. Our bodies aren’t perfect. Of course, it doesn’t stop us from having sex, or enjoying it. But let’s face it. There’s not one of us who doesn’t have some embarrassing sex story tucked away – the kind of story that can only be pried from our lips by too much wine poured from a screw-top bottle.

I told my story over dinner the other night – my embarrassing sex story which, oddly enough, doesn’t actually feature sex. But it does feature a sex toy, so close enough.

It happened not long after I was married to my first husband. I’d just purchased my first vibrator. This was back in the day when ladies politely referred to the things as “back massagers.” It was a simple tool with a cylindrical shape, and about six inches long. There were bigger ones, but I’d chosen the smaller one so as not to shame my husband who was a nice man, if not a large one. We’re divorced now.

Here’s how the vibrator worked: Twist the base to the right and it turned on. Twist to the left and it turned off. And for a basic model, it was powerful, and kind of loud. It was also sensitive. The slightest touch activated it.

Fast forward to one spring afternoon when I’m in a cleaning frenzy. Husband the First is at work and I’m determined to have the house tidy before he comes home. I was a good little wife that way. I had finished cleaning the bedroom, having just tossed a few things in the middle drawer of my small bedside dresser.  I was in the hallway bathroom a few moments later when I heard a sound.

WRRRRRRRR…..

What the hell? I looked outside. It sounded for all the world like a drill. What’s worse, it sounded like it was coming from under the house. There had been a few break-ins in our neighborhood the week before and I was already nervous. As I walked into the bedroom, the noise got louder. I lowered myself to the floor and put my ear to the carpet. Oh yes, whatever it was definitely sounded like it was coming from under the house.

Images ran through my mind of burly rapists in my crawl space cutting the phone lines. I’d seen it in movies. That’s what burly rapists did. They cut your phone lines. And then they they raped you. Burlily.

I was terrified. Should I go outside? No. What if there were lookout? There often were, in movies.

So I called 911.

911, what is your emergency?

There’s someone under my house! 

Are you sure?

Yes, ma’am. I’m positive. They’re drilling.

Drilling?

Yes, ma’am.

What are they drilling?

“How the hell should I know? There’s been break-ins out here and I’m home alone and scared! Can you send someone? I gave my address.

The dispatcher said she’d send a car.

Five minutes later a black-and-white pulled up. The cops got out and immediately looked under the house. When they came out of the crawl space and informed me that there wasn’t anyone there, I didn’t know what to think. I could still hear the drilling noise. And so could the cops, who’d come inside at that point. One of them looked puzzled as he began to investigate the house as I stayed in the living room with his partner.

After a few moments later, the other cop called from the back of the house, “Hey, Frank. Come here. I found the problem. You gotta see this.”

We walked back to the bedroom. The one cop was kneeling by my bedside dresser. The bottom drawer was open. And I knew.

“Oh no,” I thought. “Sweet, fluffy Jesus NO.”

He lifted up my vibrator, which was still whirring away. “It looks like it started without you, ma’am.”

I wanted to die. How could I have been so stupid? The vibrator stayed in the bottom drawer, on top of my panty collection. When I’d slammed the drawer above, it had apparently set the thing off. The vibrations worked it through the satiny underthings and down to the base of the wooden drawer which was right above the floor. That’s why it had sounded like the noise was coming from under the house.

The cop holding the vibrator was laughing so hard tears were streaming down his face.

“Would you like to press charges, ma’am?” he asked.

I walked over and snatched the sex toy out of his hand. “No,”I hissed. “That won’t be necessary.” He stood and walked to stand by his partner, who was leaning against the door jamb of my bedroom, laughing.

“Can we at least file a report?” he asked.

“You can both go,” I said, pointing to the door. With the vibrator. That just made them laugh harder.

The whole thing put me off of vibrators for about a week. It put me off of cops for much longer. I made up with the vibrator, which ended up outlasting my first marriage. I eventually forgave the cops, too. I’m sure when they pulled up to the house they didn’t expect their pursuit to end in a drawer full of panties.

The characters in my books will never have to worry about things like this. Theirs is a world of hard cocks and instant arousal and well-behaved vibrators that turn on and off only when they’re supposed to. That’s why I like erotica. It’s a lot simpler, even if it’s not nearly so funny as real life.

Ava Sinclair is the author of the best selling erotic Western “The Marshal’s Little Girl” published by Stormy Night Publications. She also writes erotica under the pen name Elsa Black.

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The Joys of Escapist Fantasy

As an author of age play, one of the things like like the most is the challenge of making it believable.  Being adults automatically entitles us to certain things in the eyes of society – including independence and autonomy. By the time we edge towards adulthood, we are ready shake the bonds of authority. Ask any parent whose child pulls away from the guiding hand, and they’ll tell you that desire to break away often begins before we leave childhood.

I can do it. Stop worrying. Stop telling me what to do.

Age play is often understood because it involves regressing to a state where submissive partners embrace the very boundaries and guidance we shed with adulthood. Once we realize what we miss about childhood, some of us seek to embrace it anew with partners dominant enough to provide it.

As a genre, age play appeals because it allows us to escape into a world where our characters either want to be regressed or need to be and embrace it. They’re told how to dress, how to behave, what time to go to bed, what to eat. They’re spanked when they’re naughty. For people who don’t practice age play, books featuring age play scenarios allow them to enter worlds where this kind of domination and submission is entirely plausible and possible. For those who don’t have this kind of relationship, the books allow them to live vicariously through characters who live entirely by the leave of those in authority, whether that’s a rich man, a nanny or – in the case of my book – a US Marshal.

For real life practitioners, the lifestyle requires a bit of finesse. Who’s to say that the Type-A manager who just sent out a commanding memo won’t go home and don a pinafore before being spanked over her Daddy’s knee? Who’s to say that the man running a Fortune 500 partner doesn’t seek out the companionship of a woman he can call Mommy?

In a world of pressure and adult responsibilities, those longing for a return to a world of boundaries and control often need a safe place to hide, an escape. For some, it involves a world of fictional characters living as they wish they could live. For others, the escape is real, and in the arms of real dominant with the strength and caring to allow their partner to wear that inner child on the outside, at least behind closed doors.

For those longing for a real age play lifestyle, may our books be the bridge that eventually gets you there.


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Welcome to Ageplay Week!!

We are celebrating Daddy Doms, Littles and everything we love about age play this week, with featured posts running Monday through through Friday.  Enjoy the chance to win FREE books and a gift certificate to Amazon for $15 by reading and commenting on the following posts:

Monday: “Does Ageplay Squick You Out?” by Renee Rose
Tuesday: “Clean vs. Dirty Ageplay” by Emily Hilton
Wednesday: “The Emotional Appeal of Ageplay” by Elsa Black
Thursday: “The Joy of Escapism” by Ava Sinclair

Winners Announced Friday!

Check out these Age play books by our contributors:

Her Hollywood Daddy
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Hollywood starlet Marissa Sparks’ career teeters on the brink of implosion when movie producer and actor Joel Sutherland takes her in hand. He requires her to move in with him and live as his Little so he can provide strict discipline and guidance but he isn’t sure if it’s all a ploy to stay in the movie. She is, after all, a talented actress and could be faking everything.

Caroline’s Little World

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Three great books by a best-selling author of age-play erotica! Caroline Dawkins is a professor of English who has never confessed her age-play and spanking fantasies to her husband, George Lane, a corporate attorney. After George comes home one night and finds Caroline pleasuring herself, over the course of an extraordinary year Caroline and George, with the help of new friends and former students, utterly transform their erotic life together in the pattern of those taboo fantasies.

Training Lil’ Elise

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The story of the Eden Institute continues, this time with the fractious maid Elise, whose disdain for the Littles has her crossing the line once to often. She’s about to be banned, until Nanny Prim suggests a different idea: Why not train Elise as a Little? Nanny Prim maintains that it’s what the fiery maid really wants. Will handsome Englishman Max Brookshire be able to make Elise the Little she secretly wants to be?

The Marshal’s Little Girl

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When US Marshal Gage Chandler catches up with the beautiful thief who pulled off a robbery right under his nose, the long arm of justice is ready to restrain her for a long, hard spanking. But in Wilhelmina James, the lawman discovers a woman with a desire to submit that meshes with his desire to completely dominate. When they travel in disguise as guardian and ward to clear her name, the roles become real when “Billy” agrees to be his little one.

IMPORTANT: Leave your email with your comment so we can contact you if you win!

How NOT to market a sex product…

So I was going to pimp my book today, because that’s what writers are supposed to do, right? Pimp their books? But  last night I was on my way home from a concert when I stopped at a convenience store  and saw THIS at the counter – a product called S.W.A.G., which apparently aids in male enhancement for overly aggressive stick figures:

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Now I’ve decided to blog about this instead of my book, because WTF? Even at 2 a.m. I was all like:

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As an erotic writer, I’m  all for male enhancement. If it weren’t for hard cocks, I’d have no story lines. Fortunately, my heroes never have a problem getting wood. And even if they did, I’d  leave them limp before I had them take these pills.

I mean, exactly what is going on here? In the first picture, where it says, “Hurt it,” it looks like the woman’s ass is on fire.

OK. Fair enough. In my book, The Marshal’s Little Girl, my leading man lights up the leading lady’s ass more than once. But it’s with a spanking or some hot anal play. And her ass doesn’t literally catch on fire.

And while we all love a dominant man,  it looks like the guy in the second graphic may have taken things a bit too far. If any guys are reading this, please take note: Good sex should make her hot, but not so hot that her pussy bursts into flames and she dies.  The pussy is your friend, guys. You’re trying to please it, not kill it.

Maybe there’s a market out there for angry sex that I just don’t know about. S.W.A.G. is marketed through a website called “Sex With a Grudge,”  and just a cursory scan has me convinced they’re going after a demographic that I may not entirely understand. If I’m  reading it correctly, even straight up players may find erectile dysfunction interfering with plans to tap that ass. If that happens, the makers of S.W.A.G. want those players to be ready with the the kind of quality enhancement medication that you find at grimy convenience stores on the backroads of rural Virginia. Because nothing says quality like hard-on pills sold next to lottery tickets.

And because I had to know, I asked the clerk how much of this S.W.A.G. was actually sold. Quite a lot, she said. In fact, of all the products in the case by the counter – including one that promised Bull Penis – this S.W.A.G. was the most popular.

As we were heading out of the parking lot, I heard distant sirens. “Must be a fire,” one of my companions said. “Maybe,” I replied. “Or maybe some stick figure just got lucky.”

We could only hope the firefighters reached his partner time.

Ava Sinclair is the author of The Marshal’s Little Girl. She apologizes for once again getting too sidetracked to promote her work, but suggests that if you want to set your pussy on fire, you read her book instead of buying SWAG.

These guys can spank me if they want to

So this blog happened. Finally. I’ve been meaning to get it going,  because it seemed like all the cool kids are doing it. Blogging, I mean. The header was the hardest part. I put a picture of my book on it. You should buy my book, especially if you like hot guys and spanking.

I like hot guys. And I like spanking. It’s a win-win combo for a first blog post, because I know you do, too. And let’s face it. Some guys just seem like natural spankers. So here goes. In order of preference:

1. Liam Neeson as that mad guy whose children keep getting kidnapped.

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Let’s face it. No one threatens like Liam Neeson. I know he’s supposed to be terrifying, but here’s my reaction when I hear him promising Consequences:

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2. Matthew MacFyadyen as Mr. Darcy

He’s cultured. He’s stoic. He’s a little tortured. But do we really dream of this guy spanking us? darcyEven when he’s crying in the rain, there’s still something authoratative about Mr. Darcy. Can’t you just imagine him saying, “My good opinion, once lost, is lost entirely?” before ordering you over his knee for a smacked bottom. And because he’s a good guy, about five swats in he’d decide you learned your lesson and the rest of the spanking would just be erotic. And that’s fine.

2. Ralph Feinnes as almost anyone

Speaking of fine (pun intended), this guy right here.

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Whether it’s the sexy and mysterious English patient or the MI6 official in Skyfall, this guy is always commanding. Look at him, undressing you with his eyes. How could you not submit? But only after an extended eye fuck, because…damn.

But there are limits. This is the one Ray Feinnes we don’t want spanking us. Because, gross. voldemort_fingers 3. Alan Rickman as Snape

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Scared, Potter?

OK,  I may have lost some of you here. But ever since I saw Professor Snape stride into the classroom to humiliate that skinny kid with the glasses, I’ve been longing to do detention in his dimly-lit office. Seriously. This guy with his lank hair and deep, sneering voice makes me so hot that I can’t hear anyone say the number, “394” without swooning. My other favorite scene? When he scolded Bellatrix LeStrange.

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Hate on him if you must, but I love me some Severus Snape.

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Too much? Sorry. 😉

Ava Sinclair is the author of The Marshal’s Little Girl, published by Stormy Night and available at Amazon and any other place that sells books you just may be touching yourself to.