There's nothing quite like a good, aggressive fuck session when it's been days. Nothing like the feeling of anticipation when it's not yet private time, when you still have dinner and family time to get through before the fucking can occur.
Nothing like:
Having three layers of clothing stripped from your lower half in one fell swoop so that the impact of a hand slamming into your ass will be better felt.
That first impact, the sting after months of no slapping at all.
The sudden warmth that makes those three layers hardly missed at all.
The awareness of the incredible amounts of wetness when his fingers slide through your labia, seeking exactly what they've found.
So much arousal from so much time spend waiting for this moment.
The feeling of that cock sliding home from behind in spoons position, sliding all the way in until it's actually a bit too much and then just a tiny bit further than that.
Absolute fullness and then the motion. Holy fuck the motion. Just a gentle shoving in, in, in.
Pulling away, on your hands and knees, begging to be fucked doggy style and then the even bigger cock now it's got some gravity behind it. Holy fuck there's no way that's ever going to work - but it does.
And then his hands in your hair, pushing your face into the bed while you scream. His hands, somehow multiplied, everywhere at once, pulling you into him by the hips and pushing your head, your shoulder, your lower back holy fuck that's delicious, everywhere all the while his cock is shoving in, in, in, in and it's so unutterably big and all you can do is scream into the bed for the amazing eternity of this fuck.
Nothing like it.
Friday, November 17, 2017
Saturday, January 16, 2016
Blink to Share
A good friend of mine wrote this sci-fi sex story and I thought some of my friends here might enjoy it. It's free on smashwords! "Blink to Share" is fun romp through what might happen when we start augmenting our sex lives with more than just sex toys.
Blink to Share
"Then she was serious—”Oh gosh, wow”—as Augmented Sexuality showed him how to give her internal and clitoral orgasms simultaneously. The lens app detected her orgasm, and it made the room appear to quake as she shook. Pieces of the ceiling fell down, exploding into 3-D numbers that were added to Jasper’s score in the top-right corner of his vision."
Sexual exploits complete with high scores and badges and a wee bit of self-examination. It's a fun read.
Enjoy!
Blink to Share
"Then she was serious—”Oh gosh, wow”—as Augmented Sexuality showed him how to give her internal and clitoral orgasms simultaneously. The lens app detected her orgasm, and it made the room appear to quake as she shook. Pieces of the ceiling fell down, exploding into 3-D numbers that were added to Jasper’s score in the top-right corner of his vision."
Sexual exploits complete with high scores and badges and a wee bit of self-examination. It's a fun read.
Enjoy!
Friday, December 11, 2015
Dichotomy
How is it that one person can contain both the cruel sadist who pinches my nipples and pulls them until I scream helplessly with the pain of it, and the darling sweetheart who hugs me to him the next morning and tells me how much I enrich his life?
Both are him, both are real. The wonderful joy of such a thing doesn't translate clearly to people without kinky - perhaps even only masochistic - tendencies. The thrill of knowing that the man who hugs me randomly in the kitchen and who clearly adores me can also torment my flesh and tell me that his cock owns me later that same day is surely as good as the high from any drug.
When the morning after a particularly intense fuck I whisper that my insides hurt because he kept shoving his cock into me whether there was room for it or not and the only sound from him is a little pleased "mmm," and he pulls me closer? I know that whatever I have awakened in him, in what I thought was a sweet vanilla man all those years ago, is definitely there to stay. The intrinsic goodness of him doesn't go away because he's sexually aroused by hurting me. So long, that is, as I am also a willing participant in the activities. Which of course I am.
Sex is so interesting. How we relate to it, how in so many polite company conversations we're not supposed to mention it, how what turns us on can so often be used by others who find these things out to indicate some kind of bizarre character flaw.
The nicest, best, most kind-hearted person I know is a sexual sadist. Our sexual desires don't say anything about us as people except what our sexual desires happen to be.
If only teenage me had gotten that memo. How many people are living in some private hell because they think the perfectly normal ways that their sexuality functions is somehow abnormal and wrongheaded and is going to send them to hell? Like life isn't hard enough. Like fitting in all the things we must do and all the things we'd like to do and all the people who give our lives joy and fulfillment and contentment doesn't eat up enough of our brain cycles, we focus on something that's meant to bring us pleasure and instead wring anguish from it. How good are we humans at screwing ourselves up?
Embrace the dichotomy. Life is there to be lived, and sex is there to be enjoyed. Consensually. Of course.
Happy holidays, blogland.
Both are him, both are real. The wonderful joy of such a thing doesn't translate clearly to people without kinky - perhaps even only masochistic - tendencies. The thrill of knowing that the man who hugs me randomly in the kitchen and who clearly adores me can also torment my flesh and tell me that his cock owns me later that same day is surely as good as the high from any drug.
When the morning after a particularly intense fuck I whisper that my insides hurt because he kept shoving his cock into me whether there was room for it or not and the only sound from him is a little pleased "mmm," and he pulls me closer? I know that whatever I have awakened in him, in what I thought was a sweet vanilla man all those years ago, is definitely there to stay. The intrinsic goodness of him doesn't go away because he's sexually aroused by hurting me. So long, that is, as I am also a willing participant in the activities. Which of course I am.
Sex is so interesting. How we relate to it, how in so many polite company conversations we're not supposed to mention it, how what turns us on can so often be used by others who find these things out to indicate some kind of bizarre character flaw.
The nicest, best, most kind-hearted person I know is a sexual sadist. Our sexual desires don't say anything about us as people except what our sexual desires happen to be.
If only teenage me had gotten that memo. How many people are living in some private hell because they think the perfectly normal ways that their sexuality functions is somehow abnormal and wrongheaded and is going to send them to hell? Like life isn't hard enough. Like fitting in all the things we must do and all the things we'd like to do and all the people who give our lives joy and fulfillment and contentment doesn't eat up enough of our brain cycles, we focus on something that's meant to bring us pleasure and instead wring anguish from it. How good are we humans at screwing ourselves up?
Embrace the dichotomy. Life is there to be lived, and sex is there to be enjoyed. Consensually. Of course.
Happy holidays, blogland.
Saturday, October 3, 2015
Art
Art comes from pain, I've always heard.
It logically follows that when one is happiest, one is least likely to create.
But what happens when happiness is like a long bike ride through the hills? Some of the uphill climb might be wearisome, and one might sit in the shade of a particularly nice tree to let one's heart rate go down, and while doing so one might write a poem. Or sketch a landscape. Or come up with the idea for something amazing.
Happiness doesn't have to stall creation. But people who are happy haven't got much to get out of them, except perhaps the overwhelming joy of just being alive. The hills are alive with the sound of music, yo. They're just not singing to me right now.
I've been there, in that place of overwhelming joy. Last week, even. Perhaps even this week. Thursdays tend to be particularly nice.
But right now I'm stalled about halfway up a hill. Maybe it's a silent hill, or maybe it's a hill that has eyes. I'm hoping it's neither of those and I'd be perfectly fine if it'd just start singing. Well. Maaybe a little creeped out.
Ultimately climbing it will be good for me. But wow, the climb is certainly some work. I'm looking forward to cresting and coasting my way down.
The main problem with this metaphor is that when you're biking you know where the summit is most of the time. You can see it, or see it on your map. Life doesn't give us such easy cues for more complicated situations than geographical layout.
My pain is not immense at the moment, so my art is only small art: a jokey blog post with mixed metaphors. Even so, it feels good to create something more lasting than dinner.
I wish you all happy journeys and non-silent, non-eyey hills.
It logically follows that when one is happiest, one is least likely to create.
But what happens when happiness is like a long bike ride through the hills? Some of the uphill climb might be wearisome, and one might sit in the shade of a particularly nice tree to let one's heart rate go down, and while doing so one might write a poem. Or sketch a landscape. Or come up with the idea for something amazing.
Happiness doesn't have to stall creation. But people who are happy haven't got much to get out of them, except perhaps the overwhelming joy of just being alive. The hills are alive with the sound of music, yo. They're just not singing to me right now.
I've been there, in that place of overwhelming joy. Last week, even. Perhaps even this week. Thursdays tend to be particularly nice.
But right now I'm stalled about halfway up a hill. Maybe it's a silent hill, or maybe it's a hill that has eyes. I'm hoping it's neither of those and I'd be perfectly fine if it'd just start singing. Well. Maaybe a little creeped out.
Ultimately climbing it will be good for me. But wow, the climb is certainly some work. I'm looking forward to cresting and coasting my way down.
The main problem with this metaphor is that when you're biking you know where the summit is most of the time. You can see it, or see it on your map. Life doesn't give us such easy cues for more complicated situations than geographical layout.
My pain is not immense at the moment, so my art is only small art: a jokey blog post with mixed metaphors. Even so, it feels good to create something more lasting than dinner.
I wish you all happy journeys and non-silent, non-eyey hills.
Sunday, June 14, 2015
Fluid
I went swimming at a friend's house recently. It had been a while since I had so much skin bare in the sunlight, and though I carry sunscreen with me everywhere, I forgot to put it on my back.
The water was amazing. It embraced me, welcomed me back like a long-lost lover, supported me as I moved through it for hours and hours.
That night, though, I paid for my lack of forethought with a sunburn so severe and painful that lifting my arms over my head brought tears to my eyes. The brush of my hair across my shoulders made me whisper "fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck" as though being burned with a hot iron. Days later, the pain persists and makes me regret my foolhardiness.
Pondering it all made me think of how relationships are similarly fluid. They change and move and what may seem a tiny oversight can lead to huge mishaps.
Friends, lovers, family, people themselves are fluid. If we don't make an effort to keep up with the changes, apply our protections and keep swimming, we can drown or burn. No one is carved in stone, no one stays the same throughout their lives.
Sometimes it may seem like a lot of work, and sometimes it may well be too much work and we may have to let a relationship go or suffer burns over and over and over again.
Most of the time, though, the rewards are worth the work, and the painful reminders when we forgot to put in the labor still don't make the relationship one we should ditch altogether. We just need to be more careful next time.
Now and then it just pays to remind ourselves that time only flows the one way, and the moments spent we can never get back. Best to spend them wisely.
What's your favorite wise way to spend your moments?
The water was amazing. It embraced me, welcomed me back like a long-lost lover, supported me as I moved through it for hours and hours.
That night, though, I paid for my lack of forethought with a sunburn so severe and painful that lifting my arms over my head brought tears to my eyes. The brush of my hair across my shoulders made me whisper "fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck" as though being burned with a hot iron. Days later, the pain persists and makes me regret my foolhardiness.
Pondering it all made me think of how relationships are similarly fluid. They change and move and what may seem a tiny oversight can lead to huge mishaps.
Friends, lovers, family, people themselves are fluid. If we don't make an effort to keep up with the changes, apply our protections and keep swimming, we can drown or burn. No one is carved in stone, no one stays the same throughout their lives.
Sometimes it may seem like a lot of work, and sometimes it may well be too much work and we may have to let a relationship go or suffer burns over and over and over again.
Most of the time, though, the rewards are worth the work, and the painful reminders when we forgot to put in the labor still don't make the relationship one we should ditch altogether. We just need to be more careful next time.
Now and then it just pays to remind ourselves that time only flows the one way, and the moments spent we can never get back. Best to spend them wisely.
What's your favorite wise way to spend your moments?
Monday, March 16, 2015
Spin the slave girl: a fantasy
I have a very very good imagination.
Once in a while my husband will use that to his extreme advantage by crafting a fantasy directly into my ear while he manipulates my body. Bondage, discipline, even fucking, can come from his lips into my ear without him actually putting forth more effort than coming up with the idea.
He spoons me, and his lips are right against my ear, his arms around me as he begins to speak.
"You'd like a cage, wouldn't you. And I could just hang you from it. Tie your wrists to your ankles, spread your legs wide, and hang you up, just to beat you, or to fuck you wherever I want. Just to keep you right here and fuck you. I could spin you around to decide where to fuck, oooh I should fuck your pretty face right now," he whispers, his hands roaming my body as they like. In point of fact I have a cold sore right now, but my imagination doesn't worry about that as he describes his cock filling my face, my throat. I moan deeply and his fingers find my clit as he keeps talking about using my face to fuck. He strokes it lightly, expertly, driving my desire for him to a fever pitch as he keeps talking, his sexy fucking voice playing right inside my brain, turning me into a puddle of need.
"I could get your ass all nice and slippery, slide my fingers in there, then shove a huge plug into you. Then when I fuck your pussy, there won't be much room. But I'd make room. You're mine and I'd shove my cock into you because it feels so fucking good inside you. 'Too big,' you'll say, 'oh, master, it's too big for me,' but I won't fucking care and I will make you take it all and there is nothing you can do about it."
I just keep moaning. My brain has completely accepted that my face is currently full of cock, despite the fact that it is not.
"Mmm. It's so good inside your throat," he murmurs, "and I know that once your face realizes what it's really for, it hates to stop. All your holes are like that, aren't they? Once they realize they're fuck holes again they hate to give it up. Your sweet mouth doesn't want me to stop fucking it, does it? But I should just spin you again and see what else to fuck. Face hole, pussy hole, ass hole. . . face hole, pussy hole, ass hole." And inside my head, it's exactly as if he has done just that. I am a collection of holes, spinning slowly, suspended from a cage while he decides where he wants to put his cock next. I barely stifle my screams of gratification at being so objectified.
"Mmm, I guess I'll fuck your pussy," he murmurs, sliding his actual cock into me from behind as I make loud grunting noises, his words causing minor spasms over my entire body. I am a slippery wet mess by this point, his words and his fingers have made me come several times already. I am floating, every nerve tingling, hanging on his every word, suspended by his voice as surely as the imaginary restraints into which he has bound me.
"Take it, girl. Take it all. Too big, is it? That's your favorite thing to complain about, isn't it? I should spin you around again and shove it down your throat. You won't complain about that, will you? Of course you won't, your throat will be full of cock. Don't worry, girl, soon your lip will heal and then, ohh, and then. . . "
"Then you'll fuck my throat again?" I gasp, each syllable interrupted by my gasps as his cock moves inside me.
"Oh yes, what a clever fuck toy you are. That's right, then I'll fuck your throat again," he croons, the low rasp of his voice sending tingles down my spine. "You love being full of my cock, having all your holes filled and stretched open around me, for me. That's what you're fucking for. For me to fuck all your holes. Your ass loves my cock too. It loves me to shove inside it, to force you open, to make you mine. You're afraid too, afraid of how big it is. But you love to be afraid of my big cock fucking your ass. You're a collection of fuck holes, what's that like, to be a walking collection of fuck holes?"
I can only respond in grunts and barely-restrained screams. His words and his actions have driven any rational part of my brain away and I can only feel things, react to things, arch, scream, pant, gasp.
"And I can just keep you here, hanging here, for me to fuck those holes whenever I want, however I want. Ohh yes I like that. My own hanging fuck toy." He pulls me closer into him as he speaks, his cock pushing more into me than there is me, stretching my insides further, making me cry out as he finally comes. His orgasm is long, his moans of pleasure intense.
But then he is on top of me, his fingers sliding into me, stroking my clit, pressing hard into my g-spot, and I am screaming again. I thought I was spent, done, no more gasps of pleasure left but he is wringing every bit out of me that he can.
And I adore him. I adore what he does to me and I just keep thinking, when I am allowed to think as his fingers draw more orgasms from my exhausted body, how very lucky I am to be this man's sex slave.
Thank you, husband.
Once in a while my husband will use that to his extreme advantage by crafting a fantasy directly into my ear while he manipulates my body. Bondage, discipline, even fucking, can come from his lips into my ear without him actually putting forth more effort than coming up with the idea.
He spoons me, and his lips are right against my ear, his arms around me as he begins to speak.
"You'd like a cage, wouldn't you. And I could just hang you from it. Tie your wrists to your ankles, spread your legs wide, and hang you up, just to beat you, or to fuck you wherever I want. Just to keep you right here and fuck you. I could spin you around to decide where to fuck, oooh I should fuck your pretty face right now," he whispers, his hands roaming my body as they like. In point of fact I have a cold sore right now, but my imagination doesn't worry about that as he describes his cock filling my face, my throat. I moan deeply and his fingers find my clit as he keeps talking about using my face to fuck. He strokes it lightly, expertly, driving my desire for him to a fever pitch as he keeps talking, his sexy fucking voice playing right inside my brain, turning me into a puddle of need.
"I could get your ass all nice and slippery, slide my fingers in there, then shove a huge plug into you. Then when I fuck your pussy, there won't be much room. But I'd make room. You're mine and I'd shove my cock into you because it feels so fucking good inside you. 'Too big,' you'll say, 'oh, master, it's too big for me,' but I won't fucking care and I will make you take it all and there is nothing you can do about it."
I just keep moaning. My brain has completely accepted that my face is currently full of cock, despite the fact that it is not.
"Mmm. It's so good inside your throat," he murmurs, "and I know that once your face realizes what it's really for, it hates to stop. All your holes are like that, aren't they? Once they realize they're fuck holes again they hate to give it up. Your sweet mouth doesn't want me to stop fucking it, does it? But I should just spin you again and see what else to fuck. Face hole, pussy hole, ass hole. . . face hole, pussy hole, ass hole." And inside my head, it's exactly as if he has done just that. I am a collection of holes, spinning slowly, suspended from a cage while he decides where he wants to put his cock next. I barely stifle my screams of gratification at being so objectified.
"Mmm, I guess I'll fuck your pussy," he murmurs, sliding his actual cock into me from behind as I make loud grunting noises, his words causing minor spasms over my entire body. I am a slippery wet mess by this point, his words and his fingers have made me come several times already. I am floating, every nerve tingling, hanging on his every word, suspended by his voice as surely as the imaginary restraints into which he has bound me.
"Take it, girl. Take it all. Too big, is it? That's your favorite thing to complain about, isn't it? I should spin you around again and shove it down your throat. You won't complain about that, will you? Of course you won't, your throat will be full of cock. Don't worry, girl, soon your lip will heal and then, ohh, and then. . . "
"Then you'll fuck my throat again?" I gasp, each syllable interrupted by my gasps as his cock moves inside me.
"Oh yes, what a clever fuck toy you are. That's right, then I'll fuck your throat again," he croons, the low rasp of his voice sending tingles down my spine. "You love being full of my cock, having all your holes filled and stretched open around me, for me. That's what you're fucking for. For me to fuck all your holes. Your ass loves my cock too. It loves me to shove inside it, to force you open, to make you mine. You're afraid too, afraid of how big it is. But you love to be afraid of my big cock fucking your ass. You're a collection of fuck holes, what's that like, to be a walking collection of fuck holes?"
I can only respond in grunts and barely-restrained screams. His words and his actions have driven any rational part of my brain away and I can only feel things, react to things, arch, scream, pant, gasp.
"And I can just keep you here, hanging here, for me to fuck those holes whenever I want, however I want. Ohh yes I like that. My own hanging fuck toy." He pulls me closer into him as he speaks, his cock pushing more into me than there is me, stretching my insides further, making me cry out as he finally comes. His orgasm is long, his moans of pleasure intense.
But then he is on top of me, his fingers sliding into me, stroking my clit, pressing hard into my g-spot, and I am screaming again. I thought I was spent, done, no more gasps of pleasure left but he is wringing every bit out of me that he can.
And I adore him. I adore what he does to me and I just keep thinking, when I am allowed to think as his fingers draw more orgasms from my exhausted body, how very lucky I am to be this man's sex slave.
Thank you, husband.
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
Floggers and punishments and sex partners, oh my!
DelFonte answered my plea for questions by asking:
Do you still make beautiful floggers?
And sadly, my short answer is no. I had to give that particular pastime up due to arthritis in my hands. I was down to a simple choice: Make floggers or live relatively pain-free. I do still have all the materials and all the ideas and I'd love it if my hands would magically return to their former ability.
And I do still have quite the lovely collection of floggers of my own.
If you have one of mine, be happy! If you want one of mine... well, I do still have a few I made before my hands crapped out on me.
sub hub in phx asked three questions:
1. In what ways are you punished for being a bad girl?
Hm, this is an interesting question. It feels a little playful. We don't really have a "punishment" dynamic as such, but now and then my love will say something like "You're awfully grumpy. I think I need to beat that out of you." and then will begin a pretty good session of flogging/spanking, usually followed by a pretty forceful fucking.
It's really rather delightful.
He's not a man of many rules though, or of precise bizarre desires. There was a time when I kind of wished he was the sort of man to want me to do something mostly impossible and who would then punish me for not being able to do those things, but I think for me that's best left to a fantasy scene we play out together rather than the reality of my existence. It might be incredibly hot at first but I have a feeling it would get eye-rollingly old for me soon.
2. Do you have any desire to be required to have sex with others within the realm of your servitude?
These are wonderful questions, thank you for them. I personally don't have a desire to be made to have sex with anyone else. I do very much enjoy a sensation of violation but I think that this might cross a line? Though then of course, "required" is up for debate.
I don't want to have sex with anyone but my master. There was a time (funny how things change) when I thought "hey, this'd be great, we should try this," but harsh reality always intrudes and people are messy, messy creatures. They're all full of feelings and emotions and flaws and, for the moment at least, it seems like just too much work.
3. Would you able to witness your Master Husband having sex with another woman?
Wow, these are really thought-provoking. I'm trying to imagine this thing.
I don't know if I'd be able to witness it, in a literal sense, because he has even less desire to have sex with others than I do. He doesn't like people, so having another one in his personal space is farthest from what he'd want.
But I think I might be sidestepping the intent of the question. I believe what you mean is - would I be emotionally able to witness such a thing. And I am completely secure in the fact that I am his and he is mine. If he got a bee in his bonnet and wanted to have sex with another woman while I watched, I think I'd be okay with that. I might wonder what was wrong with him and if he was okay because that's not his style, but once we'd ruled out the possibility of brain tumor, I think we could roll with it.
I'd be more interested in watching the woman though, to be fair.
I have more answers coming! Please feel free to ask more questions! I am loving interacting with you all. ❤
Do you still make beautiful floggers?
And sadly, my short answer is no. I had to give that particular pastime up due to arthritis in my hands. I was down to a simple choice: Make floggers or live relatively pain-free. I do still have all the materials and all the ideas and I'd love it if my hands would magically return to their former ability.
And I do still have quite the lovely collection of floggers of my own.
If you have one of mine, be happy! If you want one of mine... well, I do still have a few I made before my hands crapped out on me.
sub hub in phx asked three questions:
1. In what ways are you punished for being a bad girl?
Hm, this is an interesting question. It feels a little playful. We don't really have a "punishment" dynamic as such, but now and then my love will say something like "You're awfully grumpy. I think I need to beat that out of you." and then will begin a pretty good session of flogging/spanking, usually followed by a pretty forceful fucking.
It's really rather delightful.
He's not a man of many rules though, or of precise bizarre desires. There was a time when I kind of wished he was the sort of man to want me to do something mostly impossible and who would then punish me for not being able to do those things, but I think for me that's best left to a fantasy scene we play out together rather than the reality of my existence. It might be incredibly hot at first but I have a feeling it would get eye-rollingly old for me soon.
2. Do you have any desire to be required to have sex with others within the realm of your servitude?
These are wonderful questions, thank you for them. I personally don't have a desire to be made to have sex with anyone else. I do very much enjoy a sensation of violation but I think that this might cross a line? Though then of course, "required" is up for debate.
I don't want to have sex with anyone but my master. There was a time (funny how things change) when I thought "hey, this'd be great, we should try this," but harsh reality always intrudes and people are messy, messy creatures. They're all full of feelings and emotions and flaws and, for the moment at least, it seems like just too much work.
3. Would you able to witness your Master Husband having sex with another woman?
Wow, these are really thought-provoking. I'm trying to imagine this thing.
I don't know if I'd be able to witness it, in a literal sense, because he has even less desire to have sex with others than I do. He doesn't like people, so having another one in his personal space is farthest from what he'd want.
But I think I might be sidestepping the intent of the question. I believe what you mean is - would I be emotionally able to witness such a thing. And I am completely secure in the fact that I am his and he is mine. If he got a bee in his bonnet and wanted to have sex with another woman while I watched, I think I'd be okay with that. I might wonder what was wrong with him and if he was okay because that's not his style, but once we'd ruled out the possibility of brain tumor, I think we could roll with it.
I'd be more interested in watching the woman though, to be fair.
I have more answers coming! Please feel free to ask more questions! I am loving interacting with you all. ❤
Thursday, March 5, 2015
A casting call
I interrupt our regularly scheduled Q&A session to bring you all this!
I received this and was asked to forward it on to anyone I thought might be interested. You could be on reality TV! I know I have a few people who lurk or are very curious about What It Is That We Do. This could be your chance to get really spicy for a bit, and maybe even toss it all away if it doesn't work for you.
Good luck!
Good luck!
WANT TO SPICE UP YOUR LOVE LIFE?
Is your sex life too vanilla? Do you want something different? Inspired by the 50 Shades of Grey craze, Magilla Entertainment and a major cable network are looking for couples who want to add a little more spice to their relationship for 21 days. This series will document the couple as they go on this transformative journey of finding ways to improve their sex life with the help of an expert. Following the “21 Day Myth” in which people can mentally and physically make changes after this certain time period, this docu-series will capture the excitement and the fears of the couple as they test out this new lifestyle change. If you are interested, contact us ASAP at castingdirector@magilla.tv with “SEX LIFE” in the subject along with your names, ages, location, occupation, contact numbers, recent photos and a brief paragraph about why you want to change your sex life.
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
Q&A: Wildest bucket list of unbelievability
Pearl, who is a wonderful human being from everything that I know about her, took up my plea for post fodder right-fast and asked me three questions.
What is the wildest night you two have had since you last posted?
Wildest since I last posted. Unfortunately there hasn't been a lot of anything wild going on in our nights. Sometimes, he pinches my nipples really hard and makes me scream.
That's about it. Although he has started going down on me quite frequently and I have had my first orgasm from just his tongue, which I didn't believe was even possible for me but, hah, looks like it is! Also beard stubble feels absolutely divine on aroused flesh.
Still, kind of vanilla over here lately. Once in a while we get to sleep a whole eight hours, and that, my friends, feels pretty damn wild.
I don't know. Our lives have gotten incredibly full of 'stuff' and 'people' and somehow we wind up not having much time for each other.
Name 5 items that would be on your kinky bucket list?
Oh, wow. I could go on here.
1. I'd love to have a day or two (like when the munchkin is elsewhere or possibly moved out) where I am tied for easy availability (pussy, mouth, ass) and just fucked, but left while he goes about his business for a while, then fucked again, and so on. Preferably with some orgasms.
2. I want to be properly tied up, like all over. Or maybe even suspension bondage.
3. I'd love my husband to double-penetrate me with his cock and a strap-on. Perhaps even while I'm tied up.
4. A cage. Oh my goodness, or one of those dungeon beds with the cage underneath? I can't decide. But I don't mean like a dog cage, I mean like prison bar cage. . So many lovely kinky fantasies with that. But even a dog cage would do, at that.
5. A want a hood. But I don't just want to have it, I want it to be put on me and I want to be fucked with it on. Regularly.
My husband likes looking at my face though. More's the pity. Woe is me. (I'm only 3/4ths joking)
What is one thing you think your blogger friends would never believe about you?
Hmmmm. You guys know so much about me. But what would you never believe?
Would you never believe that I'm shy and people frighten me? And yet here I am, spilling my guts to strangers (and friends ❤) on the internet.
Hm. I wind up looking at porn gifs a lot. But they usually disgust me. They're all herky-jerky fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck. But now and then there's a nice slow smooth one that's fuuuuuuuck-fuuuuuuuuuuck-fuuuuuuuuuuuck and those I can just stare at for quite some time. I think I've found two so far. Meh.
That was fun! Thank you, Pearl!
I will answer DelFonte's question next.
Does anyone else have a burning need to have me ramble on aimlessly in the general direction of a question they have asked? Have at me!
What is the wildest night you two have had since you last posted?
Wildest since I last posted. Unfortunately there hasn't been a lot of anything wild going on in our nights. Sometimes, he pinches my nipples really hard and makes me scream.
That's about it. Although he has started going down on me quite frequently and I have had my first orgasm from just his tongue, which I didn't believe was even possible for me but, hah, looks like it is! Also beard stubble feels absolutely divine on aroused flesh.
Still, kind of vanilla over here lately. Once in a while we get to sleep a whole eight hours, and that, my friends, feels pretty damn wild.
I don't know. Our lives have gotten incredibly full of 'stuff' and 'people' and somehow we wind up not having much time for each other.
Name 5 items that would be on your kinky bucket list?
Oh, wow. I could go on here.
1. I'd love to have a day or two (like when the munchkin is elsewhere or possibly moved out) where I am tied for easy availability (pussy, mouth, ass) and just fucked, but left while he goes about his business for a while, then fucked again, and so on. Preferably with some orgasms.
2. I want to be properly tied up, like all over. Or maybe even suspension bondage.
3. I'd love my husband to double-penetrate me with his cock and a strap-on. Perhaps even while I'm tied up.
4. A cage. Oh my goodness, or one of those dungeon beds with the cage underneath? I can't decide. But I don't mean like a dog cage, I mean like prison bar cage. . So many lovely kinky fantasies with that. But even a dog cage would do, at that.
5. A want a hood. But I don't just want to have it, I want it to be put on me and I want to be fucked with it on. Regularly.
My husband likes looking at my face though. More's the pity. Woe is me. (I'm only 3/4ths joking)
What is one thing you think your blogger friends would never believe about you?
Hmmmm. You guys know so much about me. But what would you never believe?
Would you never believe that I'm shy and people frighten me? And yet here I am, spilling my guts to strangers (and friends ❤) on the internet.
Hm. I wind up looking at porn gifs a lot. But they usually disgust me. They're all herky-jerky fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck. But now and then there's a nice slow smooth one that's fuuuuuuuck-fuuuuuuuuuuck-fuuuuuuuuuuuck and those I can just stare at for quite some time. I think I've found two so far. Meh.
That was fun! Thank you, Pearl!
I will answer DelFonte's question next.
Does anyone else have a burning need to have me ramble on aimlessly in the general direction of a question they have asked? Have at me!
March: what do you want to hear?
March is question month, if I recall correctly.
And I am in desperate need of inspiration.
What do you all want to hear about? I can wax philosophic for ages but somehow the initial spark got up and left me.
Ask me a question!
I love you all.
And I am in desperate need of inspiration.
What do you all want to hear about? I can wax philosophic for ages but somehow the initial spark got up and left me.
Ask me a question!
I love you all.
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
Clarity in the night
Before we went to bed, my husband was irritating me. Wandering around, "trying to clean up," moving my papers and documents, eventually moving something pretty important and more or less forcing me to find a new place for it.
My brain knew the old place for it just fine. All this moving around of objects disturbs my own order and I'm an old dog; new tricks don't come so easily to me. I was randomly irritated. Exhaustion and having my things suddenly reorganized led to a generally huffy, unhappy feeling.
So when we did go to bed, I crawled on top of the blankets to sleep while he was under them. It wasn't really intentional, but I did it and I was too worn out to get up again to cover myself, despite the slight chill in the room. I fell asleep almost immediately. I guess that happens when you're too worn out even to cover yourself.
Hours later I woke up to visit the bathroom, and when I returned I climbed under the blankets next to my husband. He stirred, draped his arm over my waist, pulled my body tight into his, and whispered into my ear "You belong to me," before he drifted back off to sleep.
Just like that, no more irritation.
If only everything was solved that easily.
If only everything was solved that easily.
Friday, September 19, 2014
What he's thinking
I always tease my husband that he never thinks about sex unless we're having it, that he's a very much in-the-moment kind of person. Whatever he's doing at that moment is the thing he wants to do.
But in his arms, with his lips against my ear and his fingers stroking my clit in that way I like, he began to reveal something.
"You know, I didn't tell you this, but I think I should now. Earlier, when you'd just gotten home and were finishing your lunch and you were telling me about your day, I was looking at you and thinking: 'I own this woman. I could take her right now and make her do anything I wanted.'
Shocked at this revelation, and more than a little aroused by it, I moaned. I know the things we get up to but the idea that they should cross his mind in the middle of the day while I'm just talking to him was just mind-blowing.
He continued: "'I could take her in the other room at this moment and have her suck my cock, or I could fuck her. I could fuck her anywhere I wanted.' But I didn't think we should be doing that in the middle of the day with the boy right in the other room, so I didn't say anything. I just contented myself with looking into your eyes and thinking that you're mine, that I could take you anytime, anywhere."
Concluding his little speech into my ear, he slid his fingers into me and pressed my clit just so. It didn't take long before I was helplessly rocked by spasms.
I always ask what he's thinking, but this is the first time hearing it actually made me orgasm. Maybe I should ask less and just let him tell me more.
But in his arms, with his lips against my ear and his fingers stroking my clit in that way I like, he began to reveal something.
"You know, I didn't tell you this, but I think I should now. Earlier, when you'd just gotten home and were finishing your lunch and you were telling me about your day, I was looking at you and thinking: 'I own this woman. I could take her right now and make her do anything I wanted.'
Shocked at this revelation, and more than a little aroused by it, I moaned. I know the things we get up to but the idea that they should cross his mind in the middle of the day while I'm just talking to him was just mind-blowing.
He continued: "'I could take her in the other room at this moment and have her suck my cock, or I could fuck her. I could fuck her anywhere I wanted.' But I didn't think we should be doing that in the middle of the day with the boy right in the other room, so I didn't say anything. I just contented myself with looking into your eyes and thinking that you're mine, that I could take you anytime, anywhere."
Concluding his little speech into my ear, he slid his fingers into me and pressed my clit just so. It didn't take long before I was helplessly rocked by spasms.
I always ask what he's thinking, but this is the first time hearing it actually made me orgasm. Maybe I should ask less and just let him tell me more.
Friday, September 12, 2014
Insistence
I adore anal sex. I love the way it makes me feel; I love the entire process of preparing for it. First me cleansing myself, and then my master slowly lubricating me and stretching me out to take his cock. It makes me feel owned, it makes me feel cherished, it makes me feel used and taken and claimed and adored. When my master's cock is buried in my helpless ass, I am truly a sex slave.
I often wind up preparing myself for it, making sure all is clean and pleasant, when there will be none forthcoming. Sometimes I am prepared and my master suggests it and I find myself struck with a sudden fear, and I shake my head furiously and I protest, despite the fact that another part of me is desperately aching for his cock to force its way into my ass.
So it was this time. He'd already fucked my breasts, my face, and my pussy for an extended time in three different positions. He was on top of me with my feet hooked around his ankles when he said it. "I think it's time for me to fuck your ass, now," he whispered in the voice he uses when he wants to send tingles all over me.
It worked. I shivered, but shook my head. "Nuh-uh," I grunted.
"Yeah," he said, as if I hadn't responded at all, "I really should be fucking your ass right now, shouldn't I?"
"Nuh-uh," I whimpered again.
"'Nuh-uh'? That's what it's for, isn't it? Isn't it just another hole for me to fuck?"
I shook with the force of his words. I nodded helplessly. It's not even really my choice. I gave that to him. I could stop him, but I never would unless I truly needed to. Then he slowly prepared me to take his cock in my ass, to be the collection of fuck holes that I so long to be.
And I am one lucky sex slave.
I often wind up preparing myself for it, making sure all is clean and pleasant, when there will be none forthcoming. Sometimes I am prepared and my master suggests it and I find myself struck with a sudden fear, and I shake my head furiously and I protest, despite the fact that another part of me is desperately aching for his cock to force its way into my ass.
So it was this time. He'd already fucked my breasts, my face, and my pussy for an extended time in three different positions. He was on top of me with my feet hooked around his ankles when he said it. "I think it's time for me to fuck your ass, now," he whispered in the voice he uses when he wants to send tingles all over me.
It worked. I shivered, but shook my head. "Nuh-uh," I grunted.
"Yeah," he said, as if I hadn't responded at all, "I really should be fucking your ass right now, shouldn't I?"
"Nuh-uh," I whimpered again.
"'Nuh-uh'? That's what it's for, isn't it? Isn't it just another hole for me to fuck?"
I shook with the force of his words. I nodded helplessly. It's not even really my choice. I gave that to him. I could stop him, but I never would unless I truly needed to. Then he slowly prepared me to take his cock in my ass, to be the collection of fuck holes that I so long to be.
And I am one lucky sex slave.
Friday, September 5, 2014
Why being married is awesome
We'd just finished a spectacularly mind-blowing session. He'd fucked every single part of me from several different angles - including my armpit-breast area, and we'd just collapsed after he'd given me my second orgasm.
"Ooooh, I like being married to you!" he said, resting his arm across my back as I panted into a pillow, trying to recover.
"mmmmm, why is that?" I asked breathlessly.
"Because we get to have sex," he said.
I laughed. Because so many things were going through my head right then. Like, being married isn't a prerequisite to having sex, and being married doesn't guarantee sex, and even if it did, then he could be married to anyone at all, absolutely anyone, and it wouldn't have to be me.
But all those thoughts went through my head in the split second before he continued: "...and you're a particularly amazing person to have sex with."
Be still, my heart. When he gets shit right, he really, really gets it right.
"Ooooh, I like being married to you!" he said, resting his arm across my back as I panted into a pillow, trying to recover.
"mmmmm, why is that?" I asked breathlessly.
"Because we get to have sex," he said.
I laughed. Because so many things were going through my head right then. Like, being married isn't a prerequisite to having sex, and being married doesn't guarantee sex, and even if it did, then he could be married to anyone at all, absolutely anyone, and it wouldn't have to be me.
But all those thoughts went through my head in the split second before he continued: "...and you're a particularly amazing person to have sex with."
Be still, my heart. When he gets shit right, he really, really gets it right.
Friday, August 29, 2014
Annoyed by porn
Lately, I've been exploring a few porn videos. Just casually browsing the Internet and seeing what I can find.
I don't care so much about the visuals of something. Previously in my life, I've been satisfied to find writing that plants words and ideas in my head. I'm all about the words.
But as the internet advances, good sex writing gets harder and harder to come by in the random internet. Yes, there are books, but for just a quick idea session? Not so much. I found myself returning to the same story over and over. A search almost always would turn up videos first, with writing scattered between them. And so, finally I broke and decided to check out some videos.
I love anal sex. So I looked for BDSM anal sex videos.
I found one that turned me on so much I was shocked and fascinated. I'd never had that reaction to a video before.
But just one. It goes from the beginning of the interaction, has lots and lots of talking, shows the prep, the girl's reactions, everything.
Every other video I've found skips around like it has a serious attention deficit disorder. They'll jump from an intro to a flogging to an all-out-ass-fucking faster than my brain can process that it's meant to be watching people having sex in the first place. And close-ups of quick-piston action of a cock into a hole? No thank you? What even is that?
I can only surmise that this is because the people who cut the video figure that male viewers only want to see the most action-oriented parts. But I'm annoyed because if they're going to film something, and obviously there's a camera there the whole time, I want to see the prep and the talking and go with the feelings of the thing. To actually become stirred, I need more than 3 minutes from intro to "AH-AH-AH-AHHHHH."
But maybe that's just me.
Your thoughts?
Monday, May 12, 2014
Sleepiness
On Mother's Day, we were going to go for a hike.
But our child woke us up way too early and I spent the day battling intense sleepiness. Standing up became difficult as the afternoon progressed.
"You want to just go take a nap?" my husband asked.
"No, I don't. But yes, I do." I answered. What I honestly wanted was to hike. But I didn't think I would manage very far before succumbing to my overwhelming exhaustion. "I don't want to be by myself, though."
"Oh, I'll come with you," he said, hugging me tightly to him before I turned to go into the bedroom.
I struggled to remain standing long enough to let my jeans, donned especially for hiking, fall to the floor. I crawled into bed and my heavy eyelids slammed shut.
My husband's arms went around me and he whispered into my ear, "I'll lie here and hold you."
I sleepily mumbled my pleased gratitude. As I snuggled into him, I felt his cock grow hard against my arm. His hips drove it against me.
"I can't promise I won't fuck you though," he growled, his arousal becoming more insistent by the moment.
"Mmm," I murmured, "I can't promise I'll be too responsive."
There was fucking. And there was responsiveness wherein he forced me to beg to be fucked. And then there was a second fucking.
My husband has a fetish for exhaustion. Not for actual unconsciousness, but sleepiness so overwhelming that it's grabbing and pulling me.
I'm having trouble finding out what that's called. But he definitely has it.
I kind of dig it. It fulfills my need to give him what he wants, even if it's not what I necessarily want in the moment.
Fucking is better than sleep anyway.
I need to find more ways to wear myself out, but preferably not so that I'm miserable all day.
Apparently there's a listed fetish for your OWN exhaustion making you horny. Kopophilia - but where is the "my partner's exhaustion turns me on" fetish? I'll keep looking.
But our child woke us up way too early and I spent the day battling intense sleepiness. Standing up became difficult as the afternoon progressed.
"You want to just go take a nap?" my husband asked.
"No, I don't. But yes, I do." I answered. What I honestly wanted was to hike. But I didn't think I would manage very far before succumbing to my overwhelming exhaustion. "I don't want to be by myself, though."
"Oh, I'll come with you," he said, hugging me tightly to him before I turned to go into the bedroom.
I struggled to remain standing long enough to let my jeans, donned especially for hiking, fall to the floor. I crawled into bed and my heavy eyelids slammed shut.
My husband's arms went around me and he whispered into my ear, "I'll lie here and hold you."
I sleepily mumbled my pleased gratitude. As I snuggled into him, I felt his cock grow hard against my arm. His hips drove it against me.
"I can't promise I won't fuck you though," he growled, his arousal becoming more insistent by the moment.
"Mmm," I murmured, "I can't promise I'll be too responsive."
There was fucking. And there was responsiveness wherein he forced me to beg to be fucked. And then there was a second fucking.
My husband has a fetish for exhaustion. Not for actual unconsciousness, but sleepiness so overwhelming that it's grabbing and pulling me.
I'm having trouble finding out what that's called. But he definitely has it.
I kind of dig it. It fulfills my need to give him what he wants, even if it's not what I necessarily want in the moment.
Fucking is better than sleep anyway.
I need to find more ways to wear myself out, but preferably not so that I'm miserable all day.
Apparently there's a listed fetish for your OWN exhaustion making you horny. Kopophilia - but where is the "my partner's exhaustion turns me on" fetish? I'll keep looking.
Monday, May 5, 2014
Happy stick
We're cuddled together in bed on a Saturday morning, sunlight streaming through the gaps around the curtain. The night before we had amazing anal sex that left me feeling completely sated for the entire night, and now that it's morning I'm still feeling residual happy chemicals. I'd love more sex, but we have plans.
I drop little kisses along his chest and shoulder, and I'm thinking about how amazing last night was. "What's it like, to go inside a person?" I ask him.
"Hm? Well, if you think about it, it's not really me, it's just a bit that sticks out from me."
I roll my eyes but I don't know if he can see it. I sigh in an exaggerated fashion. "That's not helpful," I grumble, but playfully.
I roll my eyes but I don't know if he can see it. I sigh in an exaggerated fashion. "That's not helpful," I grumble, but playfully.
"Okay. It's like. . . it's like stabbing someone with a happy stick, over and over."
I collapse into helpless giggles for a very, very long time.
Happy stick, indeed.
Friday, May 2, 2014
An award and a gift
Pearl over at Happily Surrendered and Submissive has graciously awarded me a Liebster. Thank you, lovely lady! I took it upon myself to hunt down the original image so you can all copy it over to your blogs if you'd like to replace the fairly problematic image currently circulating. If it doesn't bother you, then no biggie, but if it does, well, here ya go!
Like all of these funny little things circulating the blogosphere, it comes with rules. They are:
1. Thank the person who nominated you and post a link to their blog on your blog.
2. Display the award on your blog-- by including it in your post and / or displaying it using a "widget" or "gadget". (this part was problematic for me since it was literally the worst image I'd ever seen - but I found it before it was wrecked, so yay!)
3. Answer 11 questions about yourself which will be provided to you by the person who nominated you.
4. Provide 11 random facts about yourself.
5. Nominate 5-11 blogs you feel deserve this award, who have less than 1000 followers. (Note that you can ask the blog owner this since not all blogs display the widget that lets readers know this information.
6. Create a new list of questions for the blogger to answer.
7. List these rules on your post. Once you have written and published it, you then have to :
8. Inform people/blogs that you nominated that they have been nominated for the Liebster Award and provide a link for them to your post so they can learn about it (they might not have heard of it!)
It's funny because I'm pretty sure the last time one of these was going around, the lists of personal questions wasn't even a thing. So what I'm gonna do is answer Pearl's questions. Lots of random facts about me are already floating around my blog, and the more of those I spill, the less anonymous I become.
Anyway, that all said, here are Pearl's questions:
1. Where were you the first time you and your Husband/Wife kissed?In a friend's apartment, after we'd just met in the airport. It was not a good kiss because it was his first kiss ever. He's fixed that now.
2. What does your Husband/Wife do first when waking up (if you're not sure...ask!!)?The first thing my husband does upon waking is to wrap himself more around me, if he's not already wrapped tightly. His alarm goes off, we stop it, and he snuggles me extra. Every morning.
3. Favorite place to touch your Husband/Wife?Hm. I like different things for different reasons. Not sure if I can say I have a favorite. I enjoy touching him in places that make him make happy noises. I do really like his sides, just under his ribs, and playing with the little hairs that grow in a line along his collarbone.
4. The last place you touched your Husband/Wife?. . .the hand. He was just here holding me and I put my hand on his and kissed it before he went off to give me a few minutes of precious, precious alone time in which I don't have to do anything for anyone.
5. Campfire or fireplace?Both. I'm greedy like that. But, really, campfire because a fireplace just leads to draftiness. I own a house with three fireplaces and I learned way too much about them though I never lived there.
6. Biggest sex blooper you and your Husband/Wife have had?Hm, a blooper. I don't think it counts as a blooper but we once shared the same enormous pair of pajama pants, for giggles.
I can't think of any funny actual bloopers we've had right now, though I'm sure they exist. I remember having sex with my ex once while Married With Children was playing on his TV. That wasn't the best idea ever.
7. Favorite sexy toy?ANY of my gorgeous silky floggers. Or my butt plug (mood naughty). Those are the things I must have.
8. Do you worry (what worries you) about those around you knowing about your relationship dynamic?I... don't actually care anymore. Whatever. I'm trying to live an honest life and if my friends know I'm kinky then that makes it all the better. The family members that are closest to me know. The family members who would condemn me for liking sex at all, much less the kind of things I get up to, don't know. I don't worry about them finding out, I just don't need to talk about my sex life with them because... why would I? I don't talk to them about anything.
9. One hidden talent?Hidden from whom? I'm a pretty good electrician. I once fancied becoming a master gardener and/or working for the agricultural extension office. I excel at gravitating toward purple objects in any place of business. I do not always buy them but I usually must touch them at least.
10. If you could change one thing about yourself what would it be?I would let go of things more easily, physical things and concepts, ideas, dreams. When you hold on too tightly to anything it prevents you from fully realizing anything else. I'd also lower my libido a little. Okay, that's more than one thing, but if it's really stuck to one thing, then just the first. It would help a little with the second anyway.
11. One sex related item you would NOT want to live without? (Besides your partner)Sex...related..item? That's not a toy? HRM. Oh oh, my bamboo sheets. Definitely. I luffs them. We both do.
Yay, that was fun!
I'm going to be a spoilsport though and not nominate anyone or ask any questions because I'm out of alone time. Thank you again, Pearl!
Thursday, May 1, 2014
A moment
I'd just come back from the bathroom and crawled into my husband's arms. He turned slightly toward me and his cock, hard and demanding, pressed against my wrist.
"Oh, husband, were you flopping your penis about again?" I asked as my hand rubbed his erection through the fabric of his boxers.
"No, it was like that before you left," he replied.
"Ooh, I didn't realize," I murmured, dropping little kisses on his chest.
"Maybe it would feel better if you sucked on it," he said.
"Hmm? Is something wrong with it?" I asked, slipping down his body already.
"Wrong with it? It's not in your mouth."
"Ooooooooh," I said, purring a little as I slipped his boxers down his legs. I planted a wet sucking kiss on his cock. "That's a good answer." I sucked him in, and then, for emphasis, lifted my head off once more. "I like that answer," I finished as I lowered my head all the way down and started pleasuring him in earnest.
I still do.
"Oh, husband, were you flopping your penis about again?" I asked as my hand rubbed his erection through the fabric of his boxers.
"No, it was like that before you left," he replied.
"Ooh, I didn't realize," I murmured, dropping little kisses on his chest.
"Maybe it would feel better if you sucked on it," he said.
"Hmm? Is something wrong with it?" I asked, slipping down his body already.
"Wrong with it? It's not in your mouth."
"Ooooooooh," I said, purring a little as I slipped his boxers down his legs. I planted a wet sucking kiss on his cock. "That's a good answer." I sucked him in, and then, for emphasis, lifted my head off once more. "I like that answer," I finished as I lowered my head all the way down and started pleasuring him in earnest.
I still do.
Friday, April 18, 2014
Noise
He's on top of me and my legs are in the air. He made me beg for his cock in me, words I could hardly get out for the blood pounding in my head, but now it feels enormous, so big that I cry out with every thrust.
"So nice of you to make yourself into a hole for me to fuck," he growls as I barely keep from screaming. I remember we forgot to close the window. I had no idea this was going to happen.
"I think I'll fuck your face next," he whispers, pressing his cock fully into me and leaning all the way down to send his words straight into my ear canal. I cry out again, the pulses of blood through his cock making it swell and stretching me almost beyond endurance. "I'll stick my cock into the hole all that noise is coming out of, and I'll fuck it."
My entire body breaks into a sweat. His whispered promise sends heat through me like I'd never imagined.
He's not a man to mince words. Soon, he's straddling my face, and his cock blocks all the screams that I would be making. It presses into my throat, unavoidable, undeniable, tasting of sex.
The noise is stopped. The window needn't be thought about.
"So nice of you to make yourself into a hole for me to fuck," he growls as I barely keep from screaming. I remember we forgot to close the window. I had no idea this was going to happen.
"I think I'll fuck your face next," he whispers, pressing his cock fully into me and leaning all the way down to send his words straight into my ear canal. I cry out again, the pulses of blood through his cock making it swell and stretching me almost beyond endurance. "I'll stick my cock into the hole all that noise is coming out of, and I'll fuck it."
My entire body breaks into a sweat. His whispered promise sends heat through me like I'd never imagined.
He's not a man to mince words. Soon, he's straddling my face, and his cock blocks all the screams that I would be making. It presses into my throat, unavoidable, undeniable, tasting of sex.
The noise is stopped. The window needn't be thought about.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)