weekend, part two: dancing

Filed Under pushing the edges | Leave a Comment

I slid my cock inside her swiftly and she took it easily. Let out a little cry, lifted her ankles around my hips. I was hungry. I could feel her opening, could feel how she could be filled.

“Get up,” I said after a while. I lifted myself off the bed and began switching to my other cock, the bigger one. “Turn over.”

She started to, up on her hands and knees, and I reached my arm around her hips and pulled her off the side of the bed, her pussy at my cock’s height perfectly. I took a palmful of lube and fucked her, hard, deep.

Moans and cries from both of us as I pounded into her. Fucks like that I swear I can feel my cock thickening, getting harder, being restricted and pulled into her cunt by her tight rings of muscles. She’s discovered that she can lift her legs off the floor and wrap them around my waist when I fuck her bent over the edge of the bed if she has the right grip on her hands (because it’s just the right height), which gets my cock ever deeper.
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weekend, part one: flogging

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Part two will come next.

Friday night. My roommate was gone over the holiday weekend.

Penny wanted to be flogged.

I stripped her bare and shoved her against the brick wall in my bedroom. She’s smaller than me such that I can place my thigh against the bend of her hips so she can lean against me as I hit her. Not necessarily hard or solid, but subtle, so she feels supported.

I hit her with my hand a while first, bringing the skin on her ass to a nice baby pink color. I kept the flogger draped over my shoulder and let the leather brush her skin a while before taking grip on it and beginning to swing.

She’s been letting me hit her harder lately. Less afraid and more breathing into it, ever since that night of the sex party where I shoved her up against the wall, pushed her dress up, and used my bare hand.
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The Key of G

Filed Under how to turn me on | 1 Comment

cydytame027.jpgI don’t know about you, but it has taken me years to make friends with my g-spot. Decades, even. My clit and I had that magical connection you feel with that weird-pretty girl you’ve seen around, you know because you go to the same clubs and bookstores and used clothing shops, and then something happens, some strange serendipitous act throws you together like perfect salad ingredients-like dried cranberries and crumbled gorgonzola, say-and you both realize in a blinding white epiphany that you were best friends just waiting to happen.

My clit and I were like that: fast friends on first acquaintance. My g-spot and I, not so much.

It might be because it’s so reclusive, like Greta Garbo, shrouded in the obscuring silk scarf of my vaginal walls. All tucked up inside, under, and away, the g-spot hides behind the stony prominence of the pubic bone, like a star cowering under a paparazzi siege. The g-spot is a small thing, easy to overlook in fumbling explorations. It doesn’t stick out or pop up or do much of anything to announce its presence. Wearing latex gloves, you’d miss the slight cat-tongue roughness of the g-spot.

I have a sneaking suspicion, however, that more than its mere reclusivity, the g-spot is also like fine wine: it takes time to mature. I don’t have any hard evidence on this hypothesis, no scientific studies, no empiric substantiation, nothing more than a long and searching self-analysis, nothing but my own experience upon which to reflect and wonder how the exact and precise hell I missed this seat of pleasure for so many years.

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My Lover’s Absolute Devotions

Filed Under the art of seduction | Leave a Comment

My lover has fallen in love with my pussy. By stating this, my lover’s in-loveness, I don’t mean to suggest that there was a time when she didn’t like my pussy, if not love it. I mean rather to suggest that what she feels now seems to have turned a more scarlet shade of passion, a richer hue of devotion, a more singular tone of monomania. My lover is seriously in love with my pussy.

She kneels, she kowtows, she pays deep, wet, and oral obeisance to my cunt. She seems unable to help herself; she loses control; she stampedes toward my pussy. There is only the sweetest, too brief interlude at my mouth, the quicksilver flash of her tongue rolling in my mouth like a piece of sashimi, the gum-rubber slickness of her lips. There is a cursory stay at my neck; she pulls my head back and she pauses like Rousseau’s lion at my gypsy throat. She bites, but all too fleetingly. She takes a detour—the swiftest pit-stop—at my breasts. She sucks one nipple, she bites it as if she were nipping a berry from a bush. She suckles, summarily. She then descends, rapidly, single-mindedly, thrillingly, to my hoary depths so that she may worship at the altar of my cunt.
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