Apr 292014
 

20140425-100537.jpg“I kissed her sun kissed rosy bud while caressing the other lush breast. Our blossoming attraction awakening, I felt as alive as the fresh smelling earth beneath her delightful, tender body. She was warm, vibrant; her scent uniquely fresh and fragrant. Her sky blue eyes sparkled at me and I melted into her heavenly skin, feeling my desire growing.”

 

*Springtime and Blacksilk are my inspiration for this very short story.

 Posted by at 10:06 am
Apr 272014
 

blog 3My feet were firmly planted on the bed.

My wrists were firmly to my ankles, the ties ensured that.

His first move was far before this moment, however. It had started the night before, with the promise of being tied. It had been reinforced with every smack on the ass or whispered kisses of the time to come.

But on the anticipated moment, I was propped up on an improvised wedge of pillows, my legs parted, my pelvic tilted up, my wrists tied to my ankles which ensured the parted legs. But he wasn’t taking chances, oh no, he also tied my thighs to both the head and foot posts on the bed, ensuring that I couldn’t raise or move my legs at all.

Opened wide for his pleased smile, his fingers caressed my sex as he boasted that I was at his mercy completely. Vulnerable.

And then his words slid lower as his tongue parted my lips, tasted my desire, the effect his words had on me already. My excitement surprised us both with the quickness of my orgasm from his mouth. He smiled, moved up (or in this case down) and kissed first one nipple and then the other, the tip of his penis barely grazed my wet center. I moaned, wished so badly that I could arch or shift into him more so that he would enter me. “Oh, am I touching you?” he asked, the tone implying full well the knowledge that I wanted him inside of me. He kissed me and I tasted myself on his lips.

He leaned back on his heels and inserted a finger, expertly curled and rubbed me to an orgasm. And then another. He paused, looked at my face.

“Don’t cum,” he instructed.

“Wha-” it was I could manage as he rubbed the same place that instantly brought me orgasms, only I had to fight against the pleasure. I gasped for breath, I tried to focus on another other the sensations he created. It felt so good, no, no, breathe, dammit. My body tightened, clenched down on his finger.

He stopped, looked at me sternly. Shit. “Did you just cum?” The accusation hung heavy in the air.

I felt betrayed; unsure if I was mad at him or me. “No, god, I don’t know,” I might have. I felt the stirrings. “I started to.”

“You did, I felt your fluid on my hand, felt your body.” Dammit. Betrayed.

He grabbed a flogger and hit both thighs, rhythmically so that my body adjusted and even welcomed the pain and the sting, and then a breast. A breast? That was new. He started slowly, cautiously, watched my face, checked in with me a few times if it was okay. And then his mouth journeyed over the reddened places of thighs and breast. When he began sucking on a sensitive nipple, I groaned. He recognized that groan and reached down between my legs, fingered me to another orgasm as his mouth continued to ravage my stinging nipple.

“But you were bad. I’m not sure why I’m being so nice to you,” he said after I was pleased. He moved off the bed and grabbed something off the nightstand, leaned along the side of my body and tapped my thigh. It was the misery stick, that miserable thing that I’m quite sure I don’t care for. I have zero pain threshold for it. I shook my head no. “How many times for not listening?”

“But I tried,” I whined as the tapping increased in pressure. “I didn’t-”

“listen, I know. How many?” he interrupted, and the stick stung on the same place of skin.

“No, I…I…one,” dammit, he was going to insist on doing it, he may as well get it over with, I thought.

“One?” he sounded incredulous. “I think three,” I could see my thigh already red, and it hurt. Goodness, he was going to go harder? “Ready?” I shook my head no. Whap! I whined. “Again.” Ouch! “Last time.” Why did it have to hurt so much?! He caressed the same spot that was hit three times, softly kissed it and looked up at me. His breath washed down my thigh and made me shiver.

He positioned himself between my legs and gently entered me, slowly progressing inside a little, pulling almost all the way out, sliding a little further, continuing the pattern until he was fully embedded in me. He leaned forward and kissed me, bringing me to a slow orgasm. And increasing the pace to another orgasm.

“Don’t cum,” he said. Why did I confess I liked this? I hated this! I couldn’t possibly listen, but I tried. He wasn’t making it easy again, and before I knew it, I was climaxing. “There you go again,” he pulled out of me, my protest going unnoticed.

He disappeared along the side of the bed. “And what should your punishment be this time?”

He had something behind his back. “Um, more sex?” I queried, frustrated, anxious, excited.

He laughed. “So bad,” he said, showed me the Doxy wand. He reached to the back bed post and took down another length of rope, fashioned a holder to my already tied thighs that held the wand against my clit. And turned it on to a medium setting without my body even adjusting to a slower one. I came, I thrashed against the bindings, my wrists pulled uselessly and my legs tried to close. “Stay still,” I heard him say, and I looked up at a candle.

He             couldn’t                be               serious.

I stopped breathing. The Doxy was rotating and vibrating at my clit and my body tensed, tried to stay as still as possible. I watched the burning wax fall down on my stomach, couldn’t move to flinch at the heat, my core tensed from the wax and the pleasure building from the wand. “Turn your head to the side,” he ordered me. I had to pry my eyes away from the flame and looked to the side. More splattered, traced a trail  against the reddened flesh of breast to my nipple. I came, screamed, my thighs hurt from holding so steady, my wrists hurt from straining so much.

He poured wax next over the reddened places on my thighs, still so much of an expanse of skin that rope didn’t protect. I never knew how wicked wax was over skin made sensitive by impact before. It was amazing, it was torturous.

“Continue staying still,” he said, placed the candle on the nightstand. He grabbed the knife and I felt myself tighten. What if I couldn’t stay still because of the wand and he cut me?

Cautiously he removed the wax, before getting to my breasts he turned off the wand and I felt able to actually take a real breath. Then the blade coolly slid over my breasts, deftly manevured the wax off skin.

After I had been cleaned of wax, he swiftly removed the ropes and bindings, entered me, lover’s hands gripped reddened thighs, and I screamed into the orgasm. He rolled me onto my side, off of the makeshift wedge, one hand in my hair and the other around my throat and pounded into me through one orgasm after another until he joined me finally.

I don’t remember him stopping, or pulling out. He somehow was laying on his side and I on my back. I remember his soft compliments and kisses on my forehead, my body curled into the side of him, legs over his knees, head pressed against his chest, fingers stroked through my hair and caressed my scalp.  It seems as though we laid that way forever. I felt cherished, loved, adored, peaceful. He held me until my trembling ceased, my breath and heartbeat resumed a normal pace, and I was able to thank him and tell him how much I loved him.

 

** The prompt for this week is full circle, and I think it’s a full circle in this post. While longer than normal, it discusses seduction far in advance, intense play, and the hardly-mentioned-but-crucial aftercare.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

 Posted by at 12:51 pm
Apr 252014
 

He slipped two fingers deeply in me, pressing in such a way that it felt like more than the two. I felt full, and suddenly his fingers moved in that come here finger gesture, and I felt myself forcing moving away with my legs. “Why did you move?” he asked calmly.

“I have no idea, it felt so good.” Overwhelmed maybe, I really had no idea why I moved away from something that instantly gave me a tightening of pleasure. A horrible reflex to have, but then again, it’s not like my body was in any way ready the orgasm. With no foreplay, no kissing even, he had just shocked me with pleasure. Hell, our costumes were still on.

“Perhaps you need help staying still,” said another male voice, and my other lover approached in the room, his cock already visible and hard through a parted outfit. He held me in a sitting position with one hand, my mouth eagerly going to his penis, while the other forcefully pulled out a breast from my corset and pinched a nipple.

“Ménage à trois,” bien sûr! I thought

The fingers found their way into me again, and I shut my eyes, shuddering already as he began fucking me with his fingers, those curved fingertips rubbing hard against my gspot. God, I was so close after just a few seconds, and I could feel the waves of pleasure already coming, “don’t fight it,” he whispered and my orgasm crashed down with his words, pulling me and drowning out my senses. I came and my juices covered his arm, making a pool on my skirts underneath me.

I loved this time after the tourists left.

**281 words, but with extra credit of wanting to french kiss Alexander the Great or Sir Lancelot, I think I’m good. Click on the title below to find more sexiness.

FFF – C’est La Vie

Image from The Secret Portrait

Word Limit: 250
Bonus Words: All words in French are free!
Required Phrase: “Ménage à trois,” bien sûr!
Forbidden Phrase: “Let them eat (fill in the blank).” It’s still too soon for me.
Extra Credit: Tell us which historic figure you’d most like to French kiss.

 

 

 Posted by at 9:32 am
Apr 212014
 

Condoms littered the ground. That’s how we kept track of how many times he had been pleased. For me, the number was too great to even attempt keeping track of, besides which, on the waves of pleasure where one orgasm didn’t quite faze out but I began riding on another one – did that even count as two? Or just a really long one?

We joked that we needed a white board or chalkboard to make tally marks to keep track, since the cartoonish, old fashioned tally marks on the bed wouldn’t leave us much of a bed. “It has to be a really big board,” he remarked, smiling.

I nodded, but truly, the condoms on the floor worked sufficiently.

The first day they were carefully discarded, and we kept count by how many was missing – not too many, as neither wanted to admit just high both our sex drives were.

Now, still new enough to want each other all day, not so new where we were afraid to admit how badly we wanted each other, the condoms were just thrown to the side along the bed where we weren’t walking. They were a brief blimp of passion subdued, a paused heartbeat of eye contact and gasping for breath as they were rolled on before he slid inside of me.

Off was something I wasn’t even aware of, as he was pleased after I had already had several orgasms. I was still in the fuzzy, floating stages of post-bliss when he quickly unraveled while in the motion of pulling out and moving alongside to cuddle. A swift movement, and one that included throwing them on the floor.

The final count was twelve.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

 Posted by at 2:12 pm
Apr 162014
 

It didn’t smell any different than she had remembered. Of course, the fear probably tainted the taste of freedom in the air. After 20 years she was mere minutes away from being done with this farce. These were dangerous times. The slightest slip on her end and the world could come crashing down around her head. She’d hate to see how these men would react.

Such prideful beasts, men. For most of her life Lily had wondered what on earth they were useful for besides carrying heavy things, drinking all the moonshine, and harassing all the well dressed ladies on the boardwalk. Lord knows things had been running fine on their small ranch, with or without one of the smelly brutes around.

Those were different days, and a different era. The streets may now have pavement, but they sure still carried a lot of stupid men.

“Now Lon, you don’t get into any trouble. Just wait right here, Deputy Mazer has one more form he needs your mark on”

Just released from prison after 20 years and they’re still trying to tell her to be a good boy.

BOY.

When Lily Price (or “Lon” as it were) had been locked up, a devil of a story had been concocted to keep her alive. That story involved passing her off as a young boy to save her from the noose. 20 years of being thankful for an almost nonexistent bosom later and here “she” was, finally able to be a woman. $5 tucked in her pocket and a head full of rambling ideas rattling around her head were her only baggage on the way into the little town not far from the prison.

It’s a miracle how meandering thoughts about womanhood can suddenly bring forth disgust at the nearly 20 years of accumulated, concealing dirt. Lily decided the first thing she needed was clean, and she needed it in a hurry. Spotting a sign that said bathhouse, painted with a bright, scantily clad women on it, Lily hurried inside. The scent of sweet perfume hung heavy in the steamy air as she stepped in from the sunny street, and Lily felt herself wilt. A woman in gauzy clothes was suddenly before her, a vision of beautiful eyes disguised behind cheap paint. What caught Lily’s attention though, was the intelligence. Still dressed in the male rags she was released in, Lily was taken aback when the mysterious eyes dipped in closer and the cool sweet tones of this woman softly sighed “What a story you must have my lady, come with me and we will restore you to your delightful beauty.”

Lily wasn’t sure if this was campy talk, reserved for customer, or if she were special. All she knew was that someone in the world knew she was a woman, and she wasn’t thrown right back in jail yet. Lily was led into a large empty bath room. Steam made clouds in the streamers of sunlight falling from the high open ceiling. Soft smooth hands, the softest Lily had ever felt, slid her clothes to the floor, even the binding which was never removed from her breasts all those long years in prison. Gooseflesh rose upon her skin with each feathery touch. Her body melting with each moment spent in that heavenly room. The water stung as it touched the marks where her bindings had been, but those stings were soothed away with gentle fingers as the attendant massaged her breasts from behind the tub. The beautiful woman was humming gently and Lily let he mind float with the soap bubble on the water.

During these musings Lily couldn’t keep thoughts of those times in prison away. The strangest, most commonplace of these continued to appear without her volition. There was an inmate Sam, so strong, and handsome, even his manners were appealing. With the woman caressing her slick skin Lily got lost in thoughts of Sam, sweat glistening on his brow, water slowly cascading down the hard length of him in the shower when she chanced upon him. Never before had she let thoughts such as these take over, but take over they did.

Suddenly her fingertips, grazing her temple were held in the soft slick grip of the woman. As they made eye contact, the woman guided Lily’s fingertips below the line of water lapsing at her navel, and down to the very heat of her. “Now tell me of this man… but not with your words, I want to see.”

Lily’s eyes went wide at this bequest, but the deep mystery of the beautiful woman before her and the sensations coursing through her fingertips and electrifying the rest of her body had Lily behaving. She bit her lip as her long, thin fingers made smooth circles under the water. Her body temperature rose as thoughts of Sam and the feelings she was evoking rose up and took over her. She bit her lip and tossed her head back to be cradled by the woman who then cupped her cheeks and kissed her lips and joined her on this release of 20 years of who knows what, to find HER. Just hours after leaving prison as a man, with her climax, Lily discovered the infinite delights of being a woman.

 Posted by at 2:01 pm
Apr 152014
 

Elust #57 Cammies on the Floor Image
Photo courtesy of Cammies on the Floor

Welcome to Elust #57

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #58? Start with the rules, come back May 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

I’ve Got 99 Problems

Vasectomy Blues

I’ve always wanted to call myself queer.

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Aoyama Yuki and My Very First Times

I don’t know how to be happy

 

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Sex News,Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Prostitution Laundering
That Body-safe Sex Toy Could Make You Sick
“Nice Shoes. Wanna Fuck?” — On Pick Up Lines
Rape prevention
Life of a Sheltered Child: Sex Toys (Part II)
A Tour of Fucking Sculptures Sex Toy Studio
Bashing Belle Knox: Because You GET Porn
Would You Pay $133 to See Midori Eat Fruit?

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Heart of Glass
Talking BDSM: Are safewords really necessary?
45 Seconds
I want
Whispered Words
Aftercare: In Kink and Erotica
Ariel Castro: The Man in the Mirror?
We Are Ethical
Apology tokens, punishments, and forgiveness

Erotic Fiction

Very Short Stories – If We Hadn’t Had Sex
Billy
Larry Knew Better
Lasting Impressions
The Boys
Sounds of a Kitten
Chemical (se)X
Shopping Together
Enjoy Being Seduced on the South Bank
Room 6
Caught In The Act
Packing Light
For your thighs only (007 Parody)

Erotic Non-Fiction

Dental Torture
My hand around your throat
Conversations With My Owner
Cuming Without You.
On My Knees Again
It Always Starts With A Kiss
World Champion, Yes, I Can!
Omne Trium Perfectum
When Good Sex Tapes Go Bad
Submission: An Initiation (Part Four)

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Hidden No More
Female condoms are fucking awesome!
Female Ejaculation and How to Achieve It
Mommy Doesn’t Want Sex
How To Train Your Vagina
Camp Dildo
Being slut shamed made me want more sex
Don’t say my name

Blogging

“Hidden” memes
A Brief History of Sex Blogging

Writing About Writing

Openings and Grabbing Your Reader

Poetry

Sense Memory – a Lusty Limerick

 

ELust Site Badge

Apr 142014
 

“Six times before breakfast,” he informed credulously.

My eyes widened slightly, though still not much more than half mast. I was a pile of goo splattered upon the bed, and there wasn’t much activity from me. I was laying on my stomach – the last position he left me. My throat was parched from screaming and panting, though at least by this point I had calmed my breathing. I tried to move my hands down alongside my body and heard a clink above my head and a tugging on my wrists that prevented me from doing so.

He leaned over and I heard velcro. Hmm, that’s right, he had bound my wrists in cuffs above my head – not tightly and I was able to comfortably move them and be flipped over still, just enough that I couldn’t scratch him anymore.

His shoulders and arms, and even his chest had shown signs of our activity – much as a scratching post reveals a kitten. Apparently he was through being a scratching post. Looking at him, I saw bruises as well, intermingled with the scratches, sporadically around both upper arms and even twice on his chest, almost perfect circles. Apparently he was a chew toy for me throughout the day, or as he explained it: ” how I know I’m doing something right.”

It was unusual for me to be so violent.

“And then we ate, and then we had more sex, and then I tried to leave you but you weren’t having that…” he continued on. I zoned out a bit. His astonishment towards a demanding constant sex demonstrated how we were still learning each other, as just a couple days a month my already high sex drive kicks into overdrive. He had a taste of that today. I was so thirsty. I knew there was water on the nightstand, but I was too tired and comfortable to get it. At least I wasn’t drooling, laying with my head pressed against the sweaty mattress, mouth wide open, probably the picture of a fish gasping for water. Mmm, water, crisp cool refreshing wetness sliding along my tongue, down my throat.

“You wouldn’t even let me make food! Memo to me: on days before you get like this, we need to do all the cooking in advance.”

“Agreed,” I mumbled more into the soft mattress than to him. He was laying along the side of me, propped up on an elbow. He moved a drenched curl from off of my cheek.

“You’re so pretty,” his voice dropped to a sexy timbre. I tried to smile, hoped it didn’t look terrible. I was the mess he made me. His hand drifted to my back and stroked up and down, and it was so relaxing, and surprisingly arousing. The warmth of his palm and fingers made their way down to my ass, circled for a bit, and then down the backs of my thighs. As he ventured up my thighs, I couldn’t help but arch and the hand cupped one plump cheek, and softly patted it. I sighed, and he began the rhythmic patting before moving up to the more firm spanks; by the time he was hitting hard enough to leave finger imprints across my reddened flesh, I was drenched and begging for him to fuck me.

He flipped me over and my one cheek felt the rough fabric of the sheets so much more. He slapped my inner thigh, not giving me the soft pat, more of the firm spank, but he still worked up till he was backhanding first one and then other inner thigh. He slapped my wet sex and clit, and my legs instinctively closed, but he smacked them apart and hit harder down the center. God it stung so much; god it got me so excited. He went to my thighs a few more times then came down with a back hand even down the center of my sex, and I tried to protect myself by moving my thighs together. He grabbed one thigh forcefully, positioned it down and sat on it with his body. Smack! Even harder, and I cried out and squirmed and tried to shield, but the other thigh was forced down and now he kneeled with his legs far apart, one leg on each thigh to hold them apart.

The force was the most he had ever gone, and I couldn’t help but cry out and squirm. Just a few more times, and then he positioned himself between my legs and drove into me hard. I curled up and climaxed immediately, the pubic hair and lower body rubbed against my swollen and stinging clit, he pushed in and around, made sure that he was pressed tight against my legs the whole time. My hands went to his shoulders and I remembered myself before I could scratch him, moved down the back of my own thighs and scratched myself since my knees were drawn up tight.

I don’t know what to do with my hands. And why the hell do I grow my nails out?

“Again,” he said before I’d even come all the way down. An exhausted habit he picked up today, timing the orgasms so I never had a down time until at least three or four orgasms.

He paused after a time and look down at my face, his face so close to my own that if I had leaned up the tiniest amount I could kiss him. “Again?” he questioned. I pleaded no, he moved slightly, and I begged for yes, yes again, oh god yes again. My back arched, my hips pressed, my legs clung to the back of his thighs and pulled him closer.

Traitorous body, it didn’t know the mind had decided on a firm no.

Soon he would sweaty from keeping up such a maddening pace. How the hell did he even have this much stamina?

Soon I would be sweaty from both his sweat and my own, barely conscious again, a pile of goo on the bed. And still wanting a drink.

And thirty minutes later demanding more. My insatiable hunger for sex was far more demanding than slaking my thirst.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

 Posted by at 12:45 pm