Jan 282018
 

I came into the dark bedroom to get ready for bed and was shocked when the door slammed… and then I was slammed into the armoire. I wasn’t alarmed, even though I was taken surprised, as I knew it was my lover’s body pressing hard against the back of mine. Hands came around and gripped my breasts, my own startled breathing sounded nothing like his breath so intimately and yet somehow threatening in my ear – or perhaps that was my own thundering heartbeat not quite able to make sense of the whirling thoughts still creating a flight or fight sensation?

Within this cyclonic confusion, with nipples being pinched through clothing and arms like vices keeping our bodies together, he propelled me to the end of the bed. He didn’t stop there, as the purposefully hands now forcefully went to my upper back and shoved me to bend over. Pants were yanked down, my ankles kicked open, fingers rammed into my wet depths to where the remaining fingers and palm felt like a fist against my lips, as my shirt was pulled up and over, my bra unfastened after a hiccup with a front clasp that slows him down slightly (he’s amazing at a back closure for some reason). His animated hands were everywhere, demanding, they created a tailspin of movement that created an unsettled feeling – perfect for a headspace that left no discerning but his wants. I was far more enthralled by his rough fingers, empty thoughts drifted like feathers where all my nerve endings settled between my legs and collected in his palm.

Hair pulled back once I was undressed, manipulated the rest of my body to where I was twisted around and forced onto sinking and grateful knees. I breathed in his scent through the gym shorts inches in front of my face and smelled his intoxicating desire. My hands now had their own turn to pull down clothing, though far less vigorously, and with his hair guidance system and my eager mouth wide open, the head of his penis was devoured until he hit the back of my throat, then withdrew only to be sucked back in. He used my mouth as if it was his personal toy and the uncaring nature of being used for his delectation increased my own wantonness. As the head hit the back of my mouth and made me salivate and coat his shaft, the feeling was echoed throughout my core and my own thighs were drenched.

It isn’t often he uses me in this way and it was heady that is his own lust and will were demanded in such a way. It was deeply visceral.

Ravenous for his taste, the feeling of the ridges dancing along my tongue, he denied me that greed after a few minutes. Pulled up by hair and again pushed onto the bed, this time with persuasive hands gripping pliable thighs he capapulted me towards the center of the bed. I crumbled among the sheets, rolled over to see the assault of his following body. He entered me effortlessly, the initial resistance of my entrance barely a obstacle as he planted the full length of himself in my body and claimed me his. Yet, there were more parts to claim apparently as fingers advanced in my mouth and embodied his cock – in and out with the same dizzying pace, tiny taste buds and nerve endings felt the sliding imprint of knuckles and ridges and veins. Even his mouth dipped at some points and teeth caught and tugged a nipple to full attention.

He withdrew, but not to stop the onslaught, more strategically to roll me over and continue his onslaught of my senses.

Did I scream? I’m unsure, yet I was aware of the vibration in his hand as it was placed over my mouth. My breath, hot, damp, precious in his grasp, my sounds muffled and yet clamoring in vibrant colors in my brain to distraction. His fingers again became pervasive, hooked in my mouth; I was so thoroughly caught in relentless orgasms. He moved his hands to grip my hips, held me up as he thrusted down. His own grunts and groans signaled a release to the maddening pace that my brain could not keep up with and my body didn’t want to.

As he stilled, I opened my eyes and still saw the pitch black of the room, a comforting cocoon of calmness amid the rampant kaleidoscope of our passion.

He rolled onto his back and pulled me into the crook of his arm, his fingers softly brushing my back. When our breathing calmed deep and regular, our heartbeats slowed lower than frenzied, as endorphins and adrenaline stopped flooding our senses, he tucked me in between the sheets, pushed a sip of water between my lips, and kissed me to sleep.

Wicked Wednesday

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Jan 122018
 

It began with laying in the middle of the bed, putting on a blindfold. The vast majority of our scenes begin with such a start.

I was caned on the thighs and butt for much longer than normal, rhythmic to the songs to help  lull a quiet mind as it is hypnotic. His fists were next; there is something about knuckles sinking deep into muscles that feels amazing even as it hurts. Punched primarily on thighs, my body jerked with the impact, pressed more fully into the bed. Next, he instructed me to roll over so he could cane nipples – not something that we’ve done much of. The front side of my body was warm from being against the mattress, my backside heated from sting and impact; perhaps it was the warmth that allowed my nipples to handle it much better than I would have imagined. The stinging rod came down and set the already sensitive nubs further alive, more responsive, created a triangle of sensation from nipple to tense low and make me wet.

Rope was sensually strung and rubbed over skin: the inside of my wrists, thighs parted to welcome the twisted fibers, between lips where those same fibers felt rougher amid such sensitivity, breasts and of course the overly receptive nipples. He was unhurried, deliberate in the trail that the rope would follow, created paths that awakened my entire body to touch – not just the more focused upon areas. As wrists were tied, he directed whichever attached hand to grip his cock, and wrapped the rope while receiving treatment from my palm and fingers. I felt his desire growing, a brief interruption as one hand was tied up before the other hand was guided to continue such explorations.

Legs were folded ankle to back of thigh, pressed painfully together tightly in rope, before pulled wide apart at the knees and tied where I felt exposed. The room fan more fully showcased how parted my lips were as the breeze in the room touched wet pink places. A Doxy wand was tied in and barred the breeze’s access between my thighs, pressed at my entrance, began on a low rumble. Eventually, he slowly increased speed as he played with my body with caressing fingertips and his gifted mouth.

“How many orgasms?”

I was unsure, took a guess of three.

“Not enough.” He pressed the wand even harder against my wetness, increased the vibrations until I felt far too overstimulated, thighs tensed and made the rope more painful around. He replaced the scream in my mouth with his cock, sound vibrations reverberated along his shaft through another orgasm before allowing me to breathe.

His mouth was attentive to my nipples, those torturous pinpoints of pleasure throughout my orgasmic torment of the wand.

I begged him to fuck me; he teased me that something else would be inside of me; used my mouth instead, again through another orgasm.

Mercilessly, the wand throbbed between my legs. I begged for it to stop, for him to be inside of me. Again, I received a substitute as he inserted an anal plug – the edge touching the wand and reverberating the vibrations throughout the plug.

Begged again. This time the wand was stopped and rope was casually removed between my thighs holding the toy as his hot mouth slanted down and tongue tasted my orgasms, his fingers occasionally joining in to brush against the sides of my wet lips or delving into my depths.

Already overworked with sensations, his mouth was divine torture. I tensed against his lips, would have grinded myself more fully into his face except he was still unhurriedly untying my thighs. A brief respite as the rope was removed far too quickly to give a true break in passion.

Still, I begged him to fuck me.  He denied me yet again, this time a vibrator was inserted deeply into my drenched depths, slammed in and out. I arched, having full access to my body again, almost came off the bed as I came in sharp waves of pleasure.

I didn’t know how much more I could take, begged he take me instead. He commented on all my begging, encouraged me to let him know how badly I wanted him. When he heard enough, my hands finally felt the purchase of his shoulders, his hips cushioned between my thighs, the head of his cock pressed through the initial resistance of my entrance before pushing down into my body.

Unlike his more slow teasing and taunting up to this point, he kept up a maddening quick pace with sex, rammed almost painfully against my walls, made me come all the more harder from the impact, changed the positions after every couple of orgasms he took from me. Once, when I was rolled over on all fours with knees on the edge of the bed, he grabbed the Doxy wand as he was thrusting in and out and pressed it against the anal plug; my body tensed with the additional sensation and pushed against him and the wand. As he rocked in and out, I felt the plug moving with his hips and cock. I clenched around him in my own orgasms, felt him finally find his own release.

Sweaty, panting, exhausted, I crumpled onto the mattress and he chuckled as he snuggled around my prone form.

Though that led to more caressing, more playing, as my responsiveness tempted him to continue. I asked for his fingers to be shoved in and stretch, wanted to feel more sore in my cunt, screamed through an orgasm that he granted. He lifted my legs, curled them up to gain access to the back of my thighs and bottom to punch, eventually getting tired and moved to his forearms making contact instead of fists, occasionally the impact touched my soaked lips and the plug, created further tension that eventually led to another orgasm.

Tempted by my reactions, again we had so much sex that this time I begged in and out of pleasurable waves of consciousness. Begged to stop, begged not to stop, screamed yes, screamed no. He pounded in and out of my confused pleas until he found his own orgasm.

Snuggled for the second time, his fingers lazily grazed against my skin, made their way between my legs. “You’re so swollen,” he murmured against my ear, which apparently meant I needed to be treated to my vibrator. An orgasm tore through my body and I was unaware of my reaction as I launched away from him, grabbed the vibrator out and threw it on the floor far away from me. He laughed at my unexpected defense instinct against overwhelming pleasure and called a truce.

Exhausted, prompted to clean myself up, he then tucked me in between the sheets and left me alone to pass out into a deep and well deserved sleep the rest of the night.

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Nov 122017
 

It was a temptation to push and pull the fragile silken threads from off of her shoulders and expose the breasts which distended the fabric with promise. Her yielding yet unhurriedly undressing made me want to hurt her so as to create some reaction towards me, as I was reacting to her. My gaze was ravenous, admiring, worshiping; she felt it try to penetrate past her reserve, felt how attentive I was to every gesture or movement. She met my gaze completely unashamedly and I did not back down from the intensity, did not pretend how lustful I desired her.

Still, she moved passively, and the more I wanted to behave violently towards her. She was removing clothing with confident deliberateness as if it was a ritual that could not be changed. She looked unapologetic at me and smiled, flashed small even teeth between full lips, and the glimpse of skin on bared shoulders when the silk parted caught the light and held it like the flesh was also made of satin. She held the parted pieces as if unintentionally at her waist, the folds teasingly caught on her stiffened nipples. She continued to look at me as her hand moved away to beckon me closer, the cascading silk revealing a soft satin skin and I needed no further encouragement now that she showed me the smallest interest.

She had lace bra and matching panties with garters, and I’m sure that the creation of lingerie was divine but I was beyond observing heaven; the waiting had been hell and I wanted the heated passion that refused to be tampered down. I rushed to hold my body against hers, my slanted mouth crashed down upon those soft inviting lips so hard I might have tasted blood, pressed her hard into the mattress, pinned her down with hips while my hands were everywhere at once and murmured a false apology as fingers grabbed her stockinged thigh and gripped the gossamer threads to render them apart. Fingertips pressed against warm skin, pushed the thigh to bend to my will and allow my further between her legs, and traveled down the length to the delicate arch of her foot, dragging the destroyed fabric with it.

It made an excellent gag to twist and shove between her tempting lips, tying it along the side of her head. I was unsure if those lips curved into a smile at the reactionary way I was handling her, imagined it if nothing else in my fervor to possess every inch of skin. A knife scratched up the length of leg to travel the cold steel along the side of her hip, the lace parted like soft butter and I gripped it to shove over, exposing the pink glistening of her sex. I quite liked the other half of her leg still the memento of damnable temptation that I was removing to suit my own desires.

More carefully, I slid the blade between the hollow valley of her breasts slowly and watched for her to dare deny this pleasure. Her eyes were half mast as if she too were mesmerized at being bared in such a way, so yanked upwards with such force that the fabric held for just the slightest to also arch her back up towards me before splitting with the force and yielding her softness back onto the mattress and the vision of breasts and pinpointed nipples to my gaze.

My hands would be everywhere at once, so would my mouth, until her cries and pleas beckoned towards heaven.

Nov 072017
 

https://pixabay.com/en/adult-bath-bathtub-blur-indoors-1853322/

As I lay in my bath the steam rises and clouds the mirror, a damp tendril of hair curves around my breast as it shimmers in the candle light.

A sigh escapes my lips in the form of your name.

I run my fingers lightly down, smoothing a stray strand of hair from my forehead, brushing a fingertip across a taunt nipple, trailing my hand in the water. The scent of flowers rises from the steamy heat but all I can smell is your body, all I can taste is your mouth.

All I want is your arms, and the heat that I feel to be created by the friction of our bodies as we find madness and sanity in each other. I’m waiting for you with an ache only you can fill and a desire that is unending.

I wait with a sigh escaping my lips in the form of your name.

December 1, 2012

Oct 302017
 

“Do you like her sucking your cock?” his wife asked in the backseat as he drove us to my house. Somehow I always knew that she would be that cool with another woman. Another bonus: I was using my truck the way I intended it – center console moved up so it’s a bench seat and I could have my mouth comfortably on a man as he drives. She was asking him how it felt and he described it as I gave him road head, before we reached our destination and all headed to my big bed together.

****************

“I taste you on your fingers. Were you touching yourself?” he whispered as he separated my thighs with his hips and drew my fingers deeply into his mouth. I blushed crimson into the dark room, though I’m pretty sure he didn’t need to see me to know that. “You taste so good.”

******************

I had no choice but to be spread open and grinding myself on the bed, as the positioning of the rope around my ankles and thighs kept me low to the bed and spread open, and the chest harness wouldn’t allow for me to move any further up, but the grinding might have actually happened once he placed the vibrator in me. Still, the bound position kept me low and bent over.

“This position is perfect for anal,” and my heart thudded with the thought that anal sex was what he had in mind as he applied lube against me. Instead, the plug hurt in a pleasurable way as he slammed it into me.

*****************

“It’s amazing how much you’ll hurt yourself for an orgasm,” he sounded amazed, but by this point Mr. Texas knows how I can get under the right circumstances. He continued to draw the curry comb against my nipples – or rather keep it pressed up against them as I scratched them back and forth painfully riding him. I would feel my nipples sore for a week, but the price was worth the pleasure.

 

****All different scenarios and times. Wicked Wednesday

Jun 072017
 

Mr. Texas has this habit of not coming very quickly. It may seem like a wonderful thing, except I like to change up from having sex after about 15 minutes, regardless of how many positions we engage in. I used to have this habit of hooking my heels on the insides of a man’s hips and physically pushing him out if he was on top after about 15 minutes. I don’t do that with Texas, I let him continue until his incredibly sexy grunts and groans and goosebumps dotting his skin signal his climax.

Perhaps it’s because he orgasms so beautifully I let him continue.

So after far too many multiple orgasms, with his own pleasure slowly trickling out of my body and the drops increasing my sensitivity as they move between my folds, he presses my body against his own – little breathless spoon wrapped around gasping and sweating big spoon, sealing our bodies tightly together. His fingers caress, and his semi erection presses against my cheeks; I moan and arch slightly into him.

He roughly rolls me onto my stomach, his hands grip thighs, palms press into cheeks, and he leaves me for a moment. I turn my head to look at what he is doing – such an unusual activity from this man after we start to cuddle. “Who gave you permission to move?” His voice stern, cluing me in that my body is about to go from pleasure to pain. I clench instinctively, and the echo of an orgasm throbs where our orgasms are still pooled in my depths.

A few days prior, in the hot tub where all our steamy discussions drift, we talked about our experiences with the cane that he now grabbed. I guided him in that discussion for more breaks, more change up from hard to soft, moving his position so it hit on different legs different ways; the cane was a challenge for me because it stung and I am positively wimpy at sting. So when the cane came out, he must’ve remember our talk.

He did everything right and the pain only heightened my sensitive body, became crests that were at the edge of my tolerance and rolled through my foggy brain, keeping me present on him and my beautiful body.

Rolled over, he entered me again, his hands going up my body and gripping my breasts. “I have this urge to take the crop to your nipples.”

“Go for it,” I agreed, hazy and breathless from an orgasm, “just remember that my nipples can take a lot but my breasts can’t.”

So gently, with precision, he cropped my nipples, that unexpectedly hardened and created sparks of pleasure and tension tightening even around his cock buried deep, led to such a powerful orgasm.

My body is a wondrous thing.

Earlier in the day, we painted the bedroom in colors of my choosing so that it felt like my domain – Mr. Texas is clever at using things at hand. He rolled me over, brought out the tape used in painting and stuck it over the reddened stripes. He caned over those places, the sting more thud with the protective layer, and then smacked with his hand a few times.

Next, the tape was so slowly and sensually peeled off. It was odd: far too intimate for my body to feel like clothing, more like I was losing a layer of skin or stinging places were peeled off that exposed sensitive nerves to the air. Three strips of tape were on each thigh, going from inside the thigh to wrap around and slightly up to the outside of the thigh. They glided off effortlessly with the slight pulling, making my skin so achingly aware as they gently removed.

So sensual; I moaned and raised my hips up in welcome.

Unable to resist the plump offering, his fists beat against the fleshy bottom and back of thighs, a welcome thud after sting. Being resourceful, he took an unused paint roller and slowly rolled the fuzzy fabric up my thighs, bottom, back – a warm blanket rolled up and graced my skin. Wherever the roller was, so too were my every thoughts, just feeling the sensation. A short pause, a movement alongside me, when again the roller traversed, there was a thin line of cold  across – water he dripped onto the material – that really made me aware of the roller circling around as it traveled.

Next, it was the paint brush’s bristles, stiff little points passing along my curves, following paths of red stripes that no longer hurt but welcomed the brushing.

He beat me with his fists again after such gentle care, yet my body and brain welcomed the sinking of his knuckles into muscles. He rolled me over onto my back and in one hand gripped both of my ankles, curling me up a little to smack at both sides of my bottom’s crease and thighs, occasionally getting my swollen wet labia, where eventually the stinging smacks made me cry out.

Telling me how absolutely beautiful I was, he lowered my legs, then mentioned moving me into the bathroom where there was more light for a picture. Mr. Texas is learning so very well, however, as he changed his mind before he could encourage me to move off of the bed, instead allowed me to lay in my hazy brain and lazy body, and held me in his arms. My body was now a sweaty mess, hair tangled and refusing to be tamed no matter how much he tried to brush it back as I laid my head on his chest.

I drifted in and out of his praise and caresses, fell into a deep sleep that gloriously lasted the entire night.

May 242017
 

Mr. Texas needed me to engage in kink. It was obvious. I introduced him to it, gave him a taste that he became addicted to, and then withdrew. To be fair: I was withdrawing from life, not just kink.

He hadn’t had a bruise in a month from me, and it had been a few weeks since he had bruised me.

We laid in bed on our sides and kissed, the beginning dance of sex, when I pushed him onto his back and sunk my teeth into the center of one side of his chest. “Ow,” he cried surprised, but the tone was one of optimistic acceptance. After a minute of which I increased the pressure, he tapped softly twice – a physical sign he has always just naturally done when he is at his limit. I leaned up and smiled down at the indentures of my teeth, lowered to lick in the divots, traced my tongue as I savored the sharp intake of his breath. Next, I made a smaller circular mark slightly up from the last one, almost where chest rises to shoulder in the slight hollow. The smaller bite allowed my teeth to curl inward towards each other in a more true bite – he could take more pain in this particular area, a bit more movement. He held his breath, trying to sort through the pain, and then released it as he tapped. I didn’t stop, increased the bite pressure a bit more, and let go at the same time as he said, “yellow”. Soft kisses and tongue tracing covered this mark that almost had my back molars imprinted. Then I bit down under the first mark I made, less of a bite and more of a true sinking of pearly pressure deep into his chest muscle above his nipple. This would leave less of a bruise than it used to – his body becoming adjusted over time to biting, but it would still give me the sensitive chest zone that would feel a tap or a slap, even a pain when I oh-so-innocently pressed my head against his chest.

I did the same with the other side, though to a less extent in case I decided I wanted to play on that side a different day – I didn’t want to exhaust my entire playground where the pain wouldn’t allow me to play another day. Foresight and lessons learned.

Next was his thighs: he knew it and I knew it, but I trailed caresses and kisses down the center of his chest and stomach. I cupped his balls and gripped his hardened shaft as I slid my breasts to either side of his cock, dipped my mouth down and tasted his precum. My lips pressed against his head and slowly opened to suck his head into my libidinous mouth. He moaned in appreciation, pressed up as I swirled my tongue around the top, and groaned as I released him into the air. I gripped his thigh and bit down hard where his muscle flexed instinctively under my touch, hearing his cry and waiting for his tap before I released. I again drew his cock into my mouth until he hit the back of my throat, slowly in and slowly out, as I positioned to bite at his other thigh. This time I didn’t waste time going for a pain that would make him tap but I also contrasted the sharp bite with stroking his hardened shaft, knowing he would be a bit distracted and allow me to sink my teeth into an even deeper bruise. Back and forth I went to each thigh: a painful bite as I stroked him, a teasing of my mouth in between each side. His body didn’t know if it wanted to arch into my mouth or push himself away from it.

After a time I simply pretended I would bite him and I would get the same noises of distress. I would chuckle at his false alarm and if he failed to seem surprise then I gripped and pressed into the more painful places and received the painful signs from him. I straddled his thighs, my own thighs pressed into the muscles that I hurt and he whimpered in surprise. Leaning forward for a kiss, I also shimmied up to straddle his cock, my own wetness slick so his cock nestled in between my lips but I didn’t position myself so he could slide inside. Our tongues slid against each other as I slid up and down, teasingly coating him but not granting him access inside my body. He made a noise of complaint.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I whispered as I leaned up, pressed my palms into his chest, heard his plaint of pain and smiled at it, pushed harder on his chest where it hurt the most as I lifted my hips and poised myself at his tip. “Don’t  you want this?” As I asked I lowered slightly and took just his head into my body while I curled my fingernails into the marks that my teeth left.

He took a huge inhalation to work through the pain, “I don’t know,” he cried out and arched as his shoulder blades could sink him into the mattress further away from my nails and his hips raised to thrust upwards into my body. I was having none of it, my nails sunk deeper and I raised myself where he left my body completely.

“Oh honey, then I’ll stop,” I soothed as he groaned in frustration and his hips moved back down in defeat. My hands caressed his reddened chest, tracing over the welts of fingers and the depressions of teeth marks.

Gosh, I love contrasts, like to slow down a moment to appreciate such things.

“No,” he was almost panting from pain and need, his breathing coming in short and quick, “it’s fine.”

So again I positioned myself, but this time slammed myself down, impaling to the hilt. Surprised, he jerked under me and groaned. Slowly, I tightened around his girth and raised up, while at the same time leaned back and gripped his thighs where previously I had bitten, felt for the indents of teeth that finger nails filled and clawed into.

There would be no pleasure without pain for him tonight, a predicament that eventually frustrated him enough to throw me off of him and take me from behind, his hands tightly gripping my wrists so I could no longer touch him, until he finally found his release buried within me, his groan beside my ear as his body shuddered and felt heavy against my own.

Feb 272017
 

Half laying on my side and stomach, I woke up when fingers roughly pushed their way into my body, pounded in and out to where the hand and remaining fingers felt like a fist against my lips.

I was already wet, as it seems I always am. I clenched around the fingers and dream and reality splintered with the rough and quick orgasm.

I was pushed fully on my stomach, my legs spread by Mr. Texas’ knees as he popped the head of his cock between my lips and past the initial resistance of my entrance. My wet body allowed the rest of him to slide effortlessly to my wall, which he hit surprisingly fast and painfully. A few more thrusts that hit and hurt, and my body stretched more fully to accommodate him, adjusting to where it was less pain and more pleasure.

Even in the pain, I tightened in the pleasure and raised my hips to welcome him hitting the depths that caused the discomfort. I love the uncaring taking, the forcing in. It turns me on far more than words can express. Even now, as I type this, I grow wet with the memory.

I groaned a bit too loudly. He yanked back my head with a fist in my hair; I moaned even more, arched back and took him deeper, and he pushed my face into the bed.

Perhaps he did so because of the sleeping kids in the house, he is after all quite considerate.

I struggled to breathe for a minute, my nose squished uncomfortably. I came; I screamed. The uncaring nature of such an act, the pounding of him inside of me, the slight objectification of being used in such a manner, all of it so unbelievably hot to me that orgasms simply didn’t cease, pleasure after pleasure crashed and didn’t ebb. It allowed me to not think, to go from dream to orgasm after orgasm, to not even have to be conscious of my own noises or own reactions, just to be repeatedly rammed by his cock. I felt every ridge, every throb, especially the tip of his head and the curve underneath – felt like a hook scratching an incessant itch against my walls.

The fist demanded my head up so quickly I had to use elbows to brace myself, a hand went around my throat and his fingers felt and dug where I showed him I liked on either side. Normally, he allows my own weight to dig into his fingers, this time they squeezed as he lowered my head upon the fingertips, my elbows no longer needed to brace myself up. His cock continued it’s relentless pleasure thrumming in my body. His fingers around my throat competed with attention. Dizzying, I felt my legs lower and my body become heavy. My eyes were already shut or otherwise I would have noticed the world go dark; I only noticed the gasping of breath as he rolled me over, the heaviness of my body, the haziness of my brain.

“I think you passed out for a moment, your whole body went limp,” he thrusted himself between my thighs as he stated that, and though it didn’t sound like it – I still sensed the concern even as he fucked me senseless.

I knew amid foggy brain and orgasms he still needed reassurance. I also knew that if I passed out, it was done correctly, safely, and was far shorter than my ex husband and I would do.

“Probably, and that’s hot. I’m fine,” I managed to breathe out in between cries of pleasure. I bit down on his shoulder as my arms wrapped around him, my heels digging in to his hips to pull him in even deeper.

He leaned back, grabbed my wrists, forced them over my head, pressed upon them with his body weight as just that action alone caused another orgasm. I was so tense under him and in that tension tightened even more as his own grunts and groans signaled his release.

I fucking love rough sex, feeling forced, being taken, pinned.

And I fucking love the softness of being held, of reassuring that what occurred was amazing, of praising each other and communicating how deeply we care for each other.

Wicked Wednesday*Wicked Wednesday is about one man, and in these moments no one and nothing exists except this one man.

**February Photo Fest photo continues the story of David, unrelated to the above story but this picture is so beautiful at visually being taken. Febraury Photofest
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Dec 052016
 

Masturbation Monday badge - smallI used to do this from time to time with my ex husband. So many grand moments admist every day moments in which I am busy with just work and family that I don’t write about them. But Texas reads me now, and some are noteworthy despite not having the time to write about them.

Anal Sex

I don’t ever try something once, I’m not sure if I’ve shared that. So we had anal sex once, and it was meh. Yet, I know I enjoy fingers from time to time, so taking my own spirit of give something a second try Texas and I tried anal sex again. This time, we took a bit more time with entry and it didn’t hurt nearly as much. We went slow and steady. It started feeling good, and Texas even came. When we were done, there was no mess and I didn’t cry. Heck, sort of my like sister did after her first anal sex attempt, I wanted to give him a high five and tell him it was a job well done.

masturbation-monday-week-118Rubbing Myself

As ridiculous as it sounds, I have never continuously rubbed myself during sex. So when Texas ordered me to finger myself as he kissed my body, and then entered me around my own fingers, he insisted I keep my fingers on my clit. The other hand he wanted me to pinch my nipples. He was unhurried as he slowly withdrew and pushed inside of me, the ridges of his shaft and underside of his head so prominent against my folds and walls.

Mimicking his pace with my fingers, I circled my clit until it was a hard nub; my other hand slowly twisted and pinched a nipple. He kept his body close, his breath heavy in my ear and I turned my head and nibbled on the side of his neck, listening to how his breathing changed with the different sensations my teeth and tongue created.

In, a long slow stroke where the tip of his head rubbed against so many places. My core tensed and my muscles followed the thickest part of him and clenched along his shaft not wanting him to leave. I moaned and breathed in when he hit as far back as he was going to, smelling the clean scent of his body.

Out, he moved as unhurriedly, giving me the opportunity to feel every single contour of him and my body tensed even further as not wanting him to completely withdraw. Even my fingers tensed: the hardened nub seemed even more exposed from lips parted open for so long and I pressed harder, circled faster, my nipple creating a pain sensation that connected and seemed to add strength to my muscles trying to refuse his movement. I exhaled and bit down on his shoulder when his head poised at my entrance.

In.

Out.

Such a maddeningly slow pace. It created so much tension in my body that my shoulders lifted off the bed and I could smell the slight scent of our sweat and our sex. With my own fingers, I pressed harder.

“You’re so tense, so tight,” he groaned as my body shuddered into an orgasm before tensing again into an echo of another – a smaller, faster orgasm. A long breath and shaking body. More tension, my stomach hurt from the slight way I arched up and clenching down upon him inside of me. My breaths were even against me as when a slow tension-filled orgasm began building, I would alternate holding my breath and remembering I had to breathe, crying out in pleasure with every inhale and exhale.

His chest pressed into my breasts, crisp coarse hair against the sensitive nipple I was not currently pinching, and my shoulders felt the cool sheets again, though they did not relax into the mattress.

At such a slow pace, my body could only tense and orgasm.

By the time he found his own release, again commenting of how I gripped him the entire time, we were both sweaty and catching our breath.

When he withdrew and moved to the side of me to hold me, he whispered that we would have to do that a bit more.

I sleepily replied that tensioned orgasms exhaust me, and drifted off to his fingertips grazing my back as my front was kept warm along the side of his body.

 

Oct 182016
 

*This was written by Atargatis. When I saw the mermaid prompt, I realized I had a gifted mermaid friend who was also an amazing writer, and asked if she was interested. I think this is an amazing story.

By 19, I’d had no serious suitors, had never even kissed a boy. My only experiences were “practicing” with girl friends in the dead of the night. I’d given up hope of finding a woman willing to be different in our small town, willing to run away with me. So I found solace in wandering the cliffs by the sea. It was one overcast day that I heard singing from the rocky shore below. I carefully lowered myself down to the rocks.

Her long, pale green hair hung in gentle waves upon her breasts. Her skin was pale and seemed to glow with light reflected off the water. Her lips were plump and the pale pink of the inside of a shell, and they matched perfectly the soft nipple peeking through her hair. Her breasts were larger than my own, and round and perfect. Her slim waist flowed into the swell of her hips, and it was there the scales began. They were darker than her hair, and gleamed like fish scales. They ended in a paddle like tail that trailed in the water.

She was the source of the music. Her voice was high and light, and she idly combed her hair.

I climbed over the rocks to get closer, trying to keep quiet so I didn’t startle her. My heart was thumping in my chest and my stomach swirled with nerves and arousal at the sight of her. I was about five feet away when a stone turned under my foot and she turned to face me.

Her eyes were large and black in her delicate face. Her perfect mouth formed an ‘O’ of surprise.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She lowered the comb and smiled at me. “Usually men are drawn to my song. You must be a special woman.” I blushed and her smile widened, revealing pearl-white teeth. “Would you like a kiss?”

I nodded and beckoned me toward her with one long-fingered hair. Her lips met mine and they were warm and smooth and tasted like saltwater taffy. Her hand rose to my cheek, slid back to cradle my neck and deepen the kiss, her tongue stroking skillfully against mine. When we parted, her cheeks were flushed as pink as her lips. “Let’s go somewhere.”

She took my palm in hers and rose to feet that had replaced the tail. She guided me behind her as she easily strode over the rocks, leading me up the cliff once more and to a ruin. I followed her in a dreamlike state, taking in her long, bare legs and firm, round ass. As we crossed the threshold into the crumbling building, she turned toward me once again and let go of my hand. Our lips met and I wound my hands in her soft hair, traipsed them down over her delicate shoulders, running down her ribs and settling just under her full breasts. The heat of them beat down on the back of my hands.

We lowered to our knees and she gently pushed me down onto my back, pulling out of the kiss to lift my shirt as we readjusted. “You’re beautiful,” she murmured before taking one of my nipples into her mouth.

Her body was now flush against mine, a leg sliding between mine and working my skirt up. I cried out and held onto her shoulders as she nibbled, kissed, sucked, licked my breasts, my eyes shut tight. It took a moment for me to register that she’d stopped. She was holding herself over me and staring down with those large back eyes.

“I have never lain with a woman,” she admit. “I am not certain how it works.”

So I guided her down to her back to replace me, and laid my palms against her perfect breasts, returning the kisses she’d laid on mine. And my kisses continued down to her navel, where I gently licked, and down to her rounded hips, which I nibbled. The sounds each of my attentions evoked was more erotic than all my fantasies. Her moans were soft and breathy, and her scent when I reached the cleft between her legs smelled musky and feminine.

The curls were darker than her hair above, almost a murky green, strange. I laid a hesitant kiss atop them. She was on her elbows now, gazing down at me, her dark eyes hooded. I slid my hands between her thighs and parted them, groaning at the wetness between them. Her head tipped back as I brought my fingers to tease her entrance. Finally, I lowered my mouth to the nub right between her lower lips, and sucked.

As my fingers entered her and began gently pumping her core in time with the licking and sucking of my time, her moans grew into frantic cries. One hand caught tendrils of my hair while her other twisted a pink nipple. Her hips ground against my face and I felt as though I was riding a wave as she came, more juice flooding between her thighs.

As she caught her heaving breath, she laughed, palmed my cheeks to guide me to her mouth, and kissed me again. And then she rolled me over with a mischievous grin, easing down my body.

The rest of the night was a sticky, sweaty, beautiful mess of breasts and fingers and tongues. I fell asleep on her soft chest while she stroked my hair.

And I woke at first light, cold and alone.
Wicked Wednesday