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.

Masturbation Monday badge - small

Dec 212017
 

Masturbation Monday badge - smallI am very orgasm hungry, I think it rules my drive more than the wanting sex (unless I’m ovulating, that trumps anything).

I am incredibly lucky that I orgasm easily, it lends itself to how greedy, how needy I can be. The first orgasm is the longest work and hardest to maintain – it is also often the weakest. All it does is feed my craving for another. My body is tenser, tighter, wanting and willing to work towards the second orgasm – which is always just on the horizon, easy to view and not hard to slide into.

The catch, of course, is that the second orgasm makes it easier to come harder and faster. And the third makes me far more greedy than the first. On and on my body goes, wanting the next – it’s not always that the subsequent ones are harder nor even better, fireworks do not suddenly explode in orgasm splendor; but the more that I orgasm, the easier it is for me to reach another one. When every nerve is sensitive and feels pleasurable, it’s a challenge to not pursue that pleasure.

It’s also why I can orgasm in such a multiple of ways: after the first one through what almost always needs to be obtained by penetration, other avenues to orgasm open up. I have come from just rubbing between my lips, from anal stimulation (or sex), from nipples, from pain like spanking, or slapping, from fist thrumming against my butt or thighs, the knuckles sinking through muscles and hitting what feels like bone.

I have orgasmed from soft sensations like feathers or sheets, from cold sensations like fans or even cold porcelain, from heat like melted wax or a hot breath pressed just right against my hot skin and brushing its way past more sensitive zones.

Teeth, something I normally don’t appreciate on myself, feel amazing as they sink into my skin at the climax. I become rougher in my pursuit of pleasure, more aggressive, my hips thrust up, I squeeze the person involved, my nails or teeth dig in to the point of marking. I beg, I plead, I become desperate to hit the next wave that is always just a sensation away. I sweat, I moan, I grunt – there is nothing sexy or coy about me at this point, I looked wrecked, flushed red and blotchy in places since I am curse to be pale – even my skin tells the tale of my madness.

I can have a moment’s respite, a person can promise to not make me come anymore, but a glance of their fingertips, a breath washing across my skin, and I am primed and pumped for the smallest touch to make me melt and meld all over again. It’s why I can seem tireless one minute in the chase of an orgasm and asleep after a moment’s respite.

I can also have after quakes of orgasms, my muscles inside so clenched that they rub against themselves  and create the friction needed, or suddenly the tension releases and the relaxation of the muscles inside make me shiver in a tiny pleasurable way.

But here is why I think that I am more orgasm driven than sex driven – I don’t need sex to be in this condition. Fingers, a toy, a mouth will work just as well – and even that may just be for the first or second only as I need the penetration.

Also, I can go for months without sex or masturbation and not be bothered in the slightest, as shown during my time as a military spouse separated from my husband – it didn’t mean that I didn’t miss him or miss pleasure, but I didn’t need it, and if he wasn’t around, didn’t feel the urge to pursue an orgasm (only exception was again when I was ovulating strongly, then I masturbated for the day or two).

This works well if, in my relationship dynamic, a boundary is no sex – as was the case with Mimir and is with The Wanderer.

There is a negative to this, however; I am more vulnerable, more agreeable, less verbal, less rational and more easily manipulated after multiple orgasms. It’s why orgasm play – where the goal is multiple orgasms – tends to be something I won’t engage in unless I trust the person. I also appreciate how eventually my partner(s) stop – whether they are tired or they deem I am, as with more orgasms I am less likely to be aware that I need a break, that my body is sore or dehydrated.

Jul 032017
 

I really am failing Mr. Texas. I introduce him to kink, meet a man who can finally meet my sex drive, and then I spiral into a deep depression. Sex isn’t as crucial as it once was…at least to me. Neither is kink…at least to me.

…But for Mr. Texas, I sparked something very primal in him and then ask him to constantly tame it, ignore it. I know exactly how he feels, it’s something that I have felt so frequently in my own life and sexual journey. It also doesn’t change the fact that for me, the timing, the mood, the passion, the spark just isn’t there. Mr. Texas doesn’t wait for me to initiate either – another oddity in my life, so I can’t blame him for not even trying.

Recently, it’s been hit or miss, I’m starting to have echoes of my old drive but it’s just as perverse as anything right now – at the most inconvenient of times. Twice that day I asked him with words and my body pressed against him to have sex with me, but he delayed me for one reason or another – all legitimate: it’s my body and mind that want what I can’t have.

I put myself to bed early one night but was restless, more wanting quiet than sleep. He respected my wishes, but when it was time for him to come to bed, he wrapped me in his arms. I was not in the mood for sex, but he wasn’t indicating either. Still, I felt bad that this passionate man was always just an unfair deal in my moods and drive. He caressed along my back and I thought how knife would feel as well, so I asked him to grab a knife and lay on his stomach. If nothing else, I could caress him and pay attention to him in a way that I knew he would also appreciate.

He did as asked without question; my fingers stroked his skin and I felt his muscles relax under my touch. Gripping the knife gently, I slid the cold flat blade up and down his back slowly, introduced his hot skin to the cold steel, moved down to his butt and thighs eventually, expanding my playground. Flat of knife became the sharpened tip that skimmed and scratched at the surface of his skin, up and down where the noise was more obvious than the marks. My other hand or mouth would occasionally caress in unison, but the focus was the knife.

I found myself fixated on the knife in the dim lighting, felt as though it was an extension of me. Applying more pressure with the tip, he took an intake of breath and I was hooked on his reaction, looking for my next fix. This time the tip pressed into his skin, created a triangular shadow as it compressed down, left a pink streak as the sharpened tip scratched down, the flat of the blade catching the light of the room and created a contrast of reflected light casting a path for which the darkened skinned tip followed.

It picked up every freckle, mark, smoothness of skin, and goosebumps of the man so trusting under my touch. It highlighted every place that I would mark, mar, love, caress, claim. Shadows were cast with his intake of breath, his slow exhalation, my heart and own breathing seemed to match his in the intensity of such close cognizance.

This was about the limit that was on the line in comfort with, so to get a further reaction I dragged the tip deeper against his skin. Red trails followed my blade now and he struggled to relax into it. I wasn’t having him relax into it, so softly I questioned how badly it would hurt if I cut an area I was in, how it would be just terrible if he bled, how he would think of me when the opened skin would touch something throughout his day or sting with his sweat. I feel fairly competent with a knife, and his trust was in that I would not cut him, but calmly putting the thoughts I had no intention of following through on was enough for him to panic slightly. He warned that it felt like I nicked him, muscles tensed where I was, he wanted me to go easier.

I used a soothing voice to tell him to relax and did not ease up, only leaned down and thoroughly kissed the swell of a cheek and side of a hip as I whispered that I needed to love my blank canvas. Stretching the moments until he felt the tip of the blade, I scratched red letters into white skin, a love letter unfolded along the curve of his body. Mr. Texas thoroughly believed that I would scar him, protested but didn’t color, so I traversed back up his back after I was done expressing my words and explained that I would never violate his consent, that I would not intentionally ever cut him, scar him, but that his mind and his body were mine in those moments and that I was in control of what he thought and felt.

It had been a long time since I had engaged as a top, longer still with any sort of dominance, and I felt like he needed some kink in his life. He also needed a reminder that actions are all the more powerful with words and feelings behind them, that a scene can be carried out without a break, that limits can be touched without being broken.

Apparently I also needed a reminder that when the knife is sheathed and I snuggle into his body, he is a man who learns a lesson, whose spark is easily lit, and who is intelligent enough to realize that I am no longer in control. Fingers wrapped around my throat, his body forced mine onto my back, knees sunk painfully deep into my thighs to spread them before his fingers sought my wetness and increased it to soaking. He plunged into my body, his fingers going from throat to the back of my head and gripped my head back, but I could sink my teeth into his shoulder as deeply as he sunk into my depths.

The following day, he would have a few letters still remaining though barely visible on a hip and a bruise on his shoulder, and I would smile with the memory of how we conquered each other.

Oct 252016
 

So my slutfest first introduced this type of thinking and my online dating adventures have definitely continued it. Men, who if I had met them in person would probably never have broached anal sex without really knowing me better, were asking if: a) I would have sex with them; and b) did I do anal? Yet from the relative safety of anonymity behind a screen, felt like anal would be a good topic to approach me with immediately, before meeting me.

Now, let’s separate my online approaches with slutfest versus honestly wanting a dating experience with.

Slutfest: my online profile was created by my beautifully creative sister, A. She was the one who coined the slutfest experience between her and girlfriends after a bad breakup. I would have never presented myself so boldly, but she did a great job – there was no question that I wanted to have sex with men with no strings attached. I didn’t want a conversation, I did not want a date, I wanted them to come to my house and fuck me.

So the men who responded might have felt so bold to address their sexual needs and desires with a virtual stranger before meeting up.

But what surprised me is that every single man asked about anal sex and if they could have anal sex with me. Slutty doesn’t mean use every hole I have indiscriminately – though at least most of them checked first before trying to have surprise butt sex.

Up until that point, I had only had anal stimulation, and only with one man, my husband. I told them I was uninterested, and I was. One man did give me anal stimulation and even tried for anal sex after I expressed my disinterest.

Dating: so my first few months produced one vanilla guy after another after another. Not too big of a deal, as that’s how Mr. Texas and I discovered each other, but I have already learned that I just can’t be without kink in some regards. No one asked for anal, no one approached me for sex, it was getting to know you questions and I was perfectly fine with that. But I at least needed to date someone who was open minded to kink, because after the vague getting to know you stage, we just weren’t compatible.

So I modified my online profile to state that I was kinky and would need someone who was open minded.

And opened the flood gates where apparently being kinky equates to being easy, being indiscriminate about having sex, to the anal approach as a first question. I am always a bit surprised by assumptions: sluts can be discriminate about who they have sex with; kink does not equate to sex or even anal sex (though it can).

What had changed since then is that I had engaged in anal sex and it was a terrible experience. Having lost my anal virginity, as it were, didn’t change my interest in the act at all.

And I don’t view anal sex as being kinky.

There is something about being online that brings out the bolder people, I’ve noticed. I sincerely doubt men would approach me with these topics in person just introducing ourselves, and I have even less confidence that they would approach anal sex as a desire from the get-go. Perhaps it’s because I address kink in my profile that men now compelled comfortable enough to approach anal, but kink was added for a compatibility issue not to state that I was looking for quick anal hookups rather than getting to know a partner and dating them.

What is about anal sex that men on online dating sites seem to be looking for? It’s like the elusive unicorn for a threesome.

I have nothing against anal (it just wasn’t for me), but I am baffled by how this seems to be a trend with online hookups/dating.
Wicked Wednesday

Jul 192016
 

I had my first orgasm at noon; I had my last orgasm at midnight. There was only perhaps a couple of hours broken up in between all of that. For those that know how easily and how hard I orgasm, that’s quite a day of a lot of orgasms.

Far, far too many orgasms. It was ridiculously easy to get me to orgasm as the night went on.

In the day, I met a man (Tech Talk) that I went out on a few dates with. It was our first time kissing, so why not move it to our first time fucking as well? He is a very sweet man who is interested and incredibly open minded about kink. We had discussed boundaries and limits dates prior to this and the path was laid out on which directions I could go.

So, I gave him some small tastes of kink. I began by giving him different sensations. My fingers swept softly, my nails raked angry red trails down his body. My mouth kissed gently, sucked, nibbled a lot, and then once I realized he had a high pain threshold – bit roughly everywhere; he had already shared that he liked to be bit. Silk fabric caressed up and down parts of his body before blindfolding him. I took a Wartenberg Wheel to him, tiny little pinpricks of marks across his skin which he handled so well that I pressed deeply into his skin and blazed intermittent dotted pieces like those in the center of a road showing the trail I traveled for days across his skin.

He kept complimenting me, saying how rare and unusual I was, how exciting, how he scored himself a hot woman, how lucky he was. He complimented my body, my touch, my mouth. He claimed that I was absolutely amazing at giving head.

And then it was his turn to do things to me. He went down on me for so long that I orgasmed, then he fingered me to a few more orgasms. He stretched on a condom and entered me, missionary for just a moment and then around to hands and knees behind me, then laying down completely on my back. He complimented how I felt while pushing for orgasm after orgasm (which was ridiculously easy after going down on me for so long).

We became a sweaty mess  who both claimed that we needed a nap after we were finally done. But I had places to go, so I cleaned up and left him…

…Onto the dungeon.

Where after a negotiation, I had two people co top me, with no genital touching (breasts were fine), no penetration, no marks, no blood or needle play, but name calling and lighter impact were fine…unless I orgasm. That last part was from an off hand comment that I can take more from an orgasm. (Honestly, I didn’t think I would orgasm while there because of the no penetration rule – I didn’t take into account how my body was already sensitive from the orgasms before I arrived at the dungeon.)

As the man came in with his toy bag, she threw in that piece of information, and he asked if I wanted a hitachi. I said maybe, and that I would think on it. So when the man slapped at my vulva and got the rhythm that I could orgasm even without penetration, it was because I was already primed for pleasure from earlier in the day. He was downright gleeful when he denied me an orgasm that way and I so badly wanted it that I was ready to cry for one. The day had made my body so ridiculously ready to climax.

I ended up agreeing to a hitachi. He placed the wand against my wet fabric and the loud buzzing was no match for my moans as the toy so quickly overwhelmed my body and granted me the orgasm that I wanted. He discovered that I could multiple, with one orgasm crashing in on another. The vibrations of a wand are the closest I ever get to coloring, and yet I either arch to press myself further against or squirm to get away from it – he was having none of shifting away and the toy throbbed all the more harder against my lips. I became very loud in volume when orgasm after orgasm was forced on me, with some impact occasionally thrown in, which provided a short but painful break to breathe but not lessening my volume as I groaned when contact was made. There could have been a room full of people, and so caught up in receiving either pleasure or pain, I could’ve cared less.

It was during this point that he ordered me to look at her and thank her for my next orgasm, and even she offered a protest that she didn’t think I could do it. I did try but ended up looking at her right when it finished, thanking her at the same time.

Afterwards, we all stayed where we were for a bit while I drifted back to reality and got dressed. Then we went into the kitchen area and visited with other people. He looked across the table from me after some time passed and said that he wanted to play again.

So off we went, with the Hitachi and his hands and his words, where I orgasmed until the dungeon closed. Fortunately, he is the one who closes up so I didn’t feel pressured to run out the door – he even walked me to my vehicle.

Twelve hours of orgasms, where one moment set the pace and the path for so many more to be enjoyed over and over again in different ways. I never would have believed my body was so capable of sustaining that many in one day.

*This is the third of seven posts from this one day:Wicked Wednesday

To read the negotiation and beginning play, click here.

To read about more details during orgasming with these awesome two, click here.

May 312016
 
Mind, Body, Sex
mindbodysex_tmi

1. Who are you?

It depends on who is asking. I’m a professional, a mother, a lover, a friend, a relative, a switch (which is becoming more apparent), a rope slut, a blogger, a cute (and yet still kinky) person.

There’s a lot more too, but that’ll do it for now.

2. What is your purpose in this world?

To smile and have my dimples become contagious so that others smile too

3. What do you need to be sexually happy?

To be dominated – this is also becoming more apparent as I work my way through vanillas. Also, a larger cock – because I’m learning I’m a size queen. And for a man to not tell me no when I ovulate.

4. Have you found true love?

Yes, several times. I’m both lucky and unlucky in that regard.

5. How do you nourish yourself?

With family, food, friends,wine, laughter, sex, kink, writing, sleep, meditation, travel, sex, kink…yeah, sex and kink are important to me.

6. Do you crave more or less sex now versus 2 years ago?

Less only because I don’t have the same lover with the same potential – my sex drive is always high but I also need a readily available man.

7. Are you having sex more or less now versus 2 years ago?

More? I’m unsure. The same?

8. Who is sexier–the 20-year-old you or you right now?

The 20 year old, I’m pretty out of shape and loving food a bit too much right now, but I could get back. The thirty year old me was hotter than the twenty year old me.

Bonus: Think back to your last sexual encounter–were you emotionally present? Why or Why not?

Yes, most definitely, it was fucking amazing.

————

How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link totmituesdayblog from your website!

Happy TMI Tuesday!

May 152016
 

Masturbation Monday badge - smallI fought with my ex husband and then called up for a lover. It just happens sometimes. Sex can be my drug.

I didn’t intend to pick up a lover at all. I blocked my ex’s number, told him that I wanted just one week of respite from his constant calls on my vacation, and thought I was good.

He created several new numbers to call me from. Then he started texting me, threatening to ruin my brand new relationship with Mr. Texas, whose phone number he had because when we still shared a phone plan he saw how often I spoke to a number. But that’s not all: he also used an I-lost-my-phone-app and had my phone pinging since none of those worked. Talk about going crazy because I no longer wanted to speak to him.

But all this was after me answering his questions about what I was doing, how life was going, him bragging about his new adventures pursuing a rope dream that was ours – with his girlfriend who was brand new in rope, and then him telling me that he doesn’t want to speak to me ever again and he wants to completely cut me out of his life.

Yep, I was an emotional wreck. So, I just found a lover, turned off my phone…became lost in the arms and mouth and cock of another.

I made the first move, as he seemed content to sit across the bed from me and talk. I kissed him and pulled him on top of me. I sucked on his neck as his hands roamed a new body – mine with its history, curves, and scars. He leaned away from my mouth to pull off my pants quickly – like the magician who rips off the tablecloth without damaging anything on the surface. I sat up and pulled off my shirt as he removed his clothes.

Men in this area never disappoint as far as bodies. They are created from the military – not natural human daily tasks, but crafted to be broad of shoulder, tapered to small waist, and muscle definition throughout it all. These bodies can lift me with ease, have the stamina to go all night. I never require either one, I only required an escape and his eyes promised that in the dim light.

A knee and then a body on the bed, on me. A strong chest pressed against my soft breasts, a possessive mouth covered mine, a dance of tongues, gripping of hands. With  my small hands, I pulled and clenched at the various parts of him, he couldn’t be close enough, not even when he finally slid deep inside of me.

His hands also roamed as his mouth tasted, roughly – as that is what I stated I liked before we even began. His hips positioned between my easily parted thighs, fingertips massaged my hips and forced up so that his stomach ground into my clit. His mouth trailed wet, open mouth kisses to my breasts and as he shifted we both took advantage of the space and our hands sought out our colliding points.

Masturbation Monday Week 89

His fingers entered me to find me already wet. I palmed the head of his erection, reveled in the smooth skin as my fingertips wrapped and followed the curve of his shaft. He was long, hard, and had a natural curve down.

When he entered me, he told me he wasn’t going to cum, that he could do this all night long. Why would anyone believe this is desirable? I get some time is appreciated, but at least for myself I have never appreciated marathon sex. Give me fifteen minutes of penetration please; I could do foreplay and afterplay for much longer, however.

He had this neat trick of launching us still connected into almost a back roll, without my assistance, and all the sudden I would be on top. Honestly, I still can’t think of how he did it, but I did compliment him on the nifty trick every time he did it. I joked once that I wouldn’t mind being on top if he would take less time, but by that point I had already been on top a few times.

He wanted the light on and the only one in the room was an overhead on a fan. I hate the bright lights right above my head, but he really wanted to see us in something other than the incredibly dim lighting coming from the window. He was very intent on my face after he ran his hands and mouth over my body, complimented me as he traversed. He seemed to love to watch my expressions, delighted in hearing my noises as they accompanied what he was doing to me. Self conscious and hating the light anyhow, I kept my eyes shut most of the time.

“We should take a video of us,” he said, to which I immediately rejected. “You could keep it. We’re so hot together.” There was no way, and despite his insistence as he fucked me, I remained firm in that decision. There is only man I have taken a video with, only one man I trusted still.

He picked me up and bounced me on top of him standing. It was in this position that he curiously asked: “If you wanted to take control, could you?”

I thought for all of a few seconds. “Yes.” I was fairly confident of my skills and abilities, thought about what little I knew of random pick up dude and knew he wouldn’t hurt me intentional – which always gave me an advantage.

I had a long night with this guy, so I will continue this one night some other time…

…and it turns out that despite my intentions of him being a one-nighter, he ended up being more in such the strangest of ways.

Continued Here

 

 

May 012016
 

Masturbation Monday badge - smallI love the after moments, after my lips fairly drip with the evidence of our orgasms. When you are soft and relaxed, lazy in letting me stroke  you.

I love how your fingers will sometimes drift and graze across a nipple, my sharp intake of breath a clear indication of what those orgasms have done to create a sensitive nerve-centered body.

You might pull me over and on top of you, a hand around my neck to keep me there – not threatening my air flow but an evident display of your control over me. My head rests back on your shoulder, trusting and further exposing my vulnerable neck. I am only in this moment, with you and a body that cries out for more pleasure despite how overwhelming it may already be.

You reach down and your fingers dip into my wet center, drag the the slickness up and down my slit, circle and press lightly on my button, dip and finger fuck me roughly.

My hand reaches behind and continues to stroke you, harder now than moments before, your ridges becoming more evident against my palm and fingers.

You whisper in my ear how wanton I am, how I never get enough of you, how wet and needy my body is. You whisper of your next moves and your fingers echo of the pleasure you paint in words; a tension in my body’s core is created and I roll my hips against your fingers, turn my face closer to your words.

Prompt for Masturbation Monday Week 87

Apr 292016
 

Yummy Men is truly the ultimate of my Slutfest week stories, for the letter Y for my A to Z Challenge.

Slutfest: a week and a half between my husband leaving me, my travel back to our home, and packing up the remainder of our stuff to move it across country and say goodbye to every thing I knew. My sis A named it that with her friends in the periods between when they were single, and my sister helped me design an online profile to attract the type of men that only wanted a hook up. Apparently, I’m the only one of her friends – herself included – to do slutfest completely sober, all the more reason why I’m suited to it, she commented. I am truly emotionally unattached to sex, if I chose to be so.

photo credit: Condoms via photopin (license)

photo credit: Condoms via photopin (license)

Slut fest total: 8 in 1.5 weeks, 3 of them prior partners

I went for the “pretty boys“, mostly the young military men newly formed and sculpted, the ones who spent hours a day at the gym and hours more being active at work. They would even message me asking if I were interested in someone younger. I went strictly for looks and perhaps that is why I was overall unimpressed with skill, except the last guy. I am often not attracted to looks, it is not important to me, and maybe that’s I changed my tactic this time – to be the opposite of me; plus if they were just going to be a body to fuck and nothing more – the body should be in peak physical form to satisfy me..at least in theory.

Again, the reality is that these men overall didn’t bring skills to the table, perhaps they thought their gorgeous bodies were the only thing needed. And they were pretty to look at, to touch.

But many of the men couldn’t stay hard (I heard a lot of condom griping), didn’t care about my pleasure, foreplay was unimportant, sex was the monotony of ramming as fast as they could without angles or even rhythm.

Sometimes I wondered if I was just there to fill the empty places in them, the same way that I was using them. If it even mattered at all what the opposite person in front of us wanted or needed, because they were just a distraction from ourselves. The men didn’t know me any better than I knew them. Was I another notch on their post, a conquest gained, or did they seek me out to combat the lonely holes in their own lives?

I used sex for all the wrong reasons during slutfest, but I am still glad I did it. I felt desired, I felt like I could find another and that I didn’t need to worry about being alone the rest of my life; I felt like I could relax and rest and recuperate before pursuing something a bit more real and authentic – whatever that ends up being.

I don’t think I’ve got fucking out of my system wholly, I do after all truly enjoy sex for the sake of sex, but I am more ready to take a deep breath, be a bit more patient and less desperate, and seek out someone compatible rather than a distraction I was to discard immediately.

Apr 262016
 

Vacant would be a good adjective for my next two men, for my A to Z Challenge. There was a lot absent in the experience with both of them – one an entire memory, the other was just a self centered jerk who I still continued with because I was desperate to stop the hurting. I ended up far more hurt than I could have imagined.

photo credit: via photopin (license)

photo credit: via photopin (license)

The ginger I was unconscious for.

I have no recollection of what he looked like, neither his body nor face, though the dating app shows pictures of him. I found two condoms in the trash can the next morning.

That doesn’t make him a bad guy – he was probably unaware of my mind state. That night, after so many nights of crying but still not sleeping, my sister gave me an Ambien, where I apparently had what is known as an Ambien blackout. I probably started messaging him first, regardless of what I did next to unconscious, I gave him my address somehow during this blackout.

I don’t remember him leaving either, but thank goodness he did, because that would have freaked me out – to wake up with a strange man in my bed.

There are just a few moments that I remember, it would all amount to a total of five minutes perhaps, but it was was at different parts.

I answered the door in a flannel.

I remember going down on him and nothing else on a physical level – I don’t remember actually wrapping my mouth around him, just leaning down to do it.

He repeatedly asked: “where have you been the three years I’ve been here?” and I remember thinking he repeated that question a lot.

And compliment after compliment from him.

Thank goodness he messaged me the next day, otherwise I would have been clueless who I slept with during the night. He kept the conversations very focused to things like his free time over the weekend and how he wanted to see me during them.  He was sweet and kept messaging, telling me his work schedule and asking about what I was doing so that he could see me again. Neither of our schedules worked out – I didn’t see him again* and I really wanted to – just to know who he was that I had slept with. It is odd to me to sleep with someone I don’t know/remember.

>>>>>>>>>>Another Night, another guy<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Pull Out Get Out, seriously if I could name a guy (which I can on my blog) it would be that. The dude was gorgeous (slutfest was mostly about female votes on who was the hottest as a deciding factor for my one night stands), but he didn’t ask a single question about me and then left immediately afterwards… seriously he pulled out of my body, rolled off of the bed, stood up, dressed, and muttered about going to smoke as he shut the door…and didn’t return.

He was also the only man during slutfest that I was set up with, a friend of a friend who immediately came over when he heard I just wanted sex and then talked a lot about himself as an awkward getting-to-know you, but wasn’t curious in the slightest about who I was. I knew nothing about him outside of his work (his only topic).

I was tired that night and almost skipped a night of hit-it-and-quit-its and by the time he left me, really wished I would’ve stuck to that instinct.

It wasn’t all bad: he made the sexiest grunting noises, but zero foreplay outside of what I did to him. It was all about him, just like the conversation.

It also felt like he was splitting me in two; he was far too big especially with my body not thoroughly prepped but still he pressed in, pressed on.

Him on top, me on top, doggy style for some stupid reason even though that made him bigger.

He hurt my cunt to mirror my heart, perhaps that’s why I allowed it.

I felt terrible about being with this man, would rather have been a guy of my choosing – which it didn’t feel like it was, this meeting of a friend already negotiated for sex.

However brief  the conversations and connections, at least on the dating apps I saw them first, they engaged with me, messaged at least a bit to get a feel of something.

I was so emotional when I knew he truly left (I had to check because he didn’t say anything); I didn’t quit crying that entire night.

A terrible end to what I thought of as slut fest, the one that spotlight shined the desperation in it.

I was a hole, and no matter how many cocks slid into my hole, it was there incomplete, wounded, gaping, exposed. Disgusting. Unworthy.

…Unloved

*He texts me still, constantly for awhile. Apparently, I was amazing at giving him head and being on top. He wanted to know when I would come back to the state so that we could hook up again, and I gave him that chance when I visited again about a month and half later. I believe that I wrote about that second encounter as well, this man that I had slept with but was meeting for the first time. He was/is nice.

 Posted by at 8:54 am