Nov 272013
 

It began with a request for the misery stick and wax, after a long and trying period of not seeing each other. I had fantasized about him all day, touching myself periodically throughout the day in anticipation.

Even tired, he granted my request. Though not before tying my wrists to my chest, a harness going around both chest and waist, a new experience of rope binding my mouth. He teased and taunted, brought me to orgasm and denied other desires of mine.

I would have been well satisfied with the experience at that point, but he still fulfilled my original request. Grabbing the rope between my chest, he pulled me out of the center of the bed, rolled me to the side effortlessly. He placed a large towel down in the middle of the bed, then grabbed the rope around my back and rolled me onto the towel.

“Where do you want the wax?” he asked, already dripping a few spot onto my stomach where the rope was not.

Did he forget I couldn’t speak? I tried to reply to his question, but my frustration of the muffled sounds my mouth could produce only elicited a chuckle from him.

Splat, the wax dripped onto my hips, where the heat seemed more intense. He grabbed a thigh and moved it apart, exposing the sensitive inner side. Drip, drip, drip, it seemed hotter than normal, and my leg tensed under his hold and the wax, bracing for the next unexpectant onslaught. Confused, I wanted to move into the heat, it dripped, I wanted to move away. No matter my wants, his hand firmly held my thigh. And then some wax poured down and splattered where thigh meets lips of sex, and my lip burned with such intensity that I shook my head no, tried to buck against his touch, yelped against the rope.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he cooed, put down the candle, rubbed between both my lips, my wetness parted and allowed his finger greater access. “I didn’t mean for it to hit you there, no wonder you went a little wild.” His calm voice and teasing finger soothed me, and I felt myself relaxing into the bed again. I shut my eyes, and then felt the scorching wax on the other thigh, making its way up towards my sex, his finger abandoning my sex to hold the thigh in place.

I asked for this? I thought briefly. And the sensation of my passion and pain melded, and I remembered why. I moaned, and then screamed as yet another drop went astray and burned its way down the side of lip and thigh.

“Babe, I’m so sorry. No more wax,” he apologized, and I opened my eyes to see him put the candle on the nightstand. Again, his finger traced the crevice of my entrance, explored up to my clit, gently stroking up and down. Once I relaxed, he got up and went into our chest. I saw the knife, and closed my eyes, anticipating the cool steel. The tip traced along my rib cage, the blade gliding along my stomach, wax a slowly barrier as the steel gently separated the wax from skin. It was such a unique sensation, where the stiff cold replaced the fluid hot-turned-cooled-wax marks. The knife moved to my thighs, and beginning at knee, moved up with the slow intent of peeling the wax off. I groaned, it felt so amazing; I felt like the focus on his attention with the deliberation he was giving to the task.

The flat of the blade skimmed so softly across my lips, the chill soothing the parts that still seared.

He put down the knife, and apologized, then used his fingers to gently pull the wax out of my trimmed-but-still-there pubic hair. It tugged, it didn’t feel good, but was over quick enough to keep me in my sensitive fuzzy mind.

He laid his body over mine, breathed against my mouth that ached to kiss him, smiled at the taunt barrier preventing me from doing so, and entered me swiftly. I lifted my legs up to give him greater access, held the rope against my chest and bit down what was between my teeth at the pleasurable intrusion. He brought me to orgasm before pulling abruptly out, and grabbed the rope to manipulate me head down on the bed. “Are you okay?” he asked, and I tried to nod. I positioned my ass up and knees together, and he situated himself at my entrance, sliding in only about halfway before almost completely withdrawing, a few times taunted, before thrusting into me as hard as he could. I moaned: some from pain, most from pleasure.

He again played the just-the-tip game at my entrance, and leaned over to grab something. The tiny rod of the misery stick rubbed against my butt, and came down softly a few times. He increased the impact of the stick slowly, sliding himself in and out of me, my entrance so incredibly sensitive, my cheek beginning to sting and distract.

The biting of the rod became more of the focus eventually, and I tried to rotate away, tried to push back on his sex to distract him or me. I shook my head no as much as I could between pillows and mattress. “Fuck it,” he said, and I heard something fall to the ground, before he grabbed the rope around my waist and pulled me back, impaling me hard onto his shaft.

He hit a wall, and I tried to push myself away. He pulled back again, allowed distance, pulled. Oh my, I was orgasming so hard. Pain and pleasure again melded into one sensation, and it made me mindless, only aware of my body tensing and releasing and feeling.

My toes curled so much they hurt, and still he pounded into me. Orgasm crashed upon another, swept me far away, until he finally groaned against me.

When we stilled, he expressed his like for the harness around my waist, untying me, kissing me softly. As the rope left parts of it, it trailed against my responsive skin. When finally the rope was gone, he whispered, “come here,” and pulled me into his arms, kissed my forehead. He stroked my skin, occasionally skimming over the raised lines on my cheeks from the stick, making me gasp. He kissed me and made me feel loved and cherished. His hand moved to my throat and without controlling my breathing, he moved me away to kiss the side of my mouth and manipulated me again to his lips. It took my thoughts away again from the present, and I slept.

To see the picture of this: His Rope

Wicked Wednesday... be inspired & share...

Something for the weekend

Nov 132013
 

I laid on top of him and began kissing his neck, made sure to rub my breasts against his smooth chest. I started with tiny nibbles, ran my nails up and down his upper arms, felt the muscles beneath my fingertips. Then I moved to an occasional brief lick, followed by sweeping my tongue up and down, followed the muscles and contours of his neck, lips and mouth occasionally sucked in a particularly sensitive zone. He shivered and I felt goose bumps under my fingers. I traced my mouth across the jaw line and nibbled at both full lips, sucked on the bottom lip for a moment, before moving to other side.

He was expecting a kiss, but wasn’t disappointed when my tongue immediately delved to his spots that made him quiver. Slowly, the tip of my tongue barely grazed the lobe of his ear and moved delicately up, followed the outside curve, retraced back down and nibbled/sucked on the lobe.

His hand in my hair, he gripped at the base of the skull and drew my mouth in for a kiss; nothing was delicate or gentle, but demanding and seeking. My mouth crashed over his again and again, my tongue probed deeply into his mouth and danced in tune to his passion, his hand commanded the steps.

And I was commanded away from him, and down. I tried to position myself lower to give him head, but his grip in my hair stopped me. “No, my nipples,” he instructed, guided my mouth to his nipple. I licked then sucked, his hand pushing my head farther against him, my suction increasing. “Don’t let go,” he said, and then pulled me away, so slowly, that I had time to suck as hard as I could and moved my teeth carefully around his nipple, pulling the nub between them as inevitably he moved me off of it. He moved me to the other side, and repeated the command and movement.

His grip was a vice and he hadn’t needed to readjust. Again, he pulled me lower, and again I tried to position for a blow job, but he said, “no, go slow towards it. Make your way down,” and I did, his grip followed rather than directed. I trailed kisses down his stomach, followed the curve of hip/stomach muscle to the inside of his thigh, licked between the sensitive fold, and when he moaned, I sucked hard. Pushing against my head, his hand encouraged the force. A hand on the other side of his hip touched the side of his penis, but almost as if accidentally, not gripping or stroking in any way. I moved lower and ran my tongue under his balls, around each small globe, taking each into my mouth and gently rolling it around with my tongue, sucking carefully.

My mouth moved to the other crease of thigh/groin and repeated the hard licking and sucking. He gasped and tensed. His other hand gripped his shaft and he quickly shoved my mouth down upon it, cautious not to force it all the way down. He was so hard, so inflexible that I could barely take half of his length, the soft head hit the back of my throat, my lips and tongue molded over the ribbed ridges. I marveled over how hard he was, frustrated as well at how my small, inept mouth could not work around such a rigid size.

One hand bracing myself over him, the other caressed his balls as I did my best to pleasure him. His hand drove me up and down at a pace he wanted, but suddenly wrenched me up. He pulled me up, I mistakenly thought for a kiss, but he voice stated my error and, “all the way up,” as he hand let go of the strained tresses finally. Both hands gripped my thighs and picked me up and his face was suddenly under me, pulling me down to his ravenous mouth. I held onto the headboard, biting my lip to stifle a little my cry of pleasure, overwhelmed already at the sensation, and my hips rotated against and around his mouth of their own volition.

Moaning, I began fucking his mouth, finding my own pleasure. When done, he still directed my hips with hands to moving at a slower rhythm, tonguing my clit, sliding down, sucking upon my sex, and steadily back again.

One arm moved across my torso and he pushed me off of him. I was laying sideways on the bed, and he was over me swiftly, his hands parting my lower lips, his mouth sucking hard at my sex, and I came again, begged for him to be inside of me. “No,” he denied, his fingers delving hard into me, his mouth on one nipple, and I screamed and squirting, soaking his hand and the bed.

He smiled, and finally positioned himself between my legs, driving down quickly into me, oiled friction, I offered no resistant. He pulled up, the shaft almost rubbing against my clit and thrusted straight down again, his cock quite visible between our bodies every time he moved out, emerging slick. Orgasming, my only thought was to remind myself to breathe. He kept me up to the peak for so long, I tensed for so long that my toes curled painfully, before he slowed and allowed me back to the present.

I complained of my toes and he chuckled, then positioned me to my side, one leg under his body, the other wrapped his waist. He drove into me, the position allowing him to go so much deeper, and I muffled a complaint of his size at the same time as moaning my pleasure. The pace was fast, and hard, and my orgasm was just as hard. I heard him mention feeling my muscles clench with the force, but wasn’t aware of much more than the feeling of him deep inside of me.

The unmistakable aroma of our fucking permeated my awareness, as did our harsh, ragged breathing, and the throbbing soreness of my greedy cunt pulled still at his cock. I was done, I was sore – I was so full of need, I wanted more. I was overwhelmed.

Rotating again, I was laying on my stomach, one leg on either side of one of his, and he grabbed my upper hip and thrusted in and out with an even harder and faster pace. I screamed, and screamed, and tightened, and I could hear my pleasure flowing between us, and his groans and statements of how tight I was, how hard I was hitting, how much I was cumming, and how he was there with me.

Something for the weekend

 Posted by at 12:31 pm
Aug 092013
 

We argued, and I couldn’t sleep. Finally around midnight, I pulled him into bed. “Make it right,” I demanded.

He laughed and kissed me softly. I rolled my eyes, not quite what I had in mind and he knew it, so I pushed the covers off of him and kissed the head of his penis, just as softly. Then I looked up – not quite what he had in mind when I went down, I could tell. I winked and then moved my mouth as low as I could on the shaft, feeling the thick head hit the back of my throat, increased the suction, and pulled up. One hand steadied his thickly engorged member at the base, the other hand cupped and gently played with his balls as I kept moving my mouth up and down. He whispered encouragements, or quiet sighs, his hand sweeping my hair away and holding it up so that he could watch.

After a few minutes I moved up, kissing a trail up his body until I got to his neck, and then gently nipping it and applying more pressure on his more sensitive areas, feeling his pulse throb under my probing tongue. His hand moved between my legs and stroked up and down my lips. I wasn’t quite wet enough for him to dip in yet. The hand moved up to nipples, pinching each other briefly between his fingers, and then to my shoulder. He gently pushed me to my back, off of his neck, and then rolled me to my side, moving to position his mouth between my legs. One hand held my top leg up and his tongue swept up and down my lips, before his hand separated my lips for his tongue to settle into my sex more fully. He sucked while moving his tongue around and in and out of my entrance, and soon I was panting and begging for more. One hand moved to my clit, an awkward angle considering I was still laying on my side, and teased the bud while his mouth still fucked me. I was trying to push myself more fully onto his mouth, unable to stop myself from moving into him.

Taking his mouth away, he rotated me more towards laying on my stomach, inserting a finger in my very slick sex, his tongue almost doing a questioning lick at my anus. He normally doesn’t go back there, but I was too gone in my own pleasurable sensations to do anything more than moan my appreciation, and hinged my hips against his tongue and fingers. Two fingers, and rimming in earnest began, and I was moaning and climaxing, not in my usual hard way, but slowly and softly.

“Hold on,” he said quietly, and stretched to over the side of the bed. By this point I was chest down, ass up on the bed, and swiftly I had a buzzing and vibrating toy thrusted down into me, rubbing my g-spot easily from this angle, his mouth back between my cheeks, and I was orgasming so quickly and hard, screaming. Before one orgasm had even ebbed another one began and then another and I was lost completely to the world, swept up in pleasure.

After three incredible orgasms, he positioned himself up between my legs, entering me violently, reaching over for some lube and making me slick before slipping his thumb in my ass, pushing down slightly, giving me a full feeling. His other hand smacked my ass hard. His cock pumped in and out at a downward angle, continuing to slide against my g-spot as his head slammed against my wall, and I screamed with an immediate orgasm, my body so tense, so full. Again, his other hand came on to spank my already red cheek. Again, before one orgasm could completely allow me down another built and crest, and I clenched around his shaft, his thumb, held my breath, felt my already sensitive heated cheek being smacked, became dizzy, moaned, screamed, and cursed as yet another orgasm came. I felt him push himself more fully, shuddering with the force of his own orgasm.

When he pulled out, I already came again, moaning softly at the feeling of the ridges of his head moving along my walls before he was gone. His thumb slowly moved out, and I couldn’t believe how sensitive I was even there. I let my shaking legs straighten and sunk into the soft mattress, utterly spent. My head was foggy, my thoughts incoherent, but I turned my head and smiled, unable to see his hand descend upon that same fiery cheek. I yelped at the sting, instinctively moving up towards the source of pain, finding that a strange reaction instead of moving away, a moan following a yelp.

“God that feels good,” the words dripped of my mouth, unbidden, like my juices flowing down my thighs from the sudden tightening the spank gave me. His hand came down again, and again I moaned into it. Suddenly his fingertips ran softly over my oh-so-sensitive skin, and I tightened and tensed, raising my hips, thighs pressed together as my body clenched itself into another orgasm. I was just surprised as he was, and he spanked my ass a few more times, the pain intense, the pleasure overriding the pain. His mouth followed his hand, licking up and down the hand imprints, and I begged for something incoherently, his mouth now alternating between soft licks, hard suction. He smacked a few more times, following with his mouth a few more times, and I came in the tension my body created.

His fingers sunk between my legs and he grazed my g-spot, bringing me to another orgasm, and I was again mindless.

Breathless by the time he moved away from me, I rolled over my back, the one side of my ass so aware of all the fibers of the sheet. I panted, by this time hours of pleasure not allowing me any sense of realism, and unable to help himself from toying with my quivering self, his fingers grazed my clit. I sucked in my breath, already feeling dizzy from the slight contact, my legs parting without thought. Suddenly two of his fingers danced upon my pearl, and I was so taken with pleasure I had no idea how I ended up laying with my back on his chest, one solid arm across my shoulder and neck so fingers could tugged at a nipple, the other hand quickly alternating between slipping into my sex and rubbing up into my clit. When had I moved?

I screamed, arching against him, arching into his tormenting and pleasure inducing fingers, both on my breast and between my legs. I felt his breath against my ear, harsh and ragged as if he was matching my own breathing, his body seemed to be an unforgiving hard mass against my back and my throbbing swollen ass. It seemed as if my scream lasted for days, and I don’t remember quite coming back to the present, just his sexy voice quietly promising to “leave me alone now”. I think I drifted; I think I got up shortly afterwards to clean myself up, my legs a wobbly mess and he playfully slapped my ass lightly, but it was still so sensitive, and it felt so good that my legs almost collapsed underneath me. I think he said something to the effect that I came every way imaginable tonight, and I mumbled what other ways he could surprise me about myself.

I don’t remember if I ever really opened my eyes, it seemed as if the world shut itself out and the after moments were but a dream. I slept soundly.


Something for the weekend

 Posted by at 6:35 pm
Jul 262013
 

Awhile ago, for Sinful Sunday I posted this picture of my clit. It garnered a lot of curiosity about the experience. So, without further ado: Once upon a time…

 
God I’m wet. He walks in the door, gives me his intense stare, and I can’t help but run into his arms. I truly think that for the first time in my life someone owns me. I would never think to hesitate with him. The desire between us burns brighter than a forest fire. The things this man does to my mind are just as wickedly delightful as the things he does to my body.
I’m naked while he is still in his riding gear, the leather of his jacket rubbing against my nipples as I rub myself against him like a cat, leaving my scent, gaining his. He pushes me to my room and opens the drawer that contains one of my favorite things… The rope.
“You need this don’t you?”
He knows I do, I’ve been climbing the walls lately. I need more than just release. I need intensity, I need to find that space in my head where quiet and calm and serenity are found. I hope he leaves bruises.
It’s almost a surreal process, getting tied up. I stand next to the bed, proud in my nudity as he wraps yard after yard around my body. The intricate design that he weaves starts at the top. He completely wraps my hair in rope. As he is done he lets the rope fall straight down and it nestles in the center of my ass. This is pure sensuality. As he starts blinding the rest of my body he makes sure to caress a sensitive area, pause for a moment and look into my eyes, his so full of promise. Suddenly he quickly pulls the length of rope through a loop. The rope running, pressed against my skin is painful and startling. He pauses to lick the rosy area created and my nerves go haywire. As the full bindings are coming together on my body diamond patterns begin to emerge. Every part is connected. He spreads my thighs and runs the rope from my torso up through my lovely center back through to my ass. The two ends of the rope that he works with part my labia. He pauses in his kneeling position and I feel the flick of his tongue against clit and my knees are no longer steady.
The rope firmly bound, he helps me onto the bed as my upper body is immobilized now. I cannot even bend at the waist, it chokes me. My head is held back on my neck as the rope that he bound my hair with is weaved right through the center of the design. My body is held taunt as my hair is then tied to my ankles with my legs bent. To relax a muscle is to pull my own hair.
All I can see is the ceiling from my twisted position, the slow fan blades making lazy shadows that cross the room. I’m already finding it, the center, the place of being. My mind is slowly focusing. I can’t see what is going on, I’m effectively blinded by the blank white view above me. I feel his fingers skim my inner thigh. I know that he is doing something with the rope between my thighs but I’ve no idea what.
A soft whisper against my very inner thigh “You’re such a good girl” he practically breaths. Shivers run down my spin and my body’s natural reaction suddenly provokes a startling effect. The minute movement of my body caused the rope to tighten. I instantly discover through feeling what he has done. My clit is squeezed between the ropes.
The rope is arranged in such a position that it pulls back my hood, and my exposed clit is rubbed by its twisted texture. The effects of my response cause me to move more and the sensations escalates so quickly it steals my breath. My mind has literally stopped in its processing. I’ve never felt anything even remotely similar to this. I never knew skin, nerves, my sex, could become so sensitive.
I can feel his gaze, his fascination. “Would you like to see it?”
I can talk… I have a voice. Words… I know words, I need one. Oh, God I just took a deep breath, the ropes are taunt again. Oh God. What? Oh, yes, yes.
“Yes”
He grabs my camera and takes a picture. He comes around to my head and I see him for the first time in what feels like ages but feels like nothing. Time has no meaning. All I can do is stare at the picture in front of my eyes. I can’t, I don’t, I just, I don’t know what I’m seeing. The world is a haze and all I can feel is my muscles, slightly uncomfortable, the pull of the rope against my skin everywhere… My clit.
There is no way I am going to be able to comprehend the picture in front of me, but something else has caught my eye. My lover is naked, his throbbing excitement at seeing me at his mercy and his pleasure is deliciously evident right in front of my face. He knows me, knows what I will do. I try to shift to get him in my mouth and my hair is yanked firmly by my ankles and the strongest sensations yet are jolted through my trapped and swollen clit.
Mercy granted, he moves to my head which is slightly off the bed so I can have him. I’m lying on my back and he admires the way he can see the shape of him in my throat as he pushes farther in my mouth. The thrust of his hips is driving me crazy and I don’t want to be teased, I want all of him, I want to swallow him, consume him. He runs his hands over my body. He can always tell when I’m finding zen, when I start to no longer notice the pain, the ache. He always distracts me from that, so suddenly those sensations come back, more intense now.
It is this process that allows him to get me so deep into subspace. I didn’t give him ownership of me, he took it through his mastery. I have to be the luckiest girl in the world. Not that I can think of that at this point, my attention is captured by my neck is a mild, annoying cramp. I move.
Oh yes, that’s right, there’s rope currently caging the most sensitive part of my body in a strong grip. He notices my attention being sharply focused suddenly. He moves away from my view and I strain to hear him moving around the bed. He comes to my parted thighs and the desire is so very very strong to have him inside me. Finally, filled.
“Oh, I’m not going to fuck you. Did you think I would?”
…wh-? There’s a flick, a gentle thud against my bound clit then a soft rub up and down. I can feel his precum. He’s rubbing that most desired part of him against me. Teasing, tantalizing. I’ve never felt anything like this. This is not the same body I have been in whenever we have sex. I have NEVER had this body, this can’t be real. I haven’t taken drugs to invoke these feelings but yet I am intoxicated. He is my drug.
He continues to tap on my oversensitive clit and I come quickly. Oh God. Intense. Every nerve in my body is taunt and singing hosanna to his name. The tensing of my muscles in orgasm causes that lovely magical rope to tighten and continue my pleasure. I don’t think I can take this much longer, I am going to die of the intensity of release and sensitivity.
A final spasm of my body and the rope is ripped away from my sensitive bud in a final crescendo of feeling from the force of my movement.
Wilted. I lay in a heap. He helps me from the bed and I am unsteady on my feet. Hours, minutes, days, eternity? I’ve no idea of the passage of time. He begins to undo my bindings, starting from the bottom. I mechanically lift a leg here, move a foot there to ease the removal of my bindings. Once the lengths of rope are mostly on the ground the only thing left is my hair.
He lays me down as a tired kitten, sated, beyond this world and in my own. He takes the end of my hair binding and winds its from my headboard to tie to my footboard so my hair is pulled with firm tension. I dose off in this position. I can’t imagine anything feeling this languid, this comfortable this safe and protected. He leaves me there as he organizes and stores my loving binds. He brushes a stray tendril from my brow and kisses me . He undoes my hair at last and tucks me in. My last sight before the oblivion of the deepest sleep is of him blowing out the candle, leaving the room in quiet darkness.

Something for the weekend

 Posted by at 4:09 pm
Jun 262013
 

After reading Girl on the Net, I decided to take the complicated challenge of describing my orgasm. They have some differences, which I tried to address as they occurred, but for the most part, they follow this pattern:

It starts with pressure inside of me, a pressure of fiction, an awareness of movement in and out of me.

Then I begin to tighten into the pressure. I can do this at whim, but more often than not, it just happens. When I am short on time, know this is a quickie, or am tired, I can tighten, making me come closer to the sensation faster. When I want a slow buildup, I just allow it to naturally happen, enjoy the other sensations besides the focusing on clamping down into it.

But my orgasm gets going when I tighten around whatever is inside of me,  increasing the pressure, not a consistent tighten, more like a gripping and releasing of muscles(my lover will feel this). My body grows taunt due to this tightening. I begin breathing heavier. My mind empties of thoughts. In and out, pressure on certain places, like the g-spot, deep inside, at my entrance; or held pressure in one spot that is almost so overwhelming I want it slid against rather than held against.

All my thoughts, all my concentration, is on my muscles, on feeling the pressure build, of the gripping and releasing. I feel drawn, almost leaning my body into my groin. My stomach clenches down, my whole body becomes tense. The clenching around becomes more intense, the coming and going of pleasure building, the waves of pleasure building higher and higher, crashing faster and faster.

It is not a letting go, unless of cohesive thoughts. It is an absolute building of pressure that is pleasant nerve endings being vibrated, thronged deeper and longer, spreading from inside my crotch, my lower belly, gripping tightly, spreading suddenly as if heat of a wildfire, moving up my torso and down my thighs at the same time, making me catch my breath, rending my limbs tense and immobile trying to clutch at anything (my toes may curl painfully at this point of clutching), my breath catching (sometimes too long), my head spinning, my thoughts completely blacking out. It is a force burning throughout my entire body, clutching it so tightly, making it rigid, flushing out even to my skin. An awareness of every muscle, a pressure so hard in my core – it is pleasure so focused, a tingling sensation that doesn’t lower or stop.

It is quick, but it leaves me weak with its force. The tingling begins to actually represent tingling, with the skin overly sensitive, my limbs tremble, I remember to breathe, my head is still slowly spinning, my thoughts seem so distant, as if I am far away from my body, amazed at the power of my orgasm. My body is aware of how tense it is, my sex completely lets go of what is inside of me – as if taking a deep breath and releasing it, my body and limbs heavy, my chest heaving from erratic breathing, my throat raw either from screaming with the force (which allows a deeper orgasm) or from the effort in suppressing any noise (a weaker orgasm as it requires me to focus on a place other than my pleasure).

I feel like I am sinking, my thoughts lazily floating back into my head, my body relaxing after its fierce control. I become aware of my lover again; or toy or fingers are removed. If my breathing was held, I may see black spots blurring my vision. My head may hurt, a throbbing headache, if I held my breath. This is the point where I become aware of my toes if they curled, as I try to painfully stretch them. My fingertips may have been too clenched into my lover’s skin, and just now feel the muscles protesting. I may become aware of the sting of raw skin that I scratched in my clenching (I will sometimes clamp nails into my thighs or calves if I am holding them up). My stomach may be sore, feeling as if I did too many crunches or sit ups. My heart hammers inside my ribcage, thunders in my ear.

If is a strong orgasm, regardless of movement inside of me, I may still feel my muscles clenching inside still, gripping and releasing, shuddering, giving lapses of pleasure still, echoing throughout my body but not causing that tenseness, just a brief flutter of pleasant nerves being surged through, slowly until they dwindle to nothing. I call them aftershocks (as they mimic an earthquake’s to me). Or if movement/stimulation is still there, the clenching follows the pattern of movement, gripping inside of me, releasing, quicker than the first time, with more intensity, until I clench around it tightly, my body reacting far quicker, the wave of pleasure rising far higher and crashing more violently than the first time, and another orgasm grips me.

A following orgasm; feeling just like the first, but more intense, spasms rippling through me. I become dizzy far easier, and more likely to hold my breath. Control over my noises is less likely after the first orgasm. I am less in control of it happening or the speed in which it happens.

I am capable of multiple orgasms. I have not tested nor counted how many I can achieve in one session, though I am sure the number is more than five that I have accomplished. It leaves me weary, shaken, depleted, incapable of sound thinking, my nerve endings so sensitive to touch of different textures. I am aware of the softness of sheets, the sheen on my skin, the air flowing across, the crispness of a sting of a spank of my ass, the burning of any skin been marked too roughly, the imprint of where pressure used to be, the chill and the heat of objects around me.

I am easier to get to orgasm from touches other than penetration, as my muscles inside my sex are far easier to tighten and clench, and need nothing to clench around to begin that cycle of spreading pleasure.  If I orgasm from clitoral stimulation, it begins in my clit, sliding, the pressure dances in time to my sex, pumping the pressure of pleasure from groin outward again. If I orgasm from my nipples, they are often pinched hard, the pinching becomes a focused pain of pleasure, it travels and tugs to my groin, which clenches tight down echoing the pressure on my nipples, so tight that my body comes again.  

Sex Blog Directory

Something for the weekend

 Posted by at 8:14 pm
May 172013
 

People ask how I became an exhibitionist  They remark with awe that I have no shame, in fact I delight and glory in showing off the photos I have of my body.

The truth is, there are two things at play here. I take all of my photos myself, with my cell phone no less (imagine what I could do with a REAL camera!), and I am incredibly proud of the talent for beautiful pictures that I have found in myself. Something akin to magic just happens when I get a camera in my hands recently and my work is just getting better.

Here’s the biggest push that made me an exhibitionist:

I hated my body. 

I had gorgeous friends and I certainly couldn’t measure up to that. Slowly over the years though, there was a shift in my thinking, and as that shift happened, I started getting complimented more. As I settled finally into my skin, I exuded sex. I breath sex. I walk sex. I am sexy. Then, with the blog, I was reluctantly persuaded to submit a picture to Sinful Sunday, hosted by Mollysdailykiss (*see the picture here). Nervous doesn’t quite cover the emotions I was feeling. I’m not skinny by any stretch of the imagination. I was bracing for negativity. Then the comments starting coming in…

Holy Hell

My body is beautiful. That’s all I kept hearing. There was so much response and enthusiasm I was suddenly empowered. I started pushing the envelope, taking more pictures, revealing more of myself. With every step I have taken, my empowerment has grown. Now I can’t keep my clothes on. I revel in the things my body can do. It can provoke desire, lust, longing. It can comfort and bring beauty to someone. This all, just in the viewing of it.

So why am I an exhibitionist? Because I’m beautiful, and I like sharing.

So really, it’s all because of you guys. You got me naked, and you keep me that way and loving it.

Something for the weekend

 Posted by at 7:42 pm
May 082013
 
I struggled to sleep with my husband. Truly struggled. Actual sleep. Having sex with him was easy. He’s used to sound of mortars and bodies and sweat and violence, and can sleep just fine. But for myself, I need a blacked out, quiet environment with no new movements or objects. Hence why I couldn’t sleep with my husband. And he’s a large presence, broad shoulders, and arms and legs that seem to reach out everywhere. What’s worse: he’s a snuggler. Up until him, I was not. Let me go to my edge, you go to yours. It took over a year of sleeplessness before I could sleep a decent amount, but amazing sex. It’s a fair trade-off.
To make matters worse, it seems like I can’t get enough of him. I can rarely leave him alone. He is gorgeous and sexy; I always want him. He has this bottom lip that begs to be sucked, pulled with my teeth. But I digress just like I do when I try to fall asleep with him. That was then.
The other morning he woke me up, a feat that he rarely accomplishes. I was having the nicest of dreams when I awakened; he was playing with my clit. He often remarks that I must have some wonderful dreams, because I wake up wet the majority of mornings. He dipped inside of me and spread my juices around, and continued to slide his finger around my pearl. One finger applied pressure above it, somehow making it stand out all the more and become even more sensitive. It took me a moment to realize I wasn’t in a dream, and I still felt the fluffy foggy clouds around me, swept up in a romantic fantasy. I must’ve moaned. I heard a chuckle right before my hair was lifted and I was kissed on the side of my neck.
His fingers gently sunk into me, first one, and then two. His thumb continued to rub my clit. His breath warm against my ear before playfully nipping the lobe. His fingers began to press more deeply, with more intent, and I pulled my legs farther apart to give him access.
His body moved lower, the covers sliding down and baring flesh. My nipples hardened and he briefly kissed one before moving his mouth to my growing need. Gently, his tongue flicks at my already hard and tormented bud. He looks up at me, a half smile upon his lips. Again, the tip of his tongue flicked, and he watched me squirmed. His tongue moved lower, tracing my entrance, driving me crazy and my hips trying to rotate his mouth into my opening. He gripped my thighs and held me, looking mischievous back up for a brief moment, before flashing his tongue out for the briefest of moments, and then down against my already slick portal.
Suddenly he was no longer the tease, and he increased both the tempo and the pressure of his mouth. He was gluttonous, but I was starving. I am grateful I can sleep with him these days, for now he has the opportunities to wake me and fulfill my dreams.  

 

Something for the weekend

 Posted by at 6:50 pm
Mar 152013
 

I get out of a shower and go into the bedroom, sore from just working out,when he greets me naked on the bed. His smile is seductive, his eyes are confident and mischievous; he is stretched out fully in the middle of the bed, already hard. I laugh and state that I am sore, to not expect great things from me at the moment, but shed my robe. His eyes light up when I stretch my sore body next to his, intentionally rubbing skin to skin. He suggests then, that great things need to come from him.

I can only nod in agreement as suddenly his mouth is upon my nipple, the other hand squeezing my other breast, fingers discover and pull the nipple hard. His fingers rolled the nipple, his mouth pulling the other, hard, until I catch my breath with pain and pleasure. He moves, the cold air hitting the sensitive nubs, and positions his face between my legs. I spread them a little further, bend my knees slightly out, and he pulls apart my lips, and immediately his hot mouth is upon me. His movements are focused, practiced, determined, and he has no intentions of playing the tease.

I am pressing into his mouth, his warm breath against my tender pink sex. His tongue flicks back and forth, then circles around my clitoris. He stays there until I try to shift his mouth lower by moving my pelvis up. He slips one finger around my moist entrance, taunts, softly tracing the lips, dips in slightly and spreads the moisture around, before slowly sinking in. Then two fingers slip inside, curl and press into my g-spot, and probe in accompaniment to his tongue. He begins to suck, his free arm grips my thigh and holds me forcefully there, slows my bucking hips. As his mouth moves harder, his tongue a solid, slick presence against my pearl, his fingers move faster and harder until I am arching into him, panting, moaning, clenching down hard on his fingers, climaxing, drenching his hand.  

I am dizzy, still on the verge of coming down from the cloudy plane of pleasure, when I feel his cock draw me open, quickly thrusting and fucking, my own juices oiling against any friction or resistance, and I am right back up on that surreal fantasy of an orgasm, barely able to breathe, unable to contain my screams in pitch with his plunging in and out. Everything is tense, my thighs gripping, my hips rising up to meet him, falling with his answering weight, muscles clutching his hard shaft, my legs wrapped around pulling him deeper, toes curling, arms around his shoulders and arms, fingers digging into skin as if I’m afraid of falling, nails marking him as surely as his body is bruising mine. I milk him, force him to travel to the finish with me.

I am aware of the pounding in my ears, harsh breathing, his weight pressing me into the mattress though slightly reduced where he’s lightly braced on elbows. He rolls over to his side, takes me with him, adjusts so I am also on my side facing away, one arm is my pillow, another arm wraps around me, my butt nestled against his now glorious spent member; we’re as pressed together as possible. He brushes my still wet hair away from my face, tenderly kisses me, a sharp contrast to our fucking. Tells me that I am beautiful, and that he is a lucky man. I quip that he is surely a man capable of great things.

Read some more great things for the weekend.

 Posted by at 8:13 pm
Mar 072013
 

Hot, wet, hands gliding over hard planes. He comes up behind me as I finish the last of the dishes from the scrumptious dinner we just shared together.

Its been a long day. Work, errands, life, nuisance. Its easy to curl into bed, drift into sleep.  Just then though he brushes the hair from my neck and softly licks the sensitive skin behind my ear. A hand runs lightly up my skirt searching for the wetness he knows will be between my thighs…

All thoughts of sleep have vanished. A sudden firm hand in my hair and I’m spun around. The soapy dish goes crashing to the ground as I’m roughly lifted up and my legs are wrapped around his waist. His insistent hardness pressing into the softness of me as he sets me on the counter and drives into me.
My hands flail, fervent, seeking leverage. I knock the water on high, soap over, things I can’t identify go crashing to the floor. He’s driving into me so hard I can barely catch my breath. I’m rasping his name as he’s telling me to come on his nice, hard cock. Demanding, insisting.

I splinter, fracture into a million pieces like the ill fated plate. He stares into my eyes and fills me with his throbbing orgasm moments after I shudder to completion. I’m panting, legs shaking, tremors still gently coursing through my body. I slide off the counter onto the floor.

He smooths my hair, kisses my head. Helps me adjust my skirt as my hands seem unable to responde to the impulses being sent from my brain. He laughs as we look around at the chaos created in mere minutes in our orderly kitchen. He pats my ass in appreciation and the self satisfaction of male prowess.

It’s moments like these that make the long day of work, the crazy coworkers, the killer traffic, and the stupid dishes not seem to matter.

And all it took was a few minutes.

Something for the weekend Read something for the weekend with other ways to escape

 Posted by at 10:48 pm
Feb 252013
 

A continuation from Breaking Walls

The breath on my neck made my skin burn, so why then did goose bumps appear like I was cold? Next, the soft feel of your lips, increased the heat, followed only seconds by the tip of your tongue. It dipped against the skin, as if checking the temperature, before it plunged against the back of my neck, where it darted a path made by lips that moved slowly, sensually up and then around my neck.
I turned around and gazed at you in a direct way. You appeared startled by my look. But I couldn’t hold your eyes, those liquid amber pools that reflected your desire and curiosity. No, my gaze was drawn to your lips that had just caused me to shiver and melt. Both lips were soft, the bottom fuller and keeping my focus. I found I wanted to suck on that lip, felt drawn towards it before remembering who you were and where we were, feeling a jolt in disbelief at my lack of control to the point where I almost caved into my urge.
Desperate to bring myself under control, I leaned over and grabbed your drink, shoved it towards your face, unable yet to speak, not knowing what to say. How do I turn down a dear friend?
Your eyes widened, and you grinned despite yourself before taking a drink, not removing your eyes from my face. There was a sexual magnetism about you that I just wanted to fall into. I had always found you sexy, and laying in bed, with your lips recently enflaming my passion, I felt that I would lose control quickly again.
You seemed to be assessing me, and almost as if making a decision, reached over me with your long arms and put the bottle down on the nightstand. Still leaning over me slightly, you were only inches from my mouth, and my gaze again focused on that bottom lip. My heart beat erratically and I couldn’t tolerate the wait and anticipation and impulse any longer. I don’t remember if you closed the space or if I did, but suddenly I was tasting those lips, the taste intoxicating as a drug, as sweet as innocence. I kissed you with my entire being, daring and bold, pulled your large frame further against my smaller one, molded us together.
I wrapped my legs around you, trying to leave no space between us, and felt your arousal through my pajamas. My breasts tingled and nipples tightened where your hard chest pressed against mine. The sudden tightening deep down inside of me made me hesitate. What in the world was I thinking? I lacked control and gasped, rolled out from under you so swiftly that you froze. We sat, faced each other. Eyes met eyes, your sensual full lips quirked upward, and I felt drawn again, and had to remind myself to not notice your lips.
“We shouldn’t,” I whispered, and again brought your drink to your face, stalled, thought. The heat coming off from your body was unsettling. How could I be so aware of your heat, even sitting upright facing you?
You smiled. “Okay,” you affirmed, leaned slowly around me to put your drink back. But I forgot what we were discussing as you moved close to me and threw my arms you, pushed you against the mattress, tried to cover your body with my own. Again, you froze, your arms spread out helplessly, didn’t hold or encourage me. I could understand if I was confusing you, my strong reaction to you confused me. But I didn’t need any other encouragement other than the desire that you sparked. Hot, scorching passion that I was captive to, that made me melt into you.
But your arms still not being around me made me aware of who you were: my friend, and a man that doesn’t have casual sex. As I moved my lips from yours and went to suck on your neck, I muttered, “the pants aren’t coming off.” There, that took care of casual sex, didn’t it? I was proud of thinking of it, to have come to a logical conclusion of where this was going – no casual sex. You went to mutter, another okay…I think, but I thrusted my tongue deep in your mouth, and became aware of your arms finally around me. I was satisfied that apparently you found mysolution agreeable.
I moved down to your neck, nibbled softly, felt you shudder, and then your hands grasped the bottom of my shirt and tugged upward. I offered no resistance, after all there was no rule against my shirt coming off, moved upright to make it a little easier to come off. I immediately moved back to your neck, felt your calloused hands on my smooth shoulders. My tongue moved onto your chest, tried to kiss every inch of the broad expense, your fingers caressed my arms, shoulders, back, so softly. My hands shook as I moved them against your bottoms, gently pulled the elastic waistband away from your skin, and stroked your hardened length with one hand.  
No longer gentle, you hauled me up against you, kissed me deeply and wildly. Twisting, suddenly underneath you, you returned the sentiment and covered me completely with your body, leaned up on elbows, cupped the side of my face, and just stared for a moment. I didn’t want to think, felt panicked for a moment that I would stop us again, when you leaned down and softly kissed my forehead, the bridge of my nose, before returning to my lips. Next, you tasted the side of my neck, teased the lobe of my ear, shifted slightly and grazed the side of my breast with your fingers. I moaned, wanting to encourage you, and felt your hand cupping my breast, fingers sought out nipple and teased to hardened points. Your mouth closed upon the nipple, hot heat on sensitive flesh, and I arched into your mouth. Those wayward fingers of yours followed the curve of my hip, down the outside of my thigh, back up again, followed the path of my waistband, gently stroked my belly, making me suck in my breath with anticipation, a warm knot settling underneath your touch; but you moved up and stroked the other breast that you weren’t kissing. After you sucked and licked both nipples, you moved lower, tracing feathery kisses down my stomach, your hand sliding over the thin cloth, almost touched my mound, before teasing fingers grazed at the inside of my thigh, lightly stroked up, almost all the way up, and then down, and back up, up, almost there, and back with the same pattern to distraction. Your tongue followed a path along the top of my pajama bottoms, and I suddenly hated this cloth barrier, this would-be solution that I concocted.
A solution we both tried, for hours upon hours, to horrendously honor, but couldn’t remain loyal, as we had a deeper calling to finally and blissfully answer to. 
How to even begin to describe that torturous night, with sins and satisfactions, is intimidating to me, so much like that night, I suppose I’ll postpone the inevitable and wait just a bit longer.

Read other’s Somethings for the Weekend

 Posted by at 9:19 pm