Contrasting Perspectives 1

Having introduced a threesome recently into our relationship, I immediately asked for their write-ups and perspectives so that I could compare opinions. This is the first quarter of the story pieced together:

The characters' perspectives:

Cammies, Lover, Friend

***Cammies: Exhausted from partying at strip club the night before with just two hours sleep, I warned my friend, when he expressed the desire to drink with my lover, that he had until a certain time and then I was going to bed. Lover couldn't be partying with us the night before due to work.

Fighting off a migraine, which is rarely suffered, wasn't helping matters in staying up. Yes, I wanted lover to drink and have fun with us, but I wanted sleep a little bit more that night.

A pain and migraine pill were my poison of choice that night, hoping it would dull my thunderous head to tolerable. The men drank hard liquor, and immediately in large quantities. Friend, in knowing my time constraints, pushed lover to drink faster, as if we could squeeze a whole night of fun into just a few hours.  We played cards, and then relaxed on the couch.

Time was up, but I looked at the men and neither one seemed inclined to move. They were relaxed and talking and drinking. I still wanted bed, selfishly still wanted sex, so I straddled my lover and kissed him.

It never ceases to amaze me how the world slows and dissolves from just a deep kiss. My head was silent for once that day (or was it the finally the medicine doing a phenomenal job?).

The friend was sitting next to us on the couch, and he remarked that lover should grab my ass and pull me in deeper to the embrace, to which lover did. I was amused by the instructions. I moved to lover's neck, my head unhappy with the movement and briefly opening eyes. Friend gave further instructions, and next thing I felt were nails being raked up my thigh, eliciting a moan from me. I pulled lover's shirt off, caught up in my own passion, and began kissing his chest.

My own shirt quickly disappeared, as did friend's. Making out with lover, with friend's hands occasionally on us, or his voice directing, intrigued me. Like Alice curious - I wanted to follow the rabbit down the hole and see where it went.

I suggested, finally, going to bed. Friend stated that he was going to the guest room to get a few things and would meet us there, pausing to ask: "is that okay?"

I looked at lover, who looked back at me, and I'm sure we had the same questions of: where is this going, and was the other person comfortable with this. This was new territory to our relationship, and new elements we usually discussed at length before pursuing.

I shrugged, and he must've given a positive consent as friend went into room. He grabbed me in a hug and whispered, "what are we doing?" His tone was negative, and that puzzled me in my foggy brain.

"I don't know. We can always say stop or no later," I whispered back, trying to lead him to the bed, still curious about this journey.

"Okay, but no sex." He followed behind.

***Friend: My drink was strong, I could taste the alcohol starting from my lips all the way down to center of my core. Feeling more at ease to let the night progress to brand new, fulfilling experiences. It was already late when all three of us finally sat down together. I could feel the sexual tension building up, to what turned out to be a night that would open our eyes, and see world in a whole new yet very pleasurable way.

I could not hold the urge in much longer. I wanted to feel her body against mine, feel the heat radiate off her smooth silk-like skin. As I looked into her eyes, it was almost instant, that she could sense the same urge. However, I was afraid that she would not make the first move, and wondering if this was going to progress into anything more than a blue balls night. With less than a blink of eye, she stormed his body like hot, soapy water attacks the stains of a sauce pan. All I could do at first was sit back and watch, letting them tear into each other with their mouths, waiting for my moment to take action. I found my opportunity - it started simply moving his hands around her body, guiding them to touch her amazing body, giving it the attention that it deserves.

***Lover: I felt taken advantage of, pretty much the entire time. I get home for work and he immediately thrusts a drink into my hands, encouraging me to drink more, or faster, or get another. She immediately was on me, kissing and touching me. I didn't know that she had medicated herself, just knew that she wasn't drinking and clearly the sober one.

She was undoubtedly okay with this. Did they have the whole thing planned? It was awkward at first when he took my hands and moved them to parts of her body on the couch. I knew what she enjoyed, but it was good when she liked some other things that he said.

When he went to his room, I looked down and asked what we were doing, what was going on. I didn't know our limits, I didn't know if she was okay with this, where she wanted it to go.

I won!

I received my trophy and a lovely written note from the admirable GirlontheNet, 

for my contribution to "Describe your Orgasm". 

Having never won anything, I'm quite pleased with myself and ecstatic over the honor. 

The things no one tells you...

I'm pretty experienced. I've always loved to experiment and I've been through it all, almost. Anything I haven't done though, is usually covered by other bloggers, just waiting for my inquiring mind. This is great because it gives you confidence going into it...

But it seems, there's always some things people never talk about.... the "not as pretty" realities of sex.

First thing no one told me:

The delayed downpour:

So just got done with a steamy romp with a partner you trust enough to be condom free huh? Being handed a towel to clean up is awesome and courteous and a quick wipe down and you're good...

But then you STAND up. About 15 seconds later the flood comes and you're waddling as quickly as 

you can to the ladies, hoping it doesn't reach your ankles before you get there.

Lesson number 2: no, you AREN'T a gymnast.

Think the kamasutra has nothing on you, huh? Sure, you can get into all of those positions with ease...

Ever think to stretch first? I've learned now if I want crazy sex I need to sneak away to stretch first after a harrowing incident in which my hip popped out and I had to punch my partner to get him off because the pain was blinding.

Moral: limber up.

Lesson 3: what control?

As seen in my anal trilogy, you think you have things under control and then you take the dick out and WHAM, one deep breath and you're paying gas. See your muscles get stretched out and your iron control is non-existent.

Lesson 4: cum farts?

Yeah. Those are a thing. I know, gross, right? No one talks about those. You dabble in the world of anal and think you're a rock star... then someone cums in your ass and you think you've cleaned up...

Until an hour later, when no one is home and you have to fart. It's not pretty. It's awful to think of, but I think it's worse to have it unexpectedly happen to you.

Lesson 5: fishing in the dark

So you just got done with your sexy romp. You're both sweaty, sated, and enjoying those last few moments connected. But don't wait too long! As his body goes back to normal, your body might decide to keep a rubbery memento... once the condom gets stuck inside the game of paper, rock, scissors over who has to fish out the party favor is always awkward!

Sex is awesome, but there are some awkward, messy, weird and crazy things that go along with it. 

Comment and tell me some of your pro tips.

Also, see who is talking dirty, and probably more of the pleasant kind...

TMI: Men ask

1. Advizor:
I once overheard in a bathroom, “There is nothing as over-rated as sex or under-rated as a good bowel movement.” Discuss.

■Like Beck said: "clearly this person isn’t having the same sex as I am." Though with age, or meds, or heavily constipated, I'm sure that a good bowel movement would be pleasurable and relieving, just not nearly as much as sex - depending on their sex life and necessity of such bodily function.

2. the late phoenix:
Friendship lasts longer than cumming. which of your online friends that you’ve never met would you like to meet in real life? which do you think you could become life-long REAL friends with? Actual friends, like going out to coffee and movies with, gossiping with, kissing on the forehead, hugging, loving.

■There are so many people! Gaming I just met two over the summer, and one certainly fits the bill with the above. For bloggers, I can't wait to meet to Molly and her husband, Curvaceous Dee seems like she'd be amazing fun, and especially JohnDStories because both of us sisters are madly in love with him.

3. John D Stories:
In a parallel universe, who out of your blog or Twitter followers would you most like to spend a steamy evening with? What would you do? Why them?

■Such a difficult question to narrow to just one, so I'll go with the first man who made me want to straddle him from an image on SinfulSunday, Through the Lens

4. Virtual Sin:
(multi-part question)
a. What method of stimulation (intercourse, oral, manual, toy, whatever) gives you the strongest orgasm?
■Though his fingers will hit the gspot consistently and make me squirt, it is still intercourse that gives me the longest and strongest orgasms.

b. With what method of stimulation do you get the most orgasms?
■Would still be intercourse, again, a close second to his fingers.

c. If the answer to a is different from the answer to b, what’s wrong with your life?
■Orgasms are amazing, regardless.

5. Jon Pressick:
Would you rather have a life where you only had sex once a year for 2 minutes or where you have to have sex, every day for a minimum of 2 hours?

■The first one hardly even seems an acceptable answer. How is this even comparable?! I would love the second option.

Bonus:
Nero:
Is there anyone on your partner’s side of the family you find hot? If you could hook up with them without anyone finding out (ever!) would you?

■Don't find anyone hot in his family, though he thought I'd find his sister hot.

Click HERE to find/follow/join in the TMI Blog

FFF: Challenge

FFF - Who's watching? _follow to see who else is writing

Word Length = 200
Required Phrase = Obligation
Forbidden Words = Payment, Prediliction, Prostitution
Extra Credit = Make it personal
Bonus Words = 25 extra for explaining the tuxedos, 25 more if this isn't about the money

She had an obligation. She was to belong to the men in the room, to be whatever they wished for her to be. That was what her lover demanded, and his will was her pleasure, proof of devotion and love.

"Caress the tips of your breasts," was the first request, and she did until they stiffed and rose, gazing down instead of the men. One man was silent the entire time, almost detached from her actions, the other issuing the commands.

When he commanded she strip of her panties and ride him, she felt a pleasure in following through. She was good at being on top, knew when to tease and when to grind.

He grabbed her hips, and she was swiftly reassured in his moans, his body beginning to perspire, his hands clenching her more, and his hips thrusting. She arched back and her own scream of pleasure erupted.

She looked at the other man in the room, his body calm and composed. Did he even watch them, she wondered. She felt drawn to him, compelled to make him want her, to wrest the same pleasure from him, to make her lover proud. She felt herself growing excited with the challenge.

TMI: Proposal

1. Do you believe in marriage?

I hope so, considering that I am. If he weren't in the military, however, I'd feel no urge to marry him. But moving, and being allowed base access, requires a piece of paper. 

2. Have you ever proposed marriage or been proposed to marry? What happened?

My husband took me out to cliffs overlooking the ocean. It was perfect place to either kill someone easily by pushing them off, or proposing. He chose the right option. 

3. What would be your dream way of proposing marriage?

Disneyworld. With some sort of show, with elaborate dancing and singing, including the characters, on Main Street. And of course, a list of reasons why marriage would kick ass with each other. 

4. What would be your nightmarish way of proposing marriage?

Throwing a ring box at someone and saying, "I already know your answer," while not even looking up from a video game or TV screen would suck. 

Also, a parent with a shotgun proposing marriage between two people wouldn't be my cup of tea.

5. Mainstream society has engagement rings; in your opinion, what token should be given to signify engagement?

I didn't really receive an engagement ring, more like my wedding ring when he proposed. So I don't have two rings. This worked for me. 

A contract promising sex at minimum twice a day would be a fantastic token of undying devotion and love. Also, alleviate any concerns that the intimate relationship would end when the marriage begins.

6. What do you think would have happened to cause someone to have “Will you marry me?” on the back of their caravan?

A pregnancy and parental shotgun promise occurred, so they're proposing and showing the promise of where they'll raise their family. 

Bonus: Tell us about someone you would have proposed to but never had the chance/opportunity.

There hasn't been anyone that I've missed an opportunity to propose to. I've proposed to "my wife", but considering that we're both married, I didn't do it with a symbolic token like a ring. Also, we're not allowed to marry. Additionally, we both have husbands. But still, I proposed. 

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 to tmituesdayblogfrom your website!

Happy TMI Tuesday!

The Darkness

She touched the little box in her pocket and smiled, feeling a contrasting shudder and affection for her lover.  Her mind briefly went to a moment where she found herself panicked, standing alone momentarily in a dark room, but she shook the memory away, the only remnants the faint scent of sweat and cologne from that night.

She never thought that she would be obliging this resolution. It didn’t feel like an option, but the choice was this or to leave. That was it then: she could forsake her lover or give up all her free will. Today, at last, she decided upon her lover, content to give up her independence and never felt so free until this pivotal moment.

She walked into her lover’s home. The front door was unlocked, as it was the majority of the time. Silence greeted her, and for a moment she felt herself losing her nerves, the joy in the feeling of being free slipping tenaciously. She gulped for air, determined, and searched the rooms, coming into his bedroom.

The sound of a bathroom door opened, and there was her lover, steam rising in the background, skin glistening, covered in only a towel, and for a moment she thought he was a god come to deliver her. His cold grey eyes widened slightly, the only indication he was surprised by her unexpected visit, before narrowing. But no god, this man coming out of a shower. This was the man who knew every dark secret in her heart, who made fantasies come true without her ever realizing that she had them. I love this man, she thought, and smiled.

Remembering her place, she kneeled down on the floor. Fumbling, her trembling hand reached in her pocket and pulled out the small box – her gift of freedom in slavery. Lifting her head up and looking up at him, she extended her hand, palm up, with the box in it. He smiled, briefly, at her, and it was as if the sun beamed down upon her, so radiant and warm did she feel.

He gazed intently at her eyes, not moving, as if judging if she were even worthy, and she felt nervous. He always seemed to have an air of aloofness, distance. A woman used to making men crazy to be with her, she was incredibly turned on by his detachment.

He loved her; she knew that, but she had denied him sharing her in that black room, changing her agreement of acceptance. And then instantly regretted it, especially when she enviously watched another woman being shared with the men, the screams of orgasms making a hot pool between her own legs. And then he penetrated the woman, and she was equally turned on and insanely jealous that it was not she that was being used so.

He circled around her leisurely, and she moved her eyes to the floor, too nervous to follow his movements. She wished he wasn’t always so self-possessed, and craved to touch her as frequently as she desired his touch. Suddenly he grasped her throat, his other hand tilting her chin up, as he bent down to kiss her from behind. Tongue met tongue and she melted, clinged to him like life, gasping for breath by the end of the kiss.

She realized he hadn’t said a word yet. She also realized that he accepted her gift, though he hadn’t even touched it yet.

He moved to the front of her and removed his towel, already so hard. Grabbing the back of her head, he dove into her mouth and she frantically tried to open wide for him, to make her mouth as inviting as possible for his possession. He didn’t seek the softness of her lips or tongue, he delved to the back of her throat, and she tried to focus on breathing, knowing that this was part of her penance. She dropped the box from his movement, and let her hands drop to her sides. Her eyes watered and she felt the urge to gag with his inflexible sex touching the back of her throat.

She felt herself become wet, and hoped, so badly, that he would also thrust himself between different lips. He understood that about her, whereas no one had. She became free of burdens with him, and wondered why it had taken her this long to finally, fully submit to her own desires in him.

He pulled out of her mouth in the same manner that he had moved in, and either she lost sense of balance or his hand on the back of her neck guided to her fall forward so she was now hands and knees.

“As tempting a sight as that is, get naked and lay on the bed,” he commanded, and she felt herself tightening in anticipation. She scurried to get up, in such a rush to discard her clothing that she cast them upon the little box.

The box that would be opened hours later, when they had spent their passion out on each other, bound more firmly in love and trust and understanding. 

Want to discover what other people uncovered in that box? Click on this wicked one...

TMI: You

1. Tell us about you in 10 words or less.
Impulsive, playful, over-analytical, loving, reader, supportive, impatient, high sex drive

2. What radio stations do you have programmed and regularly listen to (format, genre)?
Rock, Alternative, Hit List, Country

3. What color are your eyes today?
Brown and bored

4. Did you shave today?
Yes, even my legs!

5. What’s your personality?
I am rarely content to be still, whether it's planned or unplanned, I am happiest doing something and exploring. I can be argumentative, but I am still a good listener and communicator. I very frequently get my own way

6. Tell us two things that most people mention they like about you.
Open minded and friendly

7. Name one thing that you really like about yourself.
My reading ability

Bonus: How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?
Physically 30; Mentally either 24 or 70 - rarely anything in between 

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 to tmituesdayblog from your website!

FFF: A dream shattered

FFF Prompt - July 12 - Phone Lines

Required Phrase =
"Answer it"

Forbidden Words = Orgasm

Word Length = 661

Extra Credit = Tell us who's calling

Bonus Words = 50 if you tell us a phone sex confession

“Are you going to answer it?” The voice sounded wrong, really wrong. She felt drawn out of passion’s dream-like quality more from his voice than the phone ringing beside her head.

She didn’t open her eyes, just groped around for the phone. He stopped moving in and out of her, withdrawing, rolling onto the side of her. She could feel his weight beside her, and missed that feeling so much.

Her voice cracked with unexpected emotion. “Hello?”

“That guy you brought home isn’t Matt, honey. I saw you walking out of the bar with him. You can’t bring Matt back.”

“Fuck off,” she muttered, frustrated at her best friend. She went to hang up, hit the phone receiver, but if fell down. Refusing to her open her eyes, she grabbed at the cord and swung it up above her head. “Where were we?” she asked.

“Who was that?" A brief chuckle at her ridiculousness, "Why are your eyes shut? What’s wrong?” God, why did his voice grate on her nerves so badly?

“My eyes get very sensitive after I’ve been pleased.” She lied, rubbing his muscular thigh, feeling her way up to his balls, massaging them, feeling him shift and smiling a little.

His body covered hers again. He went to kiss her but she turned her head to the side, and instead his warm mouth molded itself against her neck, sucking and nibbling in the most delicious ways. He moved inside of her, parting her lips, and she relished the feeling of fullness. He began the rhythmical movements in and out of her again, and the ridge of his head felt so amazing when it slid in just the right spot. She moaned, moving one hand around him to stroke up and down, encouraging him to continue. He continued to feast upon the susceptible side of her neck, such an inviting mouth and tongue, and yet she shivered. His hand reached to capture her other hand, and he began increasing the movement.

For the briefest of moments, she believed that he was Matt. It was the right build, the pace was now similar to his favorite. A warm male body covering her own, filling her, loving her. He was here, now. She hadn’t answered the door to the men in stiff, formal uniforms, offering their immediate condolences about her husband. It didn’t happen…that was a dream.

A dream, she thought desperately, as the pleasure began building, and she felt herself drifting off with the indulgence, losing coherent thoughts for the briefest, most needed, escape.   

**Phone sex confession:
I suck at phone sex. I am okay in the beginning, though it feels awkward to me. But then I start touching myself, and listening to the voice on the other side, and lose myself to the pleasure. Eventually I abandon speaking to my lover, instead moaning or gasping at my own pleasurable sensations. Fortunately, they don't seem to mind this verbal communication on my end.  
Sadly, right now I am having far more phone sex than actual sex. 

Independent Princess

FFF Prompt - July 5 - Independence Day

Key Word - Independence or Independence Day
Word Limit - 237
Forbidden Word - Fireworks
Extra Credit - Put the action on July 5th

It is hard being a famous princess. The woodland creatures and children look up me.

Worse, I had to plan a wedding once a year, because everyone knows that weddings are the “happily ever after”.

My handsome prince, was impatient during the umpteenth wedding, as he muttered: “every stupid July 5th.”

I kept my smile, and nodded slightly. We knew the routine, kissed when expected with large smiles on our faces, and rushed towards the carriage with rice being thrown, amidst trumpets, people cheering, the creatures waving goodbyes, even the doves calling down a congratulations as they flew over.

The white carriage, with its perfect-heart-shaped-carved-out-backing, so people can observe our happiness. I leaned my head on his shoulder, conscious of the numerous eyes watching our departure. He also knew the eyes were directed to the back of us. He kicked the basket at our feet, the clink of glass apparent; I gave a sigh of relief at seeing the alcohol bottle with glasses. He reached over, seemingly to embrace me closer, reached in and pinched my nipple, hard. He began twisting it viciously as he whispered his commands, the eyes peering at our backs us becoming farther away. Those wicked words wound me up. He ordered me to lift my dress, slipped his hand up my thigh, then grasped and ripped my panties off. A little bit of lace is hardly a barrier.

His fingers sought my already dripping sex, and he roughly pushed three inside me, his other fingers still created a wave of pain to my nipple. As his fingers fucked me, he told me how I was to strip naked once we got to the secret glade and serve him, the tortured foreplay that was going to occur as I was tied to a tree, how he was going to fuck me raw against a rock till my back bled. “Cum,” he commanded as he felt the tightening around his fingers. “Cum,” and I convulsed around his fingers, the pain and pleasure so exquisite.

As with the first honeymoon, I gave up complete independence, and loved every minute of submissiveness. 

Fulfilling Bruises

When I first got together with my husband, I had bruises on my knees. We both had no idea why, but it had been a very long night of all foreplay, and no sex. Literally, all night long. So I shrugged my shoulders at the unknown source of the bruises, but he worried that I bruised easily.

A year later…As a professional, he marked me on the neck: a small hickey, but one that I had to cover in makeup and hair, and I was extremely upset over it. I cannot have a visible mark on me for my career, especially a teenage-ridden one. He remembered to be more careful from then on.

And later…With our more passionate lovemaking, I would often have finger bruises on my thighs. I loved these marks, small little marks that often I was only aware of, a secret reminder of our time together. The marks became more numerous if we saw each other for any length of time, and I marveled how dark they could get, how lovely they looked against my milky thighs.

When we would wrestle, I would sometimes bruise, mostly it was me bruising myself trying to get the upper advantage, occasionally on my wrist from him managing to pin me down. I loved these playful moments; he always worried about me getting hurt.

I am so much shorter than him (over a foot), and he outweighs me almost double. I am grateful for his concern, but….

I wanted him to spank me. We had already learned I liked my nipples played with rough, orgasm harder from rougher sex, and my hair tugged. But when I asked him to spank me, it was lightly. It didn’t do the job that I wanted, that I was curious about. He was scared to mark me, to hurt me, to bruise.

Just like the finger bruising, or the sore nipples, I wanted to both see and feel our time together, even after the fact. I wanted to be reminded of it. I wanted to savor it.

It took a lot of talking, reassuring, instructing, demanding to get where he finally smacked my ass to sting. We both marveled over how red, how we could see his hand and finger imprints. It felt so deliciously warm to the touch; I smiled and even giggled when I kept looking back to see it. Sadly, it didn’t last throughout the night, but he was so worried about spanking me that hard, I worried not only what it would take to get it to bruise (and if I would even like it), but more how I was going to convince him to go even harder. I was working against his own preconceived notions, and society's, of never to intentionally hurt a woman. But it was kink/pleasure, and at my consent; he needed to see it differently.

My loving husband, who protected me and sheltered me, who thought I bruised so easily, so was cautious about marks (my point was visible marks, but he was still cautious), was now being asked to bruise me – someone much smaller than him.

It went against his protective nature, but fortunately for me, his nature is ultimately to please me. He is truly a lover that is flexible, adaptable, and open-minded. And we did finally accomplish a bruised and marked ass (which I was thrilled about, but that experience also taught us limits and timing on spanking). Since then, I’ve asked for much more from him.

I am such a lucky wife, that I married a man who is changing and evolving with me to keep our sex life interesting and new. That if I become curious, I feel comfortable enough to discuss it with him; or vice versa. And if we are ever uncomfortable with a suggestion, we simply don’t do it or discuss our way to comfortable at a much later date.  

Many married couples do not share their fantasies with each other; we not only share ours, but do our best to fulfill them. Even if that means bruising.

Not all marks are visible; he has left so many invisible, deeply imbedded traces throughout the years, and those are certainly savored, cherished, felt, and loved.

How you know I'm ready

The buildup, it takes me higher and higher until I can't think. Tied up, immobile. Unable to move and at his mercy.  He knows my limits and he pushes them always.

I haven't seen him in so long and he is determined to make up for lost time. New pleasures, new tortures, all await me. I brought toys of the delightful kind, he brought toys of the torturous.

I'm bound from head to foot in a delightful design with the ropes that were cut just for me. He fits a ball gag in my mouth, a new toy for us. He'd had me wear my plug out all afternoon while we running errands and now, he was making me enjoy its presence.

My heart rate spikes as he tells me it's best not to have the plug in for what comes next, it might be too intense. That's when I hear something click, and a whoosh; just before something small has a sharp impact on the tender flesh of my inner thigh...

Gloves have spanked and smoothed skin, a leather belt has lashed welts into tender flesh, and now this new tantalizing curiosity. I've no idea what it is. Another click, another sharp sting of impact. A few more and he asks if I know what it is.

I'm forced to answer in the negative. I've no clue as to what the object is, and frankly, it's hard to think clearly with the exquisite torture I'm being put through as is. That's when he raises my blindfold and it takes me a moment to identify the bright orange and blue object in my lovers sadistically clever hands...

It's a nerf gun. I'm currently being shot in the pussy with a nerf gun. He switches now to the gloves again, my tender flesh brightly red from its abuse. Suddenly my lover uses yet another new implement he's bought: an industrial abrasive scrub brush. It's rubbed on my raw skin and my eyes begin to water... I moan into my gag and stretch against my binds...

The exquisite torture he is putting me through has come to a crescendo and I'm crying. The gag is new to me and the saliva pooling from my mouth, coupled with the ache in my jaw from the size of it, are adding to the intense sensations I'm experiencing throughout the rest of my body. Mascara is running down my face and I'm moaning for all that I'm worth when my lover stops and comes to my head to remove my gag. He's petting my tear stained cheeks and kissing my forehead and asking if I'm ok.

I'm confused and befuddled. I don't know why he stopped. He suddenly wipes a tear from my cheek and examines it shining on his finger. He looks past to me to say something I was definitely not expecting.

"I hate to see you cry, I can't stand it."

My heart melts just a little bit more as I point out I almost always cry when we play rough, it's honestly just one of the steps to subspace. He assures me he knows, but that this time of play was particularly intense and he never wants to hurt me beyond that which I enjoy.

I love this man and his care of me. We are far from perfect, but we are perfect for each other. As he soothes me and I sooth him of his worries, the heat of desire returns to our eyes. We use the smaller ball for the gag to ease my aching jaw and he kisses me and returns the blindfold to my eyes.

I know he has gotten over the heartbreak of my tears as he makes me pick a number between 1-40... I low ball it, instinctively knowing I won't like it and less is better. 4 is the number of thumb tacks I chose to sit on with my abused posterior. I've no idea of this prior to him assisting me down (of course, I am still tied and blindfolded) onto the sharp needle points. Those hateful tears sporting back up instantly and I'm furiously shaking my head no. No no no! I can't, I won't, it's too much.

He instantly picks me back up and soothes me again. I'm in for more intense treatment throughout the night, more tears, deep subspace, then finally that heightened crescendo of being filled with him, the thing I've been longing for all day.

Although my tears had moved him that night, despite being tears from the incredibly sweet pain I craved and which he gave me to heighten my pleasure, it is the true tears I must hide. For come morning we must part and my love will no longer be mine again for quite some time to come.

The tears from pain are how you know my body is ready, the tears from parting are how you know my heart is ready.
 

TMI: fill ins

This TMI Tuesday let’s play sexy fill-in the blanks.
1. If my sex life were a film, it would be rated the kind you go behind the curtain for, after being carded.

2. I got a body for being extremely sexually active and a face for smiling appreciatively at a partner that can keep up .

3. It’s extremely sexy when a guy/girl does dishes, or wants me as much as I want them .

4. Doing yoga naked makes me very blatant in my come-fuck-me message .

5. In the morning, I am always full of energy .

6. I would love to learn ropes in the kink community .
Bonus: Roses are ____ , Violets are ____ , YOU CREATE THE REST OF THE POEM

Examples:

Roses Are Red
Violets Are Blue
God Made Me Pretty
What Happened To you?

Roses are straight
Violets are twisted
Bend over love
You’re about to get fisted                       (I love this one!)

————-
Roses are lovely
Violets are complex
Let's not go further
I just want to have sex

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 to tmituesdayblog from your website!

REAL sexy

I like taking pictures.... a lot. And I've found myself thinking when I get compliments "That's not really me though, that's Dress Up A"... Sometimes, I'm in PJs, a bathrobe, a bun and no makeup. I definitely don't feel sexy day in and day out.

I find that to be a load of crock and something I needed to correct. I've decided to start being REAL sexy on top of the posed type.

How to make a bathrobe sexy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

See other very sexy people

FFF: Illuminations

FFF Prompt - Stratagem - June 28
 Key Word = Stratagem
Word Length = 700
Forbidden Words = Spy, Tuxedo
Bonus Points - Quote your favorite line (and link to the source in case we don't know it)

She leaned over, rested her chin on her hand propped up on the table, hair cascading to the side, and winked. He cocked his head to the side, unsure what the wink was for.

After all…he was winning.

The city lights shined brightly in sharp contrast to the night sky, just as her nudity contrasted his evening attire. They were both in a suite, sipping champagne, seated at a table playing chess; but he was fully dressed, even wearing his shoes, and she was kneeling on the chair, naked, nipples almost grazing the table. Clearly, they were on unequal ground. He was aloof, clothed in the uppermost formal shield; she was exposed, vulnerable.

Still, a small smile, one corner turned up slightly more in a crooked smugness, her eyes shining brightly as she looked at the chess board. He was puzzled by her reaction.

She couldn’t believe her position. When she normally took jobs, it wasn’t to sit naked and play chess, though she was sure he would have other, more wanton requests. But chess? And then what? Checkers, moving to cards, moving to naked Twister? Or was he too refined for that?

He would want his monies worth, of that she was sure, was just unsure what that entailed for this client. And yet he sat across from her, gazing intently at her, equally focused on the beautiful board between them, and gave an impression of superiority.  Little did he know her stratagem.

She leaned back, pretended concern, and moved. His eyes had drifted to her hands, watched as she gracefully manipulated a small figurine. Her hair shifted slightly to cover one small but perfect breast, the other breast revealing a hardened nipple. She studied the board; he studied her.

But pride would not let him be distracted by her beauty. He moved a piece, and his eyes widened with disbelief when she reached across the board suddenly, and moved to checkmate. She clapped in delight, still leaned over the table, eyes on the winning board; he stared at her, eyes darkening and broadening, leaning back.

She looked up, a smile on her gorgeous face, and saw his expression. Smile vanished. “Would you like to play another game? We have all night,” she offered as reparation.

He casually swiped the pieces onto the floor. “Let’s play the game you were meant to play,” he said, his voice gruff with intent, and passion. He moved next to her, stepping on her dress. She seemed concerned, and he felt his manhood harden. He felt powerful with her unease, and grabbed her hair, ignoring her mewling sound, pulling her off the chair. She fell, not able to get her legs out to catch her descent, and tears were brought to her eyes with violent tugging of her hair.

She made a sound: half whimper, half plea, and situated herself to her knees. She tentatively reached up and unzipped his pants, adjusting his sex through his boxers, and wrapped her lips around his shaft.

His hand still in her hair, he moved his other hand to grip behind and slightly to the side, and thrusted in, until he felt his tip hit the back of her throat, until he heard her gag and almost retch, and watched as tears formed in her eyes.

He chuckled, murmured as he stroked the side of her face, “I think you are losing,” as he watched her continue stroking his cock with her mouth, eager to please, cautious in case he forced her too far again.

She moved rhythmically, glancing up often to gauge his reaction, trying to bring him to pleasure quickly. She felt him tense, throw back his head, and knew he was going to cum. Her fingertips scanned ever so slightly, delved inside, and gripped. She swiftly pushed away when she felt fluid pumping into his base, cum splattering onto her breasts as she rose up, slashing with the knife she gripped across his throat, blood mixing with his cum on her porcelain skin, watched as he now kneeled, hands going to reach his throat, but not making it before dropping with his body onto the floor.

She was dismayed that he bled on her dress and she didn’t have another. She also felt like gloating, stepping barefoot over him, saying, “*wars and temper tantrums are the makeshifts of ignorance; regrets are illuminations come too late.”

 

*Joseph Campbell, The Hero With a Thousand Faces, an excellent perspective on mythology, and one of my favorite books. My absolute favorite quote of all time.

Now, this is over 700 words slightly, which I've never gone over. At first I added more fluff because for FFF this is a lot of words allotted this week, and I am not used to it for these prompts. Then the story grew, and I had to trim, but I liked my fluff at the beginning, and couldn't stand cutting out anymore. So it remains. I'd get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness, but I can't guarantee what I'll do after that, so let's just call it even, shall we?

Description of my orgasm(s)

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.  

Clear Vision

         She found herself standing in a dark room alone, silence except for the booming thunder, blind except for the brief flashes of lightning from a large window. She fumbled for the tornado radio on a table, next to the front door, hitting her knee in her effort and dropping something before feeling the radio, and turned it on. The radio crackled out a thunderstorm warning for the following counties, hers being one of them.

            She breathed a sigh of relief. Just recently, a neighboring county had been hit by a tornado, leaving a trail of chaos and destruction. She was glad that it wasn’t a tornado warning. And she cursed that she became so consumed in her work that it was now dark, and for all she knew, she was alone in the building.

            She wondered where a flashlight could be located, and reached into her purse, removing her phone. Turning it on, she used the feeble light to move in between the cubicles towards a large window, stumbling slightly from time to time. Through the window, the rain slashed and splattered down, and the lightning exposed the tips of the trees swaying violently, the moon completely hidden above the storm.

            Not just the darkness confused her, but she still felt as though she were in that book that she was translating. The book she simply struggled to render appropriately, as the words mesmerized her with their dark erotic fantasies. She had always felt superior translating, this book left her humble and hoping she eloquently did it justice; it provoked a physical reaction that still left her wanting.  

            Halfway to the large window, a flashlight’s beam shone directly in her eyes, blinding her. She stopped abruptly, squinting. A man’s voice stated with some surprise, “Ah, Jen, I had thought you had left with everyone else.” His accent thick, making him distinguishable even blind, Jen was glad she wasn’t alone in this frightening storm. He lowered the flashlight, but she still couldn’t see anything. Too bad, she thought, he was gorgeous to look at. Recently joining her department, she and other women would cast stolen glances at him when he was near.

            “I lost track of time, I guess.” She shrugged. Spots of lights still flashed before her eyes, but she could see his form silhouetted in front of the window. She noticed that the beam of light was pointed downwards, at a spot between them in the carpet. The light moved forward, towards her, and she looked up to see him closing the distance between them. She smelled his cologne when he was close enough to grasp her upper arm, and she felt like leaning into his smell, becoming enveloped in his scent that it became her own.

            “Are you alright?” the lightning exposed his smile, he was so close that his words were felt on her forehead. She shook her head a little, blaming her current thoughts and predicament on the book she was working on. Of course, there could be worse things than being stuck in a storm with a hot man. He mistook her shake, and wrapped his arms around her, and she felt his hard chest through his suit. “It’s okay, the storm will pass over us soon,” he murmured, rubbing her upper back. She found herself putting her arms around him, holding him tightly. His heat seemed to cocoon her, and she felt so hot all the sudden she was afraid of perspiring. At least she could blame it on the storm, and his assumption that she was terrified.

            “I’m okay,” her voice came out muffled from his suit jacket; she felt oddly calm at the soothing strokes of his hand on her back, the other arm still holding her tightly to him. The hand moved a little lower, to her lower back, and the circles would sometimes reach the top of her ass. She was sure that wasn’t intentional, and decided to not protest it.

            Still holding her but allowing more room between them, he looked down at her face. “So lovely, Jen, even in shadows and darkness.” She was surprised at the words, but more surprised when his face could be vaguely seen lowering, lips came down to meet hers, his hand now firmly on her ass, pushing her towards him again. She found herself kissing him back, his tongue melding with her own, the taste of him unique. “So hot,” he leaned back and murmured, and she briefly felt his hardness against her through the layers of clothes. The hand caressing her butt gripped tighter, the arm supporting her shoulders was suddenly used to turn her around so fast that she was shocked, letting out a little cry, tripping over her own feet and grabbing in the dark a nearby desk. The arm snaked over her shoulder, pulling her up and against him, the other hand lifted up her heavy mass of hair, and she heard him whisper something in his native language, so soft she wasn’t sure what it was, as his mouth came down upon her neck.  She felt goose bumps along her skin, and her body tremored slightly.

She hazily wondered what she was doing, alone in a storm with a near stranger that apparently didn’t ask for permission to approach her sexually. She debated briefly if she would tell him to stop, or do something, but his other hand slowly started unbuttoning her blouse, the palm grazing the newly exposed skin as he unhurriedly went down the row. His mouth moved to the side, the hand still gently lifting the hair up to give him full access. She moaned, and decided that she would see where this would take her. She could always tell him to stop later.

Fingers deftly made their way into her bra, fingertips caressing nipple tip to a hardened point before tugging slightly. He lips and tongue so warm sliding along her jawline, she turned her head to be able to kiss him. He dropped her hair as his mouth seared against hers, his tongue probing and asking of her own passion. Suddenly, he pinched her nipple hard at the same time as he trapped all her hair in his grasp and pulled her head back, away from the kiss. “I wonder if you are ready, lovely,” he questioned to her ear, still holding her head back as the fingers moved from nipple down, pulling up her skirt so quickly and moving aside her panties that she didn’t even think to protest.

She almost felt panicked at his aggression, unused to it, unsure of him, but a finger stroked against her clit, sliding easily along her slickened lips to penetrate her sex. She gasped, and he inserted two fingers. His mouth again moved to the side of her neck, nibbling and sucking, as his fingers moved quickly in and out of her. “So ready for me,” he said.

Yes, she thought, you and the book of words have me mesmerized in fantasy. She felt herself soaking his fingers, tightening around them, and began panting. He withdrew them right before she could clench around them in orgasm. He grabbed her hip, the hand in her hair now between her shoulder blades pushing, bending her. Her hands out, they felt the impact of the steady desk, and she laughed, curious if he even cared if she had smashed into it face first. Her skirt was hiked up above her hips, her underwear yanked down, and his mouth moved upon her clit. He pushed her legs further apart, and in her frustration to have him down there, she untangled her high heel from one side of the undergarment, leaving it like an anklet around the other. The tongue darted against her nub, once, twice; sighing, she felt him sucking on it.  She shifted slightly, bending more fully over the desk, pushing papers out of her way. The thundered boomed, the lightning flashed, and she prayed the electricity stayed off and not waken her to reality.

His mouth moved back, his tongue fucked her, his lips pulling at her lips. She moaned and pushed against his mouth, trying to increase the pressure, before he moved, the fingers seeking where his mouth had been, his mouth moving up to licking her anus. The fingers sunk in deeply, curling, fucking her to an orgasm that she screamed more voraciously than the violent storm outside.

“Ready for me?” he panted, moving up to stand behind.

It took her a hazy moment to realize he had actually asked her a question. She heard his clothing shifting. “Oh yes,” she stammered, backing up slightly, bumping into his shadowy form. He chuckled, grabbed her hip with one hand, guided himself to her with the other, before both hands were on the sides of her hips, and he was moving them back and forth, pulling her upon him as he pushed, and roughly taking her to another orgasm, slowly the tempo slightly. She became briefly aware of the rain still pounding down to the earth, very aware of him still filling her deeply, and then thrusting fast again, competing with the speed of the rain, until they both shuddered and groaned.

He stepped back, smoothed down her skirt. He began reassembling his clothes before she even moved to stand up again, feeling wobbly, using the desk for support. She decided to lean against it, and turned, still just seeing him vaguely. She struggled to pull up her panties in the same amount of time that he dressed.

A dream lover, she mused. “My tempest,” he leaned down and kissed her forehead, his accent thicker from their passion. The thundered rolled, but it seemed so far away to her, a relaxing soothing background sound. “You were lovely,” he leaned down and picked up the flashlight, shining it again at the floor.

“What now?” she breathlessly asked. He put an arm around her shoulder, and steered her towards the front door.  

“Shall we get you to your car?” He handed her the purse she had dropped, grabbed an umbrella in the doorway, and continued to move her into the rain. As they stepped outside, the umbrella snapped open, lightning flashed, and the lights behind them were suddenly on again. They laughed as they walked away; she was grateful it was still dark outside. She wanted him to continue being a mysterious dream lover. Tomorrow back at work would be soon enough for her to cast furtive glances of longing or askance at him, translating his mood more than her current book project, amid the papers, chatter, clicking of keyboards, and clear vision.