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.

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...

Kiss

I was drowning in a sea of hate and self-loathing. My eyes pooled and spilled over with tears of anguish. I wanted to scream "I don't want to DO this anymore! I just want to get AWAY!".  I wanted to pound on the walls and express my rage. I wanted to be someone else at the moment, anyone, as long as it was not me,  as long as I didn't have to feel this way, to be this person.

 I needed something from him that he cannot quite understand but I cannot live without. The jumble of feelings and emotions, I needed pain to overcome it all. Pain felt that was wholly my choice, not forced on me by another. To drown out the screaming in my head.

The strike of his hand and the grasp of his strong fingers was what I craved. I wanted the power stripped from me and unleashed through him. It was more than dominance I craved, it was consumption, ownership, to be absorbed into him. I quaked with my need and pleaded with a tear stained voice, trying to express that which was locked inside of me, trapped like I was in the place in my head.

"No."

I was being denied. This was MY life so I shouldn't be surprised, that sad pathetic thing I lived every day. I felt unworthy, wilted more than before, broken. Didn't he know? Couldn't he see I was in pieces on the floor, lying at his feet, at his mercy of which he was giving me none? How could he deny me the thing I needed most? 

Those fingers caressed my cheek and suddenly the dam within me burst. I had been pushed past the limits of my endurance and I couldn't contain it anymore. His cruel denial was the last straw and my anger bloomed in furious color in the staining of my cheeks and the sudden cessation of my tears. My hand came crashing into his cheek with a fury born of everything I was feeling and everything he was denying me. The sound was deafening and the feelings vibrating up through my fingers gave me a vicious satisfaction.

One way or another, someone was feeling the sting.

I turned as quickly as my hand had delivered the blow and tried to dam the hated tears that were brimming and threatening to spill and weaken me again; fully intent on leaving, on seeking solace in privacy from the Hell I was in. Strong fingers in a grasp that demanded my attention, but yet did not claw, suddenly gripped my arm and spinning me about quickly had me crashing into his arms on unsturdy legs.

Those beloved, hated fingers gripped my chin as he stared into my eyes. His lips brushed mine in a whisper. "No". One arm encircled my waist and the other held firm my chin as those same soft lips grazed mine. Once. Twice. Finally the lips took mine in a kiss that held all of the emotion I felt, and the deliverance from it. 

The tears I had so valiant a struggle against came now in torrents and rivers and flooded the earth and our cheeks. The salty taste of them intermingled and caressed our lips as they caressed each other in healing. He moved both arms around me in a tight embrace that told me I was home. The anger and the hurt had no room to be, for there wasn't even an inch between our bodies for them to gain space. He caressed my cheeks, kissed my tears, and stared into my eyes.

He knew me, better than I knew myself right then. I had lost myself, given myself over to things that are dark and seek to destroy but my lover was still there. He was my anchor and saw me when I could not see myself. I needed to see love, not power. The submission of myself and the power of his dominance was shown now not through force, but through an understanding that he would care for and protect me through  and from everything, even myself.

My clothing slipped to the floor in a pool as he slid his hands softly against my skin, caressing and worshiping every fevered inch as he went along. There were no restraints but I could not have broken free from the sensations now humming along my nerves. I loved the feel of his breath, the sigh lightly playing along my skin as his cheek rubbed against the side of my breast while he lowered himself to remove my panties. His head came to rest on my stomach and his arms encircled me for yet another embrace. There are no word I could use to express what the embrace of this man conveyed. As the last of my garments joined those on the floor, the last vestiges of my fury abated. I was soothed, I was loved, I was aroused.

He laid me gently on the bed and parted my thighs with kisses and caresses. He knelt down before me in worship and showed me the submission of his heart to my needs. His tongue was strong as it flicked across the very center of me; unlocking the secrets of me and causing my legs to quake.

The aftereffects of all of the heated emotions that had me so keyed up earlier were still coursing through my blood, making my nerves more sensitive and ready to explode. I could not contain my hands and needed as much as air to caress him, to touch every part I could. Within moments caresses turned into insistent tugging as I needed him to hold me again, to kiss me , to fill me.

No longer being denied, he rubbed his body over mine as the heat of him seared a memory onto my skin that would last an eternity. He was mine as I was his. He caressed my cheek, still damp with my emotion, and stared into my searching eyes.

As he slid into me, with one strong, fluid stroke, those lips, that had saved me from the precipice minutes before, formed the words I needed so badly to hear to heal my soul.

"I love you."

As my muscles melted with my relief they started gathering new tension in preparation for my release. My back arched and my hips rose up to meet his with increasing demand, my body expressing all of the love and need that my heart felt, to drive us forward to completion. As so rarely happens, the world fell into place and we reached our pinnacle together, my body tightening and wringing every drop of his orgasm at the same time, demanding it and claiming it as mine.

I had wanted his violence, but what I needed was his kiss.

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...

Summer Motivation

M here.

Sorry postings have been slimmer, though I'll explain an amazing time to be had. A, being the playful, little single she is, isn't the most consistent at blogging, though brilliant about articulating her adventures.

As for me, summer is a time of travel, as the kids have off. It is also a time where my husband and I are most assuredly separated, whether by moving, deployments, or I leave him to visit family, etc..It just seems to work that way.

So I don't have a lot of sexy inspiration during the summer, being busy and focused on the kids and their agendas more. Doesn't leave a lot of time for sex (but my masturbation time increases). Kids just have a way of sucking all the sexiness out of life.

On the bright side of all this, while playing a game together with a group of friends, my husband and I bet that I couldn't hold out 11 minutes and 18 seconds until I orgasmed (it would have been the third time). I really didn't think I would win it, but I did! Our friends were kind enough to listen to me orgasm on Skype, and helped keep track of time. My prize: an hour of being tied up.

The next day over the phone he went into delicious detail about painting a picture of what to expect: wrists tied with an immediate orgasm by fingers to keep me extra sensitive, then by oral sex, and again possibly by vibrator. Then ankles tied with knife, wax, cold glass, ice cubes, vibrator...um, I may be forgetting a few other implements. Edging, he promised/threatened five times, before allowing me to be pleased by the sixth. I believe my ankles would also be tied by my wrists by this point. Next tied position, laying on my stomach. Gosh, I believe a spreader and a plug and paddle by this point...anyhow, I have to patiently wait at least another month to have this become a reality, and I am not a patient person.

And while I was listening to the deep, sensual pitch of his voice, almost hypnotic, I couldn't help brushing my fingertips over my puckered nipples, around the soft globe of my breasts, down the curves of my waist and hips, and up my inner thighs. His words went into such great detail on where he would move, what he would do, how he would smile even (though I wouldn't be able to see through the blindfold), that I tightened with expectation. My fingertips grazed my clit, and stayed there for a few minutes, teasing my body in tone with his words, before sliding into my slick folds. I was slowly rubbing, tingling pleasantly with the soft strokes in and out, but when he began talking about edging and finally allowing me to cum, my fingers tensed up and curled and I came.

Hmm, this may be why the details of being flipped over are hazier than the rest. I heard every word, extended my pleasure to the rhythm of his story, but yet...memory with pleasure just isn't strong.

Anyhow, inspiration promises to come in spades. We are going to experiment and play to a teasing level that we haven't yet, and I'm curious how my sensitive body will handle it all.

And while I have to patiently wait for this, hopefully smaller inspirations will be granted. Until then, apologies for the sparse posts. A and I will continue on in the tempo we are motivated to.

-M

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. 

Unknown Leads to Desire: Mating in Captivity

Esther Perel's book Mating in Captivity: Unlocking Erotic Intelligence was suggested by My Dissolute Life.

I cannot read a book without writing in it (I never borrow books for this reason). I had an English Professor tell me that "books talk to us, talk back", and that seemed like as good as motivation to explain to people as ever. And yes, because most of my reading is done in the bath, I still read actual paperbound books (shocking, I know, but imagine how expensive an electronic book would suddenly become if I dropped it).

As I've been reading this book, I've been reflecting. This seems like a good place to share. I'm strictly going to speak from a military spouse, and generalize that most spouses are females to a military man.

Perel states that unknown factors increase excitement and desire, hence the giddy love-rush feelings at first. But unknown isn't synonymous with security, so we seek to make each other more known in a commitment: "to control the risks of passion, you have tamed it out of existence." (Perel, 10)

She suggests looking at your partner with a new perspective (ever seen someone appreciate something about your partner, and realize that you've been taking that very thing for granted in them?). For example, I go to the same local family business to buy my ball gowns. The seamstress met my husband, and commented on his slow mannerisms, his thoughtful consideration, his absolute respect, and his gorgeous body. By that point, I had taken some of these things for granted, and no longer saw them until she pointed them out. He does have a slower mannerism than say a person from California (who always seems rushed); I’d forgotten how I used to think that too.

Gorgeous, well I can’t forget that. For some reason, even after years, he still takes my breath away. When I told her one year that we were done having babies, she declared, “no baby, no. He is gorgeous and he needs to make gorgeous babies.” She’s right: he is gorgeous, but that doesn’t change the fact that he was not having any more babies. Now, we were all for practicing.

Now in the military, the odds for taking someone for granted aren’t as high as perhaps some other couples. For one: there’s deployments. Depending on what branch depends on how long they are gone. The fear of them being in harm’s way makes them that much more precious. And you are away from them – aware of the emptiness of the bed beside you, the lack of tripping over their boots, their interactions with the children. Communication is often short and random, words become that more important, preciseness to convey a message is hard but so importantly necessary. Their voice inflections travel from the ear and burrow deeply into the heart, to nourish until the next time. And when you finally see each other again, it is falling in love all over again. Often spouses have lost weight, change a hairstyle, become more independent, developed a new routine; kids have grown. Military personnel are often more muscular and defined, tired, perhaps have even changed emotionally and mentally from what they’ve experienced.

Trainings/schooling tend not to be as long, but it is still a breaking apart and coming together again. Also, spouses will often travel and visit family if they’ve moved far away for extended periods of time. There always seems to be a reason for parting and coming back together in the military lifestyle.

It is getting to know each other again; they are unknown to each other again depending on the length of time; and their unique and completely individual experiences. The fact that they are married changes nothing of the newness of each other, that is more based on the love and commitment to each other, not in the actual wanting of each other. "Love is about having; desire is about wanting. An expression of longing, desire requires ongoing elusiveness." (Perel, 37) These couples are often elusive, and want to recommit to each other, to discover and delve into each other again, and desire tends to be very high at homecomings. A new lover delivered safely, an "oh yeah, I forgot how that feels" touch or caress, a new trick heard and now tried. Even old tried and try methods are made new and appreciated.

The up and down rollercoaster of the relationship in a military lifestyle isn’t all grand; it is downright challenging. At a recent marriage retreat that my husband and I went to, we heard from the chaplain that the divorce rate was currently 75%. There have a lot of studies debating if it is higher than the average national norm or not, I’ve read a lot of it and it seems pretty undecided as a whole. But it is challenging. Some couples become addicted to the partings and homecomings, and cannot handle their spouses for long periods of time - they've become stagnant and lose that desire. Some have lived apart for so long that when they finally come together, they discovered they didn’t want to be married anymore, the desire simply wasn't there at all and was perhaps more of an illusion sustained by distance.

I am going to suggest her book to many of my friends, especially if they are ready to transition to civilian life where separateness may be more challenging. Perel in no way suggests living separately to gain individuality, those are my own thoughts based on a military lifestyle. She discusses reawakening the newness when there has been no new element in a long time (which the military provides); of desiring each other again. When not forced apart, I can only hope that my spouse and I retain our individual selves and continue to view each other with desire from different perspectives.

*As a side note: even reading other bloggers really helps my own sex life. It has made me curious to try new things, to get out of my comfort zones, to point towards someone else’s words who have more effectively communicated wants that I’ve been trying to tell my husband. There are even some great videos that bloggers provide to offer how-to for so many numerous kinks.

With bringing in new ideas, or often being reminded of old favorites, I believe that we will keep our sex life and desire fresh just because we are so fluid with it.   

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.

Naked Woman Clothes

FFF: Apartment No 6

Word Limit - 369
Required Phrase - Bewildered
Forbidden Words - Knock, Lock(ed), Super
Extra Credit - Set the story during mid-day.
Bonus Words -
Tell us how she got the slipper (25 words)
Tell us about the neighborhood (25 words)

The machine made a horrible racket and then stopped working. It felt like her heart stopped too. She had an interview in thirty minutes. She opened the dryer door, and her meager collection of clothes were sopping wet. A curse word escaped her lips, think. Her friend, Katie, was moving out today of apartment 6, next door, and since it was midday she was hoping Katie was there and not finished moving. Peeking out her door, no one was in the hallway, not even a noise, and she slipped her feet in her slippers and rushed down the hall.

When she rapped desperately on the door, she realized how ridiculous she was. What was the point of slippers if she was butt naked? Habit, but she must look insane. And she still had the notes for the interview in her hand. She could only hope Katie would answer, laugh, pull her inside, and loan her some clothes so that she could make it to the interview desperately needed.

A man opened the door. Bewildered, she wondered if someone new had already moved to this rundown neighborhood- this was an interesting way to say hello and greet your neighbor. She didn't know if she should scream, apologize, walk away or say something...anything. He was staring, gorgeous eyes, broad shouldered, bulging biceps. "Like what you see?" he asked, her gaze was obvious.

She snapped out of her confusion. Shrugging, she decided false bravado. "Like what you see?" she parried back, and then stood on tiptoe, looking for Katie. "Is Katie here?"

"No, I'm her brother, and she's at the new place."

She found boxes and ducked around him, moving in. "Tell her Natalie borrowed some clothes for an interview. Does she still have some here?" already rummaging, she didn't see the appreciative look in his eyes.

"What will you give me if I show you?" he teased. She faced him, gorgeous she thought again.

"A date tonight, followed up by a massage for your help moving and showing a naked woman clothes."
 

He laughed, "never thought I'd show a sexy lady how to cover herself," he said as he walked past towards a room. She said a silent thanks and followed close behind. She'd make it to the interview on time, and had a date with a hottie to celebrate tonight. She just hoped he was paying, money was a little tight right now.    

No Option of Escape

FFF Prompt for June 4 - Escape!

Key Word = Escape
Word Limit = 333 words
Word Restrictions = Racquetball, lover, sunlight, morning
Bonus Points = Tell us about a time when you had to escape yourself.
She needed to escape! The words pounded in her head, her blood pumping with nervousness as she looked behind her at the bed. What was his name? Shit, she needed to know. It was important, imperative, she remember his name. Normally, it wouldn't matter in the slightest. She reached for her little black dress, searching for her panties and bra. Where the hell were her shoes?

Her head pounded, from stress or the hangover she wasn't sure. Her phone buzzed again, another friend texting about the chaos of the Boston lock-down. He stirred, and she froze in panic. Her friends had nothing to complain about, she was the one waking up next to a practical stranger, after having spent a drunken passion filled night...and she still couldn't remember his name. And now she couldn't sneak away in the perfect-one-night-stand-disappearing-act-routine.

Right when she located her bra and went to put it on, he opened his eyes, and looked directly at her. A sleepy smile appeared on the stubbly face, eyes slightly red but amazingly a vivid blue greeted her. She always did have a thing for dark hair and blue eyes. "Hey sexy," she whispered, trying to come up with a plan, a statue of nervousness, still holding her bra. Who needed a plan, her foggy brain rationed, she had breasts. She threw her bra to the floor and slipped between the covers, caressing his back, his arm automatically going around her.

"Hello Miranda," his voice had a husky timbre to it. Shit, he remembered her name. She began nibbling on his neck, stalling, arching and pressing her breasts against him, feeling his chest hairs sliding across her nipples. She reached down and felt his hardened reaction. First sex, she decided, next joke about how she calls him god from now on, and then more sex. What else was there to do in a locked down city with a stranger?

**I was inspired by this blog after reading about a man stuck in an apartment, during the Boston lockdown with a one night stand (someone he did know, thankfully) and her roommate. He talked about how he lost the dignity of slipping away the next day, and how awkward it was.

Once, when I was younger (and dumber), and handcuffed by the police, I had to escape the cuffs. I smoked cigarettes then, and the officer graciously allowed me to smoke, even lighting it for me, as he awaiting another officer. However, I couldn't smoke with no hands, I just wasn't that talented. So I slipped one hand through the cuff to smoke. He couldn't believe that I could escape that easily.  Fun fact, I can collapse my hand to the size of my wrist (which is tiny to be sure). It hurts, and I don't ever do for that reason, and I never take advantage of it when I am tied up; however, it's comforting knowing that I have that option to escape.

By the way, I have no criminal record. I was not handcuffed for committing crime, simply being around the wrong (awesome) people at the wrong time, it would seem.
 

Expectations

When I was younger, I slept with a (1) man for a few months. Unbeknownst to me, several months after we broke up, I hooked up with a (2) friend he had. While that relationship was no more than one of sex, we did have sex quite often, and I met some of their other friends, another (3) of which I hooked up with just once.

So when the three of them expected me to start sleeping with a fourth friend of theirs, I was mortified. Just because I ended up sleeping with three friends does not mean that I was going to passed around to their crew of friends. Just because I liked sex, and had it when I wanted it, doesn't mean that I would sleep with everyone who crossed my path, that I "ought" to sleep with men who offered me sex, especially if it was someone I knew. I was promiscuous with casual sex and having a good time, but not indiscriminately - I chose who I was attracted to, who I was going to have sex with, and if I even wanted another partner.

The friend was equally mad at me, and felt a sense of entitlement, like it was "his turn". They even went so far to show up at my house, these four guys, and try to sell/persuade me this the fourth guy. I was shocked, embarrassed, hurt, unsure of how to respond. It was one of those freezing up moments,
when time crawls so slowly, when you desperately want to hit fast forward and see it end.

Needless to say, I didn't sleep with that fourth guy, and the other three fast became a (painful) memory. I wanted nothing to do with them after that.

They had labeled me in their minds and to their friends, and they felt that I ought to stay within the boundaries and expectations of that label. It felt shameful that they labeled me at the time, though I hardly recognized that was the emotion. And I allowed that overruling emotion to define me, and I rebelled, and I shut off my own sexuality for a year. A YEAR, without intercourse, without finding a companion to share my desires and sexually fantasies with.

I can look back on that year and say I was proud of my self-control, except it wasn't my control that regulated it - it was the control that I gave those four guys. It was the control that I gave to society's definition that I was a slut, promiscuous with the negative connotations, an oversexualized female.

And I can even point the finger at myself that I had done the same negative judgments, criticizing my virgin friends for not experiencing sex, assuming they were scared, unable to find someone, or...or... the list goes on.

What I should have done is realized that they have a choice and they CHOOSE when to intimate, and with whom. The same choice that I had, that I wanted other people to respect. It wasn't until the judgment was cast at me that I realized that I was guilty of the same type of behavior.

Wasn't Convinced

Most girls outgrow traditional cover-up panties when they get older, and they move onto something sexier, be it g-string, thong, boy shorts... the list is long. I didn't. I kept with the same boring underwear . You know, the kind that cover every bit and normally reserved for days that the monthly comes.

A sister changed over, and then another. Watching the g-string go up their crack, I asked, "doesn't it bother you having something up your butt all day?"

"No, you don't even feel it, it's so thin. Unlike your underwear, where you get wedgies and they suck. And there aren't any panty lines in dresses and pants."

I wasn't convinced, and didn't change over.

...Until.

I was in a long term relationship. We bought a house together, shared a checking account (there is no bigger commitment to me - not even marriage, than these two things).  

We booked a cruise, and I bought a slinky dress (which I normally don't wear). My underwear showed so apparently that I decided that at least for this dress, I would wear a g-string.

And I was sold from that point on. My sister was right: no wedgie, fabric so slight that I was unaware of it after a period of time.  

Sure, I slowly transitioned from my boring underwear to g-strings, and then tried some boy shorts, and other types. I began feeling sexier about my undergarments. I wanted all the sudden for my bras to match my sexy panties. I no longer worried if the pants or dresses would show my underwear.

And

         then

My partner started questioning why all the sudden I was trying to be sexy. Who did I have to impress? Who was going to see under my clothes? Why did I need to replace one type with another? Why was I wanted more form fitting pants and purchasing more dresses?

...Who was seeing under my clothes?  Why was I changing? Why was I showing more skin? Why did I start dressing like a whore?

                                   Who was I sleeping with?

He didn't believe my simplistic reasons, he wasn't convinced. There was a sinister reason, he believed. Suddenly everything I did was suspect, I could no longer do anything without being questioned.

                                 All over my choice of panties.

Yoga I've been doing for years: why did I still have to do? Why was I trying to be more flexible, to move in more positions?

Eating healthy: didn't I look good enough?

Watching a new television program: who introduced me to that?

Going out with friends: was I really going out with friends? "Send me a picture of you and your friends."

This went on for quite awhile, until I had enough. Sadly, looking back, I let it continue far too long. It might not have started with panties, it might have triggered by so many different factors that I was unaware of (his friend was cheated on, he was gaining weight, we were so serious so young...the list is far longer than the types of panties). Unfortunately, the material covering my ass was just the first target. And who knows: it could've been the change in undergarments.

But my ass, and the lack of material covering it, was out of there.

It's amazing how some people perceive fabric at our innermost layer.  For some, it reflects our innermost fantasies, desires. It represents us, our scent, our secret, our sex. It can reflect our time of the month, our insecurities, our confidence, our sensual side.

It can create suspicion, incite lust, kick start relationships, or end them.  

 

What...?

"I have the bouquets right here. But before we go in, I want to discuss something with you guys. We all know she never, ever expected to get married, and recently she's been questioning this decision. We all know they love each other, that they will be just fine. She's getting cold feet, is all. So I've posted family members at all the exit-" laughter "I'm not even joking. But we're closest to her, so we need to watch her carefully for any signs of bolting, cut her off before she can get started."

"No problem," mixed in with other agreement sounds.

 "Great, her parents are all ready to walk/escort/force her down. Mom on one side, dad on the other, it's perfect." The hands holding me were cool, belonging to the calm and collective voice, the person obviously in charge. I thought I was being given to the person in charge, but she sounds in charge...who...what am I getting myself into? I'm meant for happiness, not an emotional woman escaping prison confines. We moved into another room, and I was put down for final touches to the lady in white, her complexion almost matching the dress color. I was handled by the steady hands again before being handed over to freezing shaking ones. Did anyone even take the time to sniff me in appreciation? I was the perfect perfume gone unnoticed.

A deep sigh above me, the owner's hands were sweaty (seriously: sweaty but frigid?). They hurt in their fierce grip. I was concerned at any moment my lovely fragrant petals would be ripped apart, my stems bent or torn. Music started, and I was almost dropped,  a man's hand moved to my side to steady and stop my descent. Whew, close one, but if she decided to run...would she toss me on the ground? Shove me into a door or the chest of some person trying to tackle her like I was some football? I was meant to be tossed daintily into another waiting woman's hands, where I would be cherished as the love symbol that I am. I am delicate...though apparently not as delicate as this person's nerves.

We began walking, and the quaking became severe. How could anyone appreciate my beauty if I was a blur in her hands? Of course, with the back drop of her white-even the hands, my colors had to be vibrant. At least there's that comfort, though small comfort that that was. Oh my, I'm beginning to feel woozy from the shaking, or is it choking of her hands? I can't breathe, I can't see, why won't the world stop spinning? What....

 

Simultaneous Orgasms

The Dirty Normal discussed simultaneous orgasms as "nearly always requires that you both be fully present, attuned, and connected with your partner RIGHT NOW, RIGHT HERE, eyes open, hearts open, lights on, clothes off, breathing and connected, locked into each other, together, now, US."

I agree with parts of this, and don't others. My partner achieves simultaneous orgasms roughly 90% of the time.

Yes, my partner, and not me. I am capable of multiple orgasms, averaging (thank you Orgasm Race to showing me this) three orgasms per session; I've not met a man who has multiple orgasms, and therefore have never been joined for multiples. Most of the time, by the third orgasm, I am physically exhausted and make sure that he joins me on that ride to the top of three.

I agree with the Dirty Normal in that both of us, to attain an orgasm together, are present in the moment (one of the few times I am), attuned and connected to each other's body language. He reads my body's cues, or the "don't stop, right there" words I say (okay, let's face it, he probably relies more on the verbal cues), and moves accordingly - normally exactly as I've told him to. He feels me tightening with my orgasms, which requires him to be present enough and attuned to feel that connection between his penis and my vagina wall muscles. The tightening around his shaft is normally what pushes him over the edge towards his own climax. And usually the more orgasms I have, the stronger and easier they become, and the less control I have over them - which may be another reason we average three - he's already resisted being pleased with the first two.

But, I mostly control when he cums. It comes in handy when I want a quickie, it comes in handy for faking an orgasm (yes, I've been guilty of this a time or two, but only with new partners who lack self-confidence). I can control my muscles, squeeze him (I've read the term milking-not sure how I feel about that one). It increases my own pleasure; it speeds up his.

Now granted, if he wasn't attuned to me - say he was thinking about what to have for dinner later, then no matter what I do, it may not matter.

As for "eyes open" that just doesn't happen for me. And I can honestly say that I have no idea if any of my lovers have had their eyes open - I don't keep mine open. When it starts to feel good, I close my eyes, cut out the visual stimulation, and just feel. My eyes always being closed hasn't stopped simultaneous orgasms yet. And the lights could be off or on, for him or for me.

"Hearts open" is another one that (at least I) don't need. As much as it bothers my partners, I don't feel emotional when I have sex, they are two separate entities for me. I lived with a man for three years, had the most amazing sex, and didn't fall in love with him (but it wasn't for lack of trying). I've still managed these orgasms with that partner. Of course, I'd like to think that simultaneous orgasms are "more special" with someone I love, everything is more special when it is spent with a loved one. But I am a capable of timing the orgasms without emotional attachment.

As for the breathing, I've read some articles on how couples should play with breathing as an exercise to feel connected - same kind of exercise as to touch without sex, massage without being sensual, etc.. I haven't tried these, I would honestly feel like laughing the whole time, but one day when I mature more perhaps I can give these things a go. 

And of course, some may argue that these orgasms wasn't what The Dirty Normal intended, as they are manipulated at times, but even when I don't consciously do anything to have simultaneous orgasms, I do tighten in my own pleasure which pleases him - regardless of the circumstances of our connection.

FFF: Is this Me? And obedient?

Rules: Key Word: Liberation, but not Freedom

Word Count: 199-209
*Accidentally looked at the wrong prompt

 

My mother taught to always be a strong woman. I was fiercely independent - relationships didn't compliment well.

Then I met Max. Instant attraction: tall, dark, handsome, a magnetizing smile. When I pushed for sex, he said wait.

I'm not patient....but I did. When finally physical, we'd already known intimacy, just his terms. It was amazing. As time went on, I began responding to his desires more frequently. He would grab my hair, I climaxed harder. When he told me how to please him, I was excited - not defiant, resentful. I wanted to...

This is where it's gotten me...sitting in an empty room, my back up against the wall (literally and figuratively). He had honestly shared wanting me submissive to him sexually.

So obedient? Dutiful? These words don't describe me! I think... hands pressed together,  knees bent, like in an upright fetal position. I'm not weak, I'm strong. Thinking upon last night, right before bringing me to orgasm, yanking hair - moving mouth to ear, he whispered: "Not weak. Liberation, but not freedom. Submit to me sexually, break free of biases." Then he thrusted in - I screaming and thoughtless.

Still shuddering at the words; I'd made a decision and stood up.   

 

Notes: I checked out the FFF through my phone. I don't know if I found an old one, or a different one to a different blog, but somehow I thought this was this weeks '- oops! Didn't discover the truth until I went to submit it Friday morning. However, I'm proud...I don't want this to not be published and seen, it was challenging to write.
This is such a tiny word count, it's ridiculous. I had to cut out 100 words once I was done with the draft. And the key word isn't a word, it's a damn phrase...but it was also highly inspirational to this story. As soon as I saw it, and the picture, I wanted to depict the inner struggle of a woman faced with this decision, against her own preconceived notions.

A's Acting

To be, or not to be the school girl was the question of the night. I stared at the skirt in my hands and let my eyes drift over to the Mary Jane stripper heels, before rolling them at the whole scenario. I've always prided myself on being open sexually and game to try anything, but I didn't know if I could pull this one off.

Random A fun fact: I don't usually go beyond two or three different phrases in the heat of sex talk. The reason being, I think I sound very, very special, and not the OMG-look-at-her-take-that-whole-banana special, more like the I-confused-snack-foods-for-my-vagina special (see Twitter). So this then has me limiting myself to a few key phrases I have grown comfortable saying.

This obviously doesn't lend itself to being a genius sexy-kitten role player. So, with visions of him thinking he is fucking William Shatner in a plaid skirt, I was a bit apprehensive to fulfill this particular fantasy. This is when my real acting skills shine. I could charm the pants off of a nun, so I quickly started trying to come up with ways and excuses not to do this.

So far the only go-to move I could come up with was to just be naked and waiting, and get his dick inside of my mouth as quickly as possible. Maybe he wouldn't notice the lack of pigtails and super itchy skirt. In a mild, sarcastic panic for a bit, I indulged the fantasies of pleading illness or insanity (I call it the snack food defense), before coming to grips that I had to at least try.

Sigh. He'd indulged the things I wanted to try, and the nightmare of getting all of that honey out of his chest hair meant that I owed it to him to at least attempt the school girl thing. On went the white knee highs which I couldn't help but admire sliding over my smooth, tan legs. Naughty red lace thong gracing the ample ass I'd come to love, that blasted skirt....

Ruby red lips in a nervous smile and a slight fidget greeted him as he came in the door. His eyes lit up in appreciation as he took in the sight of me, and my body relaxed. William Shatner or no, I knew we were going to have a great time together. He came over to take me in his arms and I made some coy remark about "Oh Mr. So-and-So! What are you doing!?" because it was his fantasy and he was breaking the rules.

It was bad... The only thing missing was the dramatic hand placed against my forehead and the fluttering of my lashes. He laughed. A lot. I laughed. Role playing just wasn't something I was ever going to be good at, but laughter during sex I can handle.

He tumbled me to the bed, and I am grateful to say, the rest of the evening was just "Let's fuck A with a plaid skirt on and try to avoid getting stabbed with the stripper heels" instead of the Shakespearean acting session I had been dreading all day.

Sometimes, as long as you try, the failed attempts at kink can be just as hot and fulfilling as those you can do like a pro.

FFF Stolen Moment

FFF Prompt - April 19 - Stolen
Key Words - Stolen
Word Limit - 300
Extra Words - 10 words for everyone you personally invite to join FFF
Extra Credit - Involve a Panda Bear

She bit her lip, unsure what to do. Ordinarily, she knew, but this wasn't like him. Halfway through moving day, and already their relationship was changing. She pushed thoughts aside, proceeded into the room, hoping instincts would guide her with this new predicament.

He was laying on their mattress, stolen from her parents' house, not that they'd miss it from her old room. She knew he was worried what her parents thought, moving in "with a bum like him", but just because he didn't have a degree or great paying job didn't make him less wonderful. He was worried already about buying this fixer-upper; she found it symbolic of their planning a life together: possibilities with an imperfect canvas, sexy image he'd be as he fixed it, muscles prominent, sweat glistening.

He needed to calm down. She dropped her pants next to her panda bear bag she adored, constantly stolen by her friend; she dropped her panties next to his shoes as she approached him slowly. He looked at her at first sound of cloth moving, steadily gazed, waiting to see her next move. His silence was unnerving. She looked at his chest, shirtless while moving, his blue jeans, the blue mattress, smiled as she realized she was wearing a blue shirt.

"Don't be so blue," she instructed, as she straddled his hips and leisurely sank down onto him. The jeans couldn't hide his erection, pressed through the rough material on her sensitive, soft pink folds. Teasingly, she unhurriedly eased her t-shirt up, where his hands - those gifted hands that would soon craft their house a home - already reached up to feel the fullness of her breasts. She realized this was a stolen moment in what hinted a difficult journey, but they had the rest of their lives...