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.

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. 

Guilty Pleasures

            Thoughts overtake me. Walking, attempting to sleep, sitting down, in the company of others when it’s not appropriate the thoughts rush my body. Wicked imaginings: I envision you. Heat, moans, a quickening of the breath, water pouring down us both. Guilty pleasures flash through my head, bad but oh so good. Whispers of limits, shattered lines, softly uttered curses, religious prayers, and begging of need. Feeling, taste, sight, overwhelming my body, forcing my breaths heavy, devastating my senses. Becoming an obsession, addiction, a drug I need inside my body. Oh the things I need to do to you:  I yearn to have my lips, my tongue, and my hands all over your body, my body gliding along yours. Memories flashing, burning through my head, coursing down my body.  A tightening of where I crave you most. Stop, but to no avail; I bite my lip.  So amazing, overpowering, consuming, fulfilling. Each thought of you my body begs for your touch, careless that it can’t partake. Tender from bittersweet pleasures, a physical reminder of what was. Erotic. Pulsating. Throbbing, hot, wet. Oh God, just once more, one chance encounter, one moment, but it won’t be enough, just a slight cooling and releasing until the next buildup. I’ve had a taste, I desire more. A memory to savor, torture on cold nights. I can already hear my moans for more, sense my body arching towards yours. Anticipation. Waiting. Aching for the moment. I think of you and my blood pounds, excitement mounting. I can feel your deep breathing next to my ear; eyes conveying longing, your desire pressing hard and ready against my skin. Your lips gently pulling on mine. Our bodies entwined, unable to deny urges. Can’t get enough; you’ve taken over my thoughts, my body now powerless to our yearnings. We shouldn’t, so good, stop, please I need you. I can’t alleviate it, I won’t resist, no longer want to. Make me feel the things I crave. I can almost savor you in my mouth, your hands gently in my hair, compelling me on. Smell you on my skin, a stimulating, impetuous scent. Feel you in my body, overwhelming, pushing, engulfing. When I was mindless with heady passion, not yet you said softly then, the words no truer than now. But like then, it’s only a matter of time. Bad thoughts…guilty pleasures.



Ever read something and feel so inspired by the words, that they echo to your story, and you feel the need to express them? My sister's rough drafts did that to me, so read and see her words that inspire Bad Thoughts

Deep Sleep

I struggled to sleep with my husband. Truly struggled. Actual sleep. Having sex with him was easy. He’s used to sound of mortars and bodies and sweat and violence, and can sleep just fine. But for myself, I need a blacked out, quiet environment with no new movements or objects. Hence why I couldn’t sleep with my husband. And he’s a large presence, broad shoulders, and arms and legs that seem to reach out everywhere. What’s worse: he’s a snuggler. Up until him, I was not. Let me go to my edge, you go to yours. It took over a year of sleeplessness before I could sleep a decent amount, but amazing sex. It’s a fair trade-off.

To make matters worse, it seems like I can’t get enough of him. I can rarely leave him alone. He is gorgeous and sexy; I always want him. He has this bottom lip that begs to be sucked, pulled with my teeth. But I digress just like I do when I try to fall asleep with him. That was then.

The other morning he woke me up, a feat that he rarely accomplishes. I was having the nicest of dreams when I awakened; he was playing with my clit. He often remarks that I must have some wonderful dreams, because I wake up wet the majority of mornings. He dipped inside of me and spread my juices around, and continued to slide his finger around my pearl. One finger applied pressure above it, somehow making it stand out all the more and become even more sensitive. It took me a moment to realize I wasn’t in a dream, and I still felt the fluffy foggy clouds around me, swept up in a romantic fantasy. I must’ve moaned. I heard a chuckle right before my hair was lifted and I was kissed on the side of my neck.

His fingers gently sunk into me, first one, and then two. His thumb continued to rub my clit. His breath warm against my ear before playfully nipping the lobe. His fingers began to press more deeply, with more intent, and I pulled my legs farther apart to give him access.

His body moved lower, the covers sliding down and baring flesh. My nipples hardened and he briefly kissed one before moving his mouth to my growing need. Gently, his tongue flicks at my already hard and tormented bud. He looks up at me, a half smile upon his lips. Again, the tip of his tongue flicked, and he watched me squirmed. His tongue moved lower, tracing my entrance, driving me crazy and my hips trying to rotate his mouth into my opening. He gripped my thighs and held me, looking mischievous back up for a brief moment, before flashing his tongue out for the briefest of moments, and then down against my already slick portal.

Suddenly he was no longer the tease, and he increased both the tempo and the pressure of his mouth. He was gluttonous, but I was starving. I am grateful I can sleep with him these days, for now he has the opportunities to wake me and fulfill my dreams.  

 

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...



Tied and blindfolded

"Tie me." Okay, so I'm not for subtle, or pretty words.

He smiled, indulgently. "Okay."

"And we're bringing the knife, and the candles."

"Okay."

I bounced on the bed as I waited for him to get the ties out of our ammo can (must be a military things). He fastened them to the four bedposts, already knowing that they need to be as loose as possible to compensate for a small female stretched out on a Cal King bed. He lit the candles, grabbed a large towel and draped it in the middle of the bed. I proceeded to flip myself onto the center of it, crinkling the towel so he grabbed the corners and smoothed it out again.

He reached over my to strap a wrist in, and his penis hovered above my face. So tempting, so delicious, and I wasn't tied up yet, so I lifted my head and wrapped my mouth around the shaft, probing the head with my tongue as my lips pushed further up onto his shaft. I started sucking gently, but he moved up further; I increased the suction, but he pulled out of my mouth, smiled and shook his head, then proceeded to tie my other wrist.

He brushed the hair back from my face, gently stroked the side of my head, and then reached back and grabbed my hair at the base of the neck. He forced my head up slightly and pushed his still damp member into my mouth, allowing me to suck a few times, then pulled me back, then pressed me back to suck. He had never controlled this element before, and being denied something I wanted made me want it even more. I would let out a sound of disappointment every time he forced me away. After five or six times, he completely moved away and down to my ankles, tightly binding them, forcing my legs apart.

He grabbed the blindfold and tenderly adjusted it to my face. When we take out ties, we always use a blindfold; I don't recall us ever using one without the other. I love not knowing where he is going next, trying to anticipate, relying on the sounds, smells, subtle movement from the bed. He has more of an advantage than I do - he can reach me without touching the bed, I am too short and he can almost always feel where I am on the bed when he is blinded.

He was still near my face when he proceeded to torment me again with sucking him, his hand back firmly in my hair, guiding my mouth and his cock where he needed, withdrawing and then allowing my mouth back around him. Just ever so briefly, then I felt him remove himself completely off the bed.

"Oh, we have all the temperatures tonight," he stated matter of factly and I felt something very cold and smooth rubbing against the side of my rib. I drew in a breath at the touch of chill, exhaling the breath gradually. Chilliness brushed lower, down the side of the hip and around above the knee, before unhurriedly making its way up to my inner thigh. I recognized it now as our glass dildo. The glass seems to stay arctic for so long. It nudged itself delicately between my lips, rubbed its way up my clit, and then grazed a trail around a breast, rubbing the nipple and making it pucker from the cold. His mouth warmed the cold flesh, a pleasant contrast, soft but wide open kisses to fully cover as much as possible, the tongue flicking the nipple a few times, before pulling up, grasping with suction and tightening on just the nipple, applying a bit of tugging with his mouth. I moaned and attempted to arch up, my pussy clenching.

He inched away just briefly, and there was a small buzzing noise. My other nipple was pinched and forced up, stretched for a nipple clamp to come down on it, the vibrating strong in such a small sensitive zone. He kissed the other nipple again, his hand slowly going down to gently stroke my clit, and I thought he was going to apply the other clamp, when I heard him whisper, "I wonder if you'll like this".

I felt him sit up, and another small buzzing sound, before his fingers played with my clit, rubbing back and forth until it swelled and became more prominent. Suddenly a vibrating sensation was there, and I protested (was it a protest?), "Oh fuck." He inquired if I was okay with that, but before I could offer any other opinions, cold steel touched the side of my breast that did not have the clamp. The tip of the knife point gently scratched its way around the soft globe, the flat of the blade massaged its way across my nipple, and I was breathless.

While I was aware of the shaking clamps on my nipple, and my clit, it became almost background sensation to the cold knife making its way across my body, browsing my stomach, scratching delicately on the inside of my thigh, flat blade almost pressing against my lips. It moved in a slow, icy, deliberate manner. He alternated between the cold smoothness of the blade, pressing it more firmly, chilling my hot skin; and the tip, softer, almost gossamer at points, daintily skimming and scratching the surface.

He set the knife aside, and his tongue flicked the tip of the nipple trapped in the clamp. The tiny little top became so central to every nerve ending, every thought. It felt ridiculously hypersensitive, and amazingly good. He gradually slid the clamp off, kissed the nipple more firmly, softly blew on it, cooling it with his breath. He reached down and carefully took off the clamp on my clit. "Did you like that?" he asked, his fingers massaging the incredibly receptive pearl, before dipping between my lips and discovering how wet I was. "Oh yes, you liked that," he confirmed, and I could hear the smile of satisfaction in his voice. He moved his finger slowly in and out a few times, not to please or press any buttons, but to tease, before he withdrew and I felt the side of the bed give slightly as he shifted away from me.

Suddenly a hot splatter stunned me, and my indrawn breath gave voice to my surprise. It wasn't pleasurable - it was fiery and shocking. Another scalding drop kissed my chest, but being more prepared, it didn't bring me out of any reverie - but it still required my upmost attention. Trickles bit by bit fell, first falling in the center of my chest, then my soft breasts, a few scattered splatters touched very sensitive rosy nipples. My body, already aching, adapted quickly to random drips; the hot drops brought the skin to a heightened sensation, quickly cooled, hardened and left traces with the weight and texture against my skin. I began moaning into it, unable to prevent a twitching every so often at the heat, but always an awareness of my own self and my increasing desire.

He brought the glass dildo up against my skin, skimming the surface where the wax was so swiftly I had no idea what he did with the candle. It was excruciating winter, such a stark dissimilarity, and I writhed as much as the bindings allowed me to, trying to escape the icy glass against some sensitive places and endeavoring to welcome the touch in other places. Slowly, the glass skated across bare skin or raised slightly over the wax, the wax a buffer against the chill in small places. Both nipples were massaged until they were hardened points, then the glass was rubbing against my clit, just briefly. I cried out, wanting...I had no idea what anymore, but just yearning.

The glass parted my lips, and dipped agonizingly slow into my folds, my heated wet passion seemingly an unbearable furnace that felt the onslaught of frosty glass, slithered slowly, sinking, still so cold, my entrance cooling with every new movement inside, my depths aware of the temperature difference but adjusting, warming. Once he moved the dildo fully inside me, he pulled out just as slowly, my folds cocooning, my excitement allowing easy movement. Then down, fast, quickly, and back up to almost the round tip fully out, and suddenly he was fucking me hard with the toy, and my body was so ready for the release, my hips moving as much as the ties would allow, my thighs taunt and resentful of the stinted freedom, and I was screaming into the orgasm.

When I was done, he wrenched the toy suddenly out of my spent body and positioned the head of his penis against my aroused entrance, pausing with just the tip. I let out a moan of frustration, my body greedy already, longing again so quickly for him. Effortlessly slipping inside, but just as slowly as first with the toy, he was so hard, I held my breath and focused on feeling his length slide down further and further into me. He rotated up, patiently measured, and back down, letting out a sigh of pleasure. After a few more times, in his attempt of fully tease me by almost completely retreating before gliding fully in, he shifted too far out. (The ankle ties make sex challenging, as my legs are not a fully spread as he needed for his broad body.)

"I have an idea," he said, and I questioned what. He didn't respond as he released my ankles. I felt movement around my wrists, but I was busy attempting to move my legs around his body to pull him into me. He seemed impervious to my endeavor, and grabbed a hold of one ankle and raised it up to my hand. I believed he was going to hold one leg up and enter me, but felt a fasten around my ankle, attached to the wrist binding. He had used extra ties that were otherwise too short, and I had forgotten even the existence. My other ankle joined up to my other wrist, and suddenly I was spread as open as I've ever been tied up. "Are you comfortable?" he questioned, the concern in his voice.

"Yes, but I feel very open, and vulnerable," and swiftly as I was speaking his mouth was upon my pussy, a gentle suction on the lips and his tongue thrusted inside me. His mouth was unbelievably hot, the suction was amazing, and I tried to squirm against the feelings - a motion that had always been available to me, but suddenly was not. I was splayed, full access to him. And oh my goodness, his mouth was doing the most incredible things with that advantage. He seemed to lick and suck for so unbelievably long, and I felt spent and ravaged. He hoisted up and then entered me, absolutely no gentleness - but my body offered no resistance. I clenched around him, I shouted so loudly that my throat immediately felt raw, but he now fucked me roughly. In the position I was in, he could thrust against me with no boundaries, he went so deeply into me at moments that I felt him hitting a wall, but beyond any sensation beyond orgasm, I continued to scream as he continued to pound into me.

A slight lull, a shifting of his body, after that extreme pleasure that took me to heights and would have kept me until he decided otherwise, and he alternated at a slower pace. It was more controlled, and I could feel the ridge of his head rubbing the inside of my quivering body.

Oh my...and unexpectedly sweltering tormenting rain on my breasts, on my stomach. The wax was commanding my attention, sizzling, startling, focused skin. He persisted to move slowly in and out of me, my body started to grip him tighter, preparing for another orgasm. Suddenly wax poured down the interior of one thigh, still wholly exposed because of the ties, and it burned a fierce path down, cooling and resting about halfway. It took me out the feeling of orgasm with its intensity, but his continual plunging pushed me right back towards that mood to focus on my muscles beginning to tense and shudder, and wax splashed downward again, bringing my concentration back, but my body wasn't to be diverted for long by a lowly thigh, not when the entire core of me was taut, tight, clenching, spasms rippling through that the third time wax was splayed the thigh was rigid and barely registered, consumed by a violent orgasm. I screamed again, forgot to breathe, floated and became dizzy, became aware of his decelerated movements, of his calm withdraw, almost a mockery of the ferocious orgasm just felt.

His mouth was back between my legs, and his fingers and tongue took turns pillaging my already spent but oh so sensitive sex. I sensed a vibrator, and he used my own juices to stroke up against my clit, amid my folds but not quite entering, and then transitioned down to my asshole. "Can I?" he asked.

He could have asked to bring in twenty people just to gawk at me, for all I cared at the moment. I was blissfully happy, exhaustively spent, easily amenable. I gave a shaky agreement - the few times we've tried anal anything with me I didn't like it, and we had only tried a finger, or a small anal toy, nothing that vibrated, and nothing as large as that.

With the same infinite patience that he used throughout this session, he carefully inserted the vibrator into my small hole after using a lot of lube. I tried to relax into it, for once a little easier just because my body was so complaisant after such pleasure. Before I could feel and fixate on any sort of uncomfortableness, he entered me again, not removing the vibrator.

I felt so full, like there was not enough room for me. My muscles immediately reawakened and began a squeezing pattern that was fast leading to another orgasm, but he kept ruining the pace. "It keeps slipping out," he vented, and slid out of me. "Do you mind if we do it doggy-style?"

I didn't mind if he did me on the moon, I just wanted him deep inside of me again. He reached up and pushed the blindfold up, and even the low lighting hurt my eyes, so I shut them. He freed my ankles, and I felt stiff, it hurt my hips to move my legs down and together. Next, my wrists, and then I rolled over, mostly so I didn't lose my nerve again with the vibrator. I pressed my chest flush to the bed, and raised my ass up. He cautiously slid the vibrator in again, and then sank his length into me. A repeat, that feeling of fullness that I was unused to. He increased the pace of his thrusting, the vibrator easier for him to keep in place, and it wasn't long before we reached a peak of pleasure together from this position. Once more, the release was so quick, and made my entire body respond with such force. He withdrew the vibrator first, and then himself. I managed to do nothing more than collapse on the bed, just laying there.

He laughed at my limp form, laid down next to me, and kissed me on the forehead. "You're a mess," he said. I could do nothing other than smile, (and tweet about it the next day).

Great Things

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

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

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

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

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

Read some more great things for the weekend.

Pussy

I laze in the sunshine, breathe it into my skin, content and basking.

You do not see me immediately through the tall grass in our yard;

I pause and prospect, before I pounce my prey

But simply, for I know that I am your spirit and soul.

Cherished, but everything in my universe is under my influence.

I sit up suddenly, watch you walk nearer, smile tolerantly,

Roll over onto all fours, stretch, long, languidly,

Upper body lowers, rustles and crushes the grass blades,

Arms reach out in front, back rolls, lower body raises,

Hips hinge, ass up, see how graceful, how tempting;

Positively feline-like to catch your interest.

And my eyes never leave you, stare unblinking.

Yes, come closer to me as I contemplate.

Shall I be affable or aggressive, my lovely toy?

Shall my claws clasp, cling, cut in ecstasy?

I smile in anticipation, as you near me and wait my next move

You are my playground of infinite possibilities

I unfurl, whirl, curl up on your lap

Caress, pat, pet and watch me arch into your touch

Let me rub my body beside yours, feel how velvety I am

I lick at your lust, lap at your skin, nibble at your thighs,

Come up and sink my teeth into your neck.

You try to anticipate what I will allow, gauge my temper,

Stroke my skin, sense my hunger to have you,  unrelenting,

Nourish my needs gradually, ease in until I am accustomed to you.

I know a diminutive dialect, use it when I sense silence isn't suitable,

I purr like pure poetry expressing my pleasure.

You feed me what I demand, what I hint I want;

Satiated for a moment, but by no means long satisfied.

I do not show appreciation to you as I abscond,

My gratitude is given away by being near you,

Even as I slink, strut, swagger, sway away

To recede back into the shadows towards the house, done.

Quickie

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

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

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

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

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

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

And all it took was a few minutes.

 Read something for the weekend with other ways to escape

Now Please

Sometimes he gets ornery. Last night apparently I wasn't allowed to kiss the side of his neck, if the sudden wrenching on one arm to move me was any indication. He smiled mischieviously. When I am told I don't get something, that's all I want. Childish whimsy meets adult fantasy. He knew this.

"What do we say?" He prompted.

"Now," I insisted. I flashed my adorable smile, show dimple. He shook his head, his smile wider. "Now is perfectly acceptable."

He leaned over me, briefly kissed me, moved his neck where just the tip of my tongue could barely touch for the briefest of seconds, before pulling away and gazing down at me expectantly. That was it, I was pulling out the big guns, or my bottom lip as it were, in a pout. "We say please, not now," he instructed me, oblivious to the cute pouty lip strategy.

"Does please guarantee me?"

"Almost always," he left a loophole in that statement, I saw it, but still pushed for my advantage.

Later, I was devising, I was going to demand sex several times a day with a please, and remind him of that statement. For the moment, however, I didn't want to give myself too much of an advantage. I liked the game. "Please release my arm then," he seemed surprised with this request, but immediately obeyed. I rolled us over and tried again with his neck, but he turned his head, and even with me pushing, I couldn't access it still. He went to grab the same arm, "I said please, you can't get it." He tried a different tactic, and rolled me over, holding both shoulders, but I had my legs, and pushed away.

It was some minutes of twisting and turning before he had my legs under control, but I still had my elbows, and I was insistent on gaining the upper hand and getting to his neck. He kept complaining of elbows in his chest, and before you knew it, I was on top again, my legs free.

He was apparently done with elbows, as he grabbed around me, flipped me off of him, and laid on top of my back. His feet wrapped like steel around my legs, applied pressure and kept my thighs apart. He moved his hard, warm shaft against my entrance, the head rested against my clit. His hand moved to the back my neck, brushed aside hair and roughly kissed the exposed skin,  before the fingers moved higher still to the base of my skull and gripped the hair, pulled back, and kissed the laid bare side of my neck. He used force with his lips and tongue, then went lighter, moved up the ear lobe, used my hair to manipulate where he wanted to trace his mouth. He nibbled for a moment, then whispered how much he loved me as he moved his shaft along the tenderness of my sex at the same time.

"You're so sexy," I muttered, "such a turn-on," and some other compliments that barely even penetrated my consciousness but escaped my lips. He continued to breathe softly on my neck and ear, whispered of his love, tongue delved upon skin briefly, teased, moved on. His fingers still tangled in my tresses, not releasing any pressure.  His other hand pressed into the bed, in front of a hip, and fingered my clit, before discovering that I was wet. He gently guided his head to my entrance, probed me open, glided deeply, paused there, before his hips began the rise and fall pattern, and I was begging please...and now.

Now + Please = Wicked Amazing

Piece by Piece

I want  you, need you, every inch of you

The touch of your skin against mine

The taste of your lips like passion's dew

As when we were that very first time

Tongues mesh, begin nibbling on lips

Mouths meld hot and fervor breaths

Move to your neck, soft kisses, playful nips

Sensitive skin, hearing your sharp intake of breath

Cloth barriers become a tug-of-war

I want you, need you, such a longing

Clothes find scattered places on the floor

My body aches, skin hot and burning

A moan escapes me as hands explore

The feel of you, the flavor of your body

I want to taste every part and more

Your fingers roam, slip inside slowly

Velvet secrets, closed eyes, arched back

Buttons pressed, I need you,  now

Inside of me, consuming,  building climax

Uttered prayers, my  begging vow

Skin against me, lower yourself gently

Feathery kisses and utterly filling

Slowly, engulfing, then urgently

Screaming, giving, more demanding

Capturing, surrendering, rhythms seethe

Grasping, relaxing, sweet release

Need, Want, Love, you're all that I breathe

Lovingly drifting back piece by piece.

Postponing the Inevitable

A continuation from Breaking Walls

The breath on my neck made my skin burn, so why then did goose bumps appear like I was cold? Next, the soft feel of your lips, increased the heat, followed only seconds by the tip of your tongue. It dipped against the skin, as if checking the temperature, before it plunged against the back of my neck, where it darted a path made by lips that moved slowly, sensually up and then around my neck.

I turned around and gazed at you in a direct way. You appeared startled by my look. But I couldn't hold your eyes, those liquid amber pools that reflected your desire and curiosity. No, my gaze was drawn to your lips that had just caused me to shiver and melt. Both lips were soft, the bottom fuller and keeping my focus. I found I wanted to suck on that lip, felt drawn towards it before remembering who you were and where we were, feeling a jolt in disbelief at my lack of control to the point where I almost caved into my urge.

Desperate to bring myself under control, I leaned over and grabbed your drink, shoved it towards your face, unable yet to speak, not knowing what to say. How do I turn down a dear friend?

Your eyes widened, and you grinned despite yourself before taking a drink, not removing your eyes from my face. There was a sexual magnetism about you that I just wanted to fall into. I had always found you sexy, and laying in bed, with your lips recently enflaming my passion, I felt that I would lose control quickly again.

You seemed to be assessing me, and almost as if making a decision, reached over me with your long arms and put the bottle down on the nightstand. Still leaning over me slightly, you were only inches from my mouth, and my gaze again focused on that bottom lip. My heart beat erratically and I couldn't tolerate the wait and anticipation and impulse any longer. I don't remember if you closed the space or if I did, but suddenly I was tasting those lips, the taste intoxicating as a drug, as sweet as innocence. I kissed you with my entire being, daring and bold, pulled your large frame further against my smaller one, molded us together.

I wrapped my legs around you, trying to leave no space between us, and felt your arousal through my pajamas. My breasts tingled and nipples tightened where your hard chest pressed against mine. The sudden tightening deep down inside of me made me hesitate. What in the world was I thinking? I lacked control and gasped, rolled out from under you so swiftly that you froze. We sat, faced each other. Eyes met eyes, your sensual full lips quirked upward, and I felt drawn again, and had to remind myself to not notice your lips.

"We shouldn't," I whispered, and again brought your drink to your face, stalled, thought. The heat coming off from your body was unsettling. How could I be so aware of your heat, even sitting upright facing you?

You smiled. "Okay," you affirmed, leaned slowly around me to put your drink back. But I forgot what we were discussing as you moved close to me and threw my arms you, pushed you against the mattress, tried to cover your body with my own. Again, you froze, your arms spread out helplessly, didn't hold or encourage me. I could understand if I was confusing you, my strong reaction to you confused me. But I didn't need any other encouragement other than the desire that you sparked. Hot, scorching passion that I was captive to, that made me melt into you.

But your arms still not being around me made me aware of who you were: my friend, and a man that doesn't have casual sex. As I moved my lips from yours and went to suck on your neck, I muttered, "the pants aren't coming off." There, that took care of casual sex, didn't it? I was proud of thinking of it, to have come to a logical conclusion of where this was going - no casual sex. You went to mutter, another okay...I think, but I thrusted my tongue deep in your mouth, and became aware of your arms finally around me. I was satisfied that apparently you found my solution agreeable.

I moved down to your neck, nibbled softly, felt you shudder, and then your hands grasped the bottom of my shirt and tugged upward. I offered no resistance, after all there was no rule against my shirt coming off, moved upright to make it a little easier to come off. I immediately moved back to your neck, felt your calloused hands on my smooth shoulders. My tongue moved onto your chest, tried to kiss every inch of the broad expense, your fingers caressed my arms, shoulders, back, so softly. My hands shook as I moved them against your bottoms, gently pulled the elastic waistband away from your skin, and stroked your hardened length with one hand.  

No longer gentle, you hauled me up against you, kissed me deeply and wildly. Twisting, suddenly underneath you, you returned the sentiment and covered me completely with your body, leaned up on elbows, cupped the side of my face, and just stared for a moment. I didn't want to think, felt panicked for a moment that I would stop us again, when you leaned down and softly kissed my forehead, the bridge of my nose, before returning to my lips. Next, you tasted the side of my neck, teased the lobe of my ear, shifted slightly and grazed the side of my breast with your fingers. I moaned, wanting to encourage you, and felt your hand cupping my breast, fingers sought out nipple and teased to hardened points. Your mouth closed upon the nipple, hot heat on sensitive flesh, and I arched into your mouth. Those wayward fingers of yours followed the curve of my hip, down the outside of my thigh, back up again, followed the path of my waistband, gently stroked my belly, making me suck in my breath with anticipation, a warm knot settling underneath your touch; but you moved up and stroked the other breast that you weren't kissing. After you sucked and licked both nipples, you moved lower, tracing feathery kisses down my stomach, your hand sliding over the thin cloth, almost touched my mound, before teasing fingers grazed at the inside of my thigh, lightly stroked up, almost all the way up, and then down, and back up, up, almost there, and back with the same pattern to distraction. Your tongue followed a path along the top of my pajama bottoms, and I suddenly hated this cloth barrier, this would-be solution that I concocted.

A solution we both tried, for hours upon hours, to horrendously honor, but couldn't remain loyal, as we had a deeper calling to finally and blissfully answer to. 

How to even begin to describe that torturous night, with sins and satisfactions, is intimidating to me, so much like that night, I suppose I'll postpone the inevitable and wait just a bit longer.

Read other's Somethings for the Weekend

Breaking Walls

Your breath washed over my sensitive skin, washed away my reservations.

We had only talked before, for years, and agreed to go hiking. We met in the middle, went in for a hotel room together to save money, two separate beds. It was a long day of hiking, exhaustion but appreciation for the other's company. We both looked ragged and dirty and sweaty, I certainly didn't look beautiful or put together. A quick shower, a quick dinner, and then back to the hotel.

Drinking with the sleeping sun, joking as close friends do, settling down and laying side by side as we talked. I had no thoughts of you sexually; you were incrediby handsome and I was very attracted, but we had just gotten out of long, very serious relationships. We were both hurt, we both didn't want to get involved. And you were out of my league: younger, more active, innocent, nice, far away and the possibility to vanish at any moment.

You leaned in close, swept my hair aside, and just breathed. My neck betrayed the erotic pulse beat beneath the exposed skin. Bold suddenly, unlike yourself, you leaned in and lips grazed the pulse, tongue gently, tentatively dipped and tasted. My ears tuned into your breathing, blocked out all other noise, and all my nerve endings came from where you kissed.

The fact that you felt compelled to make any move at all, especially the first move, surprised us both. I was out of your league: older, jaded, educated, coasting with a great career, settled, a sexual experience you looked down upon once. I had told you over the phone, weeks in advance to this plan, that it wouldn't go anywhere, to have no expectations of intimacy. Suddenly you were eager for the experience, or the woman that you've grown to know beyond your own previous judgments.

I moaned and leaned into your mouth, let it melt and meld my inhibitions. One night, I thought, surely I can have one night just in your arms. But even so, I didn't want to hurt you. You, with your inexperience, would get emotionally attached. I refused to become emotionally invested beyond friendship, and perhaps fuck buddy for one night suddenly. I was hurt so badly before - I wanted nothing of that kind; so a boundary was in order.

Maybe it was the liquid stupidity talking, but I muttered how my pajama bottoms were not coming off, no matter what, and you agreed, or tried to before I moved and pressed my lips to yours, silencing your innocence and my hesitation. My tongue became the agressor, plundered in your mouth, drank your resilience. My hands pulled you in, my legs wrapped around, closing any division between us. You seemed surprised, uncertain how to proceed, frozen but so hot.

My goodness you were sexy, your inculpable barrier no longer a divide. Your fingers tentatively wandered, as my lips began to move lower to your neck. You still seemed confused on what to do, what was acceptable to touch, but I was unaware of your shortcomings, only knowing that I had given myself permission to cave into my passion - to a point. How I blundered and confused  a sexual limit with not being hurt was a muddled, ridiculous thought. I just knew that you were inexperienced by choice.

...And by the time I was aware of your voyaging, it was because of what you were doing to me, focused to propel an action that you hadn't before, astonishing us both with the passionate responses and actively choosing to test our boundaries: mine - a physical limit, yours - an internal battle of limitations. You pursued suddenly. You had taken my lead, a quick trainee, and run with it in a direction that was intoxicating and no longer allowed thoughts...or barriers.

It was torturous, deprived, ardent hours of arousal, and my chastity belt of those damnable pj bottoms was drenched with my needy wanton desires, your erection so hard that the thin layer of clothing hardly felt there at times...until it wasn't. But that is a story for another time, this was the reflection of our transgressions, breaking confining walls and ideas, reaching out for the unattainable, and wicked wanderings.

Come see who else is wicked with me.

Btw, a picture of my "chastity belt". I can think of the pj bottoms no other way.

Switch

I'm a bit on the sub side of life. I play light with masochism. I enjoy being called a dirty slut or a stupid whore in bed. I like to feel the sting of a palm crack against my cheek or my hair being pulled with enough force to induce the watering of my eyes. I like being told what to do, when to do it. I find pleasure in begging for my release before I am allowed to let it flood my body. I want to be tossed around like a rag doll, used like a toy. Most times those lovely little bruises marring my flesh in unseen places feel like a naughty secret memory I carry on my skin. My favorite are the rope marks wrapped like lovely bracelets around my wrists, my ankles, and everywhere in between.
It's not always that I feel like this. I love the sweet and sensual too; just the frequency of those times are far fewer.
Then, there are times when I switch.
Sometimes I'm overwhelmed with a violent need of expression, a need to control, consume, and demand. The first time I was slapped in the face during sex I was so startled, I just grew wide eyed and paused for the merest of seconds... Then I cocked back my arm, swung full force with the fingers of my hand extended. The second my hand crashed into his face I felt the instant rush of adrenaline. Heat flooded through me and I moaned my pleasure into his mouth. I knew then, exactly how it felt to be those people who Dom. It was a heady sensation.
These cravings for dominance and sadism overcome me, and there's really no accounting for why, no trigger I can discern. At the stripclub with several friends, I met a lovely young military man. He was 6'5 to my diminished stature. Almost every man towers over me but this one even more so. He had lovely eyes, a sincere smile and an innocence about him that called to me.
I wanted to hurt him. I could feel my mouth water at the thoughts running through my head at what I was going to do with this boy who was barely legal to consume alcohol. I wanted to switch. I wanted to not only release passion in a violent burst on him, but I wanted it in return.
At the end of the night I saw him outside. He couldn't find his friends so I said, "that means you're coming home with me right?" My head was tilted back so far just to meet his gaze; my chin only coming up to his navel. He looked with wonder into my eyes and nodded. I held out my hand and he grasped it firmly in his as I led him to the car, the same way I was anticipating leading him astray.
Once we arrived at my house, hands were hastily discarding clothing. Mouths were tasting, biting, teasing. He was my jungle gym and I climbed all over him like my favorite piece of equipment on the playground. After some time spent exploring and licking and tasting of each other's essence, I settled myself on top of him. I gazed sweetly into his bright eyes and asked if he'd ever had rough sex. His eyes turned fevered with desire at my question. He tried to speak, cleared his throat and replied, "no".
Suddenly I bring my hand slamming into his pretty young face, grip his chin as I say, "you have now," then kiss his lips softly, almost lovingly, before I slap him again. I look into his eager eyes and inquire if he'd like to try, tapping my cheek with a dainty finger to indicate the target. He tries but is timid, I barely feel the sting. Here is this tall, virile young man and I am a tiny tempest. I bite his nipple hard enough that I hear the quick expulsion of air from his lungs followed by a moaning gasp as I cause his body to vellicate. I dig my nails into his flesh as I ride him hard.
I instruct him to get behind me and pull my hair. I laugh at his first attempt and taunt him, "really? You're a fucking pansy, now pull it!" I'm being pugnacious, demeaning, and pushy. These taunting words are what finally snap through his meekness and I feel my head snap back on my neck from the force of his fist in my hair, and he snarls in my ear, "shut your fucking mouth, you bitch".
Ecstasy. I find my release at his brutish handling and malicious words. He explodes at the tightening of my body around him and we both sink into bliss. I continue throughout the night to introduce him to pain and pleasure, dominance and submission. I lead, I follow, I instruct. By morning I have used this man until I have wrung every drop of energy that he has.
He's eager to tell his friends, I can tell. I'm well put together and elegant when out and he keeps remarking on how he'd never dreamed the night would go as it had. His puppy-like enthusiasm is adorable, but concerning. He starts a statement with, "since I'm going to be over here a lot now...," and I'm forced to cut him off. I laugh in his face, but consolingly kiss his sweet lips as I tell him there was no guarantee he'd be invited back, and that that was very presumptuous of him. I tell him to savoir and remember the night and that perhaps, if I feel the desire again, I'll invite him back for further explorations.

Inciting Outside

“I don’t feel good.” I look at you as if you said a vile thing, as if you were crazy. You said it for a purpose; it was too random to just bring up.

“Is that code for you having a headache?” I question, referencing the olden but golden reason why wives wouldn’t sleep with their husbands.  

You pause and smile. “Yes, yes, I believe that is.”

Again, my eyes pierce you with that preposterous statement. But I say nothing and wait. By the time we are ready for bed, I state casually, “you know you want to have sex with me. I’m awfully pretty and downright adorable.” I get undressed, not meeting eyes for fear of making it easier to reject me with a shake of the head.

You laugh. You knew this was coming. I don’t accept the “headache/not feeling good”. “Oh I suppose I can sex with you. You are very pretty.” Well, at least you aren’t blind. We slide under the covers, and meet in the middle of our enormous bed. We face each other, and just hold each other for a moment, enjoy the quiet stillness of the night. I scratch your back, knowing you like it, not wanting to just immediately jump you. I know I need to show you affection first; we’ve had this talk.

I smile, because I’m done and planning my attack. You’ve obviously seen this smile before, because before my hand can dip lower, your hand is wrapped around my wrist. You move my immobile hand to the arm beneath me, and press heavily into the bed where my other arm was under you, effectively trapping both.

“But babe,” I whine. “I haven’t touched you in days.”

“It’s been three, and you aren’t winning this one. We’ll see how long it is until I allow you to touch me.” You tug on my wrist and your foot pushes on my leg, rotating me to on my back. The same foot stays on my leg, nudging apart and securing it in place. Your free hand moves lower. Fingers freely penetrate or caress at your whim. I try to distract you with kisses, and move my arm and hand trying to work free. You are having none of it. When you rubbed against my clit, my intake of breath must’ve clued you. You look at me, “you must be sensitive,” and search my eyes as again you massaged my bud. I make a noise, half groan and half moan. “You aren’t often sensitive there,” your voice tells of delight, like a child receiving a new toy.

It’s true I am not often sensitive there. I’d much rather penetration than clitoral stimulation, but tonight it feels so good, and your fingers brush and knead and torture and delight before you let go of my wrist and move so quickly I’ve no time to think, and now your mouth is there. “Oh, no,” I breathe, unsure I am able to handle this much stimulation so early on. But you have a purpose and skill that I rarely call upon. I whimper, plead, buck, press. I have no idea what to do besides beg for you to be inside of me.

“You want this?” you question, moving up and between my legs as suddenly as you went down.

“Yes,” my legs wrap around your hips.

You lean forward and rub against me. “I don’t think I’m hard enough.”

I smile, “you need me to touch you is all.” I go to move my hands, but you’ve claimed them again, pinning them the bed at the wrists with your strong hands.

Again, that smile. “No,” you kiss my forehead, and I feel you at my entrance, “we’ll make do”. A tease then, because you thrust inside of me while maintaining eye contact and there is no doubt that you are hard, throbbing and stretching me. You don’t release my wrist, but still manage to rotate up to a higher position, where the tip of you slides up precariously to my entrance; the shaft pressed against my clit, and then thrusts straight down. A slight ache from the pressure and force, but I am flooded with so many sensations. And you know it, as the calculated move is repeated until I tighten and squeeze around you in my orgasm. Immediately you release my wrists and lower yourself, still resting inside of me, lovingly embracing me and giving me gentle kisses. You rub your body along my clit and murmur, “still sensitive?” I can only nod. “Good.” You pull out of me and reach to your nightstand, pulling out a black case.

“Oh hell no, I can’t,” I voice. I watch you stretch the cock ring around you. You turn on just the vibrating part and put it against my already oversensitive bud, holding it there and watching my reaction. I writhe and moan and impel. You pull back and begin to put it in the ring. I take this opportunity to reach down and stroke your straining and eager cock. It’s a small victory, but it’s mine.

And its short lived, as my hands are pulled off of you, again pinned to the bed, and you are driving yourself deeply into me. The vibrator is prominently inciting outside, and you are filling and devastating inside, and I cannot breathe or see or think. I just feel. And clench so tightly around you that you’ve no choice but to join me on this journey, your groans mixing with my screams.

Read Something for the Weekend