erotic literature

WELCOME!!!

2010-09-09T01:28:00.000-07:00

Please feel free to browse this site and enjoy the stories. If you have any erotic story to share, please send it to Hernandez.kristine@gmail.com and we will publish it in this site. If you have your own blog or website, we will be happy to link the story back to your site.

By sending your story to our site, the sender guarantees that the story is an original and is not copyrighted to anybody. The sender also admits to full responsibility and absolves this site from any lawsuit that may arise in connection with the story that he/she may have sent to this site.

Adult Site And Movie Reviews

2010-08-01T18:06:00.000-07:00

I have been reading reviews of adult sites and movies and it just occured to me that I can do it as well. I write site reviews and syndication articles for SEO companies and doing it for adult sites does not seem to make much difference for me. This is therefore an announcement that adult film producers and adult sites may commission us to write reviews.

The end products may or may not be published here. The choice is theirs.

Please contact us at : zen [dot] jeremey [at] gmail [dot] com

Slut Wife Have Sneaky Fun

2008-08-01T18:34:00.000-07:00

A few years ago, my husband brought me along on a fishing trip to with 3 of his high school buddies. All three were single at that time and one of them had a family cabin by the lakeside. At first, i didn't want to come along because I was 4 months pregnant at that time with our first baby but my husband was insistent. so off I went.

When we got there, my husband and two others went to town, 30 minutes away, to buyfood and other supplies. I was left with the clown in the group. This guy made me laugh endlessly. He was the average type, not too handsome but not ugly, cute with a nice body, plus his sense of humor would make girls go gaga. He asked me if he can hold my tummy since he had never touched a pregnant tummy before. My tummy wasn't that really huge yet but it was showing already. He looked harmless (i guess this was the reason why it was ok with my husband to leave me alone with him) so i let him. He gently rubbed my tummy while we talked by the terrace.

After a while, I realized that he was slowly lifting my dress with his his hand. I was wearing a short dress at that time since we were by the lake. He had lifted my dress high enough to expose my panties so i asked him "what are you doing?" Instead of answering, he laid his hands on my panties then kissed me passionately.

I found myself kissing him back. He inserted his fingers inside my panties then played with my clits, while his other hand went inside my growing breast. It didn't take him long to make me wet. He knelt before me, pulled down my panties, opened my legs apart, then ate my pussy with gusto. I was really embarrassed because i was already pregnant but he assured me that it really turned him on and even joked that at least he didn't need to wear a condom.

I couldn't take it much longer. I begged him to f#&k me. Instead he whipped out his dick, which was huge, then forced it inside my mouth. He moaned in pleasure as I sucked his dick hard. He led me to his assigned bedroom, laid me on the bed, lifted my dress, then went on top of me, but careful not to squish my tummy. He f#&ked me gently and passionately while he licked and bit my nipples. I came not long after. He turned me over, I went on my fours, then he f#&ked me from behind, he was banging me hard when we heard my husband's car coming down the driveway. I told him to stop, afraid we would get caught. Instead, he pumped much faster and exploded inside me in seconds. He hurriedly lifted up his shorts then went outside just in time to help unload the goods. I had no time to wear my panties so hid it under the bed. I welcomed my husband with a kiss and a hug when i felt his friend's cum dripping down my thighs. I hurriedly excused myself, went to the toilet, and cleaned myself up.

This friend of my husband still f#&ks me from time to time.

Cab Driver

2008-07-08T23:42:00.000-07:00

A story contribution (via email).

This happened to me a while back when I was in senior high. I've been feeling horny for days and I decided to meet up this guy I had met at a chat room for some fun. He proudly boasted about his 8-incher was gonna make me cum like crazy. Well, after school..I went straight to a local billaird hall where I was supposed to meet him. He was from a private boys school and very cute! We played a few racks of pool and I started getting flirty. He was sitting in the corner of the room on a stool when I walked towards him and gave hime a french. Pretty soon I had my hand in his pants and was fondling for his cock. When I found it I was so fucking disappointed I nearly screamed. My hand wrapped around his dick and I knew in an instance he was fully erect and standing a mere 4 inches. I kept my cool till I had his cock partially out of his pants then i whispered in his ear.... "I hate liars". Then, i yanked his zipper up real hard and he was screaming. Needless to say, I quickly got lost in the crowd of onlookers who wanted to see what the commotion was about.

I know what you're thinking. You're probably thinking; "what the fuck kindda confession was that?" Whoever said that was my confession? I'm just getting warmed up.

Well, I decided just to head over to my gal's house for some bi-action. I figured if my slit wasn't gonna get fucked..it might as well be licked. Anyway, it was around 8:00 pm by the time I left in a cab and we got stuck in traffic. I had the window down and i was smoking a cig when a car pulled up beside us and stopped at the red light. They kept looking at me and mumbling to each other. I looked down and discovered the 2 buttons of my blouse came loose and there was my big boobies for all to see. I looked at them in a sexy manner and even threw my shoulders back and pushed my chest forward.

They were cheering and howling as i wiggled a bit and it was pretty much that way until they got caught at a stoplight and we drove off. I was smiling at myself when I noticed the cabbie was sneaking peeks at me via his rear view mirror. I was seated on the rear right side so I guess he got a good view of my exposed cleavage. I pretended not to notice him and let him watch while i ran my fingers up and down my cleavage. Needless to say I was getting turned on in a hurry. Before I knew what was happening, I threw my cigarette out the window and let my hand slide down my uniform and in between my legs. I could tell he was still watching very closely coz the car was swerving side to side quite a bit. I put my left foot up on the seat and lifted up my skirt all the way to my waist so he could get an unobstructed view of what i was doing. I was wearing a sheer white thong so he could clearly see how wet i was while i teased myself thru the fabric.
We were already driving a deserted strip when I felt the cab swerve to the right and finally stop in one of the unlit areas of the street. The driver then turned in his seat and happened to glance his left hand rubbing his crotch and there was already quite a big bulge there. He watched me carefully as i moaned in his backseat before he finally got the guts to reach out and run his hand on the inside of my leg. He stared at me, like he was trying to find out if I'd object or not. I just kept moaning.

I could feel how rough and sweaty his hands were as it climbed higher and higher up the inside of my thigh. I lifted both my hands above my head and just looked back and even gave a loud gasp when his hand reached my crotch. I couldn't believe what i was doing...i felt him grab the garter of my undies and slowly pulled them down my thighs...I simply lifted my ass off the seat to let my panties slide off more easily. As soon as he pulled my thong off, he brought it up to his face and gave it a sniff and he reached for the cab's roof lamp while i once more spread my legs as wide as possible..this time placing my left leg back on the seat and my right leg on the headrest of the chair in front of me. I could tell his surprise when he saw my shaved pussy for the first time. His eyes widened as if they were gonna pop out of his head while he stared at my hairless crotch. His hand crept up my leg once more and i started moaning louder and louder. I was so wet that when his finger traced the lines of my pussy lips, half of his finger slipped inside. Seeing that I didn't resist, he slid his dark finger all the way inside me, teasing me, pulling it back out before sliding it back in again. I started moaning even louder as I let this probably almost 50-year old stranger finger me faster and faster. I felt myself cumming and all that time of no sex at all made my muscles squeeze real tight and i squirted unto his hand. He pulled his finger out and popped it into his mouth, his yellow teeth showing underneath the hairs of his mustache as he smiled at me, before turning off the light in the cab. He stepped out, walked all the way around the cab till he got to my side...and after a few seconds of looking around to make sure no one was looking, he opened the door and climbed inside I caught a glimpse of his cock...it was average..about 6 inches or so but god, he was thick. He didn't waste anytime. He quickly got on top of me and with one hand glided his fat cock inside me. I was groaning at how fast his dick was and as soon as he was all the way insdie me he undid the rest of my buttons and opened my blouse and pulled my bra down. Before I knew what was happening he started running his tongue and mouth all over my now sweaty boobs and fucking me so hard and saying nasty things to me i came twice within the first 3 minutes. I could hear the wheels squeaking as he fucked harder and faster when I noticed the ring on his finger. Married., I thought. I imagined how it must be to be his wife and getting fucked by such a fat cock every night. About 30 minutes later, i felt his dick twitch inside of me and he shot his cum inside my pussy. He kept moving his hips side to side, making sure he got every drop inside me, all the while he kept sucking on my nipples. I lay there for a few moments, buttoning my blouse when he got out and turned towards the nearby wall and took a piss.
I was still trying to recover from the fact that i just royally fucked by one of the ugliest guys i've ever seen when I got out of the cab. I stood behind him, pressing my breasts against his back while my hands reached around him and he let me hold his cock as he peed. As soon as he finished he told me to give it a shake, i did but I quickly found his cock was already starting to get hard again. He turned around and gently pushed me down on my knees and without a word i let him push his cock into my mouth and began sucking on it hungrily. less than a minute passed and he was already stretching my mouth wide as he fucked my face that the corners of my mouth was already starting to hurt. I thought to myself, I needed to feel him one more time inside me so i gave his dick one last lick and turned away from him.

I leaned over the trunk from the roadside and moaned as he lifted up my dress and slipped back inside me. He was totally out of control this time..yelling and insulting me while he furiously pumped my still cum-filled pussy. Saying how us catholic girls were really horny bitches in real life and that we were just pretending to act innocent. I came some more and he grabbed my hips so tightly i found bruises on the the next day. He gave a one final, hard thrust into my pussy from behind and i felt his hot semen shooting inside of me again. This time, I didn't want any of it to waste so i quickly spun around and popped his still-dribbling cock into my mouth and sucked him dry. After we composed ourselves, we got back into the cab but this time i sat up front where i could keep rubbing his cock thru his pants and he could have a clear view of my finger teasing the lips of my pussy.

When we got to my gal's house he said i didn't need to pay him..I felt so guilty I ended up giving him the best blowjob and deep throat i could give in such a confined place and finally said farewell when he drove off.

Inside my friend's place she told me she saw me giving the cabbie some head and called me a slut. I lay back on her bed and quickly touched my self between my legs. That's when we discovered I had left my thong somewhere in that cab. Needless to say when my friend asked me to tell her what happened in detail, it got her so turned on and disgusted at the same time that when we went into the shower, she got on her knees and gave my pussy one the best tongue-lashing i've felt in a loong time and surprisingly, she didn't seem to mind licking all that so-called "disgusting, cabbie cum out of my pussy". The night went on and on in her bedroom where we made each other scream and moan until the next morning.

Great News for Lovers of Sex Toys!

2008-06-18T19:45:00.000-07:00

Jokeroo reports that Walmart has made an announcement that they will start seling sex toys in selected branches all over the country.

Hmmn..

Naughty Chat Becomes Real

2008-04-26T02:28:00.000-07:00

When horny and home alone, I normally log into IRC and flirt online.

Last night, I was showing off on cam when I got this message from this guy. He was so persistent and when i checked on his avatar, the pic seems unreal, he was so cute. He opened his cam and showed me his face and his cock and i said "ok, ill wait for u here in my place" i gave him my address and waited for him.

After 20 minutes, I was still busy chatting when I heard my doorbell ring. It was him. He was really good looking, tall, dark and handsome. Right after he closed my door, he touched my butt and said "you're still not wearin panties". He went straight to my bedroom, took off all his clothes and lied down on my bed, waiting for me.

I spread his legs and lick his huge cock..my hands on his balls, i can taste his slippery pre-cum, i suck his cock deep down to my throat, lick and suck his balls and lick his butthole. he's about to cum when he told me he want my ass. so i gave him what he want. we were in doggy when he f#&k my pussy first and using my pussy juice and wetness, he entered my ass pushing his cock slowly, head first, then all of its length. after a few slower thrusts i beg him to f#&k my ass faster..then he came.

After the first round, we surfed the internet for some porn, and we were in heat again, this time he said he wanted to f#&k my pussy..again we did it.

My ass enjoyed his cock but my pussy loved it.

He left my house at around 12:30 am, I had to report for work at 2:00am, but at least i have an after-sex-glow (orgasm blush)

AT WORK

2008-03-03T21:14:00.000-08:00

Working late, a coworker came in to distract me. I have never considered the possibility of being in a relationship with an officemate but I had always thought of her as sexy.

She had begun by trying to tickle me - and I reciprocated with her idea of fun. I can tell that she was having fun and took it to further by running away, trying to tease me. I pursued her, of course. It continued for about half an hour, both of us tickling each other. At one point she had me on the floor (I'm ticklish - very ticklish) and I was able to flip her over onto her back. As I held her hands down and looked into her eyes I figured, “What the fuck, if I won't, I would always wonder what if…” So, I went ahead and kissed her. After a few seconds, I pulled back and looked at her for some sign of anything.......she flipped me back, straddling me and kissed deeply in return. From there we did let our bodies find their own way through each other’s clothing. We moved from the floor to my desk, laid her on top of the table, while I sat at my chair and buried my tongue into her womanhood. She made some comment that she enjoyed it but had never reached orgasm that way. It only spurred me to take my time and enjoy myself all the more. As her cries of pleasure continued and as she begged me to stop, I continued to slip my tongue in and out and around her sensitive spot. I almost suffocated me with her tightly holding my head with her thighs - that continued till she came. And when she did, I began to finger fuck her while sucking her clit till I felt her body relax from the orgasm......she whispered that had never happened before......and dragged me on top of the desk.

She reached for our clothes and began to tie me to the four legs of the desk....first tying my wrists and followed by my ankles. I was in a stupor from mind boggling pleasure when she began to go down on me. At her first break in the action, I worried that we will get caught. But when she took all of me down her throat, I was pulled back into the abyss once more. At that point, I neither cared nor wondered...all that mattered was that it felt so good, and judging from her moans (or were they mine) and they way she ran her hands all over me, I wasn't sure what I enjoyed more - her enthusiasm or her performance. I screamed out that I was going to explode down her throat more as a warning - but all it did was encourage her till I erupted. And to my astonishment she swallowed every drip and refused to let me go limp. She licked, bit, ran her teeth up and down my shaft drawing every inch taut to her satisfaction.

She looked at me and said "I'm not done with you yet..." She continued to engulf me - playing with me enjoying every moment of my squirming from her expertise. "I warned you I was good at this....and more importantly I enjoy it."

I just embraced the feeling of bliss and let her continue. She stopped and blew her breath along my wet exposure sending a tingle up my spine. In turn she positioned her hips right in front of my face and began to finger herself. She gave me a show of herself enjoying herself. And she continued to do so, mixing in riding my tongue with her slipping more than one finger in till she came again. She turned around and then began to f#&k my face while doing what she wanted with my cock. I slipped my hands out of their restraints and grabbed her ass - squeezing and pulling them all the same. She reciprocated by deep throating me over and over again. I grabbed her hips and forced them down so as to cause more friction between her swollen clit and my eager tongue.

Sometime during our 69 session she had gotten up and stroked my cock. She would bite my cock, sucking on the head, running her tongue up and down the shaft, flicking my balls with her tongue. Quickly she hovered her hips right over my penis and stared at me. "Is this what you want?" Then she impaled herself onto the head of my cock ever so slowly....we were watching each other enjoying every sensation. She pulled herself back off of me and then look at me....."well?" The only thing I could say was "yes!" She lowered herself back down on me slowly at first, then repeatedly faster and faster as I ran my fingers around her clit, pinching her nipples, and in and out of her sucking mouth. "This might hurt...." she groaned as she slammed herself down on me over and over. I yelled out "don't stop, NEVER STOP!" She came again and I could feel her moistness all over me...I guess she squirts or something a little bit. She seemed to tire .....so I pulled my ankles out of their restraints and sat her down on the chair and then went to work on her. I lifted her ankles above her head and slowly pushed and pulled my cock in and out of her throbbing pussy. All she did was moan and grab my ass pulling me ever so deeper inside of her. After a while I laid her ankles on my shoulders and grabbed the arm rests of the chair (fortunately the chair was on wheels) and rammed it deep over and over till her moaning became a scream. I could feel her pussy tighten again. "I'm cumming again" she yelled. That egged me on to go faster and harder. I could feel her dripping down my leg this time and she screamed "cum in my mouth again!" At that I pulled my cock out and she hopped off the chair to deep throat me more. I ran my fingers through her hair as our eyes connected at which I point I squeezed my eyes shut as I blew my load down her throat. She continued to suck on me despite my protests. She loved it as much as I did.

Afterwards she said that it was great.....and she teasingly followed up with a comment that if this doesn't continue, she’d report me to the boss.......well, I was never fired. But eventually, different work interests pulled us apart. Mind you, we separated on good terms but we haven't seen each other since then.

This pussy retired

2008-02-16T22:58:00.000-08:00

This Pussy Retired

Scenario 1.

I’m in bed with Dirk, a man of thirty-four—young enough to be my son, who is in fact thirty-six. Where we met and how we got here doesn’t matter.

Dirk has long, flowing hair parted in the middle, and a beard to match, lending him a look reminiscent of paintings of Jesus Christ, a look popular among men in the 1960s. His forehead is smooth, his alert blue eyes radiate openness. I run my hands over his strong biceps, his muscled thighs, hungrily drinking in his youth. Even his breath emits a scent of innocence. I feel like I’ve entered a time warp: this is how my lovers felt, this is how I used to feel, way back when. Strong, young, and healthy—whether fucking or making love, it was with joyful vigor. Not that we noticed—we mistook our youth for the natural order, as if things would always be this way. As if we were immortal.

In bed with Dirk I feel overwhelming nostalgia for all the young men I’ve slept with in the past, as well as for the girl I used to be. I can’t help crying. Although I’m responding to Dirk’s physicality, it’s not just for youthful physiques that I grieve; it’s also for my more innocent self. Soon I’m remembering all the lost and dead lovers, all the years gone by, keenly aware of how very little time lies ahead.

Dirk is patient with my tears. He’s been enjoying my appreciation, as he puts it; he and his same-age lovers take youth for granted, as the young always do. He doesn’t experience himself as particularly youthful. How could he? Not having yet seen the worst of the aging process in our thirties, we have nothing with which to compare our youth.

I can’t stop crying, can’t focus on fun sex, and I don’t know Dirk well enough to have mournful or emotional sex with him. What began as an adventurous roll in the hay has turned into an exhausting and painful experience. I am not, after all, Demi Moore, and I resolve never to rob the cradle again.

Scenario 2.
A friend sets me up on a blind date with someone slightly older–sixty-two. During dinner I assess his bedroom potential (some things never change, not even with age). Tan hairy arms, sexy blue eyes. But I can’t stop staring at his quivering jowls, or the liver spots on his hands; I am almost repulsed. Inwardly I admonish myself: after all, he’ll have to face my varicose veins, his hands will brush up against the tiny moles sprouting beneath my sagging breasts. I’m behaving, I tell myself, like the rest of our youth-obsessed culture. I’m an intolerant, politically incorrect old lady. Resolved to fight ageism, I sleep with Dave just to prove that I can.

But when Dave tries to fuck me, his cock deflates. We joke, we commiserate about age; hell, at least we’re comfortable talking about it. I end up sucking him off while rubbing up against his shin, and we both come. Afterwards I feel empty and disgusted. I resolve not to sleep with anyone unless I feel passionate towards them.

Scenario 3.
Jerry comes around to see me. It’s been a few months, during which he’s slept with dozens of women, none of whom know about the existence of the others. He’s thoroughly exhausted from sneaking, lying, and juggling his life around. He’s lived this way the whole time I’ve known him, some nine or ten years.

Jerry is, like me, fifty-four, but he looks ten years younger. Tall and handsome in classic Americana—blond and blue-eyed—he is also intelligent, sensitive, and funny. Still, he’s confessed that he knows his ability to attract women has more to do with sociological factors than him personally: attractive, smart, straight single men are rare among our generation. “Let’s be honest,” he jokes with charming modesty, “I get points just because I can walk and chew gum at the same time.”

As usual, our sex is passionate, almost violently so. He’s got a rough way of kissing that feels like murder. He pins my arms over my head, thrusts himself in and out of me, attacking my mouth in frenzied hunger. When he comes, he looks right into my eyes, dissolves like a vulnerable puppy, calls my name like an incantation. After a brief respite he fingers me to orgasm—he’s learned the precise formula for getting me off, and later he cracks me up with jokes about knowing exactly which page in the manual to turn to at each stage of my climb to orgasm.

We lie companionably, talking for half an hour, then Jerry leaves, most likely to go service the next woman on his list. I stuff my desire for him to stay, knowing that any pressure will drive him away for weeks or months at a time. He’s made it very clear that if I fall in love with him, if I become just another female making demands on his time and attention, it’s over. At the same time, he’s managed to convince me I’m different from the rest, special. I’m the only woman who knows the whole story, who knows him. Or so he says. I treasure our friendship. I love the way we make love. Still, it’s a painful relationship—the truth is, I am in love with Jerry. After he leaves, I resolve not to sleep with him anymore.

Scenario 4.
On my fifty-fifth birthday I decide that the thing to do is cross the gender line. It’s been more than two decades since my one lesbian affair, a passionate year-long love song ending in pain followed by a fragile friendship. Since then there’s been a few women here and there, but nothing to write home about. I am, in this area as with aging, politically incorrect: the number of women to whom I’ve been attracted can be counted on the fingers of one very rusty hand.

I’ve been having sporadic lunches and coffees with Teresa, a fellow writer, for a year now. She’s in an open marriage with a man and considers herself bisexual. She’s exactly my age, a stunning redhead, earthy and sexy. I drop a clue here and there, and within a few weeks we’re in a hot tub pawing one another. I see it’s just like riding a bike, and delve into her pussy with unbridled enthusiasm. I make her come, she makes me come, we have a grand time.

But we never do it again. She’s only free in the daytime, when I write. At night, when I’m lonely, she’s tending to hubby. I suppose I could give up a writing session once in awhile; when I was younger, sex frequently took priority over work. But now I find I’m unwilling to give up a single day of writing for it (and besides, I resent hubby’s top billing).

I don’t decide to become celibate—it just happens. And then, between antidepressants and menopause, my libido goes south. Having spent half my life following my pussy into compromised and even dangerous situations, this comes as a relief. No more self-destructive relationships with inappropriate people for the sake of hot and steady sex. I’m appalled to find myself perfectly willing to toss it in–but there you have it.

I continue to masturbate occasionally, a hasty affair with a vibrator, summoning up images of the studly Jimmy Smits. I’ve discovered that celebrity fantasies, unlike those of former or potential lovers, help me come quickly and efficiently and, most important, without heavy emotion.

Once a week or so I dream of ex-lovers. One night I get out of bed and make a list, beginning with my first, at sixteen. They total over seventy. I linger on each name, remembering. Some memories make me sad, others make me laugh, a few make me shake my head at my impulsive younger self. There are even some whose names I can’t recall—I simply scribble Upstairs neighbor or Guy from Denver. I file the list in my computer under “THE list,” so when I’m seventy or eighty, should I live so long, I can re-read it. I frame photos of my top three five-star lovers, one of whom is dead, and place them on the bookshelves near my bed. Slowly I face the truth: though I swore I’d never become a sexless old lady, that is exactly what I have become.

Several years ago I read that Gloria Steinem was relieved when her sex drive mellowed out, because it simplified her life. At the time I was appalled. Now I understand.

I understand a few other things too: the lyrics, wistfully sung by Maurice Chevalier in Gigi: I’m so glad that I’m not young anymore. I see an analogy to amusement park rides: Once upon a time I was a screaming teenager riding the roller coaster, but now the rides make me sick to my stomach.

I cultivate a new self-image, that of the bonsai tree, pared down to bare essentials. No flamboyant flowers or leaves waving in the wind to attract attention, no desperate luring of the bees. The slightest bit of sunlight and water will suffice. Peaceful. Still. Existing.

FOOLING AROUND WITH TWO...

2008-01-27T23:02:00.000-08:00

Here's from a male letter sender. Thanks for the emails, girls. There are those who sent letters just as a form of release (nobody to share their encounters with) and a few actually wants their letter published.

Girls, thanks for the photos. It surely made me warm. Guys, don't bother sending yours. !@#$%^. I'm straight!

----

I think it's every man's dream to have 2 girls at the same time. Here's my experience.

I know two expensive hookers who meet clients only on appointment basis. My friends and I, usually contact them for stag parties. One night, they texted me looking for trouble. I told them that I'm sorry, I didn’t have money that night but I'll ask dome friends. What I did was call and text my horny friends. Unfortunately, they were not in the mood for the night so I called the two and told them that it’s zero for tonight. They replied that they are in a cab already and will just meet me instead for drinks in one of the local bars.

While we were at the bar, some of my friends came so I made some introductions discreetly asked my friends if they are interested. Unfortunately, the answers were all NO’s. So I whispered to my girl that my friends are not interested. If they want, I am in the mood but I only have money for one of them. She asked, “How about my friend?”

She may come, I said.

They both went to the bathroom and when they returned. They both said, “OK, let’s go!”

(Fast forward to the motel….)

Inside the room, both of them went to the bathroom to shower and clean their thingy. The 1st girl came to me while the other was still in the shower. She instantly told me not to wait for girl 2.

No prob! said without hesitation. So she grabbed my boobs and sucked on it hard while fingering her hole. Girl 2 got in to our bed and texted on her phone. .... After a minute I told her,

Bitch,what are you doing? Stop texting and get into the action!

So she knelt and whispered something to girl 1. I said, I want you to go at it at the same time. So alternately, they sucked my D#$% while I was fingering 2 pussies.

The next thing that happened was girl 1 lowered her hole into my shaft. She pumped while nibbling her nips. Girl 2 was texting again; I pulled out of girl 1, grabbed her and did rammed my way in. Girl 1 was kissing my nips without instructions.

Then as my fantasy, I told them both to kneel facing the wall as I pumped them alternately. It was one of my memorable sexual experiences as my fantasy came true. As I came, I pumped it in their asses all the way to their backs. Yes, it was that much.

The two girls gave high fives to each other as if they also enjoyed the night.

Fetishes BY Marcy

2008-01-24T00:38:00.000-08:00

Fetishes

Following are a few short pieces I wrote for Private Lives about common, and not so common, fetishes.

1. Pubic Beautician

images2.jpeg My hairdresser works at home cutting hair—or, as they say in the biz, doing heads. I heard through the grapevine that, for Carol, doing heads meant more than simply cutting hair: for an extra ten bucks she’d cut your pubic hair as well, and, if she really liked you, she’d even throw in a blowjob.

I was sitting in front of her mirror, innocently having my hair cut, every so often letting my eyes slide downward to peek at her nipples standing way up high through her skimpy t–shirt, and wondering if the rumors were true. Carol was gorgeous — long auburn hair, big tits, shapely legs. She dressed casually, but her body would look sexy in a potato sack.

She finished cutting my hair, dusted off my collar, and asked if there was anything more she could do for me. I said no, the haircut looked great, and then she said, “Any other body hair need trimming?” Her eyes stared boldly at my crotch.

You couldda knocked me right off the chair! Obviously, the stories I’d heard were true, and she was ready to roll. I cleared my throat.

“Well,” I said, “my bush is gettin’ pretty thick.”

“You know,” she said, sliding her tongue around her lips, “I specialize in pubic hair. Why don’t you just lie down on the bed, make yourself comfortable, and we’ll see what we can do.”

I was so damned nervous I was shaking. I hardly knew this girl, and I was about to let her poke around my dick with a pair of scissors!

Carol came over to the bed with a pair of tiny scissors, unzipped my fly and slid down my jeans. She bent her head, her long hair grazing my thighs, and began snipping away at my pubic hair, concentrating as if all she was interested in was making my bush look elegant. It didn’t take long for my dick to rise to the occasion, standing straight up as she snipped around it. For awhile she pretended to ignore my raging hard-on, pushing it aside to get at my hair, but after a few minutes her hand lingered on the shaft, and she began stroking me. Unable to control myself, I moaned and moved my hips. Carol looked up at me with her big blue eyes.

“For an extra ten I can take care of this too,” she said, and without waiting for an answer, she wrapped her pretty lips around the head of my cock and proceeded to bob up and down, licking the shaft, swirling her tongue around the head, giving me a first-rate blowjob. Her skilled hands fondled my balls as she sucked, letting my cock slide all the way down her throat, then back up again, where she gave extra attention to the big purple head. I reached down to fondle her tits, but she pushed my hand away. I figured tits weren’t included in the deal, so I stifled myself, just lying back and enjoying her hot lips. Pretty soon I came.

Afterwards, she was all professional again, helping me on with my pants, putting away her scissors. I got the message: I was supposed to pay her and split, which I did.

I liked the way my pubic hair looked, neat and trim. Six weeks went by, and both my head and pubes were shaggy again, so I made another appointment. At Carol’s house, I got the same treatment: first a head cut, and then head— this time without any preliminary questions.

This routine has been going on now for six months. Carol told me she’s going to open her own shop soon, but she’s planning to keep servicing her regulars in the privacy of her home. I get a warm, secure feeling from having such a professional woman taking care of two of my most basic needs.

2051976200_3311d62acd_m-1.jpg

2. Tickle Tickle

My boyfriend and I were dating for about three months, having satisfying but fairly ordinary sex, when he asked if he could tie me down. I’ve never been interested in S/M or bondage, so I was hesitant. I made him promise not to do anything that might hurt; with a mysterious twinkle in his eye, he agreed.

He tied me to the bedposts by my wrists and ankles, spread-eagled and naked. I protested when he tried to blindfold me, but he pleaded with me to trust him; since he’s a gentle, loving man, I finally gave in. I was amazed to find myself getting excited before he even touched me. I think my nervousness served to increase my excitement. I figured he’d fuck me, or give me head, or vice versa. The room was very quiet, the suspense intensifying.

236511873_748e690e2a_m.jpgSuddenly I felt something soft go sweeping across my toes. I giggled a little. The soft feathery object moved up my legs, lingering on my thighs, crept over my belly and under my chin. It tickled, but not unpleasantly. I laughed a little harder and squirmed against my bindings. When the feathers—by now I was sure that’s what they were—grazed my exposed armpits, the sensation was exquisite. It was also torturous. This is very difficult to describe, but I wanted it to stop and not to stop at the same time.

Larry replaced the feathers with his fingers. They wandered lightly over my belly, making my muscles twitch and spasm. I begged him to stop.

“No way,” His voice was low and soothing, but he dug his fingers in deeper. By now I was screaming and pleading for mercy.

Here’s the craziest part: my pussy was dripping wet.

Suddenly Larry jammed two fingers inside me and repeated the movements he’d made on my belly; it was like being internally tickled. His palm pressed against my clit; within a few minutes I had the most intense, glorious orgasm I’d ever enjoyed.

Larry climbed on top, pulled off my blindfold, and fucked me. After he’d come and I’d had two more orgasms, he asked if I’d tie him down and tickle him. I was completely exhausted, but I promised to reverse roles next time, which I did, the very next night.

Now tickling is a major component of our sex lives. We use feathers, cold metal objects, fingers and tongues. We tease each others feet for hours. The helplessness and vulnerability of being tickled seems to increase our lust for one another. I’m grateful to Larry for introducing me to this unusual form of sensuality, and glad I trusted him enough to give it a try.

3. Food Sex

images-31.jpeg I’ve had an aversion to mixing food with sex ever since a night many years ago when I poured maple syrup on my husband’s cock and licked it off. It was such a sticky mess, especially in my hair, that I vowed never to merge kitchen with bedroom again. But lately our sex life had become routinized, and when Rick and I talked about ways to spice things up, the word spice propelled us into the kitchen. Simple folk that we are, we we went for the foodstuff most frequently used by lovers: whipped cream.

It’s obvious why whipped cream is popular between the sheets. It’s thick, white, and creamy, easy to apply to almost any part of the body, and not only is it delicious, but indulging in whipped cream by itself is sinfully decadent.

The first time we brought a can of Redi-Whip into bed, we squirted it on Rick’s cock. I got down between his legs and slowly licked it off, from balls to head, gulping greedily at the thick sweet stuff. By the time I’d licked him clean and took him into my mouth, he was so turned on he rewarded me with some cream of his own.

On our next whipped cream experiment we slathered it on my pussy, and Rick ate me out. I loved the sensation of cold whipped cream in and on my cunt, and of Rick licking it out of me. The feeling was indescribable, and I came being eaten, something I rarely do.

We began buying cans of whipped cream by the dozen, joking that we should buy stock in the company. Our experiments expanded to nipples and assholes. Then we started fucking with whipped cream, sometimes slathering it all over ourselves beforehand. Eventually we added sprinkles, chocolate chips and cherries. Remembering the maple syrup, I drew the line at hot fudge. It’s gotten to the point where Rick and I can’t walk past a bakery window full of eclairs and cannolis without making a purchase, which we ingest, in one form or another, later on.

Another benefit of our fetish is that, with dirty linen accumulating at an alarming rate, Rick’s taken responsibility for doing half the laundry.

images-41.jpeg

4. Mutual Masturbation
sexy-black-woman.jpg I’m 32, happily married, and the father of a toddler. My wife is a gorgeous, open-minded redhead, and we have a great sex life. I would never want anything to ruin our relationship. But during all my years of marriage, I’ve been secretly getting together every few months with my childhood sweetheart.

By no stretch of the imagination is this an affair. Jan and I have known each other since we were four years old — she was literally the girl next door. We played doctor when we were kids — hers was the first cunt I ever saw, and I watched it sprout hair and saw her tits develop, just as she watched my cock grow by adolescence to a full nine inches. When we were 14 we went all the way, and went steady all through high school. Then we went off to separate colleges. Though we meant to stay together, over the years we gradually drifted apart. I dated other girls. And so did Jan.

That’s not a typo: Jan became a lesbian—but we remained good pals, developing a special kind of relationship. We swapped tales about the women we slept with, titillating and teasing each other. Jan became my jack-off buddy.

31c49axfqql_aa115_.jpgHere’s how it goes: we see each other once every two or three months, usually at her place. Jan, who is, as she calls herself, a lesbian slut, gives me the juicy details of her latest conquests. I used to share mine, but since marriage I mostly rely on fantasy. We start off innocently, with only words, but eventually Jan’s hand wanders down her jeans and rubs her pussy. I take out my dick and do the same.

“Last week,” she whispers, as my cock hardens and throbs, “I picked up this little blonde number in the women’s bar. She’d only been with chicks a couple of times, but she’d got the taste of pussy and couldn’t control herself. I think she hangs out waiting for an older broad like me to overtake her. Well, you know I didn’t disappoint her. I took that sweet babe home and spread her right on this bed and ate her pussy til she creamed on my face. Then I strapped on a dildo and fucked the living daylights out of her. When she left she could hardly walk.”

Just when I think I’m hotter than I’ve ever been in my life, Jan switches tracks, teasing me with stuff like, “You’d really love to fuck me again, wouldn’t you?” or “Too bad I don’t like to suck dick anymore.”

I give it right back to her. “Yeah, well, you shouldda seen Nancy suck my dick last night, better than you ever did. I had her down on all fours in front of the mirror, panting and slurping until I came in her face. You never used to let me come in your face. I bet you miss my cock now, you lezzie slut. I bet you wish I’d come in your face now.” We laugh like crazy while we talk this shit, we masturbate, and we always come. I hate to say this, but I have better orgasms just talking to Jan than I’ve had being touched by anyone else.

Of course, my wife knows nothing about these activities. She and Jan are great friends, and our secret meetings are no threat to our marriage. After all, I’m not about to leave Nancy for Jan—and Jan sure isn’t going to give up women for me. Still, I’m sure Nancy would feel deeply betrayed if she found out—she’d probably divorce me. I just have to keep being careful and not get caught—because to tell you the truth, I don’t think I could give it up. I sure don’t want to.

A Healthy Couple

2008-01-17T23:36:00.000-08:00

By: Marcy

The tragedy of the fires down in Southern California this week had me glued to my television set. But when the camera showed the evacuees in Qualcomm Park, huddled in their neat little tents, I couldn’t help but giggle just a little: my husband and I, who went camping a lot when we were dating, keep a little tent set up in the backyard at all times, in case we have a sudden urge to spend the night outdoors. Our neighbors think we’re fresh-air and health fanatics…we’re health fanatics, all right–we love to fuck inside a tent.

If you’ve ever gone camping with a lover, you know what I’m talking about. If you haven’t, well, just think about it: In a tent there are absolutely no distractions. There’s just Jakob and me, sheltered by our little home away from home–for all we care, the rest of the world doesn’t exist. On a dark night especially, there’s simply nothing that compares with being totally immersed in the feel, smell and taste of one another’s flesh. (There’s also the naughty thrill that someone on the campgrounds or in our neighborhood might pass by and see our furtive movements or hear our stifled moans.) There’s a good reason, though, for this admittedly wacky fetish: our first encounter took place inside a tent.

I was merely 22 and in love, or so I thought, with Josh, a slightly older man. He was a devoted fisherman whose idea of a good time was standing knee-deep in a river all day waiting for a nibble. I tried to join in, but it bored me out of my skull. So we would set up camp in the woods, and while Josh went off to catch dinner I would read, write letters, or just lounge around at the campsite. I didn’t mind–I found it relaxing to lie around in the woods on a hot day wearing nothing but short shorts and a skimpy halter top.

On one of these trips the campgrounds were crowded, and a hunky young guy set up his RV next to ours. I wondered about his being alone–that’s unusual at campgrounds. He was friendly, though, and I waved to him just to be nice. Soon I noticed that he was walking past my campsite an awful lot, always saying hello and trying to engage in small talk.

I was attracted to Jakob right away. He was always shirtless, his lean muscular body inviting my appreciative gaze. One day I caught his eyes roving over my breasts, barely covered by a white halter, then down to my butt. They seemed to bore right through me, inflaming my body with a slow, insistent heat.

That night when Josh and I had sex, I made sure to moan just loud enough for Jakob to hear. I imagined him lying alone in the dark, listening to the slight rustle of our bodies under our sleeping bags, stroking his cock meat with his lonely hand. I imagined him aching to touch me. These thoughts excited me beyond my usual level of arousal.

The next morning I was shaking out our sleeping bags when the biggest spider I’d ever seen suddenly landed on my leg. I know it’s a terrible stereotype, but I shrieked. Instantly, Jakob was by my side.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. I immediately felt silly.

“Oh, nothing. I guess it was just a spider.”

The creature scampered off–but Jakob didn’t. He was standing so close I could feel his breath on my bare neck.

“How come your boyfriend leaves a gorgeous girl like you alone all day?”

“He likes to fish,” I said, turning away so Jakob couldn’t see the evidence of my desire: I was so aroused, my nipples stiffened and showed through the flimsy material of my halter, as if they wanted to be mauled. He didn’t need any direct evidence, though, to figure out that I was sizzling. Right from the start our lust was like a chemical explosion, one of those attractions so strong they can’t be explained or denied. Before I had a chance to think twice, Jakob’s arm encircled my waist. He moved me towards the tent, his hard-on nudging the crack of my ass. I turned my head and our lips collided. Jakob thrust his tongue down my throat. When we came up for air, we stumbled into the tent and fell to our knees facing each other.

“This is nuts,” I said, my fingers exploring his face and neck.

“Yeah, it’s nuts…so what?” He was removing his belt, unzipping his fly, his eyes never leaving my face. Quickly he rolled down his jeans, revealing a long, hard, throbbing cock. My hand reached out to stroke it, gently pulling him closer. Jakob removed my halter and brought my breast to his hungry mouth. He sucked and licked and bit my nipples while I continued to knead his hard organ, rubbing the head up against my belly.

“What if Josh comes back?” I asked, not really caring.

Jakob surfaced briefly from the pillow of my tits. “He won’t.”

We fell back on the tarp, and Jakob removed my shorts and slid his hand beneath the elastic of my panties. Tenderly he squeezed my buttocks, pulling my pelvis up against his. I groaned as my pussy went molten. Jakob pulled down my panties and rubbed himself between my thighs, his swollen cock head parting my wet vulva. His rod slid effortlessly into me as if he had finally come home. Our hips ground furiously together, performing what felt like a dance of destiny.

Jakob rolled me onto my back and began driving his cock in and out. My hands caressed his bulging biceps as I watched him move above me. My legs widened and lifted to embrace his hips, pulling him deeper inside. As we rocked our way to a quaking, shaking orgasm, I began to emit loud moans, but Jakob’s hand flew up, covering my mouth to muffle the sound. This excited me so much I had a second, and then a third, orgasm, while his large hand continued to stifle my cries of pleasure. When my cunt finally stopped its wild palpitations, Jakob’s rod went soft and slipped out of me.

I ran my hand through his curly hair. “That was incredible,” I whispered.

Though I was tempted to pack up my things and relocate to Jakob’s campsite then and there, I wasn’t that cruel–I couldn’t just up and leave Josh. Instead, Jakob and I exchanged phone numbers, and when we got back to the city I dumped Josh, in a civilized manner, and started seeing Jakob. Our sex continued to be as hot as the first time, and our relationship flourished.

After we got married, though, we frequently didn’t have enough time, or were too tired for sex, and when we did finally get around to it, the old chemistry didn’t seem to be working anymore. Most couples in this common situation seek out counseling, or spice things up with porn videos or other sources of titillation. But Jakob and me, well, we took off for the woods. Voila! Once we got inside a tent, we fucked our brains out for an entire weekend.

Now, whenever we feel the need to fire up our passion, if we can’t get away to the woods, we just head out to our backyard tent. Once inside, we can hear the comings and goings of our neighbors, in their cars or in and out of their houses–but this inspires rather than inhibits us. Of course, Jakob has to hold his big hand over my mouth so the whole neighborhood won’t hear my cries, which still drives me crazy. Being forced to keep quiet seems to center all the sexual energy in my cunt, and my orgasms are explosive. Jakob says that when he’s stifling my moans and fucking me hard, my pussy muscles grip him ferociously.

And so, whenever our neighbors and friends remark what a healthy outdoors couple we are, our eyes catch one another’s and we smile secretly: we are indeed a healthy couple.

MILE HIGH

2008-01-12T22:37:00.000-08:00

Thanks for the photos.. You know who you are...

That one's a from letter female sender who regularly travels to Singapore with her boyfriend.

She confesses to regulary having sex in the plane's lavatory with her man but this one's different and happened very recently.

"We spent Christmas and New Year in Sydney and he wanted to make it a surprise We took the A380 from Singpore to Sydney and back. He told me that its a real surprise to me what we will fly and he booked us in the Singapore Airlines Suites. Despite my apprehensions, stories and explicit cautions forbidding lovemaking in the suites, he was still able to make me so horny that we did it twice on each flight. Talk about the wonderful spoon position! It was such a great feeling since it was almost doing it in public. The walls are not really sound proofed and the suites were not completly covered. It meant that tall cabin people could still peep and see what we were doing.

It was a very nice and exciting Christmas trip! I now have the bragging rights of probably being one of the first to get laid in a A-380 suite."

For your stories, please send it to zen.jeremey@gmail.com. It will see print in this space, if you want us to. Thanks!

NEW CONTRIBUTOR

2008-01-10T17:44:00.000-08:00

We now have a new full time contributor to this page.

At this point, there's just me, Marcy and a number of letter writers. starting today, a male writer who's well experienced in erotic writing will be joining us.

Should there be more interested, please send me an email at hernandez.kristine@gmail.com and send me your stories. Credits will be given to the writer and anonymity will be assured.

Thanks and keep your mojos up!

Cheers!

A Beach In San Francisco

2008-01-10T06:05:00.000-08:00

By Marcy

Ah, San Francisco! Balmy weather, artsy cafes, sun-drenched or fog-shrouded beaches. I strolled along Baker Beach on a sparkling October day, congratulating myself on the wisdom of my decision to leave the Great Northeast for good. It had been merely two short weeks, but the Left Coast was my home now, the place where I’d stake my claim to fame and fortune, find my soul mate, learn to live a laid back California existence. The trouble was, I still felt every inch the New Yorker.

Looking back, I see that I was naive in many ways, not the least of which was in a total lack of awareness that I’d just moved to Sex City, U.S.A. Oh, sure, I knew the place was a gay Mecca where everyone could be themselves, and I looked forward to being out as a bisexual. But with all those gay boys cruising one another, I figured encounters with men would be few and far between.

Even this could not dampen my spirits as I made my way along the beach, toward the cliffs rising in the distance. Slowly it dawned on me that the further I walked, the less clothing people were wearing, until I found myself almost entirely surrounded by naked bodies. Sunbathers bared all and naked volleyball teams cavorted. Vaguely I recalled hearing that this strip of sand was a nudist haven. My eyes roved from one body to another, taking in the sight of asses and breasts and penises bobbing unselfconsciously in the breeze. A far cry from the bundled-up folks back East.

Though I knew I stood out in my print shorts and t-shirt, no way could I imagine publicly baring my flesh; never would I allow strangers to see my physical flaws in the harsh light of day. Oh yes, I definitely needed time to become acclimatized to this brave new world.

I meandered over to the cliffs, sat down on a craggy rock, and watched the waves rolling in, lost in thought. To my right was a small clearing sheltered by huge rocks gently lapped by the sea. Suddenly, out of nowhere appeared a tall, thin man, naked but for a blue baseball cap and dark sunglasses. He was bearded, dark, good-looking. My eyes immediately fell to the space between his legs, where hung the longest, thickest cock I’d ever seen outside of a porno film.

Briefly the stranger glanced up at me, then proceeded to wander around the clearing. I smiled inwardly, thinking he was just a guy on the make, parading his goods for my inspection. After strutting about for several minutes, he leaned against a rock and, to my astonishment, began fondling himself. Quickly I glanced around; a few people were scattered here and there, but no one else could see him. My first impulse was to run: the guy was obviously a pervert who, if encountered on a subway or in a dark alley, would have scared me to death.

And yet, my eyes were mesmerized by the movement of his long thin fingers around his throbbing prick. So I watched. And he watched me watching. My cunt juiced up and my mind went wild: I imagined diving over the cliffs and impaling myself on the handsome stranger’s stiff prick.

Suddenly a teenage kid came bounding over the rocks. The flasher instantly ceased his activities. I considered leaving–but, much to my shame, I found that I couldn’t. I desperately wanted to see more. Surreptitiously I glanced around for more intruders, and when the coast was clear, gave a subtle nod in the stranger’s direction.

He resumed his self-pleasuring, leaning back luxuriously, allowing the sun to dance across his hairy chest and well-hung balls. Slowly he stroked his dick up and down for my viewing pleasure. My mouth tingled with desire and lust, and I briefly considered running over and giving him the blowjob of his life–but for all I knew he really was a pervert, possibly even dangerous. Maybe he had a gun hidden beneath his hat. (Remember, I was fresh off the streets of New York.)

You know how some guys masturbate, desperate to come, jerking it so fast that their prick whizzes into a blur of movement? Well, this guy was in no way jerking off; he was loving his dick and showing me how much he loved it. He took his sweet time, fondling and stroking, waving it teasingly in my direction. He let his prick stand straight up to its full glory while he squeezed his globular balls. The sun glinted over the pearly cum forming on the smooth head. And I sat, impassively watching, pretending that nothing out of the ordinary was going on, while my cunt palpitated and my mouth salivated.

Finally my masturbator surrendered to nature in the fullest sense of the word, letting his milky fluid spurt into the briny sea. I allowed myself another moment to feast my eyes on his cock as it slowly went limp, then I scampered down the rock and walked rapidly away, hotter than a furnace.
I must have been emitting animal smells, because every man on the beach turned to look at me. Any one of them could have thrown me down and fucked me on the spot, and I would have been grateful. As it was, I was going to have to find release on my own. But how to do that in public?

They say necessity is the mother of invention, and in this case it was surely true. It didn’t take me long to figure out how to masturbate surreptitiously–in fact, I taught myself something that day that I was to practice again many times in the future. I gathered a small hard mound of sand in one spot underneath my blanket, then laid myself face down, placing my cunt directly over the little sand hill. I put a book in front of my face and gyrated my pelvis in tiny, infinitesimal movements, pressing my clit hard against the sand hill. The words on the page in front of me swam before my glazed eyes. The sun beat down on my bare legs and the ocean lapped ceaselessly before me. People strolled all around, but not one, so far as I know, noticed anything unusual when my cunt convulsed and my whole body shuddered in orgasmic release.

As soon as my orgasm subsided I got up and resumed walking along the shore, my mind a whirlwind of confusion. I thought about my women friends, who would have been appalled by the stranger’s display and shocked by my acquiescence. So many of us have been frightened as little girls, hiding in some apartment stairwell while a dirty old man made us watch as he jerked off. Most of us have seen men whip it out on the subway or the street, in parked cars or movie theaters. These unwanted displays scared and disgusted us–yet there I’d sat, watching, even encouraging, a man to masturbate in front of me.

But, I reminded myself, I had been safe. I’d known the stranger couldn’t touch me–and probably hadn’t even wanted to. Had I encountered him in a dark alley I would certainly have fled in terror–but this was not a dark alley; this was a beach in San Francisco.

My mood lightened and I thought Nobody knows me here. What would it matter if I took off my clothes? I eyed the ocean, wondering what the salty water would feel like against my bare skin. Then and there, without further thought, I pulled down my shorts, pulled my t-shirt over my head, and left them in a pile on the sand. As I marched determinedly into the sea, a breeze caressing my bare breasts, any remaining embarrassment vanished in a rush of pleasure. I went in up to my neck, shivering as each part of my body was kissed by the salty sea. When I was almost over my head I lay in the water and floated on my back. Never in my life had I felt anything so delicious, the sea on my skin, the sun on my face, my hair floating behind me as I let the waves toss me gently about.

I don’t know how long I stayed in the ocean: time seemed to stand still as I got lost in the sensory experience. When I came out, I retrieved my clothes, intending to put them on. But when I looked around and saw other naked people thoroughly enjoying themselves, I realized they were pretty much ignoring me. I resumed walking, carrying my clothes in my hand. For the first time since I’d come to California, I almost felt like I belonged.

POLICE BRUTALITY

2007-12-31T05:34:00.000-08:00

By Marcy

I love a man in a uniform. There’s something inherently exciting about the authority conveyed by a sailor suit, a firefighter’s hat, or, most of all, the dark blue threads on a cop. In fact, I met my husband at a Halloween party where I was dressed as Little Orphan Annie and he as a police sergeant, complete with (unloaded) gun and nightstick.

Jack in his blues was irresistible. He’d borrowed the suit from a friend, and after that night I never saw it again–but every once in awhile, during sex, I’d fantasize him dressed in that power suit, and the memory carried me to orgasm.

Jack knew about my fetish–whenever we saw a cop he’d tease me. I wished he’d rent or borrow a uniform again, but once we settled into marriage and had kids, our sex life became predictable. Not bad–Jack’s a fantastic lover and I always come with him. But he’s a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy–no fancy lingerie, no teasing games, just straight on suck, fuck, come, sleep.

As my 35th birthday approached, I began to feel depressed. This was supposed to be my prime time, sexually speaking, but I was bored and restless. I even toyed with the idea of having an affair. When I tried expressing my feelings to Jack, he thought I just wanted more sex, and gave it to me: he didn’t seem to understand that I didn’t want more, I wanted variety. I can’t blame him completely: I must admit I wasn’t very good at bedroom communication.

The week before my birthday Jack told me he had a surprise planned for me, and I should take the kids to my mother’s for an overnight stay. My mother lives way out in the country, so I left home early and spent a couple of hours with her. Just as I was about to leave, Jack called.

“I’m on my way out the door,” I told him.
“Good,” he said, “but hurry. Otherwise your present will get spoiled.”

Driving along deserted country roads, I wondered what Jack could have gotten for me that could spoil in a few hours. An ice sculpture? I sighed. Whatever it was, I doubted it was what I really wanted. Still, I didn’t want to disappoint him, so I stepped on the gas. I didn’t notice the cop car until it was almost on top of me, lights blinking and siren blaring.

“Shit,” I muttered, pulling over to the side of the road. It had been years since I’d been stopped by a cop; I hoped I had all my papers in order. I watched in the rear view mirror as a tall, beefy cop with a Burt Reynolds moustache ambled over to my car.

“License, registration and proof of insurance,” he barked.

I pulled my license out of my purse and handed it over, then reached towards the glove compartment. I was stopped dead by the barrel of a gun at my head. I froze.

“Whaddya think you’re doin’ lady?”

“I was just getting my registration and insurance card out of the glove compartment,” I said, trembling, and added, “Sir.”

“Okay, go on. No funny stuff, though.” He continued to aim the gun in my direction as I shakily rummaged through the mess in my glove compartment.

“I see you’re not wearin’ a seat belt,” he said, waving his gun in the air.

Damn! Jack kept warning me to start complying with the law, but I always forgot to put the damn thing on.

“And it says here on your license that you wear corrective lenses. I don’t see no glasses on you.”

“I’m wearing contact lenses. Sir.”

“Let’s see.” I turned my head and found myself staring into a pair of hazel eyes flecked with gold– definitely bedroom eyes. They bored right into mine as if they could see through to my deepest desires. The sudden quickening of my cunt shocked me, considering that I was being held at gunpoint. I glanced at his badge: Sergeant Bill Johnson.

“Where’s that registration and insurance card?” he demanded, breaking the spell.

I plowed through my papers once more, and finally found the registration–but I couldn’t locate my insurance card.

“You’re in a whole lot of trouble, little lady,” said Sergeant Johnson. “Driving over the speed limit, no seat belt, no insurance, and I ain’t so sure about them contacts either.”

“Oh, Officer, I can prove the contacts,” I said in a rush of relief, lowering my head and removing one of the lenses.

“Cut that out!” he shouted. “Next thing you know you’ll be pullin’ off yer panties.” I blushed furiously. “City gal.” He spat into the street. Then he nudged the top button of my blouse with his pistol, until it popped open to reveal my ample cleavage. I began to perspire–with fear, yes, but also with lust. As scary as the situation was, it was also a fantasy come true.

“Well, Miss City Slicker,” Sergeant Johnson continued, “I’m just gonna hafta bring you down to the station for a few questions.”

“Officer, please don’t do that. My husband’s expecting me. He has a surprise waiting for me at home. Today’s my birthday.”

Sergeant Johnson glanced down at my license. “So it is, so it is. Sorry ’bout that, honey, but I gotta do my lawful duty. You’ll probably get to see the judge real quick, and if he decides to let you go, you should be home by ten. You can call hubby from the station.”

I bit my lip to keep from crying. What a way to spend my 35th birthday. Sergeant Johnson opened my door and I stepped out, tugging on my tight linen skirt. His eyes followed my hands and ran up and down my stockinged legs. He let out a low whistle, then motioned with his gun for me to walk ahead of him.

I was surprised when he opened the front door of the cop car and motioned me inside–I thought all suspects sat in the back. Come to think of it, if I was being arrested, shouldn’t I be read my Miranda rights? I began to think this so-called arrest was highly improper, if not illegal. Before I could open my mouth to protest, though, Sergeant Johnson was sitting beside me, putting his gun back in its holster. He turned sideways in his seat and said, “You know, a smart gal could get out of this jam pretty easy.”

“Really?”

” Yeah. Really.” Sergeant Johnson leaned toward me and gently touched the back of my neck. I shivered.

“You could make me a mighty happy man, then get right back into your car and drive home to hubby.” His hand exerted a slight pressure on my neck. I lowered my eyes and saw the bulge in his crotch.

“You mean…?”
“Exactly.”
“A blow job?” I whispered.

“A blow job,” he said. “A long, fine blow job. A blow job I’ll never forget. A blow job so good that every time my wife touches my dick I’ll remember your tongue.”

His low seductive voice was laced with threat. My cunt juiced up and my mouth watered with desire.

Sergeant Johnson unzipped his fly and took out a long, ivory colored penis with a smooth, faintly purple head. I leaned over and, grasping his organ with my hand, lowered my head.

I began by circling his cock head with my tongue, licking it all over, then planting sweet little kisses all around it, and continuing up and down the shaft. Sergeant Johnson groaned and leaned his head back, thrusting his pelvis forward. Although I felt helpless, at the mercy of a police officer, I also felt powerful: I was in control. I had the power, in my tongue and in my mouth, to rescue myself. I liked the challenge he’d thrown at me–to be so good that for the rest of his natural life no one would touch his cock without reminding him of me.

After I’d bathed his quivering dick in saliva, I placed my lips around it and gradually opened wide, sliding it down until the head hit the base of my throat, and his engorged balls tickled my lips. He moaned and groaned, writhing in his seat, while I worked that cock with my mouth and hand, pausing briefly to open my blouse and rub my tits against him.

He shoved his big calloused hand under the elastic in my skirt and squeezed my ass. I writhed, grinding my wet and swollen pussy against the seat, my head bobbing up and down, sucking furiously, making that cock the most important thing in my life.

Suddenly something hard touched the space between my legs. I turned and saw his nightstick nudging my crotch.

“Keep sucking,” he rasped. I resumed my task, now humping the nightstick. I slid that cock past my gag reflex, and became lost in sensation. As our excitement peaked, Sergeant Johnson grabbed my hair in his fist, pulled my head back, and shot a stream of thick fluid all over my face.

“Oh God yes, shoot me,” I cried, my cunt contracting in spasms against the nightstick. “Shoot me with your cock.”

“Ooh baby,” he moaned, milking his dick dry. “You sure give great head.”

When the rush faded, I was embarrassed–it was obvious I’d enjoyed myself. But the sergeant just zipped up his pants, put away his nightstick, and picked up his car phone.

As I sat there recovering, I heard him say, “Yeah, she’s fine. You were right, man–she gives great head. I’m gonna follow her home now, make sure she gets back to you safe and sound.”

My jaw dropped, and I stared at him in disbelief. He handed me the phone and I held it to my ear. Jack’s voice came through loud and clear.

“Happy birthday baby.”

A Special Weekend

2007-12-26T02:49:00.000-08:00

I work in a very stressful job, and have started taking long weekends off every couple of months to unwind.

Here's what happened a few weeks ago on my last trip to Manila.

I happened to notice a drop dead stunner on the flight sitting across the aisle from me in business. About 5'7-5'8 tall with a good set of twins. Said hi and started chatting with her. Turns out she's on her way back home from a photo shoot... yes, a model who I later discovered does work for some well known brands.

She said she had a long hard week and was looking forward to resting and "doing nothing" for the next few days. "I just want to relax" she said. "Well, so do I".

"Do you go to Manila often?" she asked me.

I winked at her and said "Only when I want to chill and unwind".

The conversation centered on her work for most of the flight.

Towards the end, I figured I should take the risk and give her my business card with my manila number on the back. Told her I was going to be staying at the Hyatt, was planning on spending a fair bit of time at the spa and that she should consider coming over on Saturday to chill out. No strings attached... (yeah right!)

Spent the Friday night unwinding, a good book, a good massage and flirting with the gorgeous girls who work at the hotel.

Saturday morning around 11 I got a call and she invites herself over, saying she's bored and would love to have lunch.

A light lunch follows... great conversation and lots of flirting. I suggest we try the couples massage at the spa and she laughs and goes ... "you just want to see me naked".

I replied, "And, I want to see another woman rub you down... ". She giggled and accepted the invite.

The massage is stunning and I just could not hide my raging hard on, much to the amusement of the therapist who seemed to know what was going on. I know if I want, I can invite her back to the room for a good bonk and end it right there. But that’s not the plan. I want to drag this along a bit .. Something like standing in front of a truly magnificent work of art, you just want to prolong the moment.

I told her I could use a little bit of help shopping. Not yet met a woman who would say no that...

Off we went to a popular mall... did some shopping and I suggested that we go over to Suonos, the lingerie store. “Why?” she asked.

“So that you’ll have something special to wear for tonight's dinner”, I winked at her.

She winked back .. going "you are a dirty old man arent you".

I said, "yes, and isn’t that why you're hanging out with me".

Spent an hour flirting and buying a few things that I know I'm going to get to take off in a few hours time..

Got back to the hotel and I know she's weak... I know I can have her, but no, let’s hold off a little bit more, have a nice romantic dinner before we do the old fashioned humporama.

The concierge recommend Barbaras for dinner and hand a grin on his face that he could not wipe of when he saw my companion.

The dinner was just spectacular, guys this is a fail proof place to take a woman you want to shag. Girls, be careful of a guy's intention when he takes you there on the first date.

After dinner, I asked her, "do you want to go out clubbing or do you want to go back and chill with a bottle of wine?"

"Go back..."

Within moments of getting into the car, I was teasing her by blowing lightly into her ears and she responded by rubbing my nipples. I had to get her to stop. No way did I want to be walking through the hotel lobby with a raging hard on. Would have been fun, but I stay there on business and could not take the risk of a client seeing me walking around with a bulge.

We got back to the room, ordered a bottle of white wine, chocolates and a couple of bottles of water.

It took a few minutes for her to strip down the stunning lingerie we'd bought earlier. What a vision... simply spectacular.

We spent the next hour exploring each other’s bodies with our tongues... there was very little that was left unexplored, and we had yet to move to the bed.

At some point, without a word being said, we knew the time was right. With my raging hard on at its peak, she rode me for a good three orgasms. I could just not help but admire this woman who personified a goddess moaning and panting as she rode me...

Satisfied, she said... it’s now time for us to switch (I'd told her earlier that I rarely come when the woman's on top..).

She slid below me .. And I had my way with her. We both came... I could see the satisfaction in her and she could see the ear to ear smile I had on my face.

We showered together ... much to my disappointment, I was not ready for another go while we were getting soapy and playing with each other in the bath.

Before calling it a night, we ordered our breakfast in bed .. and I told her .. that she was in charge of the wake up call. I said, that I have only one request, I want to wake up with a blow-job. After the day we spent together, she would have done a lot more if I'd asked her.

The wake up call was lets just say... special. Few women treated me the way she did that morning. Few...

Lesson for you guys... treat a woman right and the queen during the day will gladly be your whore at night.

TRUE STORY: MILE HIGH

2007-12-19T23:09:00.000-08:00

By Marcy

During the 90s I wrote regularly for Private Lives, a subscriber-only newsletter. In addition to my two-page stories (many of those posted here were originally PL stories, revised and expanded), I also contributed “readers’ letters,” describing fabulous sexual adventures. They’re shorter than the stories, and they usually don’t involve developed relationships between the characters–but when it comes to getting off on porn, sometimes you just want a quickie. This is one of my PL letters.

Dear G,

Last week I was flying the Red Eye to New York from Los Angeles when I got an unexpected little bonus they never mentioned in my frequent-flyer plan. I was sitting next to the window, the middle seat was empty, and in the aisle seat was a gorgeous blond — tall, tan, and stacked. Your basic California Girl, the kind exalted in Beach Boys songs. The only thing very un-California about her was a definite lack of mellowness–in fact, she was a little jumpy. As we prepared for take-off I noticed she shut her eyes and gripped the arm rests, her knuckles turning white. I chalked it up to a fear of flying. But even after a smooth take-off, she was still nervous — biting her lips, chewing gum, opening a book and closing it again, heaving loud sighs. Finally I asked her what was wrong.

“This is my first flight since the no-smoking rules went into effect,” she said, obviously relieved for someone to talk to. “I don’t think I’m gonna make it.”

Having never smoked cigarettes myself, I couldn’t relate to her discomfort. But I did have a girlfriend once who, every time she quit smoking, got horny as hell and wanted me to fuck her brains out. So when this gorgeous babe, her crossed stockinged legs bouncing up and down, made her confession, I felt my cock immediately spring to life.

Not wanting to alarm her — she was nervous enough already — I listened politely while she yakked on and on in a crazy stream-of-consciousness about her addiction. Casually I slipped into the empty middle seat next to her, and made my first move, letting my hand brush her knee as if by accident. Her leg stopped bouncing and pressed against my hand encouragingly.

Since this was the Red Eye, the lights were dimmed and most people on the plane were sleeping. Slowly I let my hand glide upwards, and creep underneath her skirt. When she made no move to stop me, I continued my journey to the crotch of her panties. It was wet and throbbing.

Your Ad Here

She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me full on the lips. I stuck my tongue into her mouth and she sucked on it so hard I thought she’d rip it right out of my mouth.

“Oh God,” she moaned, “I neeeeed something in my mouth.” That was all I had to hear: I unzipped my fly and set my hard-on free. She dove down in the seat and took me into her mouth. I covered her head with the airline blanket and let her feast on my meat.

This babe sucked like there was no tomorrow. She took the head way down, to the back of her throat, and kept prodding herself with it, almost like she was trying to choke herself. She wrapped her lips around and bobbed up and down, sucking like she was a vacuum.

“Mmf, mmf.” She seemed to be almost delirious. I didn’t want to come too soon, since I sensed she could go on like this for the entire flight, but finally I couldn’t control myself and shot a thick wad into her mouth. She gulped it down, and then, to my surprise, kept right on sucking on my limp dick. She stopped a moment and asked if it was all right to continue for as long as she wanted. What the hell, has a guy ever turned down a blow job?

That chick sucked my cock for nearly four hours, stopping only when the flight attendant came by with food trays, at which point she hopped into her seat and made like nothing was going on. As soon as the attendant disappeared, she dove into my crotch again. I got hard and came a total of three times–but even when I was soft, she kept on sucking. If you’d have asked me before this if I’d ever get tired of having my cock sucked, I’d have said no way, but believe it or not, at times I was bored: I actually read Newsweek for part of the time.

When it was nearly time to land, she stood up, licked her swollen lips, and headed for the john, her hair and makeup a mess. She came back, perfectly put together, sat down demurely in her seat and turned her shining eyes on me.

“Thanks honey,” she said sweetly. “I never would have gotten through this flight without you. I hope you didn’t mind.”

“Glad to be of service, ” I laughed. “That must’ve been the longest blowjob in history.”

“Maybe I’ll quit smoking for good,” she said, “if I can get enough cock to suck.”

Only then did I realize she was a total ditz. I mean, did she really think she’d have trouble finding cock to suck?

“Don’t worry,” I assured her, “you can use me as a reference.” I handed her my business card. “Look me up the next time you fly the friendly skies.”

She thanked me and stuck the card into her purse. Then the plane landed, we said farewell and went our separate ways.

--Jack L.
Brooklyn, NY

A Generous Man

2007-12-17T23:18:00.000-08:00

By Marcy

I’m sure that most people don’t think of sperm banks–those cold, modern-day technological institutions–as hotbeds of eroticism. But for me they are.

For the past five years I’ve donated my sperm a total of 15 times. For all I know, 15 little ones are toddling around with my genes, mothered by women I’ve never met.

I started donating when I was in college and needed extra bucks — they paid $35.00 a shot (pun intended). The first time I went, they sent me into a room by myself with a copy of Playboy, and I jacked off into a glass vial, looking at photos of air-brushed big-titted bunnies. But I like my porn a little bit raunchier, and with more realistic women, so on my next visit I brought along my own reading matter–a lesbian magazine with pictures of dykes fucking each other with dildoes–making no effort to hide it from the hot little receptionist who took my name, or the shapely older nurse who showed me to my jack-off cubicle. When I was finished, I left the magazine behind just in case either of them got curious about my erotic tastes.

On my next visit, the girls greeted me like an old friend. The nurse glanced at the magazine in my hand—this one was an amateurs’ showcase where regular people sent in home photos–before closing the door on me. I jacked off as usual, but this time my mind kept straying from the pictures to a fantasy of nailing the nurse.

It was on my fourth visit that things really heated up. The nurse showed me to the room as usual, but instead of walking out right away, she said, “You know, Dev, you have interesting taste in pornography — we’d never even seen that magazine you left here a couple of visits ago.”

“Did you like it?” I asked.
“As a matter of fact, I’ve become a subscriber.”
I laughed, and so did she. Then she hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. “Would you like some company today while you do your ‘job’?

I nonchalantly shrugged, trying to control my racing pulse. She quietly locked the door and pulled a stool up next to me. I’d brought along another lesbian magazine, this one a special issue on biker chicks. I opened it to a photo spread of two chicks in black leather climbing all over each other. One wore a big strap-on and teased the more feminine one the way a guy would tease a girl with his dick. I cast a sidelong glance at the nurse before pulling out my schlong.

“Go ahead,” she nodded, her eyes glued to the picture.

I stroked my dick, already ramrod hard, keeping my eyes lowered, too scared to look at the nurse. Suddenly her hand, encased in regulation latex, skated across my line of vision and wrapped itself around my organ. Panting softly, she jacked me off. Neither one of us looked at each other. We got so excited we forgot about the vial, and I shot my precious semen on the grainy black and white photos.

The nurse cleared her throat. “What a shame,” she said. “I guess we’ll have to do it all over.”

This time we looked at each other. I fondled her through her uniform, and eventually rubbed my dick against her crotch. When I was hard again and a bit of fluid had gathered on the head of my cock, she grabbed the glass vial and held it while stroking me, until I shot a load of fertile sperm into the container.

Though I no longer need the money, I continue to visit the sperm bank on a regular basis. The nurse and receptionist take turns jacking me off. They told me it excites them to think of my virile seed impregnating anonymous women, which secretly excited me from the beginning of my donating ‘career.’

I don’t know if these chicks service any of their other clients, but lately I’ve picked up clues that they’re making it with each other — they’ve become regular readers of the lesbian zine, and the receptionist’s been wearing an awful lot of leather. Maybe one day they’ll both join me in the jackoff room. One thing’s for sure — these ladies really enjoy their work.

My Call Center Experience

2007-12-10T18:01:00.000-08:00

I worked in a call center some years ago after graduating from college. I met his babe who was so small (5’1”) but had the biggest sets of hooters in the whole company (i think). She was the silent type who rarely spoke to me or anybody else. One time before we started work on the floor, we hung out in a coffee shop, killing time. I was wondering how to get into her panties and just bang the brains out of her.

Little did I know that she was thinking of the same thing. After finishing half her cup of cappuccino, she asked if I've ever done it. Of course, I did! Then she asked if it was weird that she's never tried it- she’s still a virgin. I said it’s ok but a bit unusual since she’s not bad looking at all. In fact, she looked like Reese Witherspoon. With the natural breasts of keeley Hazell the british hooter. Then she stared at me and said, "I want to do it already, but it should be with someone who is really good at this." And then she gave me this look while biting her lower lip.

“Just tell me because I surely am quite good at this.”

With that, she took my hands and flagged down a cab. She didn't want to ride my car since she doesn’t want my car seen parked in a motel. This is where my story begins.

I made sure she was comfy and all. Call center babes were so innocent during those days and I didn't want to scare her away... ”she’s mine now”... I laid her down after she took a shower. She didn't want to shower with me. I ran my fingers down her towel and slowly revealed her milky white chest...she was hesitant but I said I will make her taste heaven. She agreed and avoided my gaze. I continued taking off her towel with my left hand as I reveled in the healthy, creamy, firm breasts. She had the pinkest nipples I could ever imagine and her nipples were the size of pencil erasers. I couldn't believe how lucky I was to be undressing her, probably for the first time in her 20 years. I kissed her neck and she moaned and shivered. I could tell she was afraid but really wanted to get banged. I went down and glided through her neck, her chest and mouthed one huge nipple while massaging the other breast. I felt her down there as soon as I heard her gasp and shut her eyes like she didn't want to see the world around her. I could feel her gushing down there and decided to keep her titillated and wet. I continued the sucking but this time I was playing with her clit. It was so wet I didn't have a hard time looking for it. She motioned for me to enter but I said not yet.

I spread her legs slowly so as not to scare her and told her how beautifully pink and clean she was. I then hungrily ate her as she screamed for more. When I felt her pushing my face into her I took it as a sign that she wanted it. I aligned my tool in front of her and asked her if she really wanted me to. When she said yes, I inserted the head and waited if she squirmed. When I felt resistance I said "It might hurt a bit" but she pushed me in. I felt nothing but slippery tightness only a virgin can feel like. When she gasped for breath I stroked my fullness into her and we continued pumping in and out. She was so silent all the while so I told her to just relax and enjoy. She said she felt like she was going to explode and I told her it was normal. I felt her tightening some more and knew she was about to climax. She lay motionless for a split second before she blew her breath, exhausted and spent. I said she just came for the first time and she said it hurt but felt really great. I said if she was not in so much pain I would like to finish up myself. She obliged and repositioned herself under me. I had to wipe some pinkish fluid off of her so she wouldn't notice she bled a bit. Then I entered her again. She was in pain I could see but was happy somehow. I was kneading her soft breasts as I rammed her again and again until I felt like I wanted to cum already. I asked her if she had her period and she said she just finished the other day. I rammed her again some more until I exploded all my cum in her. She sighed some more as she felt my thing get bigger in my climax. I stayed in her for a few more minutes before I decided to pull out. I played with her nipples some more and marveled at her perfect hooters. After the deed she revealed why she wanted to b taken. Her boyfriend cheated on her and she wanted to be taken by someone else as well. We went back to the mall and rode my car to her place. I banged her over and over until she decided to get married to a rich tycoon in Taipei. She SMSed me from time to time until I left for my masters in Europe.

She was really something. My short stint in the Call Center we worked for proved to be very fruitful. Lots of things happened and my wildest experiences were all with that company. Call Center babes rock...

How I Trained My Husband (And Got The Lover I Wanted)

2007-11-12T01:09:00.000-08:00

By Marcy

I used to be a swinger in my younger days. I went to sex parties, did threesomes with men and women, and slept with just about anything that moved. I tried bondage, dominance, and even water sports. I loved it all—even if I didn’t particularly like a sex act, I loved the sheer adventure of trying it. So I hope I won’t sound old-fashioned when I confess that what really turns me on now is my relationship with my husband.

I met Danny in that wild anything-goes world, and we ended up as a fuddy-duddy monogamous couple in the suburbs–two kids, mini-van, the whole kit and caboodle. But I am so in love with this man that the mere sound of his voice gets my pussy wet. When we got married eight years ago I worried that sex with just one person would get boring, that I’d soon be wanting adventure again–but we keep on discovering new ways to excite and satisfy each other. Everything that happens in our lives and in our relationship seems to find its way into the bedroom. When go through a distant period, the return to intimacy makes our lovemaking seem new all over again. We fight and make up and then we fuck our brains out. We go out with friends and something happens that turns us on, and we rush home to merge our flesh.

It hasn’t always been this way. Danny, always a great fuck with a terrific body and awesome staying powers, didn’t know how to treat a woman outside of bed. He didn’t realize that what went on during the day affected what went on at night. He was unromantic, self-centered, and insensitive. A perfect example of this kind of behavior–and the last time he would ever act that way, as it turned out–occurred just five months after our wedding, on my 28th birthday.

When I was a kid I had so many bad, even traumatic, birthdays that now I like to do it up big. For me, getting laid is an essential part of the celebration—and so is getting presents, especially from my “significant other.”

Danny had to be out of town on business for a few days before the big event–but he’d be coming home the evening of my birthday. I wasn’t thrilled that he’d be gone during the day, but I was looking forward to our night time lovemaking. I spent the afternoon with my girlfriends, and at 6:30 I went to the airport to get my husband.

It had been three long days since I’d seen him, and I could hardly wait to fall into his arms. But when he got off the plane he gave me a distracted peck on the lips and said, “I’ve been looking for a present for you in airports all day.”

“In airports?” I said, stung. “You were going to buy me a present in an airport?”

I couldn’t believe he hadn’t made sure to have my gift before leaving, and worse, that he was telling me in such an offhandeded way. During the drive home I figured out that he knew he’d screwed up and felt guilty—but I didn’t give a shit about his feelings—it was my birthday, and I was wrapped up in my own emotions. I was hurt, dammit–and when I’m hurt, I invariably seek revenge.

For the first time since I turned 16, I did not have sex on my birthday. I told Danny I didn’t feel well, that I’d had too much cake and champagne with my girlfriends, and went to sleep early. The next day I waited for him to bring me flowers, or a card, or surprise me with dinner out. Nothing. Zip. Nada. Not the next day or the next or the next.

And so, for all those days, he didn’t get to fuck me: every night for a week I coldly declined. Finally he got around to asking me if anything was wrong. I told him, in no uncertain terms, that I was pissed off at him for ignoring my birthday. He apologized, but I told him it wasn’t enough.

“You have to be punished.” I said, sliding out of bed. I switched on the light. Slowly I lifted my silk nightie over my head. I cupped my breasts in my hands and held them up like an offering of ripe fruit.

“You like to suck on these babies?”
“You know I do.”

Gently I released the globes of flesh, then slid my hands down to my crotch. I parted my cunt lips. “And you like to put your hard cock in here where it’s warm and wet, don’t you?”

I saw his cock rising underneath the blanket. “Damn right,” he said happily, confident that all this teasing was foreplay.

I turned around and stuck out my butt.
“And you like to chew on these, don’t you?”
He lunged forward, but I evaded his grasp.

“Uh uh uh,” I said, turning to face him and wiggling my finger at him like he was a naughty little boy. “Only grownup men who know how to treat women get to touch.”

I put my nightgown back on, switched off the light, climbed into bed, and turned my back on him. I sensed his hand moving around his dick to relieve himself.

“Don’t you dare!” I hissed. “If you have to do your dirty business go do it in the toilet.”
I don’t know if Danny jerked off or not, because I fell asleep.

The next day he brought me a flowered birthday card.

“Big fucking deal,” I said, tossing it into the garbage. That night I replayed my teasing routine, this time sticking my fingers into my cunt and then holding them under his nose for an aromatic whiff of what he was missing.

The next day he brought me a box of candy; I fed it to the dog. That night I stood over him on the bed with my legs apart so he could look up at my bush. He begged me to sit on his face, to let him touch my breasts. “Anything,” he pleaded. I laughed and told him when he learned how to behave like a real man, he might be allowed access to my precious body.

“But I brought you a card and candy.”
“Fuck you,” I said, turning my back on him for the third night in a row.

The next day it was roses. “You’re getting warm,” I said, putting them in a vase. He came up behind me and pinched my ass. I slapped his hand away. “I said warm, not hot.”

He groaned as I fell to my knees, unzipped his fly, licked his dick until it was hard, then stood up and sashayed out of the room, laughing cruelly.

The next day he brought me a pair of dangling earrings and matching necklace. I took off all my clothes and put on the jewelry, feeling like an exotic princess, and danced for him, shimmying in front of his hungry eyes before climbing into bed and turning my back on his hard-on.

“Aw, Chrissy,” he begged. “What more do I have to do? How much more money do I have to spend?”

“It’s not about money, Danny. It’s about loving me enough to show it. It was my birthday, for godsakes. You know how I feel about my birthday.” I choked back tears. “You hurt me real bad ,” I said in a whisper.

He reached out and took me in his big muscular arms. I snuggled close and rubbed myself against his hairy body. It felt so good after all this time. I cried as he hugged me and stroked my hair. He turned me onto my back and tenderly kissed me all over–on my breasts, my belly, my thighs, and when he got to my cunt he ran his tongue up and down the inner lips, pushing deep inside me, lapping up my juices like a grateful puppy. My hurt melted away in a surge of hot arousal.

His tongue spoke eloquently in a language I understood better than words. It told me that he cherished me, was sorry he’d hurt me, and would never do it again. His hands reached up, and he kneaded my nipples till they grew taut between his fingers. He blew hot air on my pussy, then took my clit in his mouth and sucked, causing me to cry out. I could have come right then, but he released my clit and moved himself up, sliding his long hard cock between my aching cunt lips. I gripped it with a fiery need born of doing without for too long. We began our familiar ride, spinning to greater heights, climbing higher and higher until the final explosive climax. Danny cried out as his cock began shooting, pumping like a piston and spurting into my steamy cunt. I pressed against him and the muscles deep within me spasmed, squeezing every drop of fluid from him as I simultaneously came. Waves of satisfaction rippled through me, heightened by emotional intensity.

We’ve come a long way since that birthday. Last year, on my 35th, Danny took the kids—we have two now—over to his mom’s, and surprised me with two days in a hotel in the city, where we drank champagne, ordered shrimp cocktails from room service and, of course, fucked like lions in heat. He’s learned to bring me flowers occasionally, tells me he loves me often, and makes all those little romantic gestures that let me know I am loved. I surprise him with little gifts and “services” too—but then, I always did.

Of course we still have our disagreements, and I can’t say he’s never hurt me since then–but our relationship, and our sex, gets better and better. In fact, I’d have to say that marriage turned out to be the most exciting adventure of all.

Your Ad Here

rachel & Fred

2007-09-21T06:48:00.000-07:00

ब्य Marcy

Your Ad Here

(It’s a few days after Rachel attended her first San Francisco sex party, about which she wrote an article for Libertine, the website where she works.)

By now Rachel had become acquainted with the regulars who walked their dogs in the Panhandle, so when she took Sadie out she frequently stopped to chat and let the dogs sniff at one another. One evening, just as she was about to turn around and head home, she and Sadie spotted a Golden Retriever they’d never met coming towards them. The dog might have been Sadie’s sister or twin, so much alike did they look, and they greeted one another like long lost cousins. Rachel’s eyes were entirely focused on the dog, so she hardly noticed its human.

“Well hey there!”

She looked up to see Fred, the lonely masturbator from the sex party, and was momentarily startled—how strange it was to see someone she’d met naked and masturbating out here in the dog park. “Our dogs seem to know each other,” she managed to remark.

“They look like they could’ve come from the same litter,” Fred agreed. “How old is yours?”

“Five.”

“Nope, they’re not siblings—Zak’s only three. But maybe they share a mama or daddy.”

“Maybe. But Golden Retrievers tend to look alike anyway, dontcha think? Even more so than other breeds.” Rachel adored dog talk—she could go on with it for hours without getting the least bit bored, so she was disappointed when Fred changed the subject.

“This is a fateful meeting,” he said. “Almost psychic.”
“In what way?”
“I was just this minute thinking about calling you.”
“Really?” Rachel hadn’t thought about Fred, except as a minor player in her article, since the party.

“I was wondering if you wanted to get together one night this week.”

He was fourteen years older than Rachel, older than anyone she’d ever slept with or dated. Nothing about him, though, seemed so terribly old–and he was good-looking, easy to be with, and obviously attracted to her. Besides, age worked in his favor—it meant he had more experience.

He suggested they meet at his house because, he said with a touch of boast, he had a hot tub. Rachel wasn’t fond of hot tubs—she had yet to grasp California’s obsession with them—but she didn’t particularly want to entertain Fred in her apartment. It was, she just realized, in no condition for erotic liaisons, what with unpacked boxes serving as tables and books stacked up against the walls. She kept meaning to buy bookcases and new sheets—but interior decorating had been low priority. She took Fred’s address and agreed to come over on Thursday.

Rachel was surprised to discover that Fred owned the top half of a Victorian house in Noe Valley, an upscale neighborhood of steep rolling hills. Every room offered a view of the city, each one more breathtaking than the last.

She’d been told Fred was an ex-hippie, and all the hippies she knew in Vermont were either dirt poor or lived intentionally pared-down lives, some doing without cars or even electricity. Fred, apparently, had done a turnaround at some point in life—or else he was a trust fund baby. Her curiosity was sated when, while showing her the house, he opened a door onto a room furnished with a massage table.

“I went to chiropractic school ten years ago,” he told her. “I wanted to do healing work–but I did not want to stay poor. Chiropractic seemed like the right choice.”

“And was it?”

“Definitely,” Fred said. “I love doing it. I get to help people, and I make a decent living. You can’t ask for more than that.”

“No,” Rachel agreed, hating herself for the stab of envy she felt. “I guess you can’t.”

They moved on to Fred’s bedroom, which, unlike Rachel’s, had been furnished with sex in mind. A huge round bed was its focal point, with a shelf in the headboard holding candles and a few other objects. Rachel couldn’t tell from the doorway exactly what those objects were, but she had a pretty good idea.

She expected this to be the grand finale of the house tour, but Fred led her through a pair of French doors, to a wooden porch outside. Zak, who’d been lying on a big dog pillow, immediately roused himself to greet Rachel with enthusiastic licks; he seemed to remember her from their previous encounter. She scratched him between the ears. “I should’ve brought Sadie to see you.”

“Yeah, you should have,” Fred said. “Next time.” This earned him more than a few points on the mental scorecard Rachel always had going for a new man.

Dominating the porch was an oval hot tub, mist rising from the surface. Fred slipped off his shorts and T-shirt and climbed right in.

Rachel panicked: she’d brought a bathing suit, but it was in the bag she’d left inside. She had no intention of standing out here naked, with the glaring yellow porch light, unflattering in itself, revealing every physical flaw. If he was going to begin the erotic dance out here, Rachel thought, he had better learn to give it the same attention that he paid to his bedroom.

Fred lay back in the water, looking at her expectantly.
“Where’s your bathroom?” she finally asked.
“Oh—right down the hall, first door on the right.”

Rachel took her bathing suit into the bathroom and pondered the situation. It would seem ridiculous for her to come out wearing a suit. A plush white bathrobe hanging on the bathroom door caught her eye. Salvation!

“Oh, good,” Fred said when she returned, “you found the guest robe.”

She slipped out of the robe and into the tub, losing self-consciousness the second she hit water. Sitting across from Fred, she leaned her head against the tub and gazed up at the star-studded sky. She began to grasp the hot tub’s attraction.

Fred’s foot tickled her calf, and she giggled. His foot traveled up her leg and came to rest in the crevice between her thighs. She squeezed it between her legs.

“So tell me,” he said, tickling her clit with his toes, “what do you like?”

Dammit! Did every California man require verbal instructions before they could make love? They’d been doing just fine, and he’d gone and ruined it with an interrogation.

“I like a lot of things,” she said, knowing she sounded evasive—yet it was true. “I like this.”

“Tell me one of your fantasies.”

Had he taken the same sexual communication course as Mike? Reluctantly she told him that she liked “playing with power.”

“Are you a bottom or a top?”

Rachel cringed.

Once, at the Gay and Lesbian Film Festival, a director had introduced her movie by asking the audience, who were ninety-nine per cent lesbian, “Who’s a bottom?” About half the women raised their hands, hooting and hollering and stomping their feet. Then she asked, “Who’s a top?” and provoked the same response, from a different set of people. Rachel and Lily were two of only a few in the audience who remained silent. Later they’d agreed that the whole thing had been creepy.

“I guess you’d call me a bottom,” she finally told Fred, hoping it wouldn’t put her into an immutable category for the night—or forever–in Fred’s eyes.

“You like being dominated,” he said. It was not a question.

“But not overtly.” Rachel didn’t know how to explain her sexuality, when she had never even articulated it to herself. “I like the psychology of being dominated. I don’t like being hurt, but knowing that I might be. It’s the possibility that arouses me.”

“I get exactly where you’re coming from.”
Thank god, thought Rachel.
“So, describe a fantasy for me.”
Ay ay ay! Didn’t he know that action speaks louder than words?

(The next day when she told Shari she kept running into men who asked 20 questions in lieu of physical foreplay, Shari bluntly asked, “So what stopped you from jumping his bones?” The thought had never even occurred to Rachel.)

To accommodate Fred, Rachel dug up one of the myriad scenarios that popped into her head whenever she masturbated. “Okay, here’s one. Understand, this is not something I would do in real life.”

“Of course.” Fred seemed offended by her caveat.

“I’m walking down Forty-Second Street in Manhattan, I mean the old Forty Second Street, when it was all peep shows and porno movies. I’m dressed like a whore—not a call girl, mind you, but a slutty street whore. I’m on the hunt. When I find a bad-ass kind of guy, he takes me into one of the peep show booths and we watch a dirty movie together.”

There was a short silence, then, “That’s it?”

No, that was not quite it. “While we’re watching the movie, he makes me suck him off…”

Fred began stroking his penis.

“…and I can hear sounds from the other booths, sounds of women sucking cock, moaning, and men grunting and coming.” Rachel tried to think of ways to embellish what she hadn’t realized until now was, after all, a pretty tame sketch. “Sometimes instead of a peep show I go into one of the movie theaters and make my way from one seat to another, sucking off rows of men while they watch the movie.”

“Sounds like you love to suck cock.”

Rachel balked, frustrated that she wasn’t getting through to him. “Well, yeah, I do—but this is about power. And it’s just a fantasy. In real life I like other things too.”

“Yeah, but your favorite thing is sucking cock.”

Shit. Exactly as feared, she’d painted herself into a corner. She wanted to impress upon Fred that sex wasn’t so one-dimensional, that she also liked being pleased—but it was so hard for her to explain it–besides, Fred was pretty happy at the moment.

“Let’s go inside,” he said, standing up, holding his hard-on as if it were a gift. Before she had a chance to stand, he moved closer and rubbed his penis against her cheek, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and pushed himself into her mouth.

Rachel wasn’t the least bit aroused. She would have liked to do some serious kissing, but she obediently took the situation to its logical conclusion.

After he’d come, politely pulling out of her mouth and shooting into the water, Fred helped Rachel out of the tub and led her to the bedroom. He offered her a joint; she declined. He smoked it while she lay beside him, wondering what would happen next. After the blow job she was definitely aroused, so much that it was difficult to lie there doing nothing. But she figured he wouldn’t be able to get another erection so soon, and she didn’t want to pressure him. She could think of at least seven ways to alleviate her raging horniness without a hard penis—but they required Fred’s cooperation.

How do you tell a virtual stranger exactly where and for how long to touch you so you’ll come? How do you ask someone you hardly know to put his tongue or fingers in or on your most intimate spots? Earlier Fred had been so eager to discover what she liked, and had asked her to weave sexy scenarios completely out of context. This was when he needed to know precisely what she liked—only now he wasn’t asking.

As if reading her mind, Fred apologized. “I shouldn’t have come so soon. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Rachel said quickly. You wouldn’t catch Rachel Maxe expressing disappointment in a man’s performance, not on your life! She was well versed on the vicissitudes of the male sexual ego.

“I have ways to compensate,” Fred offered.

Happily assuming he meant with his fingers or mouth, Rachel moved closer, sliding her hand across his chest and down his arm. He pulled an object off the headboard shelf. Rachel sat halfway up to see what it was.

A dildo in a harness.

Oh god. Was Fred, like Mike, a bend-over boyfriend?

Much to her relief, Fred began strapping the harness onto his own body. When she saw where he was putting it, though, she was mortified—he strapped the thing onto his thigh, so the dildo stood straight up on his leg. He invited her to “use it.”

Rachel could not imagine herself taking pleasure on an artificially enhanced thigh. What was he planning to do while she humped him like a dog? Continue smoking his joint? If she’d wanted to get fucked by silicone, she could’ve stayed home—and she wouldn’t have had to bother shaving her legs.

“Come on,” Fred urged, pulling her on top of him. He reached down and spread her labia, working the dildo inside. She was dry, and it hurt. Fred grabbed a tube of lubricant, slathered some across the dildo, and some more on her. Resigned to the inevitable, Rachel lifted her pelvis and let the dildo in.

She moved her hips up and down, rubbing her clit against Fred’s leg. He took her breast in his hand and rubbed it against his face. She got hot. She got wet. Still, she felt horribly exposed. Fred’s cock was soft and his touch absent-minded. She was sure this was purely an act of noblesse oblige. A sense of loneliness came over her; it was almost unbearable.

Rachel shut out these thoughts, and climbed…and climbed…she felt herself approaching the top…she was going to come…here it came…and then, right at the peak, she slipped and slid back down without reaching a climax. Damn! She knew her body well enough: once missed, orgasm would elude her for a long, long time.

“I can’t come,” she announced, climbing off the dildo and lying down next to Fred.

He was undaunted. “How do you feel about bondage?” he asked cheerfully.

The next moment found Rachel standing naked in the middle of the room while Fred produced some leather rope and a handbook titled Knots. It seemed he’d recently taken a class on knot-tying , and was eager to practice his skills.

Rachel peered at the book. An illustration showed a woman with an hour-glass figure wearing a “dress” made entirely of rope, her hands tied behind her back, a rubber ball stuffed in her mouth.

“Um, Fred?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t want to be gagged.”
“That’s okay. All I want is to learn to make one of these knotted dresses.”

Rachel continued to wait, feigning an outer calm; inside she was wildly impatient. It wasn’t that she was afraid—she’d been tied up before, by her long-time Vermont boyfriend, Jack, who used to tie her wrists to the bedposts with brightly colored scarves. It had been a simple procedure, taking mere seconds. She’d loved their games, loved being allegedly helpless while Jack ravished her.

But that was very different from what was happening now. For one thing, that had been spontaneous, usually initiated by one of them during foreplay. More important, it hadn’t required an instruction manual. Rachel’s and Jack’s foray into Bondage Lite had been an integral part of their lovemaking, of their relationship.

Now, as Fred studied his manual, concentrating so hard his face scrunched up, Rachel felt like she was part of a science project. With a sudden pang of longing she missed Jack.

Fred finally got the rope around her waist and then wrapped her up by looping it over her back, under her armpits and up over her shoulders. As he worked he moved her about with his hands like an inanimate object, every so often returning to the book for directions. Finally he pronounced her “dress” complete.

Now what? she wondered, suppressing a yawn.

Hard work had apparently reawakened Fred’s ardor; he was erect.

“Could you lie down?” He gave her a little push and she lay on the bed while he walked around the room, admiring his handiwork.

“Not bad for a beginner, eh? How does it feel?”
“Strange.” It felt uncomfortable and faintly ridiculous.

Fred came closer and knelt over her. He grabbed her hair with one hand, his penis with the other, and thrust himself against her lips.

Oh Jesus, not again! Rachel turned her head sideways. “I’m kind of tired.”

“I thought you wanted to be dominated?”

Here it was, exactly why she didn’t like to make pronouncements about her sexuality before sleeping with someone. Besides, what she meant by domination and what he meant seemed to be very different creatures. Still, she hadn’t lived up to his expectations–false advertising. She felt guilty.

At least Fred was a gentleman. “Maybe next time,” he said affably. “Do you want me to untie you?”

“Please.”

Fred began unraveling his creation. “So, are you going to go home?”

Rachel nodded, relieved that he didn’t expect her to sleep over. “I have work early tomorrow.”

Fred walked her to the front door. She was almost outside when he stopped her. “Wait, I almost forgot,” he said, pulling her back in and picking up a flyer from the hall table. “I wanted to ask you—would you like to go to an S/M party next weekend?”

“An S/M party?”

He showed her the flyer; it advertised an End of Season Prom, sponsored by a group of S/M aficionados. Rachel’s first thought was that it would make a great story for Libertine. “Sure,” she told Fred, “if you don’t mind me writing about it.”

Fred smacked himself on the forehead. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you—I really liked your article on the safe sex party.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. The only thing I thought was a little off was when you described me watching another couple while I was fingering you.”

“Weren’t you?

“Not the whole time,” he said defensively. “I was paying attention to you.”

Rachel was about to argue, but then she remembered what Trixie had told her, that people didn’t like to see their foibles spelled out in print.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Poetic license, you know?”

At home, Rachel gathered up her vibrator, dildo, and a brochure of girl-girl porn videos. Lying across a pile of pillows, she inserted the dildo, buzzed her clit with the vibrator, and looked at pictures of women with oversized mammaries.

Since her aborted affair with Mandy, Rachel’s lust for women had cooled somewhat; so as not to feel the pain of their breakup she’d turned off that particular erotic switch. Now, looking at the brochure, she ached for Mandy all over again. She was unable to focus enough to come.

Tossing aside the brochure, she closed her eyes and resurrected memories of Jack. She pictured herself bound in leather, tied by her wrists and ankles, while he loudly and vigorously fucked the living daylights out of her.

In just under a minute she came.

SOMETHING FUNNY

2007-09-20T00:24:00.000-07:00

But still confirms to this site's theme.. Horniness!!! :D

The Whiz of the Whip

2007-08-10T18:35:00.000-07:00

From Marcy

57440998.jpg

The Whiz of the Whip

I’ve always had fantasies of being whipped. One or two of my lovers occasionally swished a soft belt across my ass, but I’d never been able to persuade anyone to give me the kind of concentrated whipping like you see in S/M photos or read about in S/M literature. I fantasized hanging, crucifix style, by my wrists, while a leather-clad man or woman used a whip on my tits, cunt, and thighs, leaving bruises, maybe even drawing blood. Yes, I figured it would hurt, but pain was irrelevant: the dynamic I was after was to sacrifice my flesh to a higher purpose–the arousal and pleasure of my master or mistress. I saw it in almost religious terms. After the whipping, released from bondage, I’d fall to my knees and worship my lover’s body, kissing and licking him or her all over, starting with the feet and slowly working my way up.

This fantasy, with variations and embellishments, never failed to make me come. As with most fantasies, though, I wasn’t entirely sure if I actually wanted to be whipped, or if the idea was only hot in theory. Finally I got the chance to find out.

lingerie1.jpg

My boyfriend Andy and I went to a safe sex party (I live in San Francisco where such events occur regularly). Though I’d been to several parties in the past, it was a first for Andy. We’d agreed beforehand that we were attending primarily as voyeurs, that neither of us would do anything without getting permission from the other. I figured the party might spice up our flagging sex life; afterwards we’d go home and fuck our brains out. At the actual event, I assured Andy, I’d be content just to watch.

But then I caught a glimpse of Anton, in his leather chaps and vest, whips and canes of varying sizes hanging from his belt. He was strolling up and down, looking for a playmate. In a few minutes he found someone, a big hulking guy who leaned against the wall while Anton’s equipment whizzed across his broad freckled back.

I watched, mesmerized. It was obvious that Anton knew what he was doing. With the expertise of a well-seasoned top he wielded his whips, in varying gradations of intensity, until they sang through the air and across the willing flesh, leaving superficial marks.

The guy being whipped said he’d never had it done before, and I guess he didn’t much like it, because in a few minutes he called a halt to the proceedings. Anton resumed his wandering, looking for new “victims.”

club21042607014_edited-1.jpg

Now, Andy and I had recently watched a movie in which a woman’s tits were bound up so they stood out like missiles and then were whipped, and we’d both been pretty excited by it. In fact, afterwards Andy had tied my tits and half-heartedly slapped them around, but we didn’t have the right equipment. More importantly, no matter how many times I told Andy that I liked being hurt this way, he shied away from inflicting pain. Now, remembering the video, I whispered to Andy, “I could get my tits whipped by that guy.”

“You want to?” he asked.
“Yeah. But I don’t know how to ask.”
“Want me to ask him for you?”
“Would you do that??”
“Yeah, sure.”
Ah, the advantages of having a mate!

Andy got up and walked over to Anton. They exchanged a few words and a handshake, then looked over at me. Anton eyed me up and down, sending an anticipatory shiver through my body. In a minute they came over and Andy introduced Anton to me.

We discussed how to set up the scene, and, aiming for a little privacy, headed for a small room in which a throne-like chair faced a mirrored wall. Anton suggested that Andy sit in the chair and hold me from behind–a brilliant move, since it kept Andy involved and less likely to be jealous. I sat and leaned against him while he pulled my arms back in a full Nelson. Andy carefully lifted my tits out of their black lacy bra and presented them almost ceremoniously to Anton, who nodded appreciatively as he removed the smallest whip from his belt.

Anton told me to use the words green, red, and yellow as signals for go, stop, and caution. He began to whip my breasts, using a light criss-cross motion.

I looked in the mirror: Andy was holding me tightly, nuzzling my neck with his mouth; my tits were hanging out and my stockinged legs were spread; Anton, his biceps bulging, concentrated on his task. Several men wandered into the room and began masturbating. I ignored them, not wanting to be distracted from the experience of surrendering myself to the power of the whip.

But the whipping was too damn light. What did this guy think I was, some kind of wimp? Impatiently I looked at Anton and said, “Green.”

He switched to a somewhat heavier whip, and continued. Every once in awhile he rubbed my tits with his leather-gloved hand, or leaned forward to lick my erect nipples. Although I felt no pain, my skin was on fire. The whip whooshed through the air, male observers were ejaculating left and right, but I felt only a mild tickle.

“Green,” I kept insisting, and Anton would take out a bigger tool. Finally he worked his way up until I could feel his whip lashing my flesh– still, the feeling, rather than being painful, was sensual. I decided to stop fighting for betterharderfastermore, to just surrender to whatever was happening. I lay my head against Andy’s shoulder, closed my eyes and relaxed. Anton kept whipping me. Soon I was in an altered state: I began, literally, to swoon. I opened my eyes and for the first time looked into Anton’s. I felt totally bonded to him. I asked Andy to release one of my arms so I could grab Anton’s hand and hold it.

Each time the whip came down it brushed lightly against my cunt. My clit tingled and twitched. Finally I whispered, “Would you please whip my cunt and thighs?” One of the men in the room groaned loudly and shot a load of come onto the floor.

Anton touched my crotch and felt the wetness oozing onto my panties. Quickly he removed them and ran his hand lightly over my cunt. I leaned back and whispered to Andy, “Is this okay?” He, aroused to the point of speechlessness, merely nodded. For the first time I noticed his hard-on pressing up against my ass.

I was surprised at how little the whipping hurt. As in my fantasy, though, I had strong feelings for the person doing the whipping. I hadn’t known him more than an hour, yet I felt genuine love for Anton. And everyone in the room knew it–even Andy. It crossed my mind that he, who was after all a jealous kind of guy, was being a pretty good sport.

Meanwhile, the whip came down hard across my quivering thighs and dripping pussy. My pelvis arched forward to receive more of the blows and my clit strained to receive them. Anton leaned forward and asked, “Are you going to come soon?”

I know myself very well, and there was no way I was going to be able to come in this situation. For one thing, I was over stimulated. For another, I was aware of too much going on around me: Andy and whatever he was feeling, Anton and how I felt about him, not to mention the three or four voyeurs getting an eyeful. “Am I going to come soon?” I repeated with a nervous giggle. “No, I don’t think I can.”

Anton seemed disappointed—and who could blame him? He’d worked so hard, expecting a big pay-off. He didn’t understand my finicky psycho-eroticism. I don’t know if he was still trying to make it happen, or if he just wanted to end the session, but he held out the whip and told me to kiss it. I did—and felt another wave of passion. I turned to Andy and whispered, “Is it okay if I kiss Anton?”

Andy nodded. I pulled on Anton’s hand and he leaned in close. Our lips met soulfully, tenderly. When we separated, Anton shook Andy’s hand and thanked him.

wild-ones.jpgAs I’d expected, when we got home Andy and I fucked our brains out. While I was sucking his cock (and, I confess, fantasizing about Anton), Andy, usually reluctant to hurt or humiliate me, surprised me by muttering, “You fucking bitch.” Finally, after all we’d been through that night, I came.

Afterwards I asked Andy if he’d said that because he was jealous or angry at me for “cheating” on him. He claimed that he’d only called me names to turn me on, but I wondered… and so the next day I made up for any leftover jealousy by going out and buying Andy a whip. We’ll see what he does with it.

110_f_2055014_onxqvfgqu9wze1glen6cmak0apz99b.jpg

Rachel Changes Her Position

2007-07-27T09:10:00.000-07:00

By Marcy

The following chapter is excerpted from my novel,

Your Ad Here

Halfway to the Stars.

Rachel Changes Her Position

Mike not only had five relationships in varying stages of commitment and intensity, he also had three different habitats. Two were shared rentals in, respectively, San Francisco and Santa Cruz; the third was a cabin in the Berkeley Hills that he’d inherited from his parents. Making arrangements to see him was no simple matter; it took nearly a week from conception to execution. Back home, if Rachel felt like seeing someone, she’d call, and, nine times out of ten, met them within the hour; sometimes Shari or Gwen might even drop in unannounced. While she knew this was also a case of urban versus small town living, Rachel’s first lesson in the world of polyamory had to do with filofaxes and calendars, cell phones and email.

She was thrilled by the discovery that just across the bridge and up a few hilly roads was a wooded area—not the verdant woodlands of Vermont, but enough trees lived in the Berkeley Hills to give off a woodsy smell, and the nighttime quiet was broken only by the humming of crickets. Mike’s one-room cabin was surrounded by trees, so that while his neighbors were less than an acre away, it was deliciously private. When she arrived, Mike had spaghetti sauce simmering on a wood stove. The aroma of burning firewood made Rachel nostalgic.

Artful black and white photographs of people in various sexual positions decorated Mike’s walls. Rachel walked around looking at them, admiring their simplicity and beauty–until she came to a photo of a naked man hanging from the ceiling by his nipples, which were clipped to heavy chains.

“Yikes!” she said reflexively.

Mike came over, wiping his hands on a towel, and looked at the picture with her. “Can you imagine how intense that must feel?” he said. “At some point the pain has to switch over to pleasure. It’s an inborn defense mechanism.”

Rachel had heard this line of reasoning before, at Libertine, and among the sex-positive crowd. They spoke of pain as the ultimate pleasure, but Rachel still didn’t get it.

“For instance,” Mike continued, “if I were to suddenly reach out and do this—“ in a nanosecond he grabbed one of her nipples between his thumb and forefinger and twisted.

“Hey!” Rachel yelled. “That hurt!”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never had your nipples pinched.”
“Of course I have,” she said. “Just not—“
“—not so ferociously, huh?” Mike smiled his crooked smile, as if proud of his accomplishment.
“I’m funny that way. I don’t enjoy being tortured.”
“I bet you’ve been tortured and without even realizing it.”
“I think I would know.”
“You’d be surprised at what slips past our consciousness when we’re in the throes of sexual ecstasy.” Mike leaned forward and gently kissed her on the lips.
“That’s more like it,” Rachel said when they broke apart.
“So is that what you’re into?” Mike asked. “Vanilla sex?”

By now Rachel knew what vanilla sex was. She also knew that the way Mike used it was far from complimentary.

“I’m a little more adventurous than that,” she said defensively.

“I knew that the minute we met,” Mike said. “If I didn’t see that in you, we wouldn’t even be here. So–tell me what you like.”

Rachel blushed. The only time a man had specifically asked what she liked in bed was during foreplay. The physical closeness, the dark of night, and the fact that her partner had been a lover of several months enabled her to haltingly express some of her erotic desires.

Other than that, no man or woman dead or alive knew what Rachel Max liked to do in bed. She was beginning to think that she herself didn’t even know—and that her sexual repertoire was much more limited than she knew.

“Come on,” Mike prodded. “Just tell me one fantasy.”

“A fantasy is the hardest thing to tell.” Rachel attempted a laugh. The unfunny truth was that she’d rather die than tell this barely-known person her fantasies–her complex, corny sexual melodramas. She tried to think of a straightforward sex act that was simple enough to confess.

She could tell him she liked to give blowjobs—but then he’d expect one right away, and as Gwen had once proclaimed, “A guy really has to earn a blowjob.” She could say she liked having her breasts worked on—but after his manhandling, she wasn’t sure she wanted to let him anywhere near them.

“Well,” Mike sighed, “If you won’t tell me then I’ll just have to tell you what I want.”

Why, Rachel wondered, did they have to tell each other anything? Why did they need true confessions to precede sex? Couldn’t they just undress, get into bed and let nature take its course? Up until now, that’s what her sex life had been like. Was sex, like dates, carefully choreographed in the world of polyamory? Or, it suddenly occurred to her, was sex conversation just a form of foreplay? Lost in thought, Rachel had stopped paying attention to Mike; suddenly she realized he was saying something about the movie premiere they’d recently attended together. Apparently he wanted to—as the movie so delicately put it—bend over.

“Anal sex is my favorite kind,” he was saying. “Of course, I do other things, especially to satisfy my partners, but for myself, anal is really the only way I get off.”

Rachel was taken aback: she’d thought that a bisexual polyamorous androgyne would entertain a wider variety of erotic choices. Mike was looking at her expectantly; she had to respond, and soon. Was she capable of strapping on a dildo to put into this man’s anus? She didn’t like being the recipient of anal sex, but this was entirely different. Still…somehow she couldn’t visualize herself in the act. It seemed so…alien. She’d be on top, literally and figuratively. While she’d been physically on top of men plenty, she had never entirely stepped out of the “female” role. Inwardly she was startled at herself. Why, Rachel Max, how mundane of you! Afraid to be on top! Afraid to step out of the traditional woman’s role! She was almost ashamed of herself.

“But I didn’t bring my dildo,” she protested. I don’t have the proper tools. She knew it was a lame excuse, but maybe Mike would get the hint.

Instead he said, “No problem—I’ve got plenty of ‘em.” He unfolded his lanky form, strode across the room, and pulled back a curtain to reveal recessed shelves on which was an array of penile shaped toys: purple butt plugs, neon-colored dildos, realistic silicone penile lookalikes, and plastic doodads that looked like they came from outer space. All sizes were represented. Based on the ads in Libertine, Rachel knew that the collection was worth a bundle.

“Wow,” she whispered almost reverentially. “Do you use all of them?”

“Not all at once,” Mike laughed. “What’s in your toy box?”
“One vibrator and one dildo.”
“That’s so sad.” Mike opened a box and took out a black leather harness. “Here,” he said, tossing it to her. “Try this on.”

Rachel held the apparatus in front of her, regarding it like an instrument of torture. Was she supposed to just take her clothes off here and now? Mike seemed to be waiting for her to do just that, so she pulled off her jeans and panties, leaving her shirt, which was, mercifully, long enough to cover her crotch and ass.

After she stepped into the harness Mike tightened the straps for her. As he moved around her body, he hummed something tuneless and inane that irritated Rachel. She wondered if it was a sign of nervousness. Once she was securely strapped in, he told her to select a dildo.

“Shouldn’t you do the honors?” she teased. “It’s goin’ into your butt.”

Mike laughed. “I’ll take almost anything up the ass—it’s more important that you feel comfortable.”

She lifted a nine-inch silicone number off a shelf and held it in one hand, bouncing it against the other. It had solidity, she’d say that for it.

“I shouldn’t be so greedy,” she laughed, and exchanged it for a five-inch white dildo made of harder material.

“See, you do know what you’re doing,” Mike said. “This one is more manageable. Plus, it’s harder—for the recipient, silicone is sometimes frustrating because it’s too pliable. You’re more savvy than you think, kiddo.”

Rachel blushed, absurdly flattered.

After a few more awkward preparations, Mike was lying face down and bare-assed on the futon, his wrists tied behind him with a scarf. Rachel rubbed lube all over the dildo, and was surprised to find that stroking “her cock” made her feel strong and sexy. Rubbing the dildo the way she’d seen men rub their dicks, she almost felt it was a part of her. She thrust her pelvis back and forth in a fucking motion. Why had she hesitated? she wondered. This was terrific fun. She could have gone on like this for hours.
Unfortunately, however, Mike awaited her attention, his pale skinny ass was raised expectantly. He lifted his head and turned to look at her.

“Everything copasetic?”His eyes held a soft look, almost pleading.

“Everything’s okay, it’s just that I’m, uh, I’m kind of into this dildo thing,” she confessed. Slowly she stroked it up and down, pointing the head toward Mike’s ass. She thrust her pelvis forward and grunted, almost wishing he’d disappear so she could keep on playing with herself.

“What you should be into with that dildo thing,” Mike said, “is me.”

Reluctantly Rachel took her hand off her new toy and climbed on top of the futon to straddle him. She donned a latex glove and squeezed lubricant on, as she’d seen it done in the video Bend Over Boyfriend. She put a finger into Mike’s asshole and smeared it with lube. He moaned and raised his butt higher. Rachel guided the dildo to his crack and rubbed it up and down, then slowly inserted it into the slick space where her finger had been. He let out a long groan of relief, almost like he was taking a shit. He bucked back and forth against her, forcing the dildo deeper inside.

Rachel, excited by her newfound masculinity, fucked Mike’s ass as if she were a man and he a woman. Her own movements enchanted her: hips thrusting forcefully or teasingly, her cock disappearing every time she went forward.

Mike moaned loudly, drawing Rachel’s attention away from her mighty prick. His body was almost limp in surrender. His eyes were closed, and a bit of spittle ran from his mouth onto the pillow. His legs were splayed, his ass wide open to receive her. Rachel took it all in and felt a sudden wave of disgust. A shiver ran down her spine. She was repulsed.

She tried to quash the feeling, but it just got stronger. She rubbed her cock with her hand as it moved in and out of Mike, but she was no longer excited. She was even afraid she might throw up. Rachel had certainly not expected this—after all, she hadn’t been repulsed by the movie, she’d been amused and mildly titillated. She stopped moving and tried to quell her distaste. She told herself it was just fucking—a different hole, a change of position. Still, this seemed surreal. She hated the way Mike looked: so receptive, so passive. She smelled a faint odor of shit.

He meanwhile seemed to be doing fine all by himself, lost in ecstasy, apparently on his way to climax. She wouldn’t dream of stopping at such a moment: there was nothing for it but to hang on until the end of the ride.

Mike apparently had no idea what Rachel was feeling—in fact, he seemed almost completely unaware of her. The dildo could have been attached to anyone or anything. His moans got louder, his breathing more shallow. Thank god, he was going to come.

Rachel held on to his hips and rode his butt until he let out a deep growl and, raising his pelvis, sprayed the sheet. Without missing a beat, she pulled out, climbed off the futon, and headed straight for the bathroom.

She sat down on the toilet; beads of sweat covered her forehead. She felt terrible for abandoning Mike the minute he’d come—she knew what that felt like— but she’d simply had to get away from him. She stood up and loosened the harness. Looking down at the dildo she saw a smear of brown. Ugh. If there was one thing Rachel hated, it was shit—shit in underwear, shit on the bedsheets.

Hastily she threw the dildo into the sink and ran hot water over it. What a wimp I am–getting bent out of shape over a little bit of shit. Far worse than that was the repulsion she’d felt fucking Mike. How provincial I am, she thought. She was deeply disappointed in herself.

She stood and looked in the mirror. At least no distaste showed on her face. But how horribly rude of her to run to the bathroom right after he came—imitating the worst of male behavior. She had to go back out there, and fast.

Just do it! she told her image in the mirror.

When she got back, Mike was lying on his side, a contented look on his face. He stretched his arms out towards her. Ignoring the invitation, she sat down next to him and held his hand.

“I see you got out of your bindings,” she said.
“They weren’t exactly hard to undo.” Mike smiled.
“I’m not a very good dominant, am I?”
“Are you kidding? You were terrific. You’d never know you were a virgin at this.”

Rachel sighed with relief. Please don’t let him ask me if I liked it.

Mercifully, he did not. After fifteen minutes or so of niceties, Rachel began to mutter about having to get up early the next day. Mike was surprised that she wasn’t going to sleep over, but he didn’t push it.

Outside, Rachel sat behind the wheel of her car and gulped the cool night air. She took her cell phone out and hit the speed button for Shari, starting the engine at the same time. She knew she’d only get an answering machine; she left a message and hung up. Just as she was getting onto the bridge her phone rang.

“Do you know what time it is?” Shari blurted.
“Oh god, I didn’t even look at the clock,” Rachel admitted.
“It’s two a.m. You woke me up.”
“I’m sorry, Shari. Go back to sleep, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Not on your life! If you don’t even know what time it is, then whatever’s happening is something I want to hear about.”

“It’s not pretty,” Rachel said.
“So who needs pretty?”

Rachel told Shari the events of the night; when she got to the part about racing to the bathroom, Shari interrupted.

“Rachel Max, please tell me you didn’t! Tell me you did not run out on this poor guy the minute he came.”

“I did,” Rachel confessed, ashamed. “In my defense—it wasn’t easy for me to wait even that long.”

“Sorry, kiddo—that’s not much of a defense.”

“No? Well, I’d like to see you try it. I’d like to hear how you would do, fucking a man up the ass!”

“I already have.”
“You have?” Rachel asked in a small, shocked voice.

“Remember Bill Falini, that guy who owned the guitar shop?”

“Get outta here! Billy the ex-football player? He musta been six feet six and 230 pounds of rock hard muscle!”

“And a simpering sweetheart when I got him on all fours.”

An unwelcome image invaded Rachel’s consciousness. “How come you never told me?”

“Maybe I knew how you’d react.”
“But I didn’t even know you were seeing him.”
“It wasn’t for very long, just a fling. Not a big deal in my life.”
“But you did—-that—with him.”
“All the time. It was the only kind of sex he liked.”
“What about you? What’d you get out of it?”

‘“Are you kidding? I adored Billy.” Rachel could hear the affection in Shari’s voice. “I loved wearing a dildo and being in charge. And he always took care of me afterwards. He had magic fingers. It’s funny, I haven’t thought about him in a while. I really liked wearing that dildo—it was like dressing as a guy for Halloween, like we used to do in college, remember?”

Every year, Rachel, Gwen and Shari had dressed up as men. The first time they did it they were football players; the next year, stud muffins in tuxedoes. Then it was cowboys, and finally, construction workers. She couldn’t remember when they decided to do it, or why they continued every year—but she did remember how they’d related to one another as guys, and the hilarity it induced in their friends, male and female alike.How could it be that she’d so loved doing that, and had thought of herself as liberated from sexual stereotypes—yet when confronted with Mike in a female role, she’d been repulsed?

“Look, Rachel,” Shari was saying, “don’t be so hard on yourself. You didn’t like it, so what? I’m sure there are things you like in bed that I don’t. Everyone’s different.”

“It’s not just that I didn’t like it. I was repulsed.”
“Well it is unusual.”
“You weren’t repulsed.”
“Maybe Mike’s butt isn’t as cute as Billy’s.” Shari giggled.
“Yeah.” Rachel forced a laugh. “Maybe that’s it. Mike just isn’t that cute.” This was partly true: with his shaggy hair and skinny androgyny, Mike wasn’t the physical type that normally attracted her.

“Does Gwen know about you and Bill?” Rachel asked.

Shari let out a shriek. “Are you kidding? The girl would faint dead away.”

Rachel chuckled. “Yeah, she would. I think I won’t tell her about my little adventure.”

“A wise decision. Listen, Rache, I gotta get some sleep.”
“I’m sorry. Thanks for talking to me this long.”

At least, Rachel thought when she’d hung up, I’m not as uptight as Gwen. At least I tried it. Plus, Shari felt she could tell me she’d done it, but not Gwen. Of course, Shari hadn’t told her until years after the fact. Still, it helped her feel superior to Gwen. It made her feel a little less awful about herself.

FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING...

2007-07-13T03:28:00.000-07:00

I met this girl on the net.. She was referred to me by this other girl who was referred to me as well... Ive just been out of a relationship for 5 years and all i wanted to do was to have fun so I made it clear to everyone that I wanted to be setup with "easy" girls...

Anyway, we hit it off well on Yahoo Messenger. I found her smart and entertaining and she seemed to enjoy her chat with me. All in all it was a great first encounter. I asked for her pic, not bad... Not fantasy material but neither was i so who am i to complain right? She was cute.

Your Ad Here

Next day, I invited to meet her in a cafe near her office. But as fate would have it, we weren't able to... I ended up with two old girlfriends from college days, but thats another story... finally, the day after, I managed to get her to go out for me for some dinner..

We went to a nice cozy chinese restaurant and there we got to know each other even more... In person she's about 5'4. Not fit but not on the chubby side either. Seems like she just had a kid but she's bringing herself very well. Her hair was tied back and she looked very fresh. I'm used to dating younger girls but this girl looked like a fresh 23 year old (apparently, she was a 26 year old single mom..) So we have dinner and a couple of drinks and get nice and comfy. The conversation slowly turned towards sex and she told me that she hasn't had any for more than a year... Oh My lord... I told her that I as well, was randy as hell ... Unfortunately, she was expecting that she wasn't getting any that night so she didn't prepare herself to performance level. I didn't blame her, I was expecting only dinner so even though i was getting very horny, I worked out earlier and din't have the strength for a above par performance...

We were getting really horny when the night was ending, you could really feel the sexual tension.. There were moments when I wanted to break it and kiss her but I thought that it was far better to wait and build up the moment... We finished dinner and drinks around 2 am. We both agreed that we would see each other on Tuesday to continue our sexual conversations... We then proceeded to the car and decided where to go next. I told her that i wanted to show her a place that i used to go to..

I parked the car in this deserted area and went over to her whispering, " I want to get this out of the way..." I started kissing her... Damn was she a hot kisser... We started to really go at it... I couldn't help myself, I wanted to feel her body so bad... I started to feel her up, groping her breasts... then I cupped her pussy through her pants applying a lot of pressure, to make her feel how much i wanted her... This set her off... She was like an animal... She pushed me into my chair and gets on top of me. She starts to grind her crotch into my hard on... Hard... she was moaning so much... She started to take control of the situation, kissing me tenderly, then hard... putting my hands on top of my head as she grinds her ass and her crotch down onto my raging member.. i could feel the heat through her pants... I didn't care... i wanted her... now...

I grabbed on t her pants and started bringing them down to her legs... she had tight pants on but i didn't care... i almost tore her panties off... My pants and underwear went down in an instant as well... she positioned herself on top of me and sank down on my cock... GoDAMNIT!!! She started to move... oh lord was she so hot inside... She f#&ked me hard... like a woman who hadn't had sex for a year... she kept on grinding her clitoris over my pubis... she came again and again.. i grabbed her waist and forcefully plunged my cock into her... then i started to push and pull her waist, dictating her grinding pace over my pubes... this set her off again and again... she was screaming silently now... i felt her pussy spasming and spasming around my hard cock...

It took a while before she got back to her senses... she slowly slid me out of her wet pussy and returned back to her seat at the passengers side... I collected her pants and panties and gave them back to her for her to wear.. I looked for my clothes as well and got myself together... when we were both sort of normal again, i looked over to her and said.. "Tuesday.....?"

It took a while

ON VACATION

2007-06-15T02:03:00.000-07:00

Checked out the blog of Miss Monologues and realized that like me, she's on vacation. Apologies, dear readers. Will be posting updates by Thursday next week.

Regards!

Down In The Cinders by Marcy

2007-05-18T14:00:00.000-07:00

Your Ad Here

The story of Cinderella is infinitely malleable, and may possibly be the most rewritten tale of all time: I’ve seen dozens of mutations, from humor to satire to serious romance. I once performed a feminist version of the story with an avant garde theater group. Most of all, the fairy tales of childhood seem particularly suited to erotic alteration. I originally wrote this one for an anthology edited by Michael Ford, Once Upon a Time: Erotic Fairy Tales for Women. It was republished a few years later by M. Christian in his collection, Best S/M Erotica: Extreme Tales of Extreme Sex. The latter title accurately describes

Down In The Cinders

Cinderella sat by the hearth gazing with pride at the excellent fire she had just built. She brushed her blonde hair out of her face, unmindful of the streaks of black soot left in the wake of her filthy hands. The flames licked at the perfect logs she had chopped earlier in the day, generating a similar feeling within Cinderella’s body, which throbbed with heat as she anticipated the return of her stepmother and stepsisters.

This was her favorite time of day, dusk, the hour before Brunhilde, Grunella and Griselda finished the important work they did out in the world and came home to be pampered by Cinderella. She gazed around at the sparkling clean house, fresh-cut flowers ornamenting every surface, pots bubbling on the stove. Cinderella derived great satisfaction from her day’s work; she loved creating a beautiful environment for herself and for others.

Especially for others.

She rose from the hearth, checked the soup, then headed out back with the laundry basket. It was a crisp autumn day, and the clothes she’d hung that morning were dry and sweet-smelling. Cinderella removed a pair of Griselda’s panties from the line, buried her face in the crotch and inhaled deeply. Before washing, the panties had reeked of her stepsister’s hot musky juices; Cinderella had nearly fainted from the pungent aroma. But even without Griselda’s juices encrusting the fine satin, the panties still gave Cinderella a thrill. Greedily she fingered the flimsy material, the little satin bow that rested near her stepsister’s navel, the filigreed lace that would caress Griselda’s pearly thighs.

She became conscious of her own panties, thin and graying from so many washings. The crotch was wet, as it usually was by evening. Though Cinderella was ashamed of this, she couldn’t control herself. Her panties got wet when she scrubbed the floor. They got wet when she ironed her mother’s skirts. They got wet when she made up her sisters’ beds and fluffed their downy pillows. Serving her family made Cinderella so wet that sometimes she had to leave her chores, lie down near the cinders, and touch herself until she reached satisfaction. She had no idea what this was or why it happened, but she knew for sure it was wicked. Her stepmother had once caught her touching herself down there and had held her hands over hot coals until they blistered. Still, this did not stop Cinderella, it just made her more cautious.

She continued to remove the clothes from the line, pausing to fondle a lacy bra cup, or to bury her face in a silk nightgown. Suddenly she heard the front door slam.

“I’m home!” shouted Brunhilde.

Cinderella flung the rest of the laundry into the basket and rushed to greet her stepmother in the foyer. Alas, she was too late: by the time she reached her, Brunhilde had removed her own coat and gloves. Cinderella dropped to her knees and kissed the hem of her stepmother’s dress. “Forgive me, mistress.”

Brunhilde laughed wickedly, then tapped Cinderella on the shoulder with her walking stick. “Oh, nonsense, Cin, I don’t know why you insist on this tedious scraping and bowing. Get up, you pathetic wretch! If you must abase yourself, at least put it to use. Fetch me a cup of mulled wine.”

Cinderella scrambled to her feet, but not before bestowing a quick stealthy kiss on her stepmother’s elegant fingertips. She raced into the kitchen and poured a cup of mulled wine, then brought it to Brunhilde who had seated herself on the couch. She knelt and removed Brunhilde’s high laced boots, polished to a gleam just that morning by Cinderella herself. Brunhilde closed her eyes and leaned her head back, cradling her mulled wine while her stepdaughter massaged her feet.

“Mmm, that’s a good girl,” Brunhilde murmured, wiggling her elegant toes.

Cinderella’s nipples instantly hardened. Suffused with shame, she leaned against her stepmother’s legs and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Brunhilde kicked her away.

“Stop mooning, child! Your stepsisters will be home any minute, and you know how cross they get when you’re unkempt. You look as if you’ve been lying in the cinders all day. Go wash your face.”

“Yes mistress,” Cinderella said, rushing off to wash her face and comb her hair.

When she returned, Grunella and Griselda had arrived home and were tossing their outer clothes all about the room, clamoring for their wine. Cinderella scrambled about gathering up gloves and hats and coats, then served them their wine and removed their boots. Unlike their mother, the girls did not compliment Cinderella on her foot massages, but kicked and cursed as she knelt before them. This only made her panties wetter and her nipples harder. When their mother wasn’t looking, Cinderella surreptitiously took her sisters’ toes into her mouth and sucked them. Grunella in particular had a way of maneuvering her foot that drove Cinderella to distraction. Grunella would slide her smooth delicate foot in and out of Cinderella’s mouth, reaching all the way down her throat, then pull out and rub her toes along Cinderella’s lips. Sometimes she’d pretend she was going to slide it in again, but just as Cinderella got ready to take it, Grunella would hastily withdraw, driving Cinderella wild with frustration. She swooned with pleasure whenever Grunella deigned to feed her an entire foot. The sensation of that foot against the back of her throat was exquisite, and she welcomed it as another opportunity to demonstrate her devotion.

“Cinderella!” shouted Brunhilde, “Where’s supper?”

Cinderella hastened off to the kitchen. She served the family, jumping up every so often to fetch the salt, the cheese, a cup of water, hardly eating anything herself.

During supper the sisters spoke excitedly about a ball that was to be given by the prince of their province. It was rumored that the prince was seeking a wife, and the sisters hoped that one of them would be chosen.

Cinderella had known that eventually her stepsisters must marry, but she had not realized the time might come so soon. A sense of foreboding overcame her; feeling physically ill, she begged to be excused from her duties. She ran out to the field behind the house and, collapsing behind a large haystack, heaved great heart-heavy sobs. To think that her stepsisters might leave her! Never again to sniff Griselda’s panties! No longer to suck Grunella’s toes! Oh, she could not bear it. True, Brunhilde would still require her services–but Brunhilde was not as consciously cruel towards Cinderella as were her daughters.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, their next door neighbor Fanny appeared.

“Child,” she asked kindly, “why are you crying?’
“Be–because,” gasped Cinderella between sobs, “my sisters are going to the ball to try and marry the prince.”

Now, Fanny had been living next door to Cinderella and her family for years, and was constantly outraged by the way in which Cinderella was treated. Once or twice she had even said something to Brunhilde, who’d told her in no uncertain terms to mind her own business. Now Fanny saw an opportunity to help Cinderella at last.

“Oh, my dear, you are so right to be upset. It’s very unfair. But I’ll help you. I’ll see to it that you too go to the ball.”

Cinderella abruptly stopped crying and stared at Fanny. “I? Go to the ball?”

Fanny clucked her tongue and stroked Cinderella’s hair. “Oh my poor sweet girl. You cannot imagine anything so wonderful for yourself, can you?

Actually, Cinderella could not imagine anything so horrifying for herself. She was terrified of strangers; she hated leaving home; she fainted in large crowds. She shook her head, struck dumb by terror.

‘Oh, yes, child, you can go!” Fanny continued. “I will see to it. I’ll even make your dress myself, and get you the finest shoes, fix your beautiful golden hair with my very own hands. Now, don’t breathe a word of this to your mother or sisters. You just leave it all to Aunt Fanny.”

As suddenly as she’d appeared, she vanished. Cinderella pulled herself together, dusted the hay from her dress and slowly walked back to the house, hoping it had been a bad dream.

If it was a dream, then the week was a nightmare. Fanny seized every opportunity to ambush Cinderella in the yard and measure her waist, her breasts, even her feet. Cinderella could not bring herself to hurt the kind woman’s feelings, and so she suffered through these agonies, trying not to think about what would happen on the night of the ball.

Meanwhile, the household was in a frenzy of preparation for Grunella and Griselda. Cinderella was busy sewing their gowns; many times a day she pricked her fingers, drawing blood, and would get so excited that she had to retire to the cinders to relieve herself.

The night of the ball Cinderella was in a state of rapture as she pampered and beautified her stepsisters. When she reddened Grunella’s nipples with dye she’d made from berries, her sister shoved her mouth onto her full white breast, bidding her to suck. During Griselda’s bath, she ordered Cinderella to rub the soap into previously forbidden crevices.

Flushed and happy, Cinderella arranged her stepsisters’ hair into artful sculptures, and tenderly colored their beautiful faces. She all but forgot the purpose of these preparations–but when her sisters left to go to the ball, she remembered, and after Brunhilde retired, she crawled into the cinders to weep.

Suddenly she heard a knocking on the window.

“Psst! Cindy! Let me in!” It was that crazy Fanny–Cinderella had forgotten all about her. Quietly she crept outside.

Fanny held a frilly blue gown with puffy sleeves and a scalloped hem; it wasn’t half as fine as those Cinderella had fashioned for her stepsisters. In Fanny’s other hand she held a pair of glass slippers; again, they were no match for the high-heeled leather boots Cinderella had lovingly put on her sisters’ feet.

“Miss Fanny,” she murmured, her head bowed respectfully, “You are very kind, but you see, I really don’t want…”

“Nonsense, my child! Everything is arranged. My coachman will drive you and wait outside. If you don’t show up by midnight then he’ll assume you’ve found yourself a more interesting chauffeur.” She winked lasciviously and elbowed Cinderella in the ribs.

Resigned to her fate, Cinderella allowed Fanny to dress her in the ridiculous frilly gown and the tiny glass slippers. She was certain her stepsisters would never recognize her in this getup, but just in case, Cinderella kept a low profile at the ball. When she spotted Griselda and Grunella dancing with handsome young men, she seethed with jealousy—how dare those strangers touch her precious sisters! Disturbing images invaded her head, images of her sisters lying beneath these men, squirming, writhing, letting them take their pleasure. Half crazed from jealousy and excitement, dazed and feverish, Cinderella suddenly found herself on the dance floor with none other than the prince himself. She had no idea how she’d gotten there, but he had his arm around her slim waist and was steering her onto a darkened terrace.

“You,” he murmured, gazing down at her upturned face, “are the most beautiful woman I have seen in my life. You are far more lovely than any other woman here.”

Cinderella lowered her eyes, embarrassed. The prince had obviously not yet seen her stepsisters.

“And modest as well” he said approvingly. “I like that in a girl. I like you, sweetheart. In fact, I think I’m in love with you. I just may choose you to be my wife.”

Cinderella was speechless.

“Ah, you cannot speak, you’re so happy. And well you should be– as my wife, you’ll have a dozen servants to fill your every need. I will pamper and spoil you. I will make love to you ever so gently.”

He placed a hand on her breast and brushed her nipple with his thumb, his touch so tentative as to be almost nonexistent. Cinderella’s nipple shriveled and receded. “I promise I shall never touch you any harder than that, my sweet princess.” He slid his hand down her waist and rested it lightly on her hip, leaned forward and kissed her eyes, then her ears, gentle kisses that felt to Cinderella like a creeping insect. A wave of nausea engulfed her. She flashed on the memory of Grunella’s foot prying her mouth open, moving relentlessly down her throat with no consideration or hesitancy. How different was her stepsister’s touch than the prince’s: he literally made her skin crawl.

Cinderella was shaken from her reverie by the sound of the clock striking midnight. “I must go!” she cried, terrified that she wouldn’t reach Fanny’s coachman in time and would be stuck with this simpering creature for the rest of the night. She jerked herself from his loose embrace and flew down the castle stairs. One of her slippers caught on a crack and fell off; Cinderella had no time to retrieve it. She rushed into the waiting coach, slammed the door and said more forcefully than she’d ever said anything in her entire life, “Let’s go!”

When she got home, Cinderella ran directly out the back door and into the field, tore off her dress and hid it behind the haystack. She went to the well and washed her face, trying to scrub off the prince’s insipid touch.

“Ugh!” she said out loud, “I’m glad that’s over!”

The next morning there was a great hubbub throughout the province. The prince’s men were searching every house, looking for the girl who’d worn the glass slipper that had been left on the castle stairway. Three manservants arrived at Cinderella’s home and demanded to see every female in the house.

Griselda and Grunella rushed right out and tried on the glass slipper, pushing and prodding their big feet this way and that—all to no avail. Cinderella sat quaking behind the stove, hoping not to be seen, but eventually one of the manservants discovered her. She kicked and shrieked and bit his arm, but he dragged her out of hiding and forced her to try on the slipper–which, of course, fit perfectly.
Grunella and Griselda gasped. “How can this be?”

Cinderella, in a fit of tears, threw herself on Brunhilde. “I didn’t want to go,” she wailed. “Fanny made me. I’m so sorry. Please don’t send me away.” She crawled from Brunhilde to Griselda to Grunella, clutching at their hems, licking their boots in frenzied groveling.

Meanwhile, the prince had arrived and saw the glass slipper sparkling on the foot of….a filthy wretch who was crawling on the floor like a dog.

“How can this be?” he asked, appalled that he had pledged betrothal to this pathetic creature.

“Some terrible mistake,” said Brunhilde, scooping Cinderella off the floor and holding her close. “She’s very delicate, very excitable. I must put her to bed at once. Please go.”

But the prince, accustomed to getting his way, was not to be put off.

“Madam,” he said, folding his arms across his chest and pointing his chin in the air, “I have proposed marriage to your wretched daughter–and you can be sure I am a man of my word. You should be grateful that I’m willing to take her off your hands.”

“Oh, really?” Brunhilde said, drawing herself up to her full height, which was a good four inches taller than the prince. “Well, young man, since you are, after all, the prince, and since you are a man of your word, then by all means, you must take Cinderella.”
An ungodly wail ensued.

“Ssh, child, it will be all right,” Brunhilde whispered, patting Cinderella. “Trust me.” To the prince she said, “Take her–but her sisters must come along and prepare her for the wedding ceremony. Cinderella is not strong enough to endure such a traumatic change without the support and guidance of her dear sisters.”

“Yes,” the sisters said in unison, their eyes gleaming wickedly, “we must help prepare our dear sister for marriage.”

The prince conferred with his manservants, who advised him to agree to Brunhilde’s terms.

“Well, then,” he said, looking with barely disguised loathing at his bride-to-be, “let’s go.”

At the prince’s castle, Cinderella and her sisters were shown to a large chamber fit for a royal lady. The closets overflowed with colorful gowns, precious jewels, ornate headdresses, expensive perfumes. In the center of the room stood a large canopied bed. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, and beveled mirrors stood in every corner.

Cinderella watched in awe as her sisters swept quickly through the closets, pulling out dresses and crinolines. “No, no, these will never do,” moaned Griselda. She called for a servant and demanded scissors, rope, and every piece of equestrian garb in the castle. She sent for the stable boy and asked for his collection of riding crops. She summoned the kitchen maid and had her deliver all manner of cooking utensils.

By evening Griselda and Grunella had adorned themselves from head to toe in leather. They’d dressed Cinderella in a tight corset, garters, stockings, and the infamous glass slippers. Several times the poor girl begged to be told what was going on; the sisters responded by feeding her a foot, or pinching her exposed nipples. By the time they sent a servant to fetch the prince, Cinderella was so wet and hot, so flushed with erotic longing, that she’d lost all trepidation. “Trust us,” whispered Griselda, and opened the door for Prince Charming.

“Wh–what?” he asked, stunned by the scene before him. The room glowed in candlelight. An ornate chandelier had been replaced with a large meathook from which a rope swayed hypnotically. The sisters looked as if they were on their way to hunt with the hounds. And his fiancée was spread out on the bed wearing some kind of weird looking underwear. The prince lowered his eyes discreetly.

Griselda locked the heavy wooden door. “Welcome, sweet prince,” she said, savagely enunciating each syllable. “You’re about to get more than you ever imagined when you chose Cinderella to be your loving princess.”

The prince laughed to disguise his fear. Grunella cracked her riding crop across his calf. “Shut up, you idiot! Disrobe at once.”

“Madam, I am your prince! How dare you–”

Another crack of the whip, this time from Griselda. “Disrobe! Now!”

Terrified, the prince did as he was told. When he removed his trousers a fully erect penis sprung forth.

The sisters cackled gaily. “Didn’t I tell you, Grunny? Didn’t I peg him?”

“Peg me?” asked the prince.

“A bottom,” said Grunella, placing the handle of her whip beneath his penis and raising it for inspection. “Just like our dear little sister.”

All eyes turned to Cinderella. She was kneeling forward on her haunches, intently watching her sisters and the prince. Her breasts hung over the top of her corset, the nipples elongated. One had been pierced and fitted with a diamond-studded hoop. A gold chain dangled from her neck. Her hair had been plaited into dozens of tiny braids that swayed around her innocent face.

“Lovely, isn’t she?” said Griselda.

When the prince made no reply, Griselda cracked her whip across his buttocks. “I said lovely, isn’t she?”

“Y–yes,” replied the prince.

“Oh, but you think she’s beneath you! You think you’re doing her–and us–a favor by keeping your word. Ugh!” She flicked her whip across the prince’s member. He jumped, but his prick grew half an inch.

“Our little sister,” said Griselda, “is a precious treasure. You won’t find the likes of her among your spoiled queens and princesses. Did you really think we’d give her up so easily?”

Cinderella was truly amazed; never before had her sisters praised her like this. Hot liquid dribbled from between her legs and onto the sheets.

“Well, we won’t give her up–not unless we deem you worthy.”
“What must I do?” asked the prince, who’d begun unconsciously rubbing his member.
“Why, it’s very simple. You must learn how to treat Cinderella. How to keep her purring like a kitten.” Griselda approached the bed, grabbed Cinderella’s braids and yanked her head backwards. “We know how. We know all of her secrets–don’t we, Cindy?” She stuck a finger into Cinderella’s mouth. Cinderella closed her eyes and sucked. “We’re perfectly willing to teach you, princey-poo. But only if you cooperate fully. Only if you trust us.”

The prince, squeezing his scrotum absently, murmured, “I am your humble student.”

“Good. Because we’re going to teach you how to treat our sister in the manner to which she is accustomed. You’ll learn how to switch, to be a top for her–while remaining subservient to us. Do you think you can manage it?”

“I’ll try,” said the prince.
“I’ll try, MISTRESS.”
“I’ll try, Mistress.”

A million thoughts were swirling through Cinderella’s head. Had her sisters known all these years the pleasure she derived from worshipping and serving them? Did they know about her wet panties, her sinful self-ministrations? Had their cruelty been deliberate? She looked at Grunella, who seemed to read her mind.

“Oh, yes, Cinderella, we have always known your nature, and we catered to it. But don’t think we didn’t derive just as much pleasure as you. Griselda and I are natural born tops. We love dominating. Of course,” she giggled, “sometimes we had to restrain ourselves in front of Mother.”

“All right, all right,” said Grunella impatiently. “Enough talk. Let’s get on with it.”

“Fine,” said Griselda. “For now, Prince, you are to observe–just watch.”

“May I touch myself, Mistress?”

“Excellent. Yes, you may touch yourself. In fact, it’s mandatory.” She turned to Cinderella. “You–on your feet.”

Cinderella clambered out of bed. Griselda and Grunella quickly cuffed her hands behind her back, tied her ankles together, and clipped a chain on to each nipple. “Walk,” they ordered, each one pulling a nipple chain.

Cinderella teetered after her sisters, tits-first. By the time they reached the hanging rope, her thighs were drenched with her own juices. Griselda slid a hand between her legs, extracted some of the wetness and shoved a finger into the prince’s mouth.

“See what a little slut she is? Humiliation makes her cream. Doesn’t it, Cindy?”
Cinderella moaned.
“On your knees, bitch.” Cinderella sank to her knees. Grunella lifted her leather skirt. “Lick.”

Cinderella avidly licked her sister’s clitoris and labia, then snaked her tongue up into her luscious crevice. Grunella grabbed her head and pressed it firmly against herself, grinding her hips.

“Okay, that’s enough pussying around,” said Griselda, pulling Cinderella by the hair and forcing her to stand. “Let’s give her what she really wants–what we could never do at home.”

With the rope she tied Cinderella to a large cross-shaped object she’d found in the stable. It was held up by the meathook, so that Cinderella hung slightly above her sisters, who stood on either side and raised their whips. Cinderella’s eyes hungrily drank in their beauty as they stood before her in their leather riding clothes, their long hair flowing behind them. She reveled in the glory of being the object of their focused attention. Slowly they brought the whips down on either of her thighs.

As much as her stepsisters had always humiliated her, never before had they struck Cinderella. Something deep inside her leapt to greet the blows; she realized she had been wanting this for a long, long time. Each crack of the whip was a chance for Cinderella to prove how much she adored her sisters. The more it hurt, the deeper it seemed was her love. With great joy Cinderella received the blows, glad even for the presence of the prince: he served as witness to her surrender.

The sisters whipped her belly, her back, even her breasts and vagina. As the blows got progressively harder, their excitement mounted. A vein throbbed in Griselda’s temple; sweat dripped down Grunella’s face.

“Oh yes,” they murmured, “she likes being beaten–don’t you, Cindy?”

“Yes.” The more excited they became, the more Cinderella wanted them to hurt her. She arched her back, her body virtually kissing the whip. She saw the prince cup his balls and pull on his thick cock. Saliva trickled from his mouth. The sisters followed Cinderella’s gaze.

“Ah, yes, see how hard he is. See how his muscles bulge. The weaker you get, the stronger he grows.”

It was true: the prince was being transformed from the fawning creature who’d danced with her at the ball into a strong man who could provide the hardness she craved. If her surrender had the power to affect him like this, gladly would she yield.

“Shall we stop?” teased Griselda.

“No, please, no.” Cinderella sensed she was on the verge of something new, that soon she would be taken beyond conscious thought, into the realm of pure sensation. That was exactly where Cinderella wanted to go. It was what she’d been striving towards all her life.

“But Cinderella, you have marks on your skin,” taunted Griselda. Soon you may bleed.”

“Don’t stop,” Cinderella repeated. “Please don’t stop.”

“Good God, don’t stop!” shouted the prince.

The sisters laughed and resumed their whipping. When Cinderella was nearly fainting, they untied the ropes and lowered her to the floor. “Go,” ordered Griselda. “Suck your husband’s cock.”

Cinderella crawled across the floor. The prince towered over her, and with no hesitation thrust his member between her parted lips.

“Suck it, you whore. Worship my royal prick.”

Cinderella’s flesh felt supple as well-worn leather. Her mouth, cunt and anus ached to be filled. Her heart palpitated with love and generosity; she wanted to serve; she wanted to give pleasure.

“Lick your husband’s balls,” said Grunella, and Cinderella gratefully lowered her mouth to the hanging sacs, tenderly rolling each by turn in her mouth. With one hand she stroked the prince’s member and with the other prodded his anus. The prince groaned and grabbed her by the nape of her neck, his touch that of a man taking possession. In that moment, Cinderella knew she had been given to a new master. Her stepsisters were passing her from their hands into his. Although sad to leave them, she knew in her bones that the prince was her destiny. Eager to prove herself worthy, she grasped his prick and lovingly rubbed it all over her face, in her eyes, over her cheeks. A drop of milky white fluid shimmered on the head; Cinderella licked it off, savoring its salty taste.

“Drink my royal nectar,” whispered the prince. “Swallow my precious fluid.”

“Oh, yes,” Cinderella whispered, “anoint me with your precious fluid.” She sucked and licked and stroked until the prince released his semen and flooded her open mouth. She gulped it down.

Griselda had attached some kind of penis-shaped leather object to her body with a belt. She knelt behind Cinderella and thrust the makeshift prick into her stepsister’s sopping hole. Meanwhile, Grunella fastened her clit onto the prince’s mouth, and ordered him to lick.

Cinderella’s cunt closed gratefully around whatever was inside it. She continued to lick and kiss her future husband’s balls and prick while Griselda pounded into her. She pressed a finger to the little button between her own legs, and soon her whole body was climbing. She pressed and bucked and reached for whatever was coming, and suddenly felt it: an explosion of a magnitude that she had never experienced in her playful little games among the cinders. Rather than just a tremor between her legs, her whole body seemed to open and contract. Her cunt sucked on Griselda’s strange appendage, and a loud moan escaped her lips, muffled by the prince’s semi-erect member. She raised her hips so Griselda could thrust even deeper, generating new waves of ecstasy deep inside her. Griselda squeezed Cinderella’s buttocks and slid a finger into her anus. Behind her closed eyelids, Cinderella saw an explosion of color and light. As the contractions in her body subsided, the light burst into fragments like shooting stars, and then funny little pictures of people and animals danced behind her lids. As if from a great distance, she heard her sisters grunting; they too were experiencing ecstatic release.

Gradually they all grew still.

“You see,” Griselda softly told the prince after a few moments, “keeping Cinderella takes a lot of work.” She flexed her bicep.

The prince gazed down at the blonde head resting on his thigh, the small delicate hand cradling his balls.

“I intend to make it my life’s mission,” he said passionately.

Cinderella raised her head and kissed her fiancé. Then she kissed each of her sisters. Her eyes got teary.

“My sweet,” Griselda said, taking her sister’s face in her hands, “please don’t fear–we’ll always be your sisters.” Then she looked at the prince and said sternly,”Grunella and I will be checking in regularly to be sure you’re treating our sister right. Or in case you need more training.”

“Oh,” said the prince, “I’m quite sure I will.”

Note: Unfortunately my server doesn’t support PayPal’s icons–but if you like what you read here, you can support it by making a donation through Pay Pal in my name or the name of the blog . Thanks!

SIDEBAR UPDATE

2007-05-16T20:36:00.000-07:00

Hello Dear Readers,

The sidebar links has just been updated. In it, you will find blogs that are similar to this and sites that will help you turn your fantasies into reality. I have included free dating sites that will enable you to correspond and meet with people based on their location, preferences, gender, religion, etc..

What's more, you may actually join all of those programs for free! ... what are you waiting for?

I will be updating the links regularly. Should you have any suggestion, please feel free to drop a comment or send an email to hernandez.kristine@gmail.com.

It will also be much appreciated if you can submit some of your erotic stories for inclusion to the posts in this site.

Thanks and happy reading!!!!

Love yah!!!

A memorable trade show

2007-05-15T03:32:00.000-07:00

Thanks to my job, I have had golden opportunities to score with trade show models. But my most memorable happened recently when I helped a friend run a tennis tournament. My, the girl who was giving away cold choco drinks to the kids must have had the biggest and most perfectly formed mammaries I've ever seen. They were perfect since she was svelte and had a tiny waist.

Her boobs was practically begging to be suckled as her tits were jutting then from the white t-shirt she was wearing. I got off on the wrong foot though when my friend, who is a certifiable joker -- sent one of his boys to tell boobsie that I was dying to fondle her breasts. The boy pointed at my direction while gesturing to boobsie how I would circumnavigate her juggies with my hands.

I was flabbergasted especially since we were already on smiling and chit-chat terms prior to that. There goes my chance, I said to myself. Days passed and the tournament ended. At the hotel, two hours before we were to leave for the airport, guess who showed up at the hotel lobby but boobsie.

To the eternal envy of my friend and his drooling alalays, boobsie told them that she would help me "pack up" upstairs. With a knowing wink to my friend, we went upstairs and, with the threat of missing my flight, went on to sample a fine Davao delicacy. Her breasts were much better than I imagined them to be. Despite their gargantuan size, they were very round, firm and were topped by mahogany-colored areolas the likes of which I only saw beforehand on Playboy mags.

I could have suckled for hours like a child, but she then whipped out my cock and gave me a most delectable blowjob. I could have blown off my load right there and then, but her pussy -- velvety to the touch and sopping wet -- was inviting. To hell with going back to Manila, I muttered to myself as she guided my cock onto her love hole.

She wanted every inch of it too, as she violently met every single of my frenzied thrusts until I creamed her pie. She was shuddering and moaning like hell and she wet the bed for good measure. Needless to say, I had to rebook my flight to have my fill of that lusty girl.

What did I do to deserve all these? Nothing, except to be a dead ringer for her ex-boyfriend.

MY VISIT TO KNOTS LANDING by Marcy

2007-05-11T00:33:00.000-07:00

From our regular special contributor by Marcy.

Ten–thirty Thursday night and I was depressed. In just half an hour another season of Knots Landing would be over. I knew it would end with a cliff–hanger; my girlfriends and I had predicted weeks ago that in the final episode Gregg Sumner would be left in some Intensive Care Unit, doomed to die without a liver transplant. True to our prophecy, he was now nearly comatose. Paige was frantically phoning organ banks while Tom accused her of loving Gregg more than she loved him, and Mac, her father, exhorted her to let the old bastard die. Sure enough, the credits rolled across Paige’s gorgeous face while she was on hold with the friendly liver depository.

I sighed. No more would Thursday night from ten to eleven be my sacred hour, an hour during which I didn’t do anything else, not even answer my telephone. Now I was doomed to watching reruns of L.A. Law while pining away for Paige, with her collagen-inflated lips, flaxen hair, and size two body.

I was about to switch off the set when Valine, looking, as usual, like a holocaust survivor, appeared on the screen.

“Hey all you Knotheads, how would you like to win a date with your favorite resident of Knots Landing?” My senses came immediately alert. I grabbed a pen and paper and hastily took down the information. According to Val, all I had to do was write a one-page essay explaining why whomever I chose was my favorite character, and I’d win a date with him or her.

Piece of cake! Shaking with excitement, I ran to my desk and dashed off a masterpiece. I said that I chose Paige because I had watched her grow from a bratty 20-year old into the quintessential liberated woman, one who was assertive in the purest sense of the word. Paige, I wrote, managed to retain her feminine vulnerability and soft heart without letting anyone fuck her over—modifying my language, of course, to suit my audience. Almost as an afterthought I alluded to the pouty lips, equestrian legs, and classy style.

When it came time to sign my name, I hesitated. Val had not stipulated that one’s choice of date had to be of the opposite gender. But Knots was the most heterosexual show on the air, bar none. Dykes tended to be drawn to it anyway, for the same reasons that straight women watched it — in the fantasy world of Knots Landing, women had it all — money, power, love, and, not least important, fabulous wardrobes. They called most of the shots, while the men, with the notable exception of Sumner, obediently limped along.

I finally signed my name “Jerry Harmon” — a white lie, since I’d only altered the first letter of my first name. For the next few weeks I hovered anxiously around the mailbox, nearly tackling the postman on several occasions. Finally I saw the TV station’s insignia on an envelope. Nearly fainting, I braced myself for rejection and tore it open.

Holy Christ, I won! In two weeks I would be flown, all expenses paid, to LA, where I’d be met by a chauffered limo and escorted to Paige Mathiesson’s door. She would personally show me around the set of Knots Landing, where I’d meet Karen and Mac and all the others, and then we’d dine in an elegant Beverly Hills restaurant. I’d be put up at the Beverly Hills Hilton, and flown home the next day.

My God. I couldn’t believe it. Now what? Did I just show up as my own female self, possibly freaking out my precious Paige, or should I go in drag? I studied my face in the mirror, pulling my hair back. Though I’m no butch, with a cut and the right clothes I could probably pass. Hell, in my most radical separatist, no-makeup flannel-shirt-and-jeans phase I’d occasionally been mistaken for a guy. It was worth a try.

Dressed in a three-piece double-breasted navy blue suit that cost me an arm and a leg (I never realized men’s clothes could be more expensive than women’s) I came out of the airport to bright LA sunlight. Sure enough, there was the trusty Carlos, Gregg Sumner’s servant, standing beside a shiny black limo, waving a sign with my name on it.

“Welcome to LA, Mr. Harmon,” he said. Well, I’d fooled him, at least — and no slouch was Carlos, the only resident of Knots who knew every move Gregg Sumner made and why.

We rode through busy city streets until the limo turned into a residential area. After several twists and turns, we pulled up in front of a fancy apartment building that I immediately recognized as Paige’s.

“Ms. Mathiesson will be out in a moment,” Carlos informed me before disappearing into the building.

My palms were clammy. I checked my face in the mirror. I’d exchanged my usual cream bleach for black dye, so that now I had a convincing shadow on my upper lip. My hair was short and slicked back. My padded shoulders looked almost manly. I could pass. Hadn’t I fooled Carlos?

Paige came out of the building wearing a divine suit of white linen, the skirt mid-thigh, the jacket pulled tightly around her tiny waist. Carlos opened the door and she climbed in, her long stockinged legs leading the way. She held out a perfectly manicured hand and smiled graciously.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Harmon.”

“Please,” I said, in a voice lower than my normal range, “call me Jerry.

“Jerry. I read your essay. It was extremely flattering.”
“Glad you liked it.”

“Carlos,” Paige said, knocking on the glass divider, “we’ll stop at the cul-de-sac first.” She turned to me and explained apologetically, “Mac wants to meet you. We might as well get it over with.” She rolled her eyes in mock exasperation.

I laughed knowingly. Of course Mac would want to meet me before I could dine with his daughter; he gave all her boyfriends the third degree.

“You know, Jerry,” she said conspiratorially, “he never likes my dates, so don’t be hurt if he’s rude to you.” She touched my shoulder lightly. “Then again, he might like you — you’re so, well, gentlemanly. Unlike Tom or Gregg.”

“Thank you, Paige,” I said demurely, my bound chest expanding with pride: I’d beat out Tom the hunk and Gregg the billionaire!

When we arrived at the MacKenzie home, curtains up and down the street flew open, and faces appeared at every window. The folks at Knots Landing never miss a move—unless, of course, someone is drowning in a backyard swimming pool.

Karen appeared just as the babysitter was ushering her adopted daughter (biologically Gregg’s) out the door. She beamed at us and extended her hand.

“You must be Mr. Harmon. We’ve been so eager to meet you.” She led us into the house, where Mac was sitting on the sofa, arms folded across his chest, scowling. He looked me up and down, making no attempt to hide his distrust.

“What do you do for a living?” Mac asked before introductions were even made. I was about to give my prepared rap about being a paralegal in an environmental firm—an occupation I’d dreamed up that was sure to be a winner with this classic liberal lawyer—when suddenly there was a loud shriek from outside. Mac was on his feet and out the door in a flash. We all followed.

Val was standing in the middle of her lawn aiming a gushing hose into the air and screaming hysterically. “He’s back, Danny’s back!” Mac ran over, turned off the hose and held Val protectively while she sobbed. Looking over her shoulder he explained that she’d been seeing Danny’s ghost ever since she’d bumped her head on an open kitchen cabinet. Luckily, Gary arrived home and took over the full-time job of protecting his wife from her own mind, and Mac sauntered back across the lawn. Just as we reached the door there was a loud crash from the house on the other side of the MacKenzies’. Again Mac took off, arriving in time to deftly catch Frank’s daughter Julie as she came tumbling off a ladder. Paige looked at me and rolled her eyes. “My family,” she moaned. “Come on, Jerry, let’s split.”

I breathed a bit easier as we took off — if anyone was going to sniff trouble, it would have been Mac. Paige knocked on the divider and told Carlos, “Skip Mr. Sumner’s, please. We’ll go right to the restaurant.” Turning those marvelous lips and eyes in my direction she said, “You didn’t really want to meet Gregg, did you Jerry?”

I shook my head dumbly and breathed easier; I’d been just as afraid of meeting Gregg as Mac. God knows what kinds of scathing remarks he would have directed at me—and maybe he’d see through my disguise.

I felt a resurgence of confidence as Carlos pulled up in front of Spago. I held my arm out jauntily for Paige to slip hers through, and walked proudly in to the restaurant, noting how the proles gaped at the fabulous star on my arm. Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward were seated in a dimly lit corner; Paige waved at them as the maitre d’ seated us.

Somehow I managed to order, sniff, and taste wine as if I knew what I was doing; somehow I managed to order food from an indecipherable menu; and somehow I managed to lie convincingly in response to Paige’s polite questions about my work, my friends, and life in San Francisco.

“San Francisco,” she sighed, a wistful look in her big blue eyes. “I just love it there. It’s so much more civilized than LA.”

“Oh, but there’s so many exciting people here,” I said.

“Sharks,” Paige said flatly, stabbing a piece of raddichio with her fork, her lips pouting up beautifully. “All sharks.” She glanced up just as Bobby De Niro sauntered by, and instantly transformed her face into a glowing mask. When he’d passed, she resumed pouting.

“Now you, Jerry,” she said, “are so much more real than these people. I feel a strange kinship with you, even though we only just met. I dunno,” she shook her head and a platinum tress fell across her right eye. “You almost seem to have a woman’s sensibility…” She trailed off with a laugh, looked straight into my eyes, and flicked the hair from her face. “Am I talking crazy?”

I cleared my nearly paralyzed throat. “Of course not. You sound lonely.”

“See,” she said, “that’s what I mean about a woman’s sensibility.” Tears glistened in her eyes.

After dinner, when Carlos delivered me to my hotel, Paige told him to keep the limo waiting while she came up to join me for a nightcap. His face was impassive as he opened the door for us.

In my suite Paige took off her jacket, revealing only a lacy beige camisole underneath. She kicked off her stiletto heels and fell onto the plush sofa, picked up the television remote and began surfing channels while I nervously poured us brandy from a well-stocked bar. Watching her, I was reminded of the episode on Knots when Brian, a Sumner Group client, tried to videotape their lovemaking. She’d kicked him in the balls and stalked out of the room. What would she do, I wondered, when she discovered that I had no balls?

This is not Nicollette!

I brought our brandies over and sat beside her. She’d let the TV come to rest on the Playboy channel, where a woman was performing an erotic dance.

“Huh,” Paige said, a smile playing around her mouth. “She’s hot. Don’t you think so, Jerry?”
“Well, uh…” I stammered.

“It’s okay, you can be honest. I know how men are. Besides,” she confessed, lowering her voice and giggling like a schoolgirl, “It turns me on too.”

“It does?” I squawked.

“Silly boy,” she laughed. “Don’t you know that everyone in Hollywood is bi?”

“Bi?” I was so taken aback that for a moment I forgot what that meant.

“Bisexual, Jerry! You do know what the word means, don’t you?”

I was absolutely, totally, completely falling apart. I couldn’t speak or move. When Paige began boldly unbuttoning my trousers I didn’t dare stop her. She got them open, reached inside, and began moving her soft hand around, gently searching…and searching…and then she was frantically groping.

“Where is it?” she shrieked, bending over and ripping apart the fabric, peering inside to locate what her hand had missed.

“My God!” she gasped, raising her head and looking in my eyes. “You are a woman!”

I just nodded.

Paige’s face broke into a wreath of smiles. “Wow! Does that ever make me one happy girl!”

“It does?”

“I just told you, I’m bi–but how often do you think I get pussy? They’ve turned me into this ridiculous object for men’s fantasies, and I have to be discreet when it comes to women. Last time I ate pussy was, let’s see, maybe a year ago.” She literally jumped off the sofa and bounded down the hall, calling over her shoulder, “Come on, girl, let’s hit the hay! I hope you’re a top!”

I wasn’t, but by God, for Paige Mathiesson I would become one.

That turned out not to be terribly difficult. By the time I reached the bedroom she was lying on the satin sheets, her arms raised, holding onto the brass headboard. She’d removed her skirt and camisole, and was wearing only a skimpy bra and the briefest of briefs. I stood in front of her, drooling from my mouth and my pussy. Slowly I removed my jacket, tie, and shirt, revealing my bound torso. Paige giggled, but stopped abruptly as I unwound the bandages to reveal my breasts. Her hand drifted to her crotch. I undid my pants and let them slide to the floor, and stood before her in a pair of honest-to-God boxer shorts (I’d really wanted to feel the part). She moaned softly and beckoned to me.

I pulled off the shorts and got on top of her, feeling her deliciously soft flesh next to mine. Pulling down her bra, I nibbled on an erect nipple, and kneaded the other one between my thumb and forefinger. She wriggled beneath me.

Like I said, I’m not a top, but then, I had never been with such a glamorous femme bottom before. Paige inspired and transformed me. I felt as if I was growing, psychologically and physically; necessity is the mother of invention, and I became bigger and more powerful in order to meet her great need. I pulled her panties down and placed my hand over her dripping crotch. Her eyes begged me to enter.

Slowly I slipped one, then two fingers inside. She raised her hips, and I began thrusting, gently at first, then more forcibly as I felt her muscles squeezing, pulling me deeper inside. I held one hand over her tit while I steadily pumped into her, watching her face dissolve as if she was succumbing to a potent drug. She yielded utterly, offering herself up for my pleasure, allowing herself to become weak and vulnerable. Her surrender made me stronger. I lay down again on her body, pressing my clit against her thigh as I pumped my fingers in and out of her sweet cunt. She spread her legs wide, as if she were being fucked by a cock. My pectoral muscles flexed as I raised myself up. My entire body felt as if it had turned into a cock, one gigantic hard cock that could impale her, could fill her up, could make her crumble, could make her mine. I placed my lips on hers for the first time, and sucked in the juicy nectar of her kiss.

She seemed to be lost in a world all her own, almost unaware of my presence. I lifted her hips so that she was lying across my lap, and bent my head to suck on her breast. She squeezed her thighs around my hand—I now had four fingers inside her—and began to cry out, “Oh, oh, oh, Gerry….” as her cunt exploded in a huge dripping orgasm. I pumped and pumped, my arm a piston, while I kept sucking hard on her nipple. Finally she whimpered and fell back, utterly spent.

I lifted her off my lap and let her lie back on the sheets. I climbed on top of her, nudged her legs open, and rubbed my clit against hers. In three seconds I was coming, pushing hard against her. Exhausted as she was, she reached down and stuck a couple of fingers inside my cunt, bringing my orgasm to its conclusion.

I wiped the hair from her sweaty forehead and gently kissed her face. “You are so beautiful,” I murmured.

“I never expected this,” she said.

She never expected this?

The next day as I flew back to San Francisco, I thought somewhat sadly of Paige lying beneath Tom or Gregg or whoever else the writers of Knots Landing would foist upon her next. As for me, there was a whole world of blonde femmes out there, just waiting for Gerry–that’s Gerry with a “G”–Harmon.

2007-05-11T00:29:00.001-07:00

My Loving and Ever Fuckable Wife

2007-05-10T03:15:00.000-07:00

I woke up today within his embrace… wow I can’t describe the feeling… it’s as if everything, all my troubles had been taken away. In his strong embrace I felt secure and safe, it’s like nothing in this world can hurt me!

Light was showing in between the heavy curtains of my aunt’s rest house… it was daybreak but you can hear the heavy tap-tapping sound of the pouring rain outside it’s been raining like this for the past few days… our bodies intertwined together in bed I could smell her long straight hair. This fragile little creature cradled in my embrace. I smile as I feel her stir, her small slender fingers caressing my forearm and then interlocking those same small hands in mine.

Last night was amazing! Oh yes we’ve had sex a few times before but last night I decided to let everything go. To give in to him… to belong to him. Last night my body, my heart, my soul belonged to him. And because of this I knew that he would be mine also!

Last night was unbelievable I never knew she could be so hot as she took my throbbing cock into her mouth. Her tongue playing the length of my shaft down to my balls! Even the way she moaned could make me come! The way her body swayed as she sat on top riding my hard cock. She was f#&king both of us crazy and all I could do was watch. Every now and then she’d bend over to kiss me letting her hair cascade on me. We both came in pleasurable waves her body arched, lost in the sensation…

I turn her over this time with me on top. I hear her moan again as I enter her, her eyes roll up as I begin to move slowly at first then gaining momentum… she screams now her eyes fixed on me. Her fingers digging deep into my arms as she tries to pull me deeper into her, her long slender legs wrapped around my hips, never letting go.

I’ve never felt anything like the way he touched me! He was rough at the same time gentle. He was like a powerful beast that had been given to me like a protector. I felt it deep inside and I know he would never leave me.

We both scream in unison reaching our orgasm. I collapse beside her as she cuddles close like a small cat curling on my chest. I caress her silky smooth dark skin. I can hear her heartbeat as I kiss her passionately. With her beautiful toned body, I run my hands on her small waist caressing the small of her back down her smooth buttocks. She is like an exotic dark skinned goddess! Her lips planting small kisses on my chest begin to arouse me again…

And then today as I awake in his embrace I can feel his warmth his comfort. Oh I wish he would not let me go! I turn to look at him as he gently woke up… I want him to see me smile as he opened those dreamy eyes. I want him to see me and know how much I loved him!

Of all the women that I’ve had, of all the sexual relationships that I’ve experienced, this moment with this woman is one of a kind. I kiss her again kneading her breast as she begins to gyrate. Her body is like clay in my hands warm and giving. I kiss her breast as her hands caress my back taking each nipple in my mouth suckling them like a small child. I continue my descent feeling her flat abdominal muscles quiver as I let my tongue slip into her belly button. Spreading her legs I gently part her labia giving me full access to her clit… she gasps as I begin to kiss and lick her pussy her hands pushing my head closer to her.

Yes diary I know… I’ve said it now for the first time I love this man. I accept him for all he is. He smiled at me the moment he woke up. I stayed cradled in his arms my hands gently caressing his cheek. Kissing him I let my body savor his embrace I feel his warm muscular body caress mine.

As she nears her peak she turns over propping her beautiful ass in the air pleading me to take her from behind. I obliged slipping into her with ease she groans as I drive my throbbing member deeper in this position. F#&king her with full force she cries out my name as she came.

I let him hear the words as I whisper in his ear… I felt him hold me tighter his hands reaching around my shoulders. I hear him say the words as he looked into my eyes…oh diary my heart jumped for joy.

Oh yes I remember that day as I read these passages… smiling I close the small booklet as I look over her four kids… our kids sleeping in their room. Quietly she calls my name as she stood by the door frame in her silken nightgown… her figure unchanged still, my dark skinned goddess…

Speed Dating

2007-05-08T03:03:00.000-07:00

Keisuke walked in the bar scanning the faces who have shown up for speed dating. This recent phenomenon has just hit their town of Chiba and people are eager to try it out. There were roughly ten couples that night, but one girl particularly caught his eye. Keisuke walked in just in just as everyone was about to start, skipping the earlier contests and pleasantries. This is Keisuke’s second time at this, the first one was enjoyable in its own right but no one really interesting.
The woman that caught his eye was five or six turns away. She was dressed quite nicely, a low cut top exposing a bit of her cleavage, long flowing skirt and sexy flip flops on her exquisite feet, quite a departure from the office types who came straight from work in the neighborhood in the business district near the Makuhari Messe in downtown.
Finally he had her turn with her. The name tag said Kaoru, pretty name to match the pretty face. Keisuke can tell that she was a spirited woman and their 8 minutes was filled with lively conversation. There is definitely something there.
An hour and half passed and the speed dating was over. Keisuke approached Kaoru and asked if she was going somewhere after this. “Not really” she said in perfect English, for as they discovered during their brief interlude, Kaoru had grew up in England and return to Japan while Keisuke had his education in the United States. “I would like to continue our date if you don’t mind Kaoru-chan.” “Zettai ni so desu!” smiled Kaoru. “I know this great place by the bay, Ryodenkai, it’s a good spot to talk and they have great music, not to far from here.” They walk out together laughing and continuing to feel the electricity between them.
As they walked on, Keisuke was stealing glances at Kaoru’s top which showed off her breasts nicely, not too big but round and perky. He also admired the way her legs moved for Kaoru was a tall girl 5’5”. Kaoru was also silently looking at Keisuke, like most Japanese men, he had his hair in some shade of blonde color but not styled widely, instead it was parted neatly to one side with snippets falling across his face “He looks like a real live anime character, bishonen.” thought Kaoru, who has been a long time fan.
Keisuke got them a table on the far side of Ryodenkai, towards the dimly lit portion where the only light source was the candle burning on the table. They settle in and Kaoru ordered cold sake, something she hasn’t had in along time being away in England. Keisuke also missed their native drink. “Kanpai!” as they raised their cups and took one full swing.

“Maybe we can now ask more daring questions about each other than what we did before.” Mused Keisuke.

“Nani des?” Kaoru smiled mischievously.

“How do you like to be kissed?”

Pretty daring of him, cocky bastard thought Kaoru, but she was turned on by his boldness. Taking another shot of sake, she told him “Like this!”

She put her hands behind Keisuke’s head a brought her mouth to his, kissing him deeply and passionately and then breaking it off abruptly. “That’s how I like to be kissed” winked Kaoru.
Taken by surprise, but fully enjoying it Keisuke didn’t lose his composure and smiled back at Kaoru. “Your turn to ask a question then, I got my answer and am very satisfied with it.”

“Tell me some of your fantasies, in detail.” Dared Kaoru.

“I’ve done some already. Doing it by the pool is definitely one of the best.” Smirked Keisuke, “and the pool is just at my place ready and waiting.”

Kaoru felt her pussy tingling, this has been her fantasy for quite sometime, having wild sex will in a swimming pool, with the cool water against their heated bodies. “Tell me more Keisuke, there has to be more.”

“There is one where I would like to do it in a public place such as this, with everyone around looking at the both of us, staring in envy and shock at our brazenness but secretly wanting to do the same thing.”

With that Keisuke kissed Kaoru again and let his hands wander over her breasts as he fondled her through her top. His other hand slid in between Kaoru’s legs disappearing in her skirt and found her thong sopping wet.

“Kaoru, sit on my lap so I can feel you close to me.” Kaoru did as told and they kissed some more and this time, Kaoru stroked Keisuke’s hard cock through his pants as her pussy grinded down on it.

Keisuke continued to squeeze Kaoru’s breasts and slid his hand under her shirt. Caught up in their passion, the pair was unmindful of everyone else, both of them enjoying each other immensely and their shared pleasure.

“Keisuke yamete, yamete” Kaoru said breathlessly. “Did you say that your pool is available?” “Hai utsukushii Kaoru” “Let us go there now”

Keisuke’s condominium has a swimming pool on the ground floor. For all intents and purposes it was a closed area and very private. A nice feature of the pool is a mini bar with the stools under water and bushes covering that section. The security guards know well enough not to bother the residents who enjoyed their privacy. As Keisuke drove out of the parking lot, Kaoru became more aggressive and started to undo his pants while driving. Pulling down his pants and boxers, once again rare for Japanese men to be wearing boxers, Kaoru started sucking Keisuke’s still hard cock. Keisuke moaned and thrust his hips into Kaoru’s waiting mouth while driving and trying to avoid being hit. It was exquisite torture as he tried to concentrate on the road.
Wasting no time once getting to his parking space, Keisuke led Kaoru to the pool side dressing room.

Losing all inhibition, Keisuke kissed Kaoru fiercely and hiked up her skirt and removing her thong in one swift move. With his cock still wet from Kaoru’s expert sucking, he entered her very wet pussy in one powerful thrust.

The sensation caught both of them by surprise as they their bodies tense, backs arching, experiencing the immense pleasure coursing through their bodies. Keisuke began to slowly thrust in and out as Kaoru wrapped her legs tighter around him.

“You want to get into the water now?” Keisuke said, looking into Kaoru’s lust filled eyes. She simply nodded as he lifts her and carried her into the pool’s steps. The cold water causing goose bumps on their sweat drenched bodies as the simultaneous sensations magnifies their pleasure.

Standing in the middle of the pool with her legs still wrapped around him, Keisuke guides Kaoru as he slowly lifts her up and brings her down again on his cock. With only their heads above the water, Keisuke started to suck Kaoru’s tongue as he continued to fuck her, the water making her buoyant and easy to move up and down. Kaoru’s nipples are rock hard right now as they rub on Keisuke’s chest with each movement. The water has an amazing affect on his cock when mixed in with Kaoru’s pussy juices, warm and slippery, cold and tingly at the same time.

“Oh god, yokata koto. Feels good”

Keisuke moves towards the edge of the pool near the bar stools and gently lets Kaoru sit on the one. Kaoru places her hands on the edge as Keisuke continues to fuck her, a little faster and harder this time

“Zuto tsukete, keep going!”

“Wait, I want you from behind” Kaoru tells Keisuke. Turning around and showing him her fine ass as she stands there waiting. Keisuke squeezes her breasts and once more fucks her pussy.

“Tomoranaide! Don’t stop! Don’t Stop!”

Keisuke bends down and places his mouth beside Kaoru’s ear nibbling it as he squeezes her breasts harder, Kaoru can hear every breath he makes and turns her on some more. Keisuke fucks her faster this time, water splashing with each thrust into her. His cock goes in the full length with each stroke. Keisuke’s hands move from squezzing Kaoru’s breasts to rubbing her clit harder and faster.

“Keisuke, I’m cummmmmiiiinnnnggggg!!!!!!” screams Kaoru as Keisuke fucks her even faster cumming with her, until they both shudder in unison enjoying their mutual orgasm together.

“Kotaba mo wai na, I’m speechless” Kaoru says between bated breaths.

“So what do you think of speed dating kawaii Kaoru?” winks Keisuke.

Master of the Slow

2007-05-01T17:06:00.000-07:00

By: X

He knew what she wanted. She knew that wasn't what he was after, but she also knows that regardles of what he wanted, he will not pass off that chance to be with her. So he went and saw her nevertheless.

She bugged him about food, but it wasn't what she really wanted. She was half-naked when he came in to the room, but she knew he was too much in control. He always have been, and it drove her crazy that he could wait until the very last moment. She wanted him to ravish her, so she wrapped her legs around him and guided his hands to feel her already erect nipples.

He cut her off and urged her to eat, lest the food becomes cold and untinteresting. Only after a few minutes of coaxing did she let him go so he could open the box of pizza, and as soon as he did, she gobbled the first slice she could lay her hands on.

It was hot and humid, and he was sweaty from all the walking and running he did all day. So he took a shower afterwards.

He wanted her. She had always known that. But he was also unpredictable, and that made her want him. She could never predict if it was the animal or the gentleman or both, and even if his initial moves gave away his intent and motives, she knew that it won't be like that for the rest of the night. He waves his wand as if by magic, and she knew she was under his spell.
And she loved it.

She loved the way he slowly and patienly played with her breast, alternatingly fingering the tip of her nipples and caressing the flesh around them. It drove her wild that he can go on doing that for such a long period of time that her anticipation builds up like a brush fire, until she could no longer contain herself. It drove her wild that he took his time knowing her body each and every time, and she constantly asked him if he had grown tired with her, if at all.

She called him the Master of the Slow.

His patience was more than a match to her impatience. While he was taking his time playing with her breasts, she slowly inched her fingers to her already damp lovehole.

He could sense her anticipation growing, so he moved his free hand down to her burning clit. He started licking her nipples, erect as ever, and alternatively sucked each with gusto. Then he slowed down again, pecking the skin around her breasts, her tummy her hips, towards the inside of her thighs. He teased the crease between her legs, and he gently moved the tiny patch of fabric covering the tiny mound of flesh that most men could only dream of laying their eyes on let alone be able to experience it like he had. Hardening the tip of his tongue, he traced the shape of her waist down and around until she moaned and cried in ecstacy and anticipation. She could wait no longer. She could no longer bear the heat burning her from the inside. She must have her fill of him again.

So he obliged her with the method she knew only he could masterfully conduct. He slowly eased her panties off and admired her shaven pubes, randomly flicked his tongue and teased the tip of her magnificently erect clit, and alternately pecked those lips that longed for his majestic twisters. He licked her with delight, missing the act at the same time remembering the last, and he knew he had to do better.

Slow then fast, he let his tongue vibrate the only way he knew that would make her squirm. She grabbed his head almost predictably, gently forcing him to increase his intensity. He slowly inserted his finger to her already damp hole, and probed deep for her magic spot. And sure enough, she came.

Out of breath she eased him upwards and kissed him like she did the first time they kissed. They hungrily probed each other, memorizing each other's touch like they did the last time.
She was impatient, as always, and she grabbed him, urging him to come closer. She pecked and sucked his nipples, erect like hers, and she slowly eased her way.

She licked the tip of his penis like she has done hundreds of times, but he felt somewhat differently. She held his dribblers with both hands, handling them carefully, preparing them for the assault she had been fantasizing of for days. She sucked him, like a girl sucking on a lollipop, alternatively licking his entire shaft while he strained to caress her breasts. Then, like she has done before, she took his entirety deep in her mouth and made him regret the day he refused her.

With her on top, she slid him into her, teasing him at the same time herself. She still couldn't believe his patience, while he held her hips and guided her slowly.

The Master of the Slow, she called him, for he made her scream with his pace.

The Earth Moved

2007-05-01T07:40:00.000-07:00

This is another quality contribution form Marcys.wordpress.com. Please visit her page for her erotic updates

Remember the San Francisco earthquake of 1989? I certainly do–I was there. Even if you weren’t, most people have heard about it. Books came out soon afterwards, full of personal anecdotes and photographs. My experience, however, is sure not to make it into the historical record.

On the day in question I had a 4:00 haircut appointment in a sumptuous 8-room apartment perched high on a hill overlooking Haight Ashbury. The place had a view of Golden Gate Park from one room and of Ocean Beach from another. My hairdresser, Leonard, used to own a string of salons up and down the California coast, and he’d sculpted the domes of such luminaries as Madonna and David Byrne. One day he decided to get out of the rat race, to sell everything and only do hair for personal friends, in his home. Through a friend of a friend, I had become one of Leonard’s regulars. In this I considered myself extremely fortunate.

Leonard was a handsome, elegant man who bore a resemblance to the young Peter O’Toole. On my first appointment I sat down and began detailing exactly what I wanted him to do with my long blonde tresses. Halfway through my speech he stopped me cold. “Just let me cut your hair, darling.”

Flustered, I entrusted my locks to Leonard, and it turned out to be the most unusual haircut experience I ‘d ever had. During most of the procedure Leonard made me stand with my head bent forward, and he snipped away at my falling upside down hair. While he worked, he engaged me in conversation that seemed purposely chosen to infuriate me–he advised me, for instance, to lose ten pounds. I got pissed off, and let him know it more than once. I mentally vowed never to let this madman near my hair again.

But as soon as Leonard put down the shears, he turned into a charming host. He served me tea, and confessed he’d provoked me on purpose, in order to assist him in his work: he claimed that when emotions are elevated, our hair comes alive, and almost directs the scissors where to cut. I sat and sipped my tea, utterly fascinated, as he explained his philosophy of hairdressing.

“Your hair,” Leonard told me, “is a living entity. It reflects your inner state. You’re a different person every day–that’s why your hair looks different every day.”

I thought he was off the wall, another typical New Age Californian–but I couldn’t argue with his results. Though he snipped off very little, my hair looked better after Leonard’s cuts than ever before in my life, gracefully dipping over one eye a la Marilyn Monroe–to whom the dear man told me I bore a slight resemblance.

Over the next two years my hair, nurtured by Leonard’s intelligent fingers, became my crowning glory. For that and many reasons, I eagerly looked forward to my sessions with Leonard. He always found ways to ignite my anger–he seemed to know exactly which buttons to push—and even when I resisted, he was able to evoke in me hot bursts of emotion. After the haircut, he’d be his charming self again, and we’d chat about movies, books, philosophy.

At first I took it for granted that Leonard was gay–after all, he was a San Francisco hairdresser who sported an emerald earring–but gradually I learned about the string of ex-wives and female lovers in his past. I also learned, to my dismay, that when he opted out of the business world he also gave up alcohol, sugar, meat, and, yes, sex.

It goes without saying that I was attracted to him. I loved the way he touched my hair, neck and shoulders, his fingers gentle yet strong and sure, professional yet affectionate. I even learned to like the way he got me all riled up, and just as easily calmed me down. Still, I had no idea how to progress from haircutting to lovemaking with this sophisticated man who’d declared himself celibate as a monk.

Then came October 17, 1989. Leonard had just finished cutting my hair, and we sat facing each other in his sunken living room, talking about a book I’d loaned him. Suddenly, Leonard’s Siamese cat yowled and scrambled under the sofa. In the next instant, there was a great roar, like the sound of a subway tearing through the house, and the room began to shake. Leonard’s face turned pale and he uttered my name. Bottles of hairdressing potions crashed to the floor, emitting noxious fumes. I screamed and flung myself into Leonard’s arms, forgetting all those warnings to stand in a doorway or hide under a table. I clung to him in terror, watching the walls rock from side to side.

“It’s stopping,” Leonard said. “Look, it’s going to stop.” He repeated this like a mantra, despite all evidence to the contrary. The shaking went on and on and on. Later we learned that the 7.1 quake had lasted just 15 seconds, but it felt more like 15 minutes to me. When it finally did stop, Leonard pulled me to my feet and out the door.

Out on the street people were roaming around in a daze. “Holy shit,” someone muttered over and over, shaking his head and wandering around in circles. All the traffic lights were out. One quick-thinking man ran around turning off gas mains with a wrench.
People got out battery operated radios, kerosene lanterns, hibachis. Leonard and I drank a beer with his neighbors, then went back upstairs and made a few calls to check on friends. Slowly we got information: the Bay Bridge had collapsed, a few people died, houses near the Marina were crumbling. The enormity of the earthquake started to hit me. When we heard that driving through the city was a nightmare, Leonard invited me to stay the night. Gratefully I accepted; I was too jittery to go home to an empty apartment, even if I could have gotten myself there.

We opened a bottle of wine and cleaned up the mess by flashlight, all the while wary of aftershocks, jumping at every little movement, real or imagined. We were both terribly frightened, but Leonard kept up a brave macho front. probably trying to reassure me. Around 2:00 a.m. he made up the bed in the guest room and said goodnight.

Lying in the dark I found myself jumping at every little sound. I wanted to ask Leonard if I could sleep with him, but I was afraid he’d take it the wrong way. I tossed and turned, obsessing about social decorum; after all, I told myself, this was a disaster, so the usual rules didn’t apply. Just as I gathered enough courage to go to Leonard’s room, he appeared in the doorway, ghostly in the flickering flame of a hand-held candle.

“Diana,” he said shyly, “would you like to sleep in my bed with me?”

With great relief I got out of bed and followed him to his room. Lying beside each other, not touching, we confessed our fears about the possibility of another quake. I told him I’d felt grateful having him to hang on to during the event. He turned around and took me in his arms.

“There’s only one rational thing to do at a time like this,” he said, lifting my T-shirt and burying his head in my breasts. Tentatively I stroked his head and moved my hands down his muscled arms. His body felt vibrant and alive, and mine responded with a rush of energy. I felt grateful to be alive, and wanted to affirm it with the most life-affirming act known to man or woman since time immemorial.

“After all,” Leonard murmured, removing first my shirt and then his, “we could go at any moment.” He took off my panties and his underwear, and we pressed our bodies, now naked, up against one another. Then Leonard’s hands, those intelligent, sensitive hands that could pluck vibrations of love and anger and joy from the follicles of my hair, those long nimble fingers that shaped my mane into a work of art, those same wonderful hands now turned their attention to my body, roaming up and down, feeling the lay of the land. They pressed against the sides of my breasts, down into my waist, and out along the curve of my hips, as if trying to sense the emotions pulsing beneath my skin. His hands took control of my body the same way they so often took control of my hair. I sighed and gave myself over to Leonard’s care. His erection throbbed against my thigh, long and full and ready to penetrate. I took it in my hand and rubbed it over my outer labia, then dipped it inside, wetting the head with my juices. Leonard nibbled on my breasts while I guided him into me. Gradually we merged. We didn’t move then, but stayed very still, our genitals twitching and quaking together.

“It’s been two years, “ Leonard murmured in my ear. “Too, too long.”

I ran my hands down his back and over his ass. Gently I parted his cheeks and inserted a finger into his asshole, pressing with little circular motions. He moaned and sank deeper into me, his cock moving further up inside, a throbbing rod that radiated life and joy and pleasure. Waves of ecstasy traveled up and down my belly and limbs. I couldn’t remember when I’d ever felt so wonderfully alive.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, anticipating the start of a long delicious ride. But before we could find our rhythm, the room began to shake –it was an aftershock, almost as strong as the quake itself.

“Oh, God,” I cried, my legs and arms gripping Leonard like a vise. The earth’s vibrations coursed through our bodies. We were one organism, hanging on for dear life, as close as any humans could conceivably get. I don’t know if it was terror or lust that wracked our bodies, but as we hung suspended in time, my clit twitched and my vaginal muscles spasmed. Leonard’s dick shook and sprayed my insides with what felt like two years worth of unreleased semen.

The room stopped moving. Leonard’s member wilted and slid out of me. We stared at one another. Finally, I managed to speak.

“The earth moved,” I said seriously. After a beat, we burst into huge, wonderful, tension-relieving laughter.

In the months following the earthquake there were more nerve-wracking aftershocks–something like 1400 tremors in a year–but nothing to equal the quake or that first giant aftershock. Everywhere Leonard and I walked we saw buildings cordoned off by the yellow and black tape that signals caution; crumbling structures were being repaired, and the city planners went on a binge retrofitting others. A frenzy of earthquake preparedness persists to this day, as everyone waits for The Big One.

For Leonard and me, though, The Big One already happened.

Erotic Titles at Amazon

2007-04-29T05:55:00.000-07:00

Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories For Women

REVIEW QUOTES:

"ARomanceReview.com
"Told with sparkling wit . . . this erotic collection of some of the world's favorite fairy tales is nothing short of brilliant."

Reviewed by Natasha at ARomanceReview.com
"Told with sparkling wit...this erotic collection of some of the world's favorite fairytales is nothing short of brilliant." --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

Reviewed by Michelle at Romance Novels Trading Club
"I was very delighted by your writing style...Bravo!" --This text refers to ran out of print ounavailable edition of this title.

Reviewed by Ess Mays at RAWSISTAZ.com
"Ms. Madore expresses sensuality/sexuality without using the vulgarity or crass words that have began to plague modern day erotica." --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
Book Description
Allow yourself to be drawn into a fantasy world like no other…where a beautiful princess is seduced into a love triangle with a handsome prince and her winsome maid…where a mysterious gentleman's young bride is deliciously disciplined for her unchecked curiosity…where a naive daughter is married off to a beast of a man whose carnal appetites awaken her budding desire….

With a unique and decidedly adult twist on thirteen classic fairy tales, Nancy Madore intrigues and arouses with her titillating, sizzling anthology of erotic stories guaranteed to keep you up late into the night.
You'll never look at fairy tales the same way again."

End of a Work Week

2007-04-22T07:46:00.000-07:00

I had the greatest time last friday. i was supposed to meet my girlfriends for our "usual" friday-once-in-a-blue-moon girls night out. I had to turn down a lot of offers to go out, to meet up, to accept a phone call, just so i can be with my fab group of equally charming beauties.

But the sky rained on our parade, literally. The traffic was terrible, everybody was getting irritable about the situation, BLAH-BLAH-BLAH-BLAH... So to cut it short, i called the whole thing off and decided to do some serious juicy bonding with my fuck buddy instead. The sound of rain and the damp coolness has a titillating effect on me. That, and browsing the adult side of the internet before I left work, fired me up and I knew I wouldn't make it throught the night without cascading the town with some feverish humping.

I told my buddy, I needed to see him. I wanted to go down on him and blow his mind off. I wanted to suck his rock-solid dick and make him explode... I told him every detail of what I was planning to do while he was driving with some of his officemates in his car. There was a tickling thrill to know he was getting hard and he couldn't control himself, but he has to because there were people with him. He picked me up and when i got in the car, i was already so hot and wet that I immediately unzipped his pants and put his cock in my mouth at the parking lot. I licked his shaft and spared no spot... the entire thing was in my mouth just the way i liked it. i was giving him a deep throat while stroking him and he must have been so excited that he came in my mouth without too much convincing on my part. it tasted so good.... and that was before he found out i wasn't wearing panties. After I swallowed his cum and licked him clean, he slid his hand under my skirt to fingered me and returned the favor. Oh Wow, he got hard again just from finding out I was totally bare under.

Wet and bare. Hot and horny.

Making out in the car in the middle of rain.... i was so in the mood that i didn't hesitate to part my legs apart so he can slide in two fingers.... and we weren't even in a room yet. he was sliding his fingers in and out and I was moaning for more.... the thought that there were people and cars passing by made it even more exhilirating for me. I was helping him touch me although he was doing a pretty damn good job at it. I wanted to sit on him and be fucked right there but i decided it would be more fun if we get it on properly... shower together, foreplay on the bed... fuck on the floor... and at every corner of the room....so we drove off to this pretty garden somewhere nearby....when we got in the room i went to the shower quickly so he won't have time to do anything ... I left the door open and when i knew he was looking, undressed and went under the water.... i soaped myself while he watched. lathering my bod, up and down... fondling myself so he can see how much I want to be touched there... i put on a hot show that steam was coming out of the bathroom... he just stood there, stroking himself, watching me do a slow dance with soap.... until he couldn't help it and he just had to come in with me and eat my pussy.

He knelt on the bathroom floor and raised my right leg to his shoulder so he can have easier access to my deep sensual cave and he started kissing it softly, nibbling on its lips and teasing my clit with his tongue, flickering it gently until my pussy was crying tears of sensual joy. I felt like I was drowning in ecstacy. You see, i love having my pussy being eaten. As if I haven't said that enough yet. Ha ha. He was doing something wonderful to my clit with his tongue and I can't help but keep moaning for more. He obviously couldn't wait anymore so he stood up, turned my back against him and pinned me to the wall. I felt him rub his hard soldier against my crack while his hands were mashing my boobs. He slowly kissed my nape, licked my neck and probed deeper into my ear. I can feel the hair on my back raising with too much horny excitement. He slowly swayed my body while he was pinning me to the wall, and he was licking every part of me from my nape, to my back to my crack. There is that small erogenous spot right at the start of the crack and he just kept on licking it, driving me wilder by the minute. He inserted his finger inside me while he was licking my behind and finger fucked me really good. But not for long....... he stood up and surprised me with a forceful shove of his very angry dick to my very open and willing kitty and pumped really hard and deep and forceful from behind.

I came violently. I told him to sit on the covered throne and I sat on him so he can suck my tits while I ride him. I slipped his feverish cock inside me while he cupped by boobs into his hand and sucked it like crazy. I rode him slowly and went faster as I started to feel another big O coming.... I came again. Such fantabulous cum. I dugged deep into his skin from too much ecstacy. I love sex.After I came, he caried me to the room, all wet and dripping, with him still inside me, with me clinging onto his massive frame... and just when I thought the party has ended, I realized we were just about to get to the really thing.When two horny people come together to f#&k, might as well f#&k with all that you've got. He laid me on the bed and continued pumping in and out of me. I was moaning and screaming that my throat almost went dry so I reached for the phone to call for room service (bottled water, pls) while he was banging me doggie style this time. I made it a point that the operator will hear my interjections of "shit, baby some more", "ooohh baby fuck me good", "aahh... ahhh... ahhh..." in between my order of botttled water. Then my fubu finally got tired.... and we slept naked after a great bang session. An hour later when I woke up, he was still asleep and I was still in the mood... must have been the vitamins I took that morning. I went down on my sleeping, helpless partner and heaven help him because he doesn't know what hit him. I slowly and gently placed his cock inside my mouth and sucked it. I love giving blow jobs. I kissed its every part and went down to his balls and sucked them both... he got so hard, thanks to this doll, and he ordered me to keep sucking and get on top of him. 69 is one of the best sexual positions, don't you think? I love the way his dick would slide in to my throat deep and hear him exclaim in pleasure. The only problem is sometimes, its difficult to keep sucking and giving a deep throat while my pussy is getting a wild treat.....But we managed. He came for the second time that evening. In my mouth, again. I swallowed, again. And I came home looking forward to another one very soon. I love sex. I simply love being f#&ked.

He softly let his tongue glide all over my vagina, tasting every part of me, licking me as if I were ice cream, except that I was one hot pussy with dripping syrup that needs to be licked off. He was sucking small portions of my shaven pussy's outter parts, trying to leave kiss marks, he said (cute). I wanted him to get on top of me and slide inside but he went on in his own pace, taking time, heightening my expectations, inetnsifying my excitement. He probed me deeper, tickling my clit with the tip of his tongue, murmuring how sweet I smelled, how yummy I tasted. He was mumbling how delicious it was, like he was high on something. And that made me so aroused. He must have gotten so into it that he started getting intense and I felt him trying to penetrate me with his tongue. He wanted to fuck me with his tongue. (I'm getting wet trying to recall the feeling.) He went deeper licking every part possibleI told him to insert his finger in and he did. He watched me in the shadows, enjoying the friction of his finger going in and out of my pussy non-stop. He would occasionally lick my clit while he concentrated on finger f#&king me. He didn't stop until I came. Sweet heavenly bodies. I thought I saw Neptune for a brief moment.When he felt that the tremors of my orgasm has subsided, he parted my legs wide apart and finally went on top of me and pushed his cock inside. Nothing beats the feeling of a solid cock making its was inside me. Electrifying. And pump away he did. He pinned my shoulders to the bed as he banged my pussy with all the energy he could muster. I wrapped my legs around his torso, squeezing him closer to me, meeting his every pump with a thrust from my pelvis, making sure he was f#&king me deep. We kissed passionately, taking turns in sucking each others tongue, in a rhythmic pattern that needs no choreography. He embraced me tight as he shoved his dick even deeper. We were starting to sweat and I licked his neck and started kissing his ears as he too was sucking my neck while he kept on f#&king my pussy. He let me go and while still inside, started to mash my boobs again, sucking my tits, left, and then right... pumping inside me, in and out... I came.Then he told me to turn sideways, and i curled up my legs. He went in again from the rear so it felt like he was humping from behind while i was on my side. I was enjoying the feeling of his cock in my tight pussy... His hands were on my ass as he pumped me deeper, making sure I will not be able to keep mum. I was moaning and screaming for some more... it felt so good I can't help but clench my fist and dig my nails deep into the covered mattress.I can feel my inner thighs getting wet as my pussy was already secreting juice in large amounts. So I told him. I told him I was so wet he better lick it off.... and he was such a darling that he pulled out, and went down to see for himself... and he licked me again ever so passionately.He must have enjoyed doing that because he said he was gonna cum... so I immediately put his cock in my mouth and helped him. I put his dick in my mouth and he f#&ked it.He f#&ked my mouth and he came. But while he was cumming, he pulled it out of my mouth and sprayed on his cum to my face. It was warm, it was messy, it was so erotic and sexy.

I wiped my face dry with towel and he slumped next to me, exhausted but satisfied. He smiled at me and said I'm the best. Sweet. We talked... small talks... quiet and serene. And the sweetness of the moment kept me horny. What can I say? I'm one horny doll.I told him I wanted him to relax but that I was still in the mood... and the good man that he is was game enough to let me do to him what I wanted. This time I turned on the lamp by the bedside. So he can see how I was glowing after all the action....I gingerly caressed his chest, writing imaginary circles around his nipples with my finger... slowly making my way to his belly... I spared the resting soldier, it had done its job very well for the night. I pulled myself up, closer to him, kissing his neck, all the way up to his ear... I felt him tense up.

"You are very irresistable," he told me.

I went to his nipples and kissed them. I told him that I find it sensual and asked if I may suck his like he sucks mine.... and he said I can do whatever I want to do and who knows, he might like it as well.... so I went on top of him, making sure my wet (again!) pussy is on his cock, and i started licking his nipples, looking at his reaction as I sensually touched them with the tip of my tongue.

It feels good to be in total control in bed from time to time. When you know your every move is being watched. That everything you do is anticipated. And that your prey is right beneath you, unable to fight off the desire to feel you and fill you up. There is an erotic, almost obscene compulsion to keep him there and not let him near me and not let him touch, just so he knows how precious the sight of the naked body is in front of him, no, on top of him. How else will you know you want something so badly until you can't have it at all? But not that night. That night was filled with sensual passion oozing from my pussy. There is an insatiable desire that I and only I can fulfill that very moment, with my tongue exploring his body, and my hand reassuring him how desirable he is...I want to return the generosity. So there I was on top of him, my pink tits exposed by the light, my wet pussy rubbing his cock which is getting harder again inch by inch... I told him I wanted him to relax and just watch me satisfy my urges. I sucked his nipple softly, planting gentle kisses, breathing on it, seeing his nipple hardening, just like mine would when he'd play with it with his finger, or his tongue. His eyes were closed, savoring the sensual pleasure my warm, silky skin brings him. Its not everyday that a guy's upper torso gets attention during sex. Right that moment, experimenting with what turns him on up there is keeping me moist.

I was slowly rocking my body up and down, making sure my clit was rubbing against his dick, teasing it from time to time by attempting to put it in, but not really pushing through. I planted kisses on his eyelids, kissing the tip of his nose, licking the corners of his mouth, slowly moving to the ear... the neck... the nape... then the chest.... he was tensing up that I pitied him. I felt his cock hard as rock again. I moaned from the dicovery. Boy, oh boy, how i'd love to feel that inside me. But I spared it, just that time. I stood on the bed, above him. He was following my every move.

"I know you're tired," I said.

"I want you to stay where you are and just watch me while I touch myself." He agreed.

"As long as you can control yourself, baby." I added.

I stood with my legs spread apart, my right foot by his left side, my left foot, by his right. I stood by his chest, so he can get a clear view of how I was going to finger myself.I showed him how wet I was. I touched my pussy, rubbed it, and then inserted a finger and f#&ked myself in full view. Wow. I was stimulating myself so well I could easily cum, but I controlled myself. I was having fun. I would change the finger from time to time, the middle finger, the ring finger... I had so much juice I can't help but lick my fingers in front of him. I did it sensually, of course. One finger at a time.I caressed my breast and did a slow dance... I played with my tits, touched my body, running my fingers wherever possible... I love dancing naked in front of him. I swayed my hips, going down, half kneeling, teasing him by bringing myself closer to him. Seeing how wide his eyes were oggling at what I was doing was enough to keep me lusting after my fubu's cock. I turned around so he could see how my butt was swaying, he loves my ass. I've got beautiful rumps. I saw him stroking himself. He was muttering curses underneath his breath. Poor guy, he was so turned on he just might explode right there. I went on with my sensual slow dance, playing with my tits, and fingering my pussy, then licking my fingers, alternately. I was enjoying him enjoy the sight. He told me he couldnt take it anymore and he would love to ram his cock inside my kitty, slowly at first, getting faster as the intensity increases, just the way I want to be f#&ked. I didn't oblige. I was having fun teasing him. What I did though, surprised him. Still on the bed, I went to his face and sat on it. "Lick me," I ordered. I squatted comfortably, almost kneeling on the pillows, and my pussy was right in front of his mouth. "Lick me real good now." He grabbed my fanny and brought me closer. He ate me like he ws eating me for the first time. I loved it so much I kept moaning and screaming my throat coarse. He does it so well, I must say. I moaned. Moaned some more. Screamed... and came. What an amazing cum I had. Woohoo! Super!I caught my breath. Its his turn. I sat on his erect penis, with my back to him. Like I told you, he loves my beautiful ass. And I like that he loves it. I also like sitting on him that way. I feel the cock going deeper, and when I pump, it hits the wall inside and that is pure ecstacy. I went on pumping, pleasuring him as I pleasure myself. He was holding my hips, showing me how fast and rough or how slow he wants me to pump. He was cursing the deepest hell. I was enjoying every moment. With his penis still inside me, I rotated so I would face him. I wanted to see him cum. He mashed by boobs while I was riding him. I pumped harder. I sat up straight so he can see the fullness of my naked body while he came. I went on to pump and he told me to let him out.... he came. I went down on his belly and licked some off ... He can only chuckle... He cupped my face and kissed me. We embraced afterwards, enjoying the smell of sex, glowing after the good f#&k. Until the next time. Looking forward to that, as always

FILLING UP AND SPILLING OVER by

2007-04-20T03:09:00.000-07:00

This is another story contribution by Marcy. She has a blog of excellent erotic stories- http://marcys.wordpress.com/. Visit her page regularly for your daily dose of good erotic literature.

Every once in awhile my timing is exquisite. By that I mean that whatever happens to be going on in the world in some way complements and reflects what’s going on in my life. At those times, everything fits together like the pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle–the music being played on the radio, the books everyone’s reading, even world events. For instance, on the day I married a man with whom I was clearly incompatible, the worst snowstorm of the decade hit New York. The first time I smoked pot, Woodstock happened. And the ultimate synchronicity: I was born the year World War II ended—something about which I feel irrationally proud.

My first lesbian relationship reflected this kind of synchronicity: my coming out occurred against the backdrop of Cris Williamson’s landmark album, The Changer and the Changed. Not so unusual, you might think; after all, many a young girl had her first feel of female flesh while listening to lyrics like Let’s burn together all through the night/I’m just a dream child of desire. But I was no “dream child” when I discovered the joy of lesbian sex–I was a 30-year-old mother of two.

My kids were temporarily living with their father. Having married young, I’d never had the chance to explore who I was and what I wanted out of life, and I felt an urgent need to do so now. I moved to the Upper West Side of Manhattan and played at being single again, changing personalities and lifestyles as often as I changed my jeans. I took dance classes and underwent primal therapy, tried Kundalini yoga and hung out with a therapeutic cult called the Sullivanians. Since I’d been involved with the women’s movement for years, I was drawn to any group with the word “feminist” in its title, so when I saw an ad for acting workshops taught by a feminist theater collective, I immediately took myself over to the church basement where they were held. I still remember what I was thinking during the bus ride over, since it turned out to be somewhat prophetic: I don’t know any of these women and they don’t know me. I can be anyone I want to be. I was entering an entirely new environment, and was free to re-invent myself.

But I was incredibly naive: it took months before I caught on to the fact that half the women in the theater group were sleeping with the other half; there was even an angst-ridden triad in our midst. This lack of awareness did not prevent me from being attracted to one of the group’s founders.

It began with dreams: Deep in a dream I heard love call/and I shall not deny her. Claudia came to me in sleep as an androgynous being of indeterminate gender, which I found both arousing and fascinating. In truth she was rather androgynous: tall and stately, with smooth alabaster skin and a helmet of jet black hair, at times she resembled a teenage boy. In my dreams she confused and beguiled while delivering cryptic messages about sexual identity. “When you got married,” her dream persona told me, “you gave up on the best part of yourself.”

I told her these dreams, relishing the way her brown eyes seemed to melt and her pale skin turned crimson–but I was ignorant as to the meaning of her reaction. I was oblivious to her desire for me.

This went on for several months, until I finally acknowledged to myself, in a fully awakened state, that I was very hot for this woman. My self-revelation occurred during one of our theater exercises. When I look back on the theater group, I’m amused and amazed by the offbeat exercises we dreamed up and practiced, all designed to dig up our deepest emotions. During one of these exercises I watched Claudia perform what was intended as a parody of heterosexual fucking but was actually vividly erotic, in the most positive sense of the word. She lay on her back, pelvis raised, humping the air and verbalizing a negative stream-of-consciousness towards an imaginary partner. I ignored the words and concentrated on her gyrating pelvis. I wanted to place my hips in between hers, to crush her stiff nipples, visible through her orange leotard, with my mouth. My body flushed with the kind of arousal I’d previously known only for men.

After that there was no denying or suppressing my lust. Every time I saw Claudia I felt awkward and tongue-tied. My dreams became more explicit, and visions of Claudia crept into my masturbation fantasies. I imagined tying her to the bedposts, climbing on top of her, and rubbing my cunt against hers. My fantasies didn’t get much further than that; I came too quickly. By now I had caught on to the fact that most of the other women in the group were eating pussy, and I stoked my passion further by imagining them in various compromising positions.

Meanwhile, everyone was playing this new record by an unknown singer, Cris Williamson. There she stood on the sepia-colored album cover wearing nothing but a pair of overalls: an earthy down-home sensual hippie dyke. Every lyric on every song of The Changer and the Changed dripped with significance–literally: the metaphors were predictably liquid. I played that record over and over, high on pot or stone cold sober, thinking about Claudia, fantasizing about Claudia, coming while thinking of making love to Claudia.

And Claudia was playing that album too–everyone was. We were all high on change–change in ourselves, in our relationships, and the world. We’d begin by following Cris’s invitation to Lean on me/I am your sister and soon we’d all be dripping sweetly like honey in the sun.

Still, I needed some hands-on advice, and none of Cris’s lyrics dropped a clue about how to actually begin an affair with another woman. With men it seemed like all I’d ever had to do was send out the vaguest of signals, and it was as if I’d stepped onto a moving merry-go-round: they simply took over. Would Claudia?

Once she asked me to go out for a drink, and introduced me to my first dyke bar, Bonnie and Clyde’s in the Village. I have a vague memory of a shadowy room where a group of short-haired flannel-shirted butches were shooting pool. I remember feeling self-conscious when I passed them on my way to the bathroom, and, once there, being fascinated by the graffiti on the walls–a wild mess of dyke symbols, political debate, tales of heartbreak, and a smattering of the arcane language of S/M that I did not yet understand. I remember fleeing that restroom, hurrying past the pool-playing butches with my eyes averted, and feeling a rush of relief when I returned to the newly found safety in Claudia’s velvet brown eyes. We talked for four hours, and then we each went home to our respective apartments, almost a city apart: she lived on the Lower East Side and I lived on West 84th.

Another time she invited me to dinner, and served it in her fold-out sofa; in the background Cris urged her to lick me clean, but Claudia never made a move and I didn’t know how. I just kept telling her my dreams and watching her dark eyes melt.

Valentine’s Day was approaching, when the theater group would present a workshop on the subject of romantic love. There was much discussion about the oppression of monogamy, and of romantic love as a capitalist plot to keep women enslaved. The line of the day was that we were forging a new model for love, one based on sisterhood and inclusiveness rather than the exclusivity of couplehood. The triad among us held themselves up as a living example of the new world order–but after seeing the three of them go at it tooth and claw, I had my doubts.

Claudia was also committed on principle to non-monogamy, or so she kept announcing. Though I was secretly possessive, jealous, and obsessive about lovers, I refused to be discouraged. By now I could hardly stand to be near her without touching her. I began making plans for the night of the “love” workshop, when I decided I’d declare my intentions.

The workshop was a huge success as measured by feminist standards of the day–the more raging and/or weeping that occurred, the more effective we considered our tactics, aimed at getting women to emote by any means necessary. I led one exercise in which I played I Only Have Eyes For You, by the Flamingos, and instructed people to respond to the song with movement only. I’ll never forget the sight of Claudia, her arms open wide, swaying back and forth to the maudlin music, her face wearing an expression of almost child-like yearning. I wanted to run over, throw myself into her arms and kiss the longing from her face. Naturally, I did no such thing, but continued behaving as if this were merely an “exploration of romantic love.”

This and other carefully developed exercises led the participants to break down sobbing, share personal insights about the nature of their relationships, draw political conclusions from the commonality of women’s experience, and emerge victorious, ready to trailblaze new ways of loving that would transform society. We left the theater loft in high spirits and headed for a Greek restaurant.

Hours later, after all the lemon soup and dolmas were gone and everyone had straggled out exhausted, I was finally alone with Claudia. It was nearly 2:00 a.m. I looked into her sleepy eyes, inhaled deeply, and said, “You know, Claudia, a lot of the stuff we’ve been talking about, like first love and possessiveness …well…um…I’ve been feeling that way about you.”

“I know,” she said. “There’s a lot of sexual tension between us.”

I felt like I’d been slapped in the face. Sexual tension? I was in love! Yes, I lusted for her, but never would I have described it as tension. Was that all she felt about me? Almost immediately I stifled my pain. What did I know about this new womanlove, I told myself; she was the expert. Maybe it was all about “tension.” It seemed a pretty negative way of looking at it, but hell, at least things were out in the open. Maybe tension wasn’t lust, but it was a start.

Indeed: it turned out to be the start of three of the most anguished weeks of my life, during which Claudia considered whether or not relieving the tension would disrupt our work in the group. We spent a lot of time discussing the possibility of sex, the ramifications of sex, and our expectations of sex. Agonizing as they were, those three weeks were the hottest of my life: not only did we talk, we also made out. Like furtive adolescents we embraced in vestibules and hallways, public bathrooms and subway cars; we danced at The Dutchess, tits and clits pressed together, protected by heavy winter clothing. There was so much tension that we constantly needed, and gave each other, back rubs–fully clothed, of course. Finally, Claudia conceded that these activities were just as likely to disrupt our work as if we went “all the way,” and we set a date for the event.

My defloration took place in my own bed, following a candlelight dinner of typical dyke food–lentil loaf and fried tofu. But here is where my smart-ass jokes must end, in this bed, where I entered a world of taste and aroma and sensation that I still hold somewhat sacred.

Sweet woman/rise inside me now sang the lady, as I dove head first into that world. I had worried that I wouldn’t know how, but I quickly discovered that there wasn’t any how.

Even before this night, whenever we made out for any length of time, we both admitted to feeling faint–literally. It was as if we were inhaling one another’s essence, and when we exhaled, a thick perfume, entirely different from ordinary air, enveloped us. Now, naked in bed at last, this heady atmosphere became even more intense.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” she reassured me–but oh, how I wanted to. I, who had been afraid that pussy juice would make me squeamish, found myself crawling downward, opening up her vaginal lips and burying my face inside, sniffing, licking, drinking her in. I couldn’t get enough of her.

And she loved it. When she moaned and thrashed, thrusting her hips towards me, I felt a surge of pride and power: I had elicited this dramatically lustful response. I climbed on top and ground my cunt against hers. My clit twitched in pre-orgasmic shudders as I placed my mouth over hers and thrust my tongue down her throat. She raised her arms above her head and I grabbed her wrists in one hand. I was seized with an overwhelming urge, for which I was entirely unprepared: I wanted to fuck her brains out. I wished I had a cock so I could pound her into oblivion. This desire, I knew, was not considered politically correct. Nonetheless, I could not stop the words from escaping my lips. “I want to fuck you.”

“Oh yes,” she moaned, writhing beneath me. “Fuck me. Do it. Fuck me.”

Her words freed me from any remaining fear or shame. I pumped my clit against hers, imagining I had a cock and was penetrating her. In less than a minute I began to come. Claudia quickly reached down and filled my pussy with her long slender fingers: ironically, it was she who first did the fucking.

Some time later she rolled over and instructed me to finger-fuck her to orgasm. Even later still–months later–we fooled around with dildoes. But sex toys were still fairly unsophisticated in those days, and we preferred to enhance our lovemaking with costumes and role-play, enacting scenarios such as secretary/boss or prisoner/cop. We were, after all, theater people.

One night we dressed in drag, Claudia in a men’s suit and I in a flimsy antique silk dress, and went out to an old European style hotel for dinner with another couple who were similarly decked out. In those days this was an act of great daring; the stares of other diners only served to heighten the erotic effect of our role play.

During sex, she was sometimes the top and I the bottom, and sometimes it was the other way around–but we had no language for what we were doing. I liked both roles; more, I liked the flexibility we allowed one another. I learned more about sexual power dynamics with Claudia than I’d learned with my previous half dozen male lovers combined.

One of my favorite memories is the time I enacted my fantasy of tying Claudia to that fold-out couch of hers, spread-eagled with her wrists and ankles bound to the metal legs. After securing the rope I gazed down at her: long and lean, her pert breasts pulled high, her gorgeous hip bones jutting out, she squirmed deliciously. I sat back and smoked a cigarette, cooly watching her get more and more turned on. Her eyes pleaded helplessly. Finally I could wait no more: I lay down on her. The moment our clits touched, a wave of electricity coursed through my body, and I spontaneously came. Nothing like this had ever happened to me: I’m the kind of gal who usually has to struggle towards orgasm. But on top of Claudia, I always came easy.

Our relationship lasted just about a year, until Claudia decided to become celibate. She said she needed space in order to re-assess her position vis-a-vis monogamy. At her request I agreed to remain friends, hoping that if I hung around long enough she’d get over it. This was not easy: every time I saw her, I’d ache to crush her with my weight, to grind against her, to mold those sculpted hipbones with my hands. Years later it actually happened once or twice: because of some mood or confluence of circumstances, we fell upon each other in a frenzy of repressed need that never seemed to diminish, even though I was again fucking men, as well as women, and she was going through girlfriends like nobody’s business.

About six years ago she settled down once and for all. She and her lover adopted two kids, bought a house in the country, and took to extolling the superiority of a monogamous lifestyle. Now we talk on the phone and occasionally visit; she’s like a sister to me. Still, all these years after our love affair ended, it’s sometimes difficult for me to look her in the eye without falling into that space we swam in together so effortlessly.

That’s right, swam: over the years I’ve really come to appreciate Cris Williamson’s metaphors. More than anything, my affair with Claudia was like diving into an atmosphere wetter and thicker than the air of ordinary life. Sex with Claudia was sometimes dramatic, sometimes rough, sometimes hard and desparate–but most of all it was like
Filling up and spilling over

…an endless waterfall

filling up and spilling over

over all.

LET IT SOAK by Marcy

2007-04-17T00:13:00.000-07:00

This story is contributed by Marcy. She has a blog of excellent erotic stories- http://marcys.wordpress.com/. Visit her page regularly for your daily dose of good erotic literature.

Like many women, I was something of a"groupie" in my teens and early 20s. I had pictures of the Beatles plastered all over my walls, stood in line for hours to see Mick Jagger, and once I even snuck backstage and actually kissed Richie Havens. Not mere celebrity slut, I was equally enthralled with local small-town musicians — almost any guy with a guitar or horn in his hand invariably turned me on. They say "there's something about a man in a uniform," but for me, there's always been something about a man with a sax.

Jody Mason had three things going for him: he was a musician, he was my first black lover, and he was the first man I ever had an orgasm with during intercourse. I was 2l when I met him; though I'd been fucking since I was l6, my previous experiences were child's play compared to sex with Jody.

I met him when my girlfriend Ellen, who'd gone out with Jody a couple of times, took me to a local club to catch his act. We walked in on the middle of a set, and sat down at a table; my eyes were immediately drawn to the imposing figure on stage. Jody stood 6'3" and looked to be about 220 pounds, and somewhere in his early 30s. He dominated the stage, strumming his guitar, slung almost toy-like from a strap around his mountainous shoulder. He wore a multicolored dashiki and beaded cap, and his velvet voice boomed out rock tunes as well as soulful ballads, backed by a four-piece band. Ellen and I barely spoke, each of us captivated by this musical god. At the end of the set, the band broke into an extended rendition of "Brown Sugar," and several girls hopped onto the stage to dance. One of them stood in front of Jody and shook her big tits right in his face. He responded by playing to her and her alone, flirting outrageously for all the world — and Ellen — to see. Feeling sorry for Ellen, I turned my face and was surprised to see her laughing and clapping along to the music, apparently without a shred of jealousy.

"Ellen," I said when the song ended, "what are you doing with this guy? He's such a womanizer."

She blinked uncomprehendingly. "That's Jody," she said with a shrug. "We accept him as he is."

Suddenly I sensed a looming shadow beside us; looking up, I saw Jody towering over the table.

"Hey babes," he said to Ellen. "How's it goin'?" He pulled up a chair, kissed her lightly, and turned to me, extending a huge hand. "Jody Mason."

"Diana," I mumbled, taken aback by the electric charge that raced up my arm when we touched. For a split second his eyes assessed me before he turned his attention to Ellen. I noticed that while he talked to her he tuned out everyone else in the room, keeping his attention totally focussed on her. Maybe he really did care for her. Only later did I learn this was a skill Jody had developed, one that made every woman feel special and kept them permanently hooked.

The following week Jody was playing at another club, and Ellen was out of town. She'd told me that she and Jody didn’t have any kind of commitment, that they both saw other people, hinting that I was free to try him myself. She seemed to be almost eager, in a sisterly way, for me to do so. Thus it was without any guilt that I put on my sexiest red dress and headed for the club to hear Jody play.

Webmasters click here

I arrived early, took a corner table and sipped a glass of wine while the band tuned up. Jody didn't notice me — all his attention was directed at getting the band together, focused the way that he tended to focus on a woman. Once the show started, and he was facing the room, he spotted me, and acknowledged my presence with a slight nod and almost imperceptible smile. The band opened with "Signed, Sealed, Delivered," during which Jody's eyes never once left my face. He seemed to be playing exclusively for me. Warm tingling sensations rushed through my body as his booming voice and guitar caused the walls of the club to reverberate. This musical foreplay — for that’s exactly what it was — continued for nearly half an hour. Whether belting out a rocker or crooning a mellow love song, Jody kept his eyes on mine. I tried to be cool, sitting absolutely still, acting like I was just another member of the audience--but my facade broke when Jody, after briefly conferring with the band, launched into the old Paul Anka song, "Diana." He even changed the words slightly, from "I'm so young and you're so old," to "You're so young and I'm so old." I nearly fell off my chair; everyone in the club would have had to be blind and deaf not to know what was going on.

During the break I remained seated, knowing that Jody would soon be at my side. "What'd you think of the set?" he asked when he sat down.

I struggled for something intelligent to say, but in my nervousness could only mumble, "I liked it."

"Which songs did you like best?" Jody persisted. "Did you like 'Silver Sandals'? I just wrote that. Is it too slow?"

I remembered that Jody had done the same thing with Ellen, seeking reassurance about his performance, and I had a sudden insight about him: he needed adoring women in the audience to bolster his ego. As big and handsome and talented as he was, underneath the stage persona Jody Mason was unsure of himself and his musical abilities. Once I saw this vulnerability, I relaxed. I was able to make intelligent comments and give him constructive criticism, a role I was to continue to play for some four or five years, even when we were no longer lovers.

Jody left to do the second set, but his attention never left me, as he repeated his practice of singing directly for me. For his final number he sang a ballad he'd written called "First Night," about the sweetness of new lovers; it was slow and sensual, and I watched his nimble fingers caress the guitar frets, imagining them all over my quivering body.

I did not have to imagine for too long. Jody took me home after the show, to his little cabin in the woods. Without much ado he led me up a rickety ladder to a sleeping loft, where he proceeded to undress me. Slowly he removed my clothes, then his. Moonlight shone through the window, glistening on his ebony skin. He placed his head between my legs, his hands on my hips. I had never seen black skin against my pale flesh before, and the contrast was so lovely it almost took my breath away. Soon visual delights were secondary to sensory pleasure, as Jody buried his head in my cunt and proceeded to eat me. His tongue was, I swear, the Eighth Wonder of the World. He burrowed his head deep within me, his curly hair tickling my thighs. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the best tongue-fucking I'd ever had, before or since. I tried to move down and return the favor, but Jody pushed me away, gripping my hips with his strong hands. I gave in to the feeling of simply receiving pleasure. It went on and on for what seemed like days but was actually about an hour, Jody eating my pussy with total concentration. My clit twitched with a series of mini-orgasms; my cunt ached to be invaded, but Jody did not put so much as a finger inside me.

When he'd satisfied his thirst for pussy juice, he slowly slid his big body up on top of me, and with his hard cock lying along my cuntlips, kissed me full on the mouth, letting me taste myself. I sucked his tongue passionately, moaning and writhing between his huge solid body, and his cock slid effortlessly inside. When his hardness filled my dripping cunt, I arched my back to meet him. Jody raised himself slightly, so he was looking down, watching my face from above. He held perfectly still, his cock pulsing inside, his hard belly pressed against my clit. He did not move a muscle or an organ, just stayed there, offering himself for my pleasure. I ground against him, squeezing my inner muscles around his cock, and, with no thought or effort, I came. Huge spasms originated in my cunt, then coursed up my belly and down my limbs. I closed my eyes and gripped the back of Jody's neck.

It was the first time in my life I had come without a lot of concentrated effort, or, even more significantly, while a cock was inside me. I opened my eyes in wonder, and saw Jody's face looming above… laughing. At first I was puzzled, but then I saw he was not laughing in derision or unkindly. He was just…laughing. His self-satisfaction turned me on even more, and I frantically bucked my hips against him. This time he moved — Lord, did he move! He fucked me hard and deep, raising my legs and wrapping them around his shoulders. He moved my limbs around like they were rubber, plunging his bulk and weight into my body, touching me so deeply that my cunt kept on coming until his cock exploded and filled me with his liquid.

Later I confessed that it was the first time I ‘d come while actually fucking.

He laughed in that self-satisfied way of his. "It's like my mama used to say--ya gotta put the meat in the fat and let it soak awhile." We giggled together and started all over. This time I got to taste his delicious meat.

It's been nearly 20 years since I fucked Jody. I'm a married lady with two nearly grown kids, and a house in the ‘burbs. I rarely go out to hear live music — my husband and I tend to stay home and watch videos. When we were first married, I was unable to reach orgasm during intercourse. We tried vibrators, porn videos and extended foreplay, but nothing worked. Finally, I remembered what I’d learned from Jody, and I showed my husband how to enter and remain inside without moving, to let me rub myself against him until I came. We now enjoy a mutually satisfying sexual relationship.

But last night I dreamt of Jody, of his face looming above mine, laughing as I crumbled beneath him. Briefly I wondered if Jody was still singing and fucking groupies. I turned to my husband and nudged him awake. "Come on honey," I whispered, reaching for his cock. "Put it in and let it soak awhile."

NICE GIRLS DO IT TOO

2007-04-13T02:58:00.000-07:00

From the book Yellow Silk 2, International Erotic Stories & Poems, edited by Lily Pond...
Dany Laferriere, translated bye Carrol F. Coates

At the last minute, Christina changes her mind, decided to stay home and rest. She hasn't felt well all afternoon. Of course, it may just be the beginning of a case of flu, but she doesn't want to go out in that state. There are times when she has the impression of being chilled to the bone (in a tropical country!). Since she arrived in Port-au-Prince, her greatest fear has been of catching malaria. She knows what she's going to do. She's going to fix a good toddy (rum, lemon, sugar). Then she will hop into bed with John Le Carre's latest novel. She likes his cool, refined sense of humor. That will make her evening. Harry will go to the Widmaiers' alone.

"Are you sure it doesn't bother you if I stay home, honey?"

"I'd rather you went with me, but, if you're not feeling well, honey... I'll just put in an appearance and come back as early as possible."

She knows Harry has no intention of leaving the party before the last "interesting woman" has left - that is, any woman with protruding buttocks and full lips. Let's just say that Harry has a weakness for the young Haitian women who are always to be found at the Widmaier parties. But Christina is not jealous and Harry is no fool. He likes to come home. If he fantasizes about black women, that's his business. In a way, it's nobody's business but his own. You have to realize that Christina is the brunette daughter of New York Jewish parents. She loves Woody Allen and her favorite writer (apart from Le Carre) is Philip Roth. So she appreciates humor and has a fairly pessimistic outlook on life. She followed Harry here, but she is herself a professor of comparative literature at the Union School. Harry is working at the American Embassy as a cultural attache. He is a slender person with a prominent forehead that makes him look vaguely like a sadistic killer. On the other hand, he has sparkling eyes and a sensuous mouth. You really can't put a label on him. As for Christina, she is somewhat uninteresting, with no lips or bottom, but bright and energetic. Men are attracted to her, curiously enough. At parties, there is always a cluster of men around her. But she distinctly prefers intellectual discussions over screwing. There's no way you can explain that to a man with an erection. So, as much as possible, she stays away from those social occasions that are simply pretexts for getting drunk and looking for sex. She has been particularly wary since a drunk pinched June's ass. June is their 17-year-old daughter, born in Manhattan. The name June doesn't really suit her. Harry named her after a character that had deeply attracted him in Henry Miller novels. That was the sort of femme fatale who had introduced Henry Miller to all aspects of hell. And of paradise. Harry's daughter has none of those traits. She is a classic beauty. A perfect oval, as they used to say. Her professors lover her. She is so gifted that she takes all her courses in French - a language that she learned only after they arrived in Port-au-Prince - and comes out with top grades. June never raises her voice. Always calm. She can always be found in her room working or listening to music. Her girlfriends have finally crossed her off their lists because they can never get her to come to their parties in Kenscoff or La Boule. With growing anxiety, Christina sometimes wonders whether right under her own eyes, her daughter is not becoming a nun. What had been just a joke between Christina and Harry is now becoming very serious - to the point that mother is now on the prowl in the interests of daughter.

"Know who I saw today, June?"

"Bob Samy."

"I know you, Ma. You've been talking about him for a week so I knew you would finally manage to get a hook on him."

Christina took a quick breath.

"Is it alright if I invited him to come for a game of badminton on Saturday?"

"Mom, I have an exam on Monday."

"But, honey, you study all the time. You should get some exercise."

"We do a lot of sports at school."

"Honey, sports isn't the only thing in life," Christina blurts out with an edge in her voice. "There are boys, too, and that helps us girls keep things in balance!"

"What do you mean, Ma?"

"June!"

"Just kidding, Ma. I know what you mean, but I can tell you that I haven't got any balance problems."

Christina appears to be lost in thought for a moment.

"Honey, you know that the mind isn't everything."

"Why do you say that?" June asks a bit anxiously.

"I'm saying that because I fell into that trap myself, honey," Christina answers softly.

"I don't understand, Mom."

Christina takes a deep breath this time.

"OK. Well, I missed a lot of chances with men I was interested in because I went all out on the intellect side when I was a teen."

"I still don't get it."

"Good God! Listen, honey, there are times when only the body should speak. Nothing else, just the body. You can;t do anything about it - we're made like that. It's physical, June. It's natural. We're animals too, you know! Monkeys do it. Dogs do it. Birds do it. Plants probably do it too if we just knew. June, look me in the eyes. June..., your mother does it. Even nice girls do it. Do you understand?"

"I'm not stupid, Ma. I know all that."

"June, there's a big difference between knowing something and accepting it. Or experiencing it. It hurts me to see you following the same path I took. You know I've suffered because of it, and I want to help you avoid that pain before it's too late. I don't want you to be just an intellectual. I'd like for you to have a mind, of course, but I'd like for you to have... a body too. Understand?"

"Yes, Ma."

They talked a bit longer and then June went right back to her room to do her homework. Christina went to take more cold showers (menopause). Afterwards, she called her best friend, Carol, a young woman who works with Harry at the embassy. Carol has already been Harry's mistress (Christina knows), but he dropped her after he began hanging around with Haitian women.

"Carol, I told her everything. All of it, even the bit about the animal. I felt like a fool! She stayed calm as usual, but I know my daughter - I'm sure I shook her up. I had to - she's 17, and good-looking as she is, nobody ever calls except to ask for help with their homework. You think that's normal? What can I do? I had to take the bull by the horns. I planted the seed and I'll wait for it to bear fruit. Of course I'm concerned; what do you think! If she were to start going out with four guys at the same time! But I'd prefer that! I can't sleep anymore. I hear the timer ticking constantly and I try to guess when the bomb will explode. She seems to be storing up fantasies, holed up in her bedroom, you know. She has to get out and get some fresh air, meet boys, have fun, cut up - you know, that's important. Life is too crazy to take seriously, Carol. I want her to let go (Christina is crying), blow up, taste the apple of love (she is sobbing now). That's all I want for my daughter. You say that it's everything I haven't had. Of course I know that you can't change your own life through somebody else's. I've got to hang up. Harry just came back and he doesn't have any idea what's going on in this house. He thinks everything is fine. The sun, tropical fruit, Haitian women with beautiful asses; he's in paradise. There aren't any problems in paradise. I'll call you again."

That conversation took place exactly one week ago. Today Christina has a touch of fever and she's planning for a restful evening with a toddy and a good detective novel to be followed by a sound sleep. At the last minute, she decided not to go to her own room, but to the guest room instead. It's an attractive room, smaller than the master bedroom, but intelligently arranged and that makes it very comfortable. Christina likes to hole up in this room, which reminds her of her undergrad days when she had a little room close to Columbia University. At that time, she was torn between solitude and freedom. Let's say she preferred to be alone rather than free.

She would spend her time reading Virginia Woolf even as she hoped somebody would knock at the door. Now, she reads nothing but detective fiction and Philip Roth (a good thing he publishes a novel a year) in order to try ease the migraine that never gives her any rest. At least this room gives her the impression of still being the young woman who was free and alone in the sixties. From this small room, you can see the porch where Absalom sleeps when Harry isn't at home. Absalom is the young man recommended by the Widmaiers. he's a real pearl, as Francoise Widmaier says. He's polite, hardworking, and very bright. Christina sometimes considers taking him back to New York when Harry's tour is over. He already speaks some basic English and understands everything you say to him. Harry likes him a lot because of his ready wit. his quickness at understanding all sorts of complex situations amazes harry every day. Absalom is already preparing his bed for the night. He has a room where he keeps his things at the back courtyard, but Harry asks him to sleep on the porch when he expects to return late from evening functions or those torrid nights with some "Annaise."

That way, Abslaom could react immediately to any alert. There are assassins and thieves in the streets these days. Christina smiles as she thinks that nobody knows she is here since she made a last-minute decision to stay home. She can hear June going down to get a glass of milk in the kitchen. She listens to her daughter's footsteps climbing the newly waxed stairway. It's strange, she tells herself with a smile, you can hear every sound from this room. She never noticed that before. It's a real sound room. Through the open window, she can hear each step Absalom takes on the porch. June is listening to the Billie Holiday record her mother gave her recently when she turned seventeen. "What a serious daughter!" She thinks. A bit unfathomable, too. She has the imperturbable look of an oriental. She's a quiet flame in the midst of a storm. Christina can imagine her sitting her room listening to the record and trying to decode the searing poetry of Billie Holiday's despairing song. Absalom is also listening to music, on the little radio close to his head. Haitian music. Very sensual, gay, lively. Music to dance by. Haitian music and painting have been an agreeable surprise to Christina since she came to Port-au-Prince. It's such a contrast to the miserable life people lead here. They are hungry, but they never stop creating that joyful music and that lively, colorful art. While we Americans, who have everything, never cease whining. Real pessimists. The Haitian is the absolute opposite of the New York Jew. Today's Americans are like a fast-food restaurant of despair. They never stop producing the same depressing hamburger, day and night. Man does not live by hamburgers alone, says the Bible. Woody Allen turns out a film every year. Philip Roth, a book. Our annual ration of bitterness. Bitter America. Poor people die. The rich despair. But here, we're so far from Manhattan at first. She has Manhattan snobbery in her veins. The radical chic of the seventies - that was the greatest. City lights, random murders, yellow taxis, the wet pavement, Cuban coffee, aggressive whores. That's the fast life! before, she missed all that. Not so much now. She remembers, with an enigmatic smile, that she could do in one day everything it takes her six months to do here.

"What's time?" she wonders without even attempting an answer.

She had been so lost in her thought she paid no attention to the curious rustling on the porch.

"Non, Mademoiselle June."

She listens

"No, Mademoiselle June, I don't want to lose my job. We can't go on... If Madame hears about this, I'll get fired."

"There's nobody here," June says drily.

Christina is in a sweat already. Her daughter, June, is coming on to a man. Their servant! Christina creeps over the floor to reach the window. Without making the least noise, she raises her torso. She is all nerves. Finally, she can see Absalom. He is lying on his back with June astride him. A slight breeze is rustling the leaves of the magnificent tree that completely hides the porch from the eyes of the curious neighbors.

June calmly takes off her white blouse. Beneath June's firm breasts, Absalom keeps his eyes closed. The rosy nipples are erect. Christina is getting goose bumps. With a shiver, she thinks to herself: "My daughter is in heat." Fascinated, she keeps watching. Everything seems to be happening in slow motion. Time has grown limp. Christina is really tense. There's June, her June, calmly kissing Absalom's trousers. Down to the knees. Suddenly, she grabs hold of his white-hot penis and slips it under her skirt with no formalities. June closes her eyes for an instant at the moment of contact. Her tongue emerges to wet her lips. Abruptly, she seats herself on Absalom, with all her weight. Not a whimper. Time stops. The girl's nostrils flare and contract with increased rapidity. Another instant. Then a violent orgasm seizes her. Christina watches her daughter coming with the little squeals of a mouse caught in a trap. It's endless. And just as it's over, it returns more strongly and she has another orgasm. The cry of an invisible bird on the foliahe of the mango tree. June is galloping. She comes with her mouth wide open this time. Yelling. It's impossible to say whether it's a cry of pleasure or pain. Again! Desire puts her in agony this time. Like an animal trying to bite its own tail. Unbearable desire. A strident yell. It's as if she would stop but can't break off. She is galloping. Faster and faster. She bounds higher and higher. For the fraction of a second, Christina glimpses her delicate thatch of pubic hair. Drops of sweat are breaking out on her anxious forehead. The pleasure is intense. And the girl is all seriousness. She seems to keep articulating something. A prayer? Christina is silently weeping. That life (Absalom's penis) is inserted in the middle of her daughter's womb. A few abrupt movements. She rares back with her breasts pointing skyward. Her mouth is twisted ans she is moaning. She wants to rip her skin off. Pain. Spasms. Stop. Her body begins to move. Slowly. Gently. That unbearable sensation. Suddenly, she opens her eyes like somebody just emerging from a terrible nightmare. A few more sharp groans and another scream. She completely arches her back. The veins are standing out on her neck. "She's going to hurt herself." Christina suddenly thinks. But her face shows such an openly violent and penetrating pleasure that Christina lowers her eyes. It's a private moment. "I never felt that," Christina murmurs, letting herself slump back to the floor. She sobs for a long time, until sleep overtakes her in a foetal position.

Christina abruptly awakens when she hears Harry's car come in the gate. Suddenly, she starts: Harry absolutely must not find June there. She manages to calm herself before glancing over the windowsill. Nobody is on the porch. As if nothing has transpired. She hears Harry's steps on the stairs and the passionate voice of Billie Holiday ("Strange Fruit") coming from June's room.

Beach Quickie

2007-04-13T02:14:00.000-07:00

On a beach, last weekend. This girl that I've been wanting for a long invited me for a night dip. The water was cold, but I didn't mind. man, I wanted to get laid.

Initially, we were just kissing and doing a bit of petting in the water. But eventually, things got hot and steamy. I started fondling her breasts, kissed them. Liking what I was doing, she grab my tool.

She whispered; "I can't take it anymore, fuck me".

I lowered my trunks, moved her bikini aside and slowly entered her. We fucked in the water for a long time, slowly and rhythmically, until we both came.

Damn that was so good. I hope that we will be able to do it again.

2007-04-12T09:51:00.000-07:00

A DAY AT THE ACROPOLIS by Marcy

2007-04-10T11:31:00.000-07:00

This story is contributed by Marcy. She has a blog of excellent erotic stories- http://marcys.wordpress.com/. Visit her page regularly for your daily dose of good erotic literature.

Athens. I couldn't believe I'd been sent back here again to help my company computerize operations in Greece. Everyone thinks that working for a worldwide tour group company I'd get to go to every glamour spot on earth, but except for one glorious week in Rome a couple of years ago, I hadn't been sent anywhere except to this noisy, crowded, impossibly polluted city, where the only words I could speak with confidence were spanikopita and ouzo—and forget about reading any.

Diversions from work were few and far between. No TV in my cramped hotel room--not that I could have followed Greek television. No fabulous shoe stores as in Rome. And I was sick to death of Greek salads heavy with mushy tomatoes and thick slabs of feta cheese. When the weekend rolled around and the job still wasn't done, I got really depressed: in Greece no one does business on Sunday, so I was on my own.

Actually, there is one thing worth seeing in Athens, but that one thing is pretty damned astounding: the Acropolis. On my last trip I'd had just enough time to do a quick walk-through of what remained of the monuments in this "upper city"--the literal translation of Acropolis. This time I bought a guidebook, put on my sweats and tennis shoes, and set out to climb up the hill leading to the half crumbled ancient buildings reeking of history… sexual history.

Of course, my guidebook only told me architectural details and a smattering of official history. What it neglected to talk about was the goddess worship, the prostitutes whose work was considered sacred, the group sex that was almost par for the course in ancient Greece--things I'd learned about from less traditional books and teachers. When I stood before the shrine to Aphrodite and Eros, I couldn't help but envy a culture where people revered the pleasures of the flesh.

I walked up to the Parthenon, awed by its stubborn endurance, its ability to remain at least partially intact through so many war-torn centuries. Slowly I circled the collonades, stopping at what had been the back of the building. My guidebook told me that the fragments of a pedestal I was facing had once supported a gold and ivory statue of Athena. Further down the page, I was informed that the third chamber of the Parthenon, once sacred and inviolate, was converted in the third century B.C. into a "venue for orgies."

Naturally, the book made it seem as if the "venue for orgies" had violated "sacred space," but from my readings on goddess worship I knew better: I knew that the orgies were what made the space sacred.

I stood before the remains of this awesome building while tourists came and went, trying to conjure up images of what had transpired here thousands of years ago. The longer I stood, the more vivid my fantasies. I envisioned the goddesses with their voluptuous breasts and generous thighs receiving young men who'd come to honor their succulent gifts--men who looked like the statues I'd seen in the museums of Athens, young and firm with sharply defined muscles, their scrotum hanging loosely beneath vulnerable penises. Some of those penises had been chopped off by later generations of prudes, but many remained intact. Most were flaccid, but some were erect--and after a week of enforced celibacy, my body responded to those hard marble cocks.

I continued to stare at what had been a chamber of pleasure, lost in an unlikely reverie of fleshy goddesses being penetrated by marble phalluses. A strong wind had arisen, whipping around my face, blowing gritty sand in my hair and mouth, but I remained transfixed while less hardy mortals scattered down the slopes.

Aphrodite, I wondered silently, did you teach the men of Greece to kneel before your sex, to drink from your fountain, to pleasure you with their tongues, their hands, their rock-hard penises? Did they stroke your breasts with reverence? Did they take care when sliding their eager penises between the slick walls of your vagina? Did they honor the mysteries you never fully revealed? Did they take your abundant life energy and go out to build monuments in your honor, or did they sap your female strength, using it to wage war on one another? I closed my eyes, wishing I could time travel and experience what it had been like to be a woman during a time of goddess worship.

"Powerful, isn't it?"

Startled, I opened my eyes to see a young man, probably in his mid-20s, standing next to me, his eyes fixed on the same spot that mine had been staring at for…minutes? hours? I'd lost track of time, and now noticed that the sun was going down.

"Yes," I managed to reply.

I turned my face to get a better look at the boy--to a fifty something woman he was, after all, just a boy. His skin was dark like most of the men I'd seen in Greece, his hair thick and curly. His facial features were sharply defined, the nose and jaw prominent. He was short and muscular.

"I come to look and feel this space nearly every Sunday," he said in perfect Greek-accented English.

"Do you really?" I asked, surprised. "I live in New York, and I never go to the tourist attractions."

He turned to face me, his eyes blazing.

"The Parthenon," he said indignantly, "is not a tourist attraction."

I turned beet red, afraid I'd behaved like the quintessential Ugly American.

"Oh, of course it's not," I stammered. "I meant no disrespect, I myself have been here before, I feel its power, its sanctity..." I broke off, aware I was babbling.

The young man softened his gaze and a smile lit up his face. He held out a strong hand.

"My name is Mikel. And you are?"

"Janine."

"Janine." He rolled the syllables across his tongue like a prayer.

"I think perhaps we should descend. It's growing dark and the wind is strong."

I gazed wistfully at the Parthenon; who knew when or if I'd ever return? But Mikel was right; it was getting dark and all the tourists were gone. As we began the long climb down, I was grateful for his guidance among the loose stones and steep inclines.

When we reached the shrine to Aphrodite and Eros, Mikel stopped.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked.

"It's the shrine to Aphrodite and Eros, isn't it?"

"Yes." His voice was low, confidential. "It is so strange to be a Greek man today, to live down in that place--" he gestured towards Athens--"with its cars and motorbikes and craziness, and to think that we come from men who spent their time erecting shrines to honor love."

"I know. I mean, I don't know what it's like for you as a Greek man, but I've wondered about the contrast of modern Athens to the ancient world."

Mikel looked at me warmly. "You are a very sensitive woman," he said. "Like Aphrodite."

I laughed nervously. This was clearly a come-on, and while I'd been turned on to Mikel from the moment I'd set eyes on him, I knew better than to mess around with a strange man in a foreign country.

"The spirit of Eros is hovering," Mikel said in a near whisper. "Can you feel it?"

Despite my better judgment, I felt myself succumbing to Mikel's seduction. Suddenly I did not feel like an American woman in a foreign land; suddenly the potential danger of being alone in a deserted

spot with a strange man vanished. A great peace came over me, and when I looked into Mikel's eyes I saw a radiant youth who seemed to honor and adore what they beheld, namely, me. In my sweats and tennis shoes I was transformed, by his gaze, into a draped goddess of love. It may sound corny, or unbelievable, or reckless, but a kind of magic spell descended on me, dissolving the mundane concerns of contemporary life.

Mikel moved in close, took my face between his strong hands, and kissed first my eyelids, then my cheeks, and finally my lips. His full sensuous mouth melted against mine with no attempt to invade with his tongue. He lowered his head to my neck, gently nipping my skin, then fell to his knees. He pulled down my sweat pants and blew hot breath through the white lace of my panties. Somehow he got all my clothes off, then quickly stripped himself. We stood in the dirt and stones of the Acropolis, shrouded only in twilight, a fleshy older woman and a firm young man who resembled the muscular statues around us.

Mikel traced my breasts with his fingertips, pulling on my large nipples almost as if milking them, his head thrown back to expose a bulging Adams apple. I gently reached up and touched the back of his head; still tugging on my distended nipples, he slid down to his knees once more and placed his mouth over my mons. His hands moved down to grab my buttocks, and he buried his face between my labia. Juice was pouring out of me, glistening on my pubic hair and thighs, and Mikel lapped it up. His tongue slid between my vaginal lips to extract more of the thick nectar.

Gazing down at this magnificent young man, feeling his long tongue sliding in and around my most private places, I knew what the sacred prostitutes must have experienced. I wanted to teach this boy my mysteries. I wanted to impart them slowly, over time. But I had only this one encounter with Mikel. I was going to make the most of it.

His fine cock stood upright, glinting hard as marble in the light of the rising moon. I wanted it everywhere--on my face, in my mouth, between my breasts, in my cunt. Gently I pulled his head away and lowered myself to the ground. Oblivious to rocks and sand, I took his gleaming penis in both my hands and stroked the foreskin up and down, my tongue dancing across the bulging purple head. Now he was the god, I the divine worshipper; his cock was the sacred object, I the religious devotee. He sat back, leaning on his hands, and thrust his hard pulsing organ into my mouth, hitting the back of my throat. He let out deep guttural sounds, words in Greek I could not understand. He grabbed my long hair and guided me up and down, finally yanking my head away from his cock, which looked like it was about to explode. We became animals. Forget the gods and goddesses--though I'll bet they fucked like wild beasts too. Mikel spread my legs wide and slid his gorgeous prick into my wet pussy. I wrapped my legs around his waist and lifted my pelvis to accommodate his length. He pumped in and out of me, his head bent over so he could fasten his mouth on one of my nipples. I cradled his head and murmured endearments, feeling simultaneously like a ravaged female and a nurturing goddess as this wild boy, half beast/half god, tore at my flesh. Somehow he remained mindful enough to pull out in time to ejaculate on my belly rather than inside. The sight was thrilling, this wild beast pulling on his long hard tool, spurting his semen over me, his head thrust back, eyes closed, muscles bulging.

To my surprise and delight, Mikel immediately lowered his head to my pussy, flicked his tongue across my throbbing clitoris, and probed inside with his thick fingers. I pressed his head hard against my clit and bore down on his fingers, emitting a loud moan as I came in a great wave of orgasmic release.

We lay together, drifting into afterglow. Briefly I entered a state of semi-sleep in which I swear I saw Eros winking conspiratorially. Later Mikel walked me back to my hotel and gave me his phone number in case I came back to Athens again.

I decided that Athens wasn't such a bad city after all, and when I got home I told my supervisor he can count on me to service our Greek clients whenever necessary.

adult humor

2007-04-10T07:51:00.000-07:00

How many men does it take to open a beer?
None. It should be open when she brings it.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Why is a laundromat a really bad place to pick up woman?
Because a woman who can't even afford a washing machine, will never be able to support you.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Why do woman have smaller feet then men?
It's one of those "evolutionary things" that allows them to stand closer to the kitchen sink.
_____________________________________________
How do you know when a woman is about to say something smart?
She starts the sentence with, " A man once told me....."
--------------------------------------------------------------
How do you fix a woman's watch?
You don't. There is a clock on the stove.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Why do men fart more than woman?
Because woman can't shut up long enough to build up the required pressure.
--------------------------------------------------------------
If your dog is barking at the back door, and your wife is yelling at the front door, who do you let in first?
The dog, of course. He'll shut up once you let him in.
--------------------------------------------------------------
What's worse than a Male Chauvinist Pig?
A woman who won't do what she's told.
--------------------------------------------------------------
I married a Miss Right.
I just didn't know her first name was Always.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Scientists have discovered a food that diminishes a woman's sex drive by 90%.
It's called a Wedding Cake.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Why do men die before their wives?
They want to.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Woman will never be equal to men until they can walk down the street with a bald head and a beer gut, and still think they are sexy.
--------------------------------------------------------------
In the beginning, God created the Earth and rested.
Then God created Man and rested.
Then God created Woman.
Since then, neither God nor man has rested.

English man: Why is your beer like having sex in a canoe? American man: Dunno, why? English man: It's fucking close to water!
======================

WHY SEX IS LIKE A ROLLER COASTER
It goes like this - you get it on with your partner. There is anxious anticipation as you start. You start slowly, climbing your way to the top.
There are smiles exchanged, and giggles, maybe even caressing or hand holding. The excitement builds and builds. It nears the top. The expressions on faces become wondrous and excited. Then as it hits the pinnacle, things move very fast. There's a quick motion, the heart races with complete excitement; faces are all in total pleasure. Arms are flailing, heads are bouncing, and there is some noticeable screaming going on.
The rest of the ride is up and down, twisting and turning, lots of bumping, sometimes in the light, sometimes in the dark, sometimes there's a surprise, and sometimes it becomes all too familiar but always...always...at the end, there's a big smile on the face, hair is all messed up and everyone is talking about how great it is while some of them say, "I wanna go again"...
======
An elderly man in Florida had owned a large farm for several years. He had a large pond in the back, fixed up nice picnic tables, Horseshoe courts, and some orange and grapefruit trees. The pond was properly shaped and fixed up for swimming when it was built.One evening the old farmer decided to go down to the pond to look it Over, as he hadn't been there for a while. He grabbed a five-gallon bucket to bring back some fruit. As he Neared the pond, he heard voices shouting and laughing with glee. As he came closer he saw it was a bunch of young women skinny-dipping In his pond.. He made the women aware of his presence and they all went To the deep end. One of the women shouted to him,"We're not coming out until you leave!"The old man frowned, "I didn't come down here to watch you ladies swim Naked or make you get out of the pond naked." Holding the bucket up he said, "I'm here to feed the alligator." Old men can still think fast... Once you're over the hill, you begin to pick up speed.
================
===================================
A little boy and his grandfather are raking leaves in the yard. The little boy sees an earthworm trying to get back into its hole. He says, "Grandpa, I bet I can put that worm back in that hole." The grandfather replies, "I'll bet you five dollars you can't. It's too wiggly and limp to put back in that little hole."The little boy runs into the house and comes back out with a can of hair spray. He sprays the worm until it is straight and stiff as a board. The boy then proceeds to put the worm back into the hole. The grandfather hands the little boy five dollars, grabs the hair spray and runs into the house.Thirty minutes later the grandfather comes back out and hands the boy another five dollars. The little boy says, "Grandpa, you already gave me five dollars." The grandfather replies, "I know. That's from your Grandma."
=================
[1] When we are born, our mother's get the compliments and the flowers.When we are married, our brides get the presents and the publicity. When we die, our widows get the life insurance. What do women want to be liberated from?[2]The average man's life consists of:Twenty years of having his mother ask him where he is going, Forty years of having his wife ask the same question; and at the end, the mourners wondering too. [3] A Man was walking down a street when he heard a voice from behind, "If you take one more step, a brick will fall down on your head and kill you."
The man stopped and a big brick fell right in front of him. The man was astonished.
He went on, and after a while he was going to cross the road.
Once again the voice shouted, "Stop! Stand still! If you take one more step a car will run over you, and you will die."
The man did as he was instructed, just as a car came careening around the corner, barely missing him.
The man asked. "Who are you?"
"I am your guardian angel," the voice answered.
"Oh, yeah?" the man exclaimed "And where the hell were you when I got married?"[4] Everyone in the wedding ceremony was watching the radiant bride as her father escorted her down the aisle to give away to groom.They reached the altar and the waiting groom; the bride kissed her father and placed some thing in his hand. Everyone in the room was wondering what was given to the father by bride.The father could feel the suspense in the air and all eyes were on him to divulge the secret and say something. So he announced "Ladies and Gentlemen today is the luckiest day of my life." Then he raises his hands with what his daughter gave him and continued, "My daughter finally, finally returned my credit card to me." The whole audience including priest started laughing but not the poor groom
=====================================
Road Trip While on a road trip, an elderly couple stopped at aroadside restaurant for lunch. After finishing their meal, they left the restaurant and resumed their trip.When leaving, the elderly woman unknowingly left herglasses on the table and, she didn't miss them untilafter they had been driving about twenty minutes. By then, to add to the aggravation, they had to travelquite a distance before they could find a place toturn around in order to return to the restaurant toretrieve her glasses. All the way back, the elderly husband became the classic grouchy old man. He fussed and complained andscolded his wife relentlessly during the entire returndrive. The more he chided her the more agitated hebecame He just wouldn't let up one minute. To her r relief, they finally arrived at the restaurant. As the woman got out of the car and hurried inside toretrieve her glasses, the old geezer yelled toher....... "While you're in there, you might as well get my hat, and the credit card."
=======================

LESBONICS 1. What do you call a cupboard full of lesbians? . A licker cabinet. 2. What do you call an Eskimo lesbian? .... A Klondike. 3. What do you call 100 lesbians with guns? .... Militia Etheridge. 4. Why can't lesbians diet and wear make-up at the same time? Because they can't eat Jenny Craig with Mary Kay on their face. 5. What do you call two lesbians in a canoe? .... Fur Traders. 6. What is a lesbian dinosaur called? .... A Lickalotapuss. 7. What do you call a lesbian with long fingers? .... Well Hung. 8. Did you hear that Ellen DeGeneres drowned? ... She was found face down in Ricki Lake. 9. How can you tell a tough lesbian bar? ..... A. The pool table doesn't have balls. 10. What do you call lesbian twins? .... Lick-a-likes. 11. What's the definition of confusion? ... Twenty blind lesbians in a fish market. 12. What's the difference between a Ritz cracker and a lesbian? One's a snack cracker, the other's a crack snacker. ========================================
Desert Situation
A nun and a priest were crossing the Sahara desert on a camel. On the third day out the camel suddenly dropped dead without warning. After dusting themselves off, the nun and the priest surveyed their situation. After a long period of silence, the priest spoke. "Well, sister, this looks pretty grim."I know, father. In fact, I don't think it likely that we can survive more than a day or two." "I agree," says the Father. "Sister, since we are unlikely to make it out of here alive, would you do something for me?" Anything, Father." "I have never seen a woman's breasts and I was wondering if I might see yours." "Well, under the circumstances I don't see that it would do any harm." The nun opened her habit and the priest enjoyed the sight of her shapely breasts, commenting frequently on their beauty. "Sister, would you mind if I touched them?"She consented and he fondled them for several minutes."Father, could I ask something of you?" "Yes, Sister?""I have never seen a man's penis. Could I see yours?" "I suppose that would be OK," the priest replied, lifting his robe."Oh Father, may I touch it?" This time the priest consented and after a few minutes of fondling he was sporting a huge erection. "Sister, you know that if I insert my penis in the right place, it can produce life." "Is that true father?" "Yes, it is, Sister." "Oh Father that's wonderful, then stick it in the camel and let's get the hell out of here." =======================================
Trophy Wife
Bob, a 70-year-old, extremely wealthy widower, shows up at the Country Club with a breathtakingly beautiful (and very sexy) 25 year-old blonde. She knocks everyone's socks off with her youthful sex appeal and charm, as she hangs on to Bob's arm and listens intently to his every word. His buddies at the club are all aghast. At the very first chance,they corner him and ask, "Bob, how'd you get the trophy girlfriend?"
Bob replies, "Girlfriend? She's not my girlfriend...she's my wife!"
They're knocked over, but continue to ask. "So, how'd you persuade her to marry you?"
"I lied about my age", Bob replies."What, did you tell her you were only 50?" Bob smiles and says, "No, I told her I was 90."
-----------------------------------------------------------------
A fleeing Taliban, desperate for water, was plodding through the Afghanistan desert when he saw something far off in the distance. Hoping to find water, he walked toward the object, only to find a little old Jewish man sittingat a card table with neckties laid out on it.

The Arab said, "My thirst is killing me. Please, do you have water?"

The Jew replied, "I have no water. Would you like to buy a tie? They are only $150. This one goes very nicely with your robes."

The Arab shouted, "Idiot! I do not need your overpriced tie. I needwater!"

"OK," said the old Jew, "it does not matter that you do not want to buy a tie. I will show you that you have not offended me. If you walk over that hill to the east for about four miles, you will find a lovely restaurant. Go! Walk that way! The restaurant has all the water you need!"

The Arab staggered away toward the hill and disappeared. Eight hours later the Arab came crawling back to the Jewish man's table.

The Jew said, "I told you, the restaurant with the water is about fourmiles over that hill. Could you not find it?"

"I found it," rasped the Arab. "But your brother wouldn't let me in withouta tie."

ADULT HUMOR: 5 DONT'S WHEN YOU ARE SLEEPING

2007-04-10T07:37:00.000-07:00

This one's making the rounds (e-mail)

5 DON'TS when you are sleeping

1. DON'T SLEEP WITH WATCHWatches can emit a certain level of radioactivity. Though small, but if youwear your watch to bed for a long time, it might have adverse effects onyour health.

2. DON'T SLEEP WITH PHONEPutting the phone beside your bed or anywhere near you is not encouraged. Though some of us will use phones as alarm clocks, but please put the phoneas far as possible. Scientists have proved that electrical items includingmobile phone and television sets emit magnetic waves when used. These wavescan cause disruptions to our nervous system. Therefore if you need to putyour mobile phone near you, switch it off first.

3. DON'T SLEEP WITH MAKE UPPeople who sleep with make up might have skin problems in the long run. Sleeping with make up will cause the skin to have difficulty in breathingand problem in perspiring. You will also need a much longer time to go intodeep sleep.

4. DON'T SLEEP WITH BRAScientists in America have discovered those that wear bras for more than12 hours have a higher risk of getting breast cancer. So go to bed withoutit.

5. DON'T SLEEP WITH OTHERS' SPOUSEYou may never wake up again.