erotic literature

Slut Wife Have Sneaky Fun

noreply@blogger.com (erotika) — Sat, 02 Aug 2008 01:34:00 +0000

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.

Adult Site And Movie Reviews

noreply@blogger.com (Sex Guru) — Sat, 02 Aug 2008 01:06:00 +0000

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

Cab Driver

noreply@blogger.com (erotika) — Wed, 09 Jul 2008 06:42:00 +0000

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!

noreply@blogger.com (erotika) — Thu, 19 Jun 2008 02:45:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (erotika) — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 09:28:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Sex Guru) — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 05:14:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (erotika) — Sun, 17 Feb 2008 06:58:00 +0000

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...

noreply@blogger.com (Sex Guru) — Mon, 28 Jan 2008 07:02:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (erotika) — Thu, 24 Jan 2008 08:38:00 +0000

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.

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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

noreply@blogger.com (erotika) — Fri, 18 Jan 2008 07:36:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Sex Guru) — Sun, 13 Jan 2008 06:37:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (erotika) — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 01:44:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (erotika) — Thu, 10 Jan 2008 14:05:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (erotika) — Mon, 31 Dec 2007 13:34:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (erotika) — Wed, 26 Dec 2007 10:49:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (erotika) — Thu, 20 Dec 2007 07:09:00 +0000

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.

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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

noreply@blogger.com (erotika) — Tue, 18 Dec 2007 07:18:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (erotika) — Tue, 11 Dec 2007 02:01:00 +0000

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)

noreply@blogger.com (erotika) — Mon, 12 Nov 2007 09:09:00 +0000

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.

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rachel & Fred

noreply@blogger.com (erotika) — Fri, 21 Sep 2007 13:48:00 +0000

ब्य Marcy

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(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

noreply@blogger.com (erotika) — Thu, 20 Sep 2007 07:24:00 +0000

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

The Whiz of the Whip

noreply@blogger.com (erotika) — Sat, 11 Aug 2007 01:35:00 +0000

From Marcy

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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.

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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.”

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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.

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Rachel Changes Her Position

noreply@blogger.com (erotika) — Fri, 27 Jul 2007 16:10:00 +0000

By Marcy

The following chapter is excerpted from my novel,

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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...

noreply@blogger.com (erotika) — Fri, 13 Jul 2007 10:28:00 +0000

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.

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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

noreply@blogger.com (erotika) — Fri, 15 Jun 2007 09:03:00 +0000

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!