Thursday, November 17, 2016

happy ho ho ho to you.


"Do you want to go first?" I ask, from my spot, kneeling on the carpet.  

Jonathan joins me.  The fresh smell of Evergreen dances in the air, to the smooth tones of Harry Connick Jr's Christmas album.  I squirm excitedly in my seat.  So far, the holidays have been perfect.  Two full days off together, with no family commitments up until later on this evening.  Never have we indulged in each other's company so completely.  And, of course, our generous holiday moods have found us in the bedroom on more than one occasion.  He even tied me up like a pretty little present.  So, needless to say, We're currently savouring the last of our alone time together before a big dinner with his family tonight.
"You go," Jonathan smiles, handing me my gift.  
"Ok," I concede, taking the square shaped, light weighted present in my hands.  "Hmm," I wonder, aloud, turning the box this way and that, even shaking it slightly; but nothing betrays its mystery.  I hope it's something sexy, I think to myself.  Perhaps some lingerie, a blindfold, some handcuffs, anything to further the role play we've been experimenting with this holiday season.  I bite my lip saucily and suddenly rip off a strip of shimmery paper.  He smiles handsomely in anticipation; even winks, flirting with me.  I turn my gaze towards the gift, squinting to find and read some of the fanciful text. "Personal massager," I read aloud.  My eyes go wide for a moment.  "A vibrator?"  I tear the rest of the gift open.  The picture displays a discreet bullet vibrator with an attractively smooth finish.  My mouth hangs open, unable to form words.  I've always wanted one.  I don't even know what vibration feels like down there.  I'm beside myself with excitement.
"Yes. However, there's a catch..." Jonathan begins, as I anxiously root through the packaging.  But, I immediately notice the seal is broken.  I quickly compare the picture on the box with the product inside.  
"Wait a minute. It looks like there's a part missing. The remote.  Aww, that's too bad," I pout.  "We'll have to take it back." When my eyes once again reach his, he smiles devilishly, producing the remote from his pocket.  My eyes narrow.  
"Listening now?" He asks, playfully.  "This part, will stay in my possession.  To use whenever and wherever I see fit.  That part," he states, gesturing to the vibrator, "will stay in your panties."  I lick my lips, the muscles in between my legs sympathetically flexing.  Not only does his authoritative tone make me wet, but the thought of carrying out his sexy task.  
"Ok..." I seductively smile, waiting for more instructions.  "And where and when exactly will I wear this?"
"Glad you asked," he smiles, matter of factly.  "Tonight, at Christmas dinner."
"With your parents? And sister?" I gasp.  No.  Could I? I picture myself at the table, discreetly carrying the dormant vibrator in my pants, waiting anxiously for it to erupt with movement.  A smile creeping across my face, half expecting it to turn on at any minute, making eyes at Jonathan from across the Christmas spread, at our little secret.  Perhaps I forget about its existence for a moment, answering a question about my job to his mother, and suddenly feel the vibrator come to life between my legs.  I stop mid-sentence, trying to compose myself, coughing to cover my reaction, pressing my napkin into my lap, apologizing.  My breathing becomes laboured as I pretend to be listening to the rest of the conversation, as I retreat further and further into my world of erotic pleasure.  I imagine myself catching Jonathan's eye, who is finding pleasure in watching me squirm.  I feel a bead of sweat break my hairline, and my face flushes in embarrassment, to be vulnerable in this way in front of his family.  Yet, I feel the flutter of an orgasm approaching.  I deny it, but the vibrator pulses relentlessly.  I deny it again and again, each time my will is weaker than the last.  I feel the climax building within me, and I close my eyes, bite my lip, trying to hide.  At which point... I imagine him turning it off.  A wicked grin emanating from his seat across the table. 

Snapped back from the daydream, Harry Connick croons, "Happy ho ho ho to you."  
My eyebrow raises with a thought.  "Alright.  Now, you open your present.  

But, there's a catch."

Friday, October 21, 2016

monkey man.

"When are we leaving?" My husband asks from the next room.

"I told you, I'm not going tonight," I remind him, as I hurriedly chop the veggies for the crudité platter we promised to bring.
"Party pooper."
"I'm sorry.  I didn't have time to find a costume."  He doesn't respond. "It's your thing, anyway," I continue. "And you can visit better with your friends.  You won't have to babysit me."  Silent, expect more chopping.  I stop. "Chris?  Are you listening?"
"Gahhh!!"  He screams, leaping out from the hallway, wearing a latex monkey mask.  
"Jesus," I gasp. "You're terrible.  The mask is kind of an improvement, though," I joke.  He rips it off, immediately.  
"Oh really?  You like Monkey Man?"  He flirts, approaching me.
"Careful, I'm brandishing a weapon."
"Then, I better stay on your good side," he winks, moving behind me.  His hands grasp my hips, pulling me towards his pelvis.  I feel his bulge against my backside, and I place the knife down to free up my hands. Grasping the edge of the counter, I lean into him, arching my back, a smile crossing my lips.  His strong hands move up my body to my breasts, which he kneads through my sweater, encouraging me to straighten.  I relax into him, my neck slackening, releasing a soft moan.  This is what I want.  Not some Halloween party.  My hair falls to the side, and I'm almost his, as he wetly kisses my neck and ear.  
"You know, we could both just stay in tonight," he breathes, and I feel the muscles in between my legs engage.  But my conscience thinks it knows better.  
"No, you should go," I say, separating from him. I retrieve the knife to finish the last of the vegetables. "Can you tell Jen I wasn't feeling well?" 
"Ooo oo ah ah!"  I look up.  He has once again donned the latex mask.  
"Here are your vegetables, Monkey Man," I say with sarcasm, handing him the Tupperware.
"I won't be late," he says, muffled by the mask.  He grabs his wallet and keys, and lifts the mask to give me a peck on the cheek.  I place the knife and cutting board in the sink as he disappears down the hallway.  More echoed monkey sounds, followed by the slam of the front door.  I smile and shake my head as I turn on the warm water.  I let it run over my hands, soaping up the sponge.  Perhaps I'll take a bath tonight.  I close my eyes, picturing it, but a noise startles me, and I cut my ring finger on the knife in the sink.  "Ah," I gasp.  The front door.  "Did you forget something?"
I grab a paper towel and wrap my finger.  When I look up, Monkey Man is standing in the archway of the kitchen.  "I gave you the dip, right?"  I open the fridge.  No, I did.  I turn around.  He hasn't moved a muscle.  Weirdo.
"Do I have to call you Monkey Man before you'll answer?"  He nods.  I smile.  We're no strangers to role play. "Have you decided to stay after all?"  I flirt, approaching him.  "Or at least, another couple minutes?"  The mask nods again.  
Paper towel clutched in one hand, I fumble with his belt.   I examine the small slits in the mask, but there is only darkness behind them.  The anonymity gives me confidence, as I unbutton his jeans, and reach down his the front of his pants.  He feels warm in my hand, as I begin to stroke him to life.  Bent forward, my hair falls to one side, first tickling, then exposing my neck.  It feels naked, and I close my eyes, longing for him to kiss me there like he did before.  I hear his breathing become laboured beneath the mask.  My injured hand unzips his fly, giving him room to grow.  Feeling him harden in my grip, I sexily bite my lip, desiring to taste him.  I look up once more to the mask, as I kneel on the cool tile.  He appears to look down at me, and I imagine an expression of desire beneath the latex.  I take his cock completely out of his pants, eyes still locked with the small slits of the mask.  I lick my lips, ready to take him in my mouth, when my eyes wander down to a completely... unfamiliar cock.  I freeze.  This is not my husband.  I look up at the mask, only to see the intruder swing.  A sharp pain in my head, and I collapse onto the cool tile.  I struggle for consciousness, still gripping the bloodied paper towel in my hand.  The last thing I see is the stranger retrieving the knife from the sink.  


Then, lights out.  

next bed post is oct 21st.


Monday, September 26, 2016

for the men.

For The Men.

Out in e-book and audiobook today.

https://www.amazon.com/Men-Women-Who-Love-Them-ebook/dp/B01M17CLMC/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

next bed post is sept 30th.


Monday, July 18, 2016

yes, sir.

I ring the doorbell.  The house looks so normal from the outside; seemingly not the house of a Sir, at all.  I wonder where your wife is tonight, where that little man of yours is, that you always seem to be putting down before chatting to me online.  
You answer the door, and instantly I feel the cumulative arousal of all our previous interactions.  The tasks you've given me over text messages, the videos and pictures we exchange via email, but most recently, our trip to the sex club, Oasis.  My bare pussy, which I've freshly shorn for tonight, grows suddenly slick.  
"Hello, Slut," you greet warmly, though with your signature confident power.  One of your large hands rests near my shoulder, then wanders towards my neck, caressing it.  Just the weight of it arouses me, knowing that you could engulf it completely in just one of your mighty fists.  Already, you put me in a submissive mind set, just by the way you assert yourself, naturally towering over me, and petting me like a dog.  "Come in."
The interior of the house seems unassuming as well, certainly not the house of avid swingers, of a polyamorous couple who play separately, and with both men and women, at that.  I step over a children's toy, on my way up the stairs to the bedroom.  
"Strip, Slut.  I want you completely naked.  Except the heels," you add.
"Yes, Sir."  Another power play.  You stay fully dressed for this part, while I remove any physical shred of protection I brought along with me.  Usually people react positively when they see my figure, but you almost completely ignore it.  My porcelain skin, shapely hips, and small round breasts are all but lost on you, while you set up the bed harness.  My face burns in shame.  I can't help but thinking that this is the bed that you are your loving wife share, and I search for a framed photograph to sharpen the mental image.  Before I find one, you turn back to me, square jaw tight, and brow furrowed with intensity.   She probably wouldn't want to see what we're going to do, anyway.  
"Hands behind your back, Slut."
"Yes, Sir."  You reach around me to fasten them together, rather than having me face away from you, which I take as a secret act of affection.  Your button down shirt grazes my bare breasts as your thick arms envelop me, in what very nearly is an embrace.  I look up to your delicious neck, and discreetly breathe in your aftershave.  My eyes close in an ecstatic daydream, in which I am worthy of your true adoration, and I get to touch and kiss the skin I now admire from afar.  A testing tug on the restraints snaps me out of it.  This is what I deserve, and I want you to administer it to me.  
You retreat to a chest of drawers, housing many toys, unlike the one I stepped over in the hallway moments ago.  Tools accumulated from years of dominating women and men, but more recently, a couple that I particularly inspired you to purchase.  As a task, you asked me to send you a list of three toys that I do not own, but would desperately like to try.  Knowing your inclination for domination, I chose accordingly.  One, you already had in your possession.  You remove the second one from the list, now, and walk it back over to me.  I feel a bead of sweat break my hairline.  
"Look familiar, Slut?"  You ask sternly, smirking.  You display them in front of me in one of your large palms.
"Yes, Sir."
"Are you going to be a good girl for me today?" 
"Yes, Sir," I answer, pussy contracting at the phrase.  I feel myself flood a little bit.  
"Keep still."  I do, in fact, I stand straighter than I've ever stood, so that you have unhindered access to my breasts.  I long for you to compliment them, caress them, devour them, but you stay focussed at the task at hand.  You go to work, fastening the two suction cups to my nipples.  
I feel each one grab as you squeeze the bulbs between your thick fingers, activating the suction.  The tug at each nipple is almost as erotic as wearing the ridiculous devices is humiliating.          I long to adjust them, but my restrained wrists leave the control squarely in your hands.
"Shake your tits for me, Slut."
I do, shimmying my shoulders slightly, and the heavy bulbs sway slightly, tugging tightly at my nipples.  I feel my bare pussy stream, and my chest redden in embarrassment.  Your eyes finally take me in, and you do so as you unbutton your shirt.  I avert my gaze, but feel the intensity of your stare on my skin.  You take your time, ogling your good little Slut, licking your lips while methodically removing your clothing.  I suppress the urge to smile, imaging your warm, wet mouth on my breasts.  But, I don't deserve it.  Instead, I get this.  
Naked now, with your erection bobbing in front of you, you relieve my hands from their binding, and instruct me to climb into place on the bed.  From the harness projecting from each corner, I assume that you want me on my back, spread eagle, but you quickly correct me.  I feel a sting across my right breast, as you flick one of the suction cups.  I gasp.
"Ass in the air, Slut."
"Yes, Sir."
"Don't move unless I tell you to, Slut.  Understand?"  Another flick, this time on my left nipple.  
"Yes, Sir," I redden further.  
"I thought you said you were going to be good for me, today."  
"Sorry, Sir."  
"You better be, Slut," you bark, finishing with one sweeping motion that hits both devices.  I clench my teeth.  I hate to be corrected.  I hate it, and at the same time, intensely desire it.  "Onto your stomach."
You expertly fasten my wrists and ankles to the bed.  Now, I feel truly vulnerable to you.  With my arms and legs bound, you now have full, unrestricted access to my body.  My glistening pussy strains, leaking uselessly. The nipple devices press uncomfortably into the mattress, but, at least I can press my mound into it, as well.  Unfortunately, you catch me, and smack me clean across my backside.  I groan.
"Don't you dare pleasure yourself, Slut.  Understand?"
"Yes, Sir."  Another smack.  My breath catches.
"You haven't demonstrated yourself to be worthy of it, yet tonight.  I'm looking for you to change my mind on that," you continue.  You hit me a third time, harder.  I moan into the mattress.  I long for you to rub the spot, no doubt growing red by now. 
"Yes, Sir."
"Now, are you going to be a good girl for me, or not?"  I prepare for another beating, but it doesn't come.  Instead you retire once more to the toy cabinet.  This time removing another object I immediately recognize, and almost as immediately regret mentioning as the third item on the list.  An anal plug with a pump attached.  The fantasy is intoxicating, but can I handle it for real?
"You've shown me some of your anal prowess online.  Isn't that right, Slut?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Now, you're going to show me what you can do, in person.  Understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Now, this is your big chance to please me.  To redeem everything you've done.  If you do this for me, I'll be very, very impressed with you.  Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir," I answer, growing nervous yet excited at the thought of being stretched open, and pleasing my Sir so completely.  My pussy has created a little pool beneath me, and I crave the ability to press it into the mattress.  You squeeze the lube over my bare ass, and it clenches with each drip.  
"Now just relax, and be a good Slut," you coo, probing my opening with the plug.  Now, I've had regular anal plugs enter me before, and it goes in easily, resting just beyond my asshole comfortably.  But the hardest part is yet to come.  "Are you ready, Slut?"
"Yes, Sir."
"You'd better be."  One squeeze of the pump, and I feel it inflate inside me.  A little fuller, sure, but nothing I can't handle.  But, I have no idea how big this thing can get.  I'm laying all my trust squarely in my Sir.  
I see you press the pump in your large fist, and again the plug inflates, testing the walls of my ass.  It's getting bigger now, and I yearn now more than ever, to pleasure my clit against the bedding.  Usually when I take this much in my ass, I'm orgasming pretty soon after, and then the girth is removed.  I can't say I've ever taken it further, and I have no idea what lies ahead.  My pussy drips freely down my legs, as I anxiously wait for the next gauge.  The sheet underneath my face is also growing damp with drool and sweat.  
Another pump, and I really feel the stretch.  I want to see; I want to see how big it is.  It feels bigger than anything I've ever had in there, and I don't know how much more I can take.  I groan wildly into the sheets.  
"Good girl," I hear you say, and I feel encouraged to continue.  I want nothing more than to please you.  It satisfies the deepest, darkest part of myself to do this for you.  
Another pump.  I moan, feeling as I might explode.  I reach for your hand, for anything, and the restraints jostle in response.  Then, I feel a hand.  On my ass cheek.  
"It's okay.  Just relax.  You're doing great.  I'm very, very impressed.  You're making Sir very proud."  My pussy creams so completely onto the mattress.  I'm a total sloppy, gorgeous mess.  Everything is so overly sensitive and tense, all you have to do is brush your hand across my ass softly, and suddenly I feel myself buck, muscles contracting, and I come loudly and desperately onto the bed. 
You free my wrists and ankles, and I am grateful.  And, I am equally as grateful for the sperm you shoot all over my face.  

Thursday, July 14, 2016

sex club.

Though I'm blinded temporarily by the headlights, I think I see your thick silhouette behind the wheel, approaching the curb of my apartment building.  I shift in my heels, and adjust my short skirt.

Already, I feel the muscles in between my legs engage.  I'm beyond excited to meet you for the first time, and apparently, in more ways than one.  I don't know exactly what the night is going to hold, but I have a pretty good idea.  The car stops promptly in front of me, and a tinted window rolls down just enough for you to deliver the command, "Get in, Slut."
Before long, we pull up to Oasis Aqualounge.  I knew it.  I knew it, and yet, I still wonder if I'm really ready.  You lead the way with authority, as if you've been here many times before, as I follow sheepishly, though curiously, behind.  We walk through several poorly attended rooms, in which people are just having drinks and chatting, as I start to gain some confidence, thinking that this place isn't all it's cracked up to be.  
"This way, Slut."  You lead me upstairs, as I realize where the real party is.  Everywhere I look, there's various bodies in various states of undress, engaged in various types of sex, and my hungry eyes quickly lap it up as we keep pace towards our destination.  An attractive, slim girl is receiving oral beneath a latex skirt, as she bends deeply over the back of a couch.  Two older woman kiss passionately while groping each others' lace covered, falling breasts.  A hunky, tanned man grinds against an equally tanned woman with fake tits, which barely move as they fuck.  Several men hold themselves in their own hands, pants spayed open at the hips, stroking off while they watch.  We pass by them all too quickly for my mind to process the shock of what I'm seeing.  
"Keep up, Slut," I hear, a little far away.  I realize I'm falling behind, but I mange to spot your intimidating figure one room ahead.  And, the room is completely red. 
Red vinyl couches, red walls, and in the room's epicentre, an oversized red bed, complete with red plastic sheets.  You sit, fully clothed, amongst several writhing bodies.  As I realize that this is our final destination, my face begins to burn in renewed nervousness, matching the scarlet decor perfectly.  
"Come here, Slut.  Show me what you've got."  My pussy starts to clench, throbbing with my accelerating pulse, as I walk towards you, the clicking of my heels barely audible over the moans of pleasure and squeaking latex.  You spread your knees so that I can slot myself in between them, and you place your large hands on my hips.  They drift down slightly to my naked thighs, then back up to my skirt to feel up my naked ass.  You clench it in your powerful grip, and I feel the pull of pleasure in my pussy.  I glance around the room, relieved and encouraged that no one seems to be paying attention.  Most people are invested in their own interactions, I think, confidently, wondering what the big deal is anyhow.  You lift my skirt, putting my ass on display, and I feel a rush.  You continue to knead it in your fists, and my pussy aches to be touched next.  Luckily, you let me have it.  
You encourage me to get on top, so that I straddle you, standing over you with a heel digging into the couch on either side of your lap.  With my skirt lifted up over my hips, you pull my pussy towards your face, as I relax onto it.  I feel your warm, wet tongue probes my folds, and I feel myself drip onto your cleanly shaven face.  I see you unzip your fly beneath me, and begin to openly stroke yourself as you suck me.  You smack my ass suddenly, loudly.  If they weren't looking before, they most certainly are now.  
You continue to drive your face into my pussy, and in act of total abandon, I remove my shirt.  You reach up to grab my naked breasts, making me join the chorus, sending an ecstatic moan up into the room.  I feel the urge to bear down, as you mercilessly flick your tongue against my clit.  You want me to come.  You want me to come in front of all these people, and it strikes me both as incredibly hot, and painfully cruel.  
Knowing my weakness, one of your large fingers starts to probe my asshole, using the combination of lube and spit to coat them before going in.  I feel my face flush scarlet again, at the thought of someone, multiple people, watching me come.  I clench my eyes shut, feeling the flutter, but completely unable to stop it.  I groan wildly through gritted teeth, trying to stifle the sound of me coming all over your face.  In a public place.

"You've been a good girl tonight, Slut," you say out the car window, after you drop me off at my apartment.  
"Thank you, Sir," I respond obediently.  I want to ask when we can do it again, which club we'll try next... So many ideas flood my mind.  But, I know a good sub shouldn't ask questions, so I just bite my lip, and wave goodbye.  I see your car turn the corner, and suddenly, it's gone.  

Monday, June 20, 2016

instruction manual.

How to assemble your new IKEA bookshelf.


Contents: Allen key, four shelves, twelve shelving pegs, one back piece, left, right and top panel.

Place back piece flat on the bed, or other surface.  This will allow you to attach the side with ease. You might cause stress to the joints or warping to the panels, though IKEA particle board can be quite soft and flexible if you treat it properly.  Pick up the Allen key, and allow it to become like an extension of your own hand.  You may need to apply a small amount of oil or lubricant to the tip, to facilitate easy entry into the shelving pegs.  Retrieve the lonely left panel, and place it so that it lies parallel to the back piece, softly caressing the side while it waits anxiously for entry.  Take care to align the key into the waiting orifice at a perpendicular angle and begin at a slow, steady pace.  Only when the groove is ready to catch the instrument, you may begin to thoughtfully rotate your glistening key, and feel the panels  begin to move together in an intoxicating, deliberate rhythm.  Repeat with the right side panel until the throbbing three are joined in a perfect, ecstatic union.  Turn, turn, turn, until you can't possibly turn any more.  When you're satisfied with the tightness and closeness of the each part, your bookshelf is ready to stand erect.

Thursday, June 9, 2016

sex assistant.

Obviously, my pussy would ache and yearn at the sight of you fucking someone else.

I picture myself made to stand at attention beside the bed, with my hands clasped behind my back.  I wear a sexy secretary outfit, complete with thigh high stockings, a low cut collared shirt, and glasses.  I think the muscles in between my legs would clench sympathetically, each time I watch your slippery member disappear between her glistening folds.  My shaved mound would moisten uncomfortably, begging to be touched, and I would keep adjusting my weight, squeezing my thighs together, trying to stop it from dripping down my leg.  I think, at the same time, I would feel ashamed and embarrassed to watch, as if I shouldn't be intruding on your intimate moment.  To be ignored, and not asked to join in, would turn my face and chest scarlet with awkwardness.  My eyes would keep finding your two writhing bodies, even when I tried to look away.  My gaze would lower towards my stocked feet, wishing that I could be wearing the exotic heels adorning the dainty feet of your lover.  My eyes would wander upwards, seeing flashes of flesh, then darting immediately away.  My hands would writhe behind my back, wanting to touch the skin, the breasts, the cock, my own pussy.
  
"Karen?"  Finally I hear my name.  Maybe you want me to join in after all.  Perhaps you felt badly making me stand here for so long.    Maybe I've done such a good job being patient and quiet, that I deserve a reward.  "More lube, please.  And hurry."
"Yes sir."  I retrieve the bottle from the cabinet, and squirt a liberal amount onto your throbbing dick.  My mouth is partially open, wanting to taste it so very badly.
"Thank you.  Now, back to your corner."  I obediently comply.  Little do you know that pleasing you and your lover is all the reward I need.  

Sunday, May 29, 2016

good boy.

Let me describe a scenario for you.

I have you undress and sit in the chair beside my bed, while I lovingly clasp your wrists together, behind the back of the chair, with the black silk ropes I reserve for special occasions.  While I fasten your hands, I lean in to your ear so that you can feel my warm breath tickle your earlobe.  I tell you that I want you to come inside me like a good boy, but that you have to wait until I've gotten myself off first. You tilt your head so that you expose your neck to me, hoping that my lips grace the soft skin there, but I remain diligent in my knot tying, wanting assurance that you couldn't reach for your own cock even if you tried.

I undress in front of you, the restraints already tightening against your wrists, as you long to touch every inch of creamy white skin that I expose to you.  I retrieve my vibrator from the bedside table; a dick sized, purple latex phallus, which I tease you with as I slowly approach the chair, letting it graze my small, perky tits, making my nipples stand at attention.  I run one of my hands through your hair, stopping at the nape of your neck, while my other raises the dildo towards your lips.  You obediently lick your lips and open your mouth, the taste of silicone fresh on your tongue.  I look down at you, being such a good boy, and I feel my pussy twitch sympathetically, as if it was my dick you were taking into your mouth.  Yours starts to rise.  

Satisfied with the moisture accumulated on my vibrator, I withdraw the latex dick from your lips, and you immediately feel its absence, knowing that this is the last time you will be in physical contact with me.  Now, you must only watch, and longingly wait.  

I kneel on the bed in front you, just like in the picture I sent you, exposing my soft round ass, and puffy pussy lips, already glistening with desire.  As I place the pre-moistened vibrator between my legs, you observe my muscles immediately contract, hips tilting, thrusting towards it.  The buzzing sound of the toy is soon followed by moans of delight.  I bend deeper, letting my face rest on the sheets, giving you an even more immaculate view of my pussy and and asshole.  You see the opening of my ass clench and release, and I rock forward against the vibrator.  Then, you become extremely jealous, as the fake phallus probes my dripping pussy lips, ready to sink itself deep within me.

The dildo easily finds its way in, and I bob it into my pussy, only about halfway for now, coating its purple tip with my moisture.  You notice a bead of sweat break your hairline, and long to wipe it.  Your muscles flex, and erection begs to be soothed.

I push the toy deeper inside myself, as I release a groan up into the air.  My ass is working overtime now, muscles contracting and releasing, trying to sync up with the vibrations delivered by the dildo.  Your wrists strain against the ropes, ready to rip them to spreads to get to me.  Suddenly, I buckle forward, gasping, tense one moment and relaxed the next.  I remove the vibe from my pussy, still twitching, and exhale.  

Your mouth forms a saucy smile, ready now, to be released.  Your cock anxiously awaits my touch, and the warm wetness of my engorged pussy.  The past ten minutes has felt like a lifetime. "That's one," I exclaim, exasperated.  

"Usually I give myself three or four, when I'm alone."  

Monday, February 15, 2016

next bed post is feb 19th.


valentine's day surprise (new edit).

"Hmm... What could it be?" I tease my hubby, Mark, winking as I open his Valentine's gift.

I deliberately peel the wrapping paper back, revealing something in a pink box. 

"Ooooo," I remark curiously, though I know what's inside. If he knows me at all, the present most definitely is a delicious treat of some kind. I LOVE sweets.  We both do; that's the problem. They don't last long in our household. We've been known to walk in on the other finishing the last bite of a pastry, whether we initially intended on sharing it or not. My Valentine's present to him, still beside us on the made bed, in a pristinely wrapped heart shaped box, is a selection of homemade truffles. I slaved making these, and having been so completely restrained while making the already too small batch, my mouth waters just thinking about the sitting beside me. The smell of one hundred percent cocoa, and the way it delicately dusted my hands during preparation. I hope he lets me have one. Or two. Or, maybe he got me something even better. 
But, when I open the rest of his gift to me, I realize that it's not chocolates or candy at all. I have to squint to read the label, not exactly realizing what it is yet, only seeing two pink strips of padded, soft material with plastic rings, and Velcro on each end.  
"Love Cuffs," I read aloud. "Wow, baby. Are these what I think they are?"
"Yeah! They're supposed to be the more practical, comfortable version of handcuffs. Sexy handcuffs."
"Mmm, thanks baby," I say, leaning forward for a kiss.
"Happy Valentine's," he says, sweetly, kissing me back. "Maybe we could..."
"Try them out?" I finish, kissing him again, and smiling. He only has to hear me rip open the pink box in my lap, to laugh at my enthusiasm. My excited giggling turns into a moan, as our kissing mouths soften and open, touching tongues. My hands go to his hair, holding his face against mine, while his wander from my tits, down to in between my legs. I lift my torso off the bed momentarily to remove my sweater, and he seizes the moment to remove his t-shirt as well, pulling it over his head, revealing his familiar toned chest and mid drift. I feel his hands search for the cuffs, but I teasingly keep them away from him. I have something different, and a little devilish, in mind.   
I roll him over, so that I'm straddling his waist. I kiss him as a diversion, while I place the soft cuffs around his wrists. I feel his mouth smile as we kiss, and I can't help but giggle at my mischievousness. I find the bed post, and affix the plastic ring to it. I kiss him deeply, his hands bound above him by the cuffs, then slowly move down his body. I lightly suck on his neck, lick his nipples, teasingly kiss down his muscular stomach, as he arches his back into me, straining against the restraints. I pull the elastic waist of his boxer briefs down so that I can lick his hip bones, and he lifts his butt so that I can remove the underwear completely. But, I don't.   
I saucily raise my finger for him to wait a minute, and retrieve the heart shaped box containing the truffles. He strains to see what sexy thing I'm up to, but he's helpless in the cuffs. He watches me untie the carefully set bow, and reveal the powdered, dark treats within. His eyes light up, anxious for me to feed him the ecstasy that is my homemade truffles. Instead, I lick my lips, and slowly place one on my tongue. I close my lips around it, and my cheeks are filled with the creamy, earthy flavour. I take a second truffle from the box, taunting him with the delectable treat first, then parting my lips again to welcome it, closing my eyes this time to truly savour the perfect balance of bitter and sweet. I not-so-sexily pop a third in my mouth; then a fourth, to his final inquisition. 
"What are you doing?" 
"I'm eating these," I confess, with my mouth full. 
"What?" He laughs. "Are you serious?" 
"Yes. They're so good." 
"Really?!! You're just going to leave me like this?" 

 I'll pay him back next time. Besides, he looks really cute in those cuffs.

Saturday, January 23, 2016

my two partners (part nine).

Meaghan


“Snuggle for a couple minutes, first?”
“Sure, baby.”
Scott lies down next to me, and I curl into him, with my head on his shoulder, when I can nuzzle into his neck, and take in his scent.  His smell calms me, and I need it.  All I can think about is Emily.  My mind races, excitably, dreaming up potential dates for the three of us.  Even just going to a bar together excites me.  I imagine a night of fun flirting, touching each other on the arm or on the leg under the table, the waiter perplexed by our obvious three-way attraction.  In the cab, we kiss.  First, Emily and I, feeling the booze warm in our bellies, then Scott leans across me to have his turn with her.  I feel Scott’s boner through his pants, and discreetly rub it while tasting Emily on his mouth.  When we reach our apartment, we barely make it inside the door to shed our clothing.
“I texted Emily.”
“Oh yeah?  Saying what?”
“That we should get together again.”  I try to contain my excitement.
“When, do you think?”
“I don’t know.  Maybe this week?”
“Sure.”  From having courted Scott before, I know his preference to do things on the fly, but I prefer to plan.  For one, it gives you a chance to look forward to the event.  And that’s half the fun.  “That’s nice you talked to her,” I add, detecting my own jealousy.  
“It was just for a second.” 
“Is tonight your monthly show?”
“Yeah.  Looks like it should sell out.”
“Sorry I’ll miss it.”
“I know,” he says, kissing me on the forehead.  “I should head out, though.”
“Okay, baby.  Love you!”
“Love you,” he says, giving me a tender kiss on the mouth.

“So, I met her finally,” I tell Anthony at work, from across the bar.
“Who?  Oh yeah.”
“She’s great.  Really cute.  And, I feel like she was really into me.  Her eyes were, like, really connecting.”
“So, you didn’t...”
“No!  No.  I mean, I want to build some sort of relationship with her, so...”
“Relationship?  Oh geez.”
“Well, not a relationship, exactly.  But, just something casual.  Like flirty friends.”
“That sleep together.”
“Yes!  It exists.”
“Those always end bad.”
“No, they don’t.  How would you know?  Lots of people aren’t in traditional relationships.  Just because it’s not for you, doesn’t mean it can’t work for other people.”
“I guess.”
“We might get together this week.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.  The three of us.  Scott’s been doing the courting, so I’m not totally sure of the details.  But, yeah!”
“Great.”
“Why does everything you say sound sarcastic?”

I usually get home well before Scott when he produces his monthly show, because he’s obligated to stay until the very end.  Unlike other gigs, in which he can cut out soon after he’s finished playing.  But, he usually does very well for himself on these nights, selling out and making a tidy profit, even despite the money he gives his performers.  He could easily make it a show that happens twice a month, if he wanted to.  Or, even a weekly.  That’s what I would do if I owned a theatre company with a consistently sold out show.  Extend the run.  But this isn’t exactly what keeps me awake at night.
I devilishly plug in my laptop beside the bed, and position myself under it.  Living together and on similar schedules, Scott and I rarely find ourselves alone in the house.  I intend to take advantage of it tonight, even though I usually would meet him at the venue for last call to celebrate the successful show.  If he asks, I’ll just say I had to stay late.  I click my bookmarked favourite porn website, and scroll down to the Lesbian category.
I need a release, but a different kind than Scott can offer.  Yes, he fulfills me in every way he imaginably can, and is even eager to indulge my new threesome fantasy, but I begin to feel the stress of a secret.  The secret of how much I want this.  I choose a video with two girl-next-door babes; one just happens to have short blonde hair.  I turn on my vibrator, and squeeze out a drop of lubricant onto it.  I watch the girls writhe against each other; their seemingly soft skin grazing each other, sexily and sensitively.  Their small, delicate mouths opening ever so slightly, with slips of fleshy tongues sliding seductively, in and out of lips.  Breasts softly pressing and perusing.  Their shapely hips, and the gradual curves of their lower backs, then supple asses.  It all looks too perfect to ever touch, and I question whether I really can, with Scott watching.  Even when prompted, I feel the need to limit my earnestness.  I come quickly; much quicker than with Scott, but the orgasm is always less rewarding.  And, then there’s the guilt.




Scott



“You’ll be late for work, babe.”
“Mmm?”  Meaghan moans sleepily, rubbing her eyes.  She manages to sit up, pulling her long mane of hair back into a ponytail.  She’s never been a morning person.  Meaghan mopes over to the bathroom.  I talk to her through the shower curtain, shouting over the water.  
“So, I forgot to tell you.  I saw Emily the other night at the monthly.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.  I think she was wondering why we didn’t... stay over that night.”
“The night of her party?”
“Yeah.  She has a really high sex drive.  She would’ve fucked us for sure.”  A pause.
“You talked about it?”
“Yeah, she jerks off in public, and stuff, apparently.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”  Another pause.  I hear her rinse off.
“Oh, I was just thinking... that there were other people there, I guess.  Would have been weird.”
“Mm hm.  No, I agree.”
“What else did you talk about?”
“I told her to be careful.”
“About what?”
“You know.  Just sleeping with people in the scene.”
“In the music scene?”
“Yeah.  Like, it could get in her way.”
“You didn’t shame her about it, though.  I hope.”
“No, no.”
“Like, that’s great that she’s so sexually liberated.”
“But, it’s not the most professional.  You know.”
“Yeah.”
“Like, she had slept with a bunch of people that were there.  And, she’s going to have to work with them at some point.”
“Right.”  She enters the shower stream again.  “Do you have a gig tonight?”
“Nope.  Off.”
“Lucky.”
“Yep.  I’ll just be missing you terribly, though.  Just pining away all day long...”  I joke.  She laughs.  Speaking of thinking of Meaghan, I retreat to the bedroom, and take out her laptop.  I look at her internet history, but it’s not for untoward reasons.  I like to see what porn she is watching.  Sometimes I get her to send me links of porn she has gotten off to, or I send her websites of videos I think she’ll like.  Looking at her history goes one step further, granted, showing me the things that truly get her off, without fear of me seeing it.  But, my chub fades, to realize that she has been watching mostly lesbian vids.  Not that picturing Meaghan getting off to lesbian porn isn’t hot, but I know that there’s more to it, this time, and my cock knows it, too.  Subconsciously, I think I know what I have to do.        
I look at the calendar, and it appears that the allotted time necessary has gone by to continue denoting the pending threesome as “casual”, so I text Emily.  Enough games.  I don’t want to give her the wrong impression and appear emotionally engaged, but I admit, I’m eager to finally do this.  And, not in a lusty way.  Yes, I’m a straight man and obviously interested in having a threesome with a cute girl, and I also badly want to see Meaghan satisfy her threesome fantasy; but I’m equally interested in getting it over with, and continuing with my life.  Courting someone takes energy, and energy that I don’t necessarily have or want to spare on some twenty year old.  I already have a great girlfriend, whom I’m happy to expend energy into.  And not only am I looking to resume my normal life, but our lives.  Mine and Meaghan’s.  She’s been noticeably preoccupied, and I want her to move on to the next fantasy that gets her off.  And, hopefully one that’s  a little less complicated.  
Em!  What are you up to tonight?
Thinking about going to a show.  Why?
Do you want to come over?
Sure.  Maybe I’ll come by after?
Sounds good.  Meaghan’s will be done work at midnight.
K.  I def can make it there by then. :)
Cool.  See you then!
I refrain from jerking off, even though Meaghan will still be in the shower a while.  I don’t need it anyway, feeling a breath of relief that all this will be soon coming to a close.  
Meaghan kisses me on the way out the door, and leaves before I can tell her about tonight.  It’s better to spring things on her, anyway, so she doesn’t have a chance to think about them.