Made to Beg

November 9th, 2017

Every day, I am to make her cum with my mouth. She expects to wake with her thighs spread and her nether regions being worshiped by my tongue. If the room isn’t awash with the sounds of oral, she will be most displeased.

We repeat this routine in reverse every night, and sometimes she’ll call me on her break at work. I’ll rush to her office, kneel beneath her desk, slip her skirt up her creamy thighs and pull the fabric of her panties to her side. I’ll push her buttons while her fingers grace her keyboard. She sends a memo, answers a call. I kiss the inside of her thighs, nuzzle her clit with my nose and drag my tongue along the inside of her labia.

At home. At work. In the back of a cab. This is what she expects. This is what she allows.

Tonight is no different. She lets me lick her clit. I cannot dance my tongue across her nipples or kiss her neck, but I can delve between her folds and smell her natural aroma. I can grasp her hips and roll her labia between my fingers, but I cannot stroke her hair or face. I bury my face between her legs and bury any wistful thinking about the rest of her body.

But it’s certainly not a bad job. Her taste, as I run the tip of my tongue on either side of her clit, somehow matches her personality. It’s like her soul has become tangible, and I feel more connected to her when I’m tonguing her hole.

I know to start with flat, broad strokes and when to dart my tongue inside her. Her moans are familiar music to my ears, encouraging me to suck her clit and nibble on her lower lips. I recognize the tremor in her thighs — thick from working out more than I would ever do — just before she orgasms, and revel in the pressure on my head when she clamps down, her body tense before the final release.

I breathe in her scent, slow my ministrations and remain silently poised until her legs release their grip on my head. Only then do I come up for air, remembering that I have nearly forgotten to breathe.

To an observer, we might be calling it a night at that point. The pussy worship is done, but the night is still young.

It’s then that my lady turns from a demanding diva — okay, never quite that — into the passionate giver the most people would never suspect.

She gazes deeply into my eyes while penetrating me with her fingers. Like magic, she’s working my G-spot with her thumb on my clit. I can never quite tell what the difference is between someone who is good at this and someone who’s not, but is the best of the best, making me sigh with pleasure and lift my hips closer to her. She’s like a goddess, showing me glimpses of Heaven. She knows how to keep my on that edge longer than should be humanly possible before stroking me to orgasm. My body shudders; waves of ecstasy wash over me.

You might think we would be done, but we’re not.

This woman, this beautiful and capable woman, knows what to do next. She secures her favorite harness around her waist and thighs, carefully chooses a bright silicone dildo for the night’s activities and puts it in place before returning to her place beside me. Lightning quick, her hands are in my hair, tugging and pulling me closer to her. Her tongue invades my mouth as if she owns it. If we’re honest, she really does.

Her kisses are ferocious, the type that take your breath away and leaves your head spinning. But isn’t my head always spinning with her? She’s never been one for long makeout sessions, though. This isn’t the position she wants me in, so she breaks our kiss.

Toned arms flex as she grabs me by the hips and turns my body away from her. On hands and knees, I know exactly what’s coming for me. She coaxes that dildo, slick with lube, between my lips. With one hand wrapped around the base, she rubs it against my clit, which is already swollen with desire. I try to press my body back against her, but her free hand slaps my ass. It’s always her pace, her plot.

I never really mind, of course. I’m moving my hips to grind against the slippery dildo, and my own juices have added to the mess. If I were controlling the pace, I would be fucking myself senseless without a second thought to prolonging orgasm. I’m a greedy slut when it comes down right to it, and she knows my every weakness.

It may feel like forever, but it’s just a few minutes of teasing. She likes seeing me come undone just as much as I love losing myself. She’s the darkness to my light or something cheesy like that. Luckily, I don’t really have long to think about it. Instead, I’m nearly howling when she slams that cock into my pussy. As greedy as I may be, it’s always a shock to have a toy rammed into your cunt without any heads up.

But it’s always a thrill to be filled and stretched, to be taken and to know your value directly corresponds to how well you take it. I always take it like a champ, and she likes that about me. I might worship her pussy, but she respects the lengths I’m willing to go to to please her and how much I respond to negative stimulation.

That’s why she grasps the hair at the back of my head and yanks it back. My scalp tingles and a shiver runs down my spine. She’s fucking me at a steady rhythm now, fast but shallow. My nipples are painfully erect, but she can’t see that from her vantage point. If my hair weren’t in her hand, I would lower my body to sway my breasts against the bed beneath me, but I cannot.

I’m at her whim, so when she picks up her pace and sinks the nails of one hand into my hip for better purchase, all I can do is gasp. It’s not unwanted, though. Any attention she lavishes on me is welcomed. I cannot believe that this woman is with me, marking my body with her own, working so feverishly to bring me to orgasm and so generous with her cunt. I don’t know how I get so lucky.

And I continue to get lucky. Her thrusting isn’t effortless. Sweat causes the backs of my thighs to stick to the front of hers. She pushes her knees further under mine, pulling my hair so that I am nearly upright in her lap. Instead of in-and-out, she moves her hips in circles, blissfully stroking my G-spot.

She’s leaning so hard against my back that I rest my head on the headboard. My cheek squishes against the cool wood. My mouth gapes open awkwardly; a bit of saliva drips out. I don’t care, either way. If I did, I would care even less because she tells me to rub my clit. This is the sign that she wants me to orgasm — and soon.

I reach my hand beneath my legs and work my clit as if my life depends on it. Sometimes that feels true when we’re in the throes of passion. Nothing can be more important than fucking this woman or letting her fuck me. How could it?

I block out the rest of the world, focusing on the way my fingers feel on my clit. I try to match the pace of her cock deep inside me. We find our perfect rhythm. Yin and yang, right?

“Cum.”

Could she sound any more perfect?

And I do. I furiously rub my clit until my muscles are spasming. She listens to my body’s response and pulls the dildo free of my pussy after milking my G-spot to a squirting orgasm. I ejaculate onto her thighs, my legs, the bed beneath me. My body has never felt so much pleasure. I moan, jerk my hips, and throw my head back. I’m not sure I’m even still human. Something, not primal but more natural, takes over. I’m more fully myself and experiencing such clarity that the world seems full of limitless possibilities.

As soon as my orgasm subsides, my muscles go slack. I sag against her body and the bed. I try to calm my ragged breathing, but I’m not quite sure that I’ll ever be able to get enough air. Still, there’s a stupid grin on my face. It never gets old, the way she fucks me, the way my orgasms feel. She sits patiently as we both wait for my heartbeat and breathing to return to normal. She lightly caresses my arms, and I feel grounded.

I smell our sex. My arousal. Hers. By this time, I am practically begging to kneel between her legs. I may be covered in sweat and fighting exhaustion, but still I do her bidding.

It might seem like prison from an outsider’s perspective, but we both know this is my home. It’s where I belong.

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On Life’s Unfairness

February 3rd, 2016

Time always slows down when I’m waiting for a tongue to make contact. It’s excruciating.

And then it does. And I melt. The tongue is an amazing muscle, so soft and warm and capable. Nothing comes close.

That’s really the only thing I miss when I’m not fucking someone. I can abuse my pussy with a toy until my hips hurt the next day, but a mouth!

The mouth doesn’t even matter when I’m about to cum because I’ll be pulling your hair and grinding my hips against you so hard that it doesn’t matter who or what is between my legs so long as something is. And I get off.

But the second best part is when you come up for air and I kiss you, and you smell and taste like me. Absolutely delicious. I think I was surprised when I realized just how much I love my taste, and I can;t get enough because I will never be able to do what you just did to me.

I think I was surprised when I realized just how much I love my taste, and I can;t get enough because I will never be able to do what you just did to me.

And it’s not fair that you get to fuck me and lick me and make me cum like that. I’d kill to be the person who gets to fuck me.

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Virgin

March 31st, 2015

He was a virgin. That was something I’d sworn I would never do. It felt so sex negative, judging someone based on their virginity. After all, it was a social construct that really meant very little. However, I just couldn’t bring myself to deal with the responsibility of being someone’s first let alone the awkwardness and having to be patient with someone learning.

Okay, I admit it: I’m selfish. But I’m okay with that, and I’m fine using that as my excuse not to sleep with virgins. So how exactly did we get on the topic of this virgin?

Now, I didn’t know he was a virgin at first. He was a reasonably good-looking guy I scrolled past on one of the many dating sites I frequent. And by frequent, I don’t mean that I troll them for NSA encounters. I’m not opposed to them, but if that’s the kind of mood I’m in, it’s Tinder for me.

So I see this guy who isn’t totally offensive to my eyes and whose profile has better spelling than a middle schooler. I flick through his photos and see a couple of tattoos and decide that asking about his ink will be my ice-breaker.

Flash forward a few weeks and daily messages. The conversation is fun, and I think I might actually want to meet him, and I never would have gotten this far if he had advertised his virginity. It wasn’t something he wanted to brag about, and I understand why. People like me would have looked right past him.

But I did look at him and the idea that maybe I want to meet him has crossed my mind a time or two when I sign in one night to see a picture of his newest tattoo, an intricate tribal-inspired sleeve that shoots right down his perfectly-sculpted bicep, flows across his arm and ends right below his fingers. I may be a sucker for ink, but his artist definitely had skill, and the design was done well even if it wasn’t something I would have chosen for myself.

So I express my admiration for this new tattoo while wondering what exactly that arm might look like with his fingers buried in my cunt, and he takes me by surprise by offering to show me in person. It was certainly an offer I couldn’t resist.

A few nights later and we’ve sitting across from one another at my favorite dive bar. It’s a quiet night, with a few rough-around-the-edges trucker types and a pair of barely-legal patrons who are taking turns picking top 40 hits on the jukebox.

I’m surprised I took note at all, to be honest. This guy, the virgin, was even better looking in person. His hair was artfully tousled, and he wore a pair of glasses he’d neglected to post photos of. That was quite all right with me, however; I’m a sucker for a guy in a nice pair of specs.

We do the awkward introduction thing, but the ink conversation gives us a good excuse to talk about something, anything, other than the weather. But it doesn’t feel forced like all those terrible first dates I’d been on in the past. He seems genuinely interested me, smiles often and teases me the way guys do when they’re attracted to you. I can tell I’m blushing. I can’t help it, but I’m not sure I want to, either.

We sip a few drinks, volley questions back and forth and make commentary about the other customers. He, as it turns out, likes little dives like this, too. I nod approvingly as one of my favorite Bad Company songs comes on the speaker, and my head begins bobbing to the music.

He surprises me with a completely casual comment about how he’d always wanted to have sex to the song. I’m pretty sure my ovaries are singing his praises, and that’s when he says it.

“But I’m a virgin.”

I try to pass it off that this sexy, flirtatious guy with ultra-hot tattoos has somehow avoided having sex. I’m sure my lack of a poker face did me no favors, but I tried to hide it by taking a long drink from my glass.

He’s obviously accustomed to negative reactions, and he rolls with it, segueing into a question about my own tattoos, which we have somehow failed to remark upon. I show him the symbol of my favorite singer on my forearm, and a spiderweb lace piece on my shoulder while talking about my plan for a black-and-white sleeve on the other arm.

I mention the sugar skull on my left thigh, regretting that I’d worn jeans so he won’t be able to see it, but he doesn’t miss a bit as he grins mischievously and asks if I want to drop trou in the bathroom to show him. It’s so hard to believe he’s a virgin.

While I certainly would have declined that invitation had it come from a stranger at the bar, it didn’t seem quite so odd coming out of his mouth, and his charm was irresistible. I downed my drink and we made our way to the bathroom, trying not to be obvious in a bar with only a handful of customers.

There’s a strange sort of anxiety I feel about virgins, and it certainly reared its head as I wiggled out of my jeans. I wonder if this was the first time he’d seen a woman undress in any way, or if he’d perhaps had heated make out sessions with a former fling that just never lead anywhere.

Under the unflattering bathroom light, my tattoo comes into view, and he seems to take it all in while the last few notes of the sexy song faded away through the door behind me. I take a moment to myself, trying to quietly exhale while his inquisitive eyes were on me.

But then they are back on my face, and I am reaching to pull my jeans up from around my knees. This wasn’t part of his plan, it seems, as he steps forward, pressing my back against the door and leaning down to kiss me fiercely. It’s unbelievable, the type of chemistry I am feeling with this, this, virgin.

It was like electricity courses through his mouth, straight to my lips, jolting across my tongue and igniting throughout my body. If I’ve ever considered breaking my virgin rule, this was the best reason I’d yet had. And if he were to bend me over that grimy bar bathroom sink, I would have my legs and braced my ankles while greedily taking every inch of his cock.

He doesn’t. I knew he wouldn’t, so why is it that his hands have pushed my jeans further down my calves? Why would he carefully lift one foot out of the leg of my pants? And why is he leaving the other entrapped? The swirling has barely stopped from our kiss. Now, my head is swirling with other thoughts.

I don’t know if everyone else experiences it this way, but when someone’s mouth and tongue first make contact with my clit, it’s like a switch flips. There are no more thoughts. It’s feeling, it’s energy, it’s adrenaline and it’s noises that can barely be qualified as human, but it’s not about thinking.

So when he pulls aside my panties and pushes his tongue between my folds against my clit, I’m not relieved that I had worn underwear worthy of showing someone else. I’m not thinking that we’re in a dingy bar or that the bartender, a friend who willy surely give me hell later, has likely noticed our extended absence.

What I do is sigh, my chest heaving with the effort, gasp and allow him to lift my free leg over his shoulder. I lean back to support myself, ruffle my hand through his hair, and let this near-stranger swirl his tongue around my clit and lap at my body with wide, soft licks that cause my legs to quiver.

I bite my lip to stop myself from moaning loud enough that anyone in a two-block radius could hear me, and I push my hips toward my new friend as he adeptly slides three fingers into me, my most sensitive parts surrounded by my body. His tattooed arm, just like I had imagined it, stretches out between my legs.

His mouth and his hand work in tandem, as my body threatens to give out beneath me. For a brief moment, an image flashes in my mind of the bathroom door breaking behind me and us tumbling out, me with only one leg in my jeans and him with his hand up my cunt.

But his eager attentiveness to my needs quickly snaps me back to the present, and I press his face against my body with renewed vigor. As best as I can, I grind my cunt against his face, glasses be damned.

Now, I may be lucky that I can cum easily, but there’s denying that this guy is damned good at what he was doing. It’s one of those moments that feels like it both takes a lifetime and is over in a heartbeat, but I’m sure it’s no more than a few minutes before I am cumming — shuddering and nearly collapsing against him as only the muscles in my pussy seem able of working correctly for that brief moment.

And then he is done, sliding the fabric of my panties back across my vulva, lifting my jeans back up to my hips and buttoning them as he leans into me for another fiery kiss, the taste of me still on his mouth. I can feel him, his hardness and heat, as he presses his body against me.

Sure, he might have been a virgin, but he won’t be one for long.

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Penthouse Variations on Oral

December 18th, 2014

One of the newest books from Cleis Press, which has made me a very happy reviewer and reader this year, is “Penthouse Variations on Oral.” Oral sex is one of my favorites, which I’m sure can be said for many of you readers. Giving and receiving are both fun, and this collection of stories will hopefully provide a look into book.

The description is as follows

Mind-blowing oral sex can be the epitome of pleasure itself. Curated by the editors of the wildly popular Penthouse Variationsmagazine, this voracious volume goes deep into the throes of oral delight. Both new and well-known erotic writers satisfy the hungriest mouths while dishing up an array of below-the-belt feasts. In this collection of short stories, lovers explore the delicious ways oral sex can be an act of affection and tenderness, a testament to devotion, or an expression of pure, hot lust. Going down is an experience meant to be savored…and shared.

Alison Tyler, erotica editor and writer extraordinaire, is just one of the authors who you’ll read in this book. Her story, among others, might remind you of your own exploits or inspire you to try something new.

I tell you about all of this because I’ve been given the opportunity to give one of you a chance to win a copy of this book to add to your shelf or nightstand.

Enter using the widget below.

Good luck!

Penthouse Variations on Oral

Open to US.

Giveaway ends December 31.

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Taste [Saw This on Tumblr]

November 28th, 2012

Taste

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Dancing Bear

June 10th, 2012


$24.95/month from Dancing Bear

I may be a sex toy reviewer, and I may have enjoyed some porn in my time, but I’m definitely not familiar with all the Internet has to offer. After all, if it exists, porn can be made of it, or so they say. This appears to be the case with the folks behind Dancing Bear. The website offers CFNM Movies, which stands for “clothed female, naked male” and the naked male is actually some guy with a stuffed bear head who visits bachelorette parties and the like. It’s really not for me, personally. I prefer more penetration and naked everyone.

So the front page gives you a pretty good idea of what’s going on. Crazy college girls and women enjoying a night on the town get to watch the Dancing Bear shake and strip. It doesn’t lead to PIV sex, as far as I saw, but there’s a lot of oral–by them, to him–and sometimes anal. It’s not necessarily ‘softcore’, but I can see why it would be right up someone’s alley.

Content aside, the website is pretty typical. The main domain has a splash page, featuring images from videos. The bear is ripped, yo. You click past that to see some sample videos and images but, of course, the real deal is the membership. An ugly, giant blue link tells you how to get your password. The same link allows you to log-in; although, you have to click yet another link to finally sign in. It’s a bit annoying.

A 2-Day trial costs just $1, which I think is a pretty fair price. If you don’t like it, you’re only out a buck. The monthly membership is more affordable, at $24.95, while a year subscription is the most wallet friendly at just under $10 per month.

Once you sign up and log in, you’re brought to a hub powered by BangBros, the folks behind this Party CFNM website. The member’s areas shows what other people are watching and, by default, the newest Dancing Bear vids. You can re-organize it, of course, so if you’d prefer to see the most liked videos from the past month, that’s possible. It’s all pretty standard and easy to use.

If you just subscribe to dancing bears, you’ll see links to other genres or porn and stars, which may not be part of your membership. This could potentially become confusing; however, clicking these links will bring you to a page to purchase that additional content.

When you find the movie that you want to watch, you have multiple options. SD or HD videos are available, depending upon your monitor and Internet connection. You can also download a trailer, which is a feature that I like, or browse by chapters to find the exact content that will get you off. Dancing Bear allows you to easily navigate between full movies, trailers and chapters, which is handy.

You’re able to download videos in multiple file types to save for later, or view the MP4s in your browser, which I had no trouble doing. Some videos had only WMP files, which prompted Chrome to allow them to run. I’m not sure what exactly is up with the inconsistency. However, I experienced no lag for the light or medium videos on my cable connection.

The HD movies had no lag, but they didn’t load fast enough for me to skip through them, which is to be expected. The HD isn’t actually pixel-perfect HD, in my opinion. It’s good quality but could be better.

All of the videos have an amateur feel to them. Many seem to come from cameras that are mounted on a wall as to be out of the way, and the lighting isn’t always the best, but it’s far better than some porn I’ve seen. There’s no plot, and a lot of yelling from the watchers, so you may not love this type of porn if you prefer sensuous music or to hear the performers moan. On the other hand, it’ll sort of sound like you’re watching a sports match and not some porn. If you do find one that you especially like, you can add it to your favorites with ease.

Of course, the women aren’t performers, but the Dancing Bear men are. You can sometimes tell, as the man moves the women out of the way for the better camera angle. There’s definitely an air of “I’m just getting paid for this”, sometimes. Everyone has fun, and there’s a lot of laughter, but it’s not as genuine as some people might like. For example, I didn’t see a single clit get rubbed. So sad.

I think the following image depicts this critique pretty well:

Dick For The Masses

I did have some trouble viewing the screencaps and videos in Firefox and Internet Explorer. Some scripts didn’t work and IE didn’t want to play the MP4 videos, but that might simply be an issue with plug-ins on my end. Everything was smooth in Chrome. However, I noticed a significant number of broken images and videos when I tried to look at movies in chapter view, which was my favorite. This definitely disappoints. Depending upon how your browser handles broken images, this might simply seem like the page isn’t fully loaded.

Ultimately, Dancing Bear might be your cup of tea, and the website is easy enough to use. It has all the features of comparable sites. However, the inconsistent file types and broken videos and images really drag it down and make it seem unprofessional.

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Not There

January 17th, 2010

At first, I don’t hear the key in the door. I am busy, distracted by the vibrations against my flesh and my soft moans. The door opens and when it closes, I hear it. I know it is him (who else could unlock that door) and that he will soon find me. I debate turning off and covering up but decide against it. I continue to thrust the toy in and out of my cunt, already slick with arousal and lube.

The atmosphere changes as he almost enters the room, stopping suddenly in the door way. My face is turned away and I pretend not to know he is there. I imagine his mouth hanging open and he’ll swallow his words to take advantage of the situation. I strain to hear him breathe just as he must be straining to control it, keep it quiet.

I moan for effect and slowly pleasure myself with the vibrator. I extract it leisurely from my pussy, running the tip along my lips and doubling back. I rest it against my clit, gasping at the sensation before sliding it back inside my body, angling against my most sensitive spots. I feel myself swell and back off, not yet wanting to release that flood gate.

Just in time, he distracts me, having moved from the door to the bed. His weight shifts the mattress and a shiver runs down my spine. From my position, on hands and knees, I cannot see him and I dare not look over my shoulder. I trail the vibrator from my clit toward my breasts, slowly circling my nipples. He moves closer and I can feel his breath, hot on my skin but not a word is spoken. We both know he is there, we both refuse to acknowledge it.

I tense, almost started at the touch of his fingers, lightly caressing my lips. I rest the toy on the bed, still on, and move my now free hand between my legs, careful not to touch his. I don’t want to break the spell. I plunge several fingers into my vagina. They are eagerly taken in and coated in my juices. I pull them out slowly, sure they are glistening and spread myself wide, sure he is watching. I retreat my hand from its revealed position, grasp the vibrator once more.

He takes the opportunity and I am surprised by his tongue on my clit, zoning in exactly where he needs to be. His tongue flicks and swirls; his lips surround my erect organ and he sucks it into his mouth. I respond with appreciative moans and he buries his face deeper, moaning as well, releasing soft vibrations against my flesh.

Still, we don’t speak, perpetuating the facade. He backs away and adjusts his position. I take the time to slide the vibrator back into my cunt, pushing it against my G-spot. This time I am ready and the pulsations begin the flow. Quickly removing the toy, I push the flood of ejaculate out in a healthy stream. I can feel a hand brush my thigh as he holds it between my legs but not for long. His mouth replaces his hands, drinking of me and he sucks and licks every last drop from my lips and my thighs, leaving them wet with his saliva.

I am empty, but not finished. Not yet. The vibrator finds it way between my legs once more, pushing at my clit. I rub, pressing feverishly to build myself to orgasm. This time he doesn’t touch, at least not me. There is the sound of a zipper, fabric rustling and I know his cock is in hand. I imagine its shape, its size, texture and taste. I am licking my lips without realizing, the sudden fantasy bringing me closer to the edge. I remember how his hard cock feels against me, inside me and pretend the vibrator is as good. It’s not but I pretend, anyway.

We pretend we are alone, he stroking his cock and me with the vibrator pressed against my sex. We are both hot and I am more than sufficiently wet. The bed moves with our movements but I ignore it. I am masturbating furiously as he breathes raggedly. We are both close. As I feel myself about to peak, he moans behind me. I imagine the look on his face as he does, a contorted mixture of pleasure and effort and am sent over the edge myself. I feel the contractions of my muscles, a quick succession of orgasm that fades not long after it begins. I am not immediately aware of the hot cum that he landed on the back of my thighs but it cools quickly and gravity pulls it down my skin.

I turn off the vibrator, drop it between my legs. We are still silent, except for the sound of our heavy breathing and his pants becoming zipped once more. He climbs off the bed and quietly makes his way toward the door. As my heartbeat slows and breathing quiets, I hear the door open and close, once more the sound of keys jingling in the lock.

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