I’m afraid of jinxing it, but I am bursting with words. I have been hiding from the blog for fear that if I lay letters down here my men will whittle away with each click. I don’t want them to disappear. Not yet. I’m not finished with any of them — there are possibly more lurking that I will continue to keep close to my breast. I don’t want to lose any of them.
My thighs cradled him as he pumped deeply into me, his kisses deep and fervent. Somehow he managed to hold himself up and reach around my bottom, shift my flesh and slip a strong finger into my asshole. I cried out and ground down hard on him, clutched at every sinewy, flexing muscle I could. He growled in my ear.
His room was dark, no nerdy light show this time, and my body fell into a black abyss of sensation which centered on me, like an undulating chocolate fountain, never ending.
His finger remained lodged in me, his cock a hard, fleshy piston, my body a reactive live wire. I came hard and melted beneath him.
He freed his hand and slammed into me but with a strange cadence. “No,” I pleaded, “Don’t stop there. More. All the way.” He plunged in deeply now again and again. Then stopped short again, seemingly oblivious. “NOOOOO,” I said again. “All the way. Please.”
Again he buried himself in me and I rewarded us both with a clawing, mewling climax. “Thank you,” I breathed into his mouth.
I caught my breath and rolled over onto all fours. “Fuck me in my ass,” I said. I arched my back and wagged my behind. I imagined they looked like two pale moons in the dim light.
He pet my sopping pussy and dragged its wetness to my other hole and pushed his meat in. Slowly, naughtily. Good girls don’t get fucked in the ass. Or is it God girls?
He moved gingerly at first until it felt too good to hold back. He gripped my hips like he meant it this time, nothing soft about his touch. I didn’t cringe now like I did when he first touched me. I can’t do light touch. It makes me want to vomit and run and hide. I didn’t want to hide now.
I came from just the thought of how filthy we were, how dirty. Two otherwise upstanding citizens doing this disgusting thing. I loved it. And I loved hearing him unravel behind me. He came for a second time.
Earlier in the night we’d met for dinner near his house. It’s our 4th date this go around, the first go around having happened in 2015 followed by a two year gap. We have a little script we follow now. First drinks, then dinner, back to his place for a little more imbibing, then up to his room where our limbs entwine and he drives into my body.
I enjoy his company immensely: he’s smart, liberal, ridiculously complimentary, generous. He takes me to the nicest restaurants and buys me stupid-fancy hipster cocktails. He also plays with my asshole. I dig him.
Hands bound above his head, blindfolded, he lay on his side. The belt cracked on the bright pink X I had drawn on his right cheek. “Thank you, Ma’am,” he gritted out.
Crack, crack, crack!
Thank you, Ma’am, Thank you, Ma’am, Thank you, Ma’am.
I’d opened the door to this tall blond man wearing leather and a blast of cold air. “Ignore the dog,” I said. It came out throaty, bossy.
He stepped inside and the door slammed behind him. I raised up on my toes and put my arms around his neck and kissed his cold face. He tasted faintly of tobacco.
I drew him with me as I fell against the wall behind the door and wrapped his hair in my fingers. I pulled him off my lips and pushed him down to my breasts. He dropped to his knees and peeled off my clothes, a cardigan, black velvet boy shorts and a black camisole. I silently laughed how my thoughtful choice of clothing was not noticed.
He hunkered lower and latched on to my pussy, now eye-level. I held on to the wall for support, and his chin-length hair. I let my big lover worship me from his knees for a minute, two, before I pulled him up and undressed him, and led him into my room cast in a cool afternoon light.
I would tie him up, light a candle, draw on him, slip his tiny dark pink nipples between the tines of golden bobby pins, and straddle him as I rode him. I’d push a pale pink butt plug into his tight little hole, then later my finger, and I’d slurp him up until he’d say, “I’m at a 7, Ma’am,” breathless and with some apprehension. He was not allowed to cum and did not want to displease me.
Writhing on top of him like a wicked little girl on her wicked little pony I flicked his nipples and held on as he bucked his hips. What a deliciously good boy he was. As I drew closer to orgasm I flicked faster imagining the tip of his cock somewhere near my sternum; I was riding a bronco, not a pony. My hands went numb and my scalp tingled. It was time to burst through the surface of the water.
I pressed the Hitachi against us both and told him to hold still, to only twitch inside of me. I felt the pressure swirl somewhere down low and begin to build, stars pressed against my eyes with each blink. “Ok,” I whispered. “You may cum now.”
He moved like a healed man on godly legs, wild and desperate. I stared at his blindfolded face and the jagged grimace that told me he was completely in his body, in me, in us. He told me he was going to cum peppered with random Ma’am’s and I told him I was cumming, too. And then we cried out together and I gulped big gulps of air, desperate, dying, living. He keened his pleasure then lay still, vibrating a little.
I kissed his lips and resituated his blindfold, traced the starbursts I’d drawn around his nipples, now plump and dark rose with life. He hissed. “Those are very sensitive, Ma’am.”
“Good.” I flicked them both.
I came again, even bigger than the first, with him soft and spent in a little pile of flesh beneath me, still safely wrapped in the condom. He wasn’t sure if he’d ejaculated he said. I climbed off of him and investigated. The condom was full.
“Wow,” he chuckled. “It was an all-body orgasm; I couldn’t tell.” I wondered silently if it could be said he just had a “female orgasm.” I could hardly spell my name.
I remounted him, carefully, and removed the blindfold. I felt shy. This was the transition back to Hy and him. Not Ma’am and him. I talked him through my removal of the bobby pins and pressed firmly with my palm, told him to breathe. Men are such babies, I thought.
I slowly untied the black neck tie from one of my blouses from around his neck, ceremoniously, and lay down in his crook. We talked about what we’d just experienced like we were excited children after their first roller coaster ride.
I had to leave in 45 minutes to get my baby from school, he had to leave in 45 minutes to go to work. “Let’s go sit on my couch,” I said. I gathered my clothes from the pool of fabric by the front door and dressed. He plopped down next to me and I put my feet in his lap. “There’s lotion,” I motioned to the bottle I had ready on the table.
He massaged my feet until we had to go; we kissed and hugged at the door, told each other we looked forward to next time. I dig him.