There’s something wrong with me.

When I participated in the Bare Your Sexual Soul Day I went back to a place that I loved and memories of my exploits with Troy filed my head and my belly.  The men, the cocks, the raw, animal sex where I felt nothing but my hole and my cells for hours on end; the emotional upheaval of being connected to a sociopathic narcissist; and the intense pleasure I received for abusing my body via sex.  It all felt so good to relive those moments, but I was also walking the edge of concern.

Then, a friend wrote of her father’s passing and another friend wrote of his experiences with a cruel lover followed closely by a run in with my mother — who, besides my father, is the lynch pin in my world view and of my personal views of myself.

The first two things are important because I could closely and strongly relate.  I had a tortuous relationship with my father and I watched him die a horrible death.  I know now that I would never truly wish it on anyone because even a man deserving of no mercy should be granted it.  His spectre haunts me to this day and the pain he caused me is often like a cruel friend luring me into complacency only to rear its unruly head when I least suspect it.  And my affair with Troy was beyond my control, my compulsion to fuck him, to do anything he wanted of me, so all-consuming I felt lost and ravaged for months.  It left me in tatters.  And well, my mother is slowly emerging as a villain to my heart and the realization has been devastating.

I’d already begun asking myself Why do I need sex so much?  Why do I like it to hurt? when all of these things occurred  and it has become clear to me now: I have always meant nothing to those with the most power over me.  Who I am and what I am has never been enough and never will be and therefore I seek out connections that reinforce this belief: I wield sex to fulfill the painful longing in my being.

Last night, a Saturday, I had no plans.  Jason decided that our plans were to be cancelled and The Neighbor was going to a party in hopes of getting laid.  The night before, Friday, he had ridden me until I was a puddle and narrated my journey as he put me there.

As he’d slid his cock deep inside of me he said, “First, you get wet, oh so wet,” and he continued to stroke my grateful body’s cavern.

When he pounded me into my sheets he breathlessly said over me, “Then, you get incoherent.  God, I love watching this.”.

We kept going.  He kissed me, stroked me, buried his face in my neck.  I ran my fingertips along the ridges of his back muscles delighting in the loss of my control, the sensations of impalement.

We turned me on my side and his long shaft found new spots deep within me, he noticed it, too.

And then finally on my stomach with my face buried into my mattress I cried and shook and pressed back on him with all my might.  “Ahhh.  The crying.  The last step.”  And he released himself into the condom, waited a few moments and took me up again to where I was nothing but sensations of a collection of cells and heaving lungs and a tear-streaked face.

We slipped on robes and stood on my balcony watching spa-goers below us.  I stood behind him and wrapped my arms around the soft cotten, pet his hard chest and nibbled on his neck.  He turned around and we stood locked in an embrace high above the people below us.

I felt safe and important, forgetting that my feelings had been bruised by his request to start our evening at 10 pm.  I had been hoping we’d do something more “date like,” but that was folly.  This is what I have with him.  I am no pseudo girlfriend, despite my wandering, uncontrollable emotions.

After more belly soaking sex and an orgasm later we were playing poker together.  Chatting.  I said very clearly that I couldn’t rely on him for anything.  That I can’t.  How could I possibly?  He said that was a terrible thing to say and I made it even more terrible for not recognizing it.  Later, in his bed after yet more sloppy, delicious sex I apologized for hurting his feelings.  He said his feelings weren’t hurt.  I was confused.  He insisted he felt nothing about it, that it was simply an offensive thing to say, but I still couldn’t understand the logic.  I said as much and tried to explain that it wasn’t personal.

“If I’m having a bad day, you’re not supposed to be there for me.  You’re not supposed to come and hang out with me and be there for me.”

He said he would be.  Which only has caused me yet more confusion.

We talked about our relationship.  He believes it will go out with a whimper rather than a bang; he thinks it’s going fantastically; I am down to only one lover now and I can’t have it all be up to him, it’s not fair.  Not to him, not to me.  If I’ve learned one thing in my life is that I am too much for anyone and my sex drive is among the traits most delicately – or indelicately – rejected in me.  I sometimes get the sense that TN thinks I think of nothing else, when in reality, I am inundated with thoughts and feelings so much more pressing I can barely function some days.  Like this week.

So, I sat alone last night after beers with one of my dearest friends.  Antsy, anxious, sad, in pain.  The Neighbor, my crush, gone for the  night, and I alone with my thoughts with no outlet for my building release.  I scoured OKCupid, but saw no one of any interest.  I sipped wine, I watched TV, I read, I ate food that tasted like cardboard.  I remembered to drop off my rent check and so layered on warm clothing and walked down to the office.  The cold night air coated my arms and body like salve.  I felt immensely better for it.

And as I stood by the drop box I looked up at our building and my eyes were automatically drawn to his empty, lit bedroom window.  I stood there numbly, dumbly, wondering why I was frozen in place.  I breathed the chill into my chest and felt more pain as I turned and walked away and then suddenly I was vomiting into the bushes.  Hard and fast, with tears in my eyes and a sense of surrender in my heart.  Headlights alerted me of a coming driver and I quickly dashed up the back stairs to avoid being seen such a mess.

I calmly reentered my apartment and headed for my bathroom sink.  Cold water splashed on my wrist near a nasty burn, crusted and bright red, and I expelled the rest of my dinner.  The burn drew my attention and I contemplated cutting myself and wondered where on earth I’d find a spot on my body that TN wouldn’t notice.  And so it came to me that I am truly broken.

I have been thinking about opening up my AFF account again because this calm, this one-man show who has his eye on a woman who has yet to make herself known to him, is bringing me to my knees.  I have aligned myself with yet another person who finds me wanting. I am a mother.  I do not want more children.  He is looking for something better.

I told him last night, while wrapped in his arms in his giant, unbelievably comfortable bed, that if he were older and wanted no children things would be very different.  He was surprised.  I felt relieved to get it off my chest.  I said no more about it.  He shared that he has always worried about my feelings for him, though I have revealed nothing outright.  It has been a general concern of his.  I was somewhat offended by this since I have been above reproach in most things involving my feelings for him: it is a girlish mistake to make this something it is not; he’s never done this before.  He should be the one that’s the loose cannon.  Not me.  He’s never done this before.  He’s young and inexperienced.

But in the end, he’s right, and he has no fucking clue.  Or maybe he does.  This has been extremely hard for me because the better and more brutal the sex, the more bonded I become.  There is something wrong with me.

I want so badly to be enough for someone.  To be the right fit, to fill his heart and his loins with excitement each time he sees or thinks of me.  I want him to strike my flanks, bite me, twist my tender skin and use me until I don’t know my own name.  And then I want him to cradle me in his arms, kiss my temples and tell me what a good girl I am, to fill that black fucking hole inside of me that my parents slowly stretched wide with their conditional love and cruel character, and to tell me that he loves me.

That’s what I really want.

And so I sat on my balcony and dragged on a cigarette.  Slowly, deliberately.  Feeling the hot smoke fill my lungs and mingle with my breath as I expunged it from my center.  I got my leather-bound journal and began to write in my chicken-scratch scrawl.  I wrote of my pain, where it comes from, why it’s there and, ultimately, my hope for mastery over it.  I told myself I could do it, that I would survive.  Then finally with tears in my eyes I wrote, “I love you, Hyacinth.  I love you.  You are enough.  Always enough.”

I am beautiful in firelight.

The Neighbor came over tonight as hoped. He beat me yet again at Scrabble with a 48 point word. HUNG. Go figure. We laughed, we flirted. He sucked my nipples in between turns. We snuggled and watched a movie then crossed the street to buy firewood. I had it in my head to prolong the evening. I should’ve just gone with my gut and fucked the shit out of him.

He disrobed and I told him he was beautiful. I peeled off my clothing in the firelight and he remarked on how beautiful I was bathed in it. I swelled with pride.

As I shuffled Tarot cards, he entered me from behind and the coffee table shook. He was sore and in pain from working out and couldn’t keep at it. We shifted to him in my fuck chair and me on top. I rode him until I couldn’t feel my hands and then he slipped out and we laughed and peeled apart.

He noted how fucked I looked: face flushed, braids in disarray.

We kissed and touched and talked some more.

Then I shuffled the cards again and did two readings. The first one was awful, about my financial/business future, the second I focused on him and the cards were telling and embarrassing. He was gracious as I read the meanings as vaguely as possible. He dozed in a sensual pose opposite me on my couch. His shoulders high and broad, his leg hitched up over my pillow.

I told him I’d mused over his sensuality the other morning when I’d woken up in his bed. How I’d been afraid to touch him lest he be angry at me for disturbing him. He assured me he’d never be mad at me for waking him up, no matter how tired he was.

He rose and came around behind me and kissed the top of my head, stood up and started to dress.

“Fuck,” I said as I stood and stalked into the kitchen.

“You really want to be fucked right now, don’t you,” he observed aloud.

“Yes. I played this all wrong. I feel like I should have my woman-card revoked, or something.”

“Woman-card?”

“Yeah, you know, like a man-card, but for a woman. Two nights in a row and you haven’t cum.”

“I don’t care about that at all,” he replied as he grabbed my robe-swathed hips and pulled me close. His breath puffed on my lips. “I had the best time.”

“Ok. You swear?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah. Will you and your pussy be available tomorrow night?”

“Yes, after my kid’s asleep. It’s a high honor to get me when I’m in mommy-mode, you know.”

“Is it?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

“Then I’d like to reserve a spot tomorrow or Sunday and a chance to rent you out for some other occasion.”

He kissed me deeply, his hands lingering on my waist, and left.

I fuck and laugh and cry.

I woke up lonely.

With a searing kiss still on my lips I feel the head of his cock push at my hole.  I spread my knees wider, grab his hips and guide him in.  The shaft stretches me wide, the length impales me.  We sigh together as I swivel my hips down harder on him.  I want to feel him in my goddamned throat.

“It’s been too long, Hy.  Too long,” he says urgently against my mouth and I nod agreement, kiss his neck, inhale his clean soap scent.

His cock feels like I’ve come home and tears cry from my happy cunt.  I bathe us with juices, my chest heavy and light with emotion and relief and desire.   He is incredulous.  He can’t believe I’ve  squirted less than 10 strokes in.  He has no idea the wave of feelings I’m experiencing while wrapped around his gloriousness.  He begins to move, we move together.

I have decided to be more affectionate with him like I am with Jason; throw caution to the wind and be more myself.  I tell him I’ve missed him, this.  He says he has missed me, too.  I’m elated and bear down on him with all my might, clench at him like a hand reaching to pull me back to safety as he rears back.  I can feel the tears in my face building now; I venture eye contact, but can’t hold it for long.  I switch to staring at his bow mouth, slightly open with a passionate plea unspoken.

My hands roam his muscled back and his warm haunches.  The flexing of his buttocks heightens my arousal.  A moan escapes his lips and I am more thrilled.

We are in a puddle now and I ask him to flip me over.  He chuckles.  He knows what I want.  I’m embarrassed I’m so transparent but beyond caring.  He pins my knees together with his and enters me from behind.  I raise my bottom high and push against my wall with one hand, grip my iron headboard with the other.

I am being taken.  I am being railed.  I am being.  I begin to sob and laugh as I cum again and again.  The flower is bursting in my chest the pleasure is immeasurable.  I trust him I trust him I trust him and I sob some more.

His pace increases and his hands rain down on my flank.  The sting so bright against the dark passion I’m drowning in.  I can think of nothing else to say but, “Fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!”  His baritone begins to fill the space over my head; he’s losing it and I buck back wildly as he pounds against my fleshy bottom and cums long and hard into me.  Safely protected by latex.  I wish so badly that I was being filled with his seed instead.

I get 2 seconds to catch my breath.  I’m racked with sobs.  He kisses the back of my neck and tells me how much my crying and laughing turns him on.  He begins to move again.  I am no longer in my body as he continues to turn me inside out.  Finally, he can’t go any more and he stops and drapes an arm across me while I try to piece myself back together.

His hand draws circles on my lower back.

“This is the most beautiful part on a woman’s body.  A man doesn’t have this,” and he presses above my buttocks with a warm, dry hand.

I roll over and lay in the nook of his arm, absentmindedly playing with this semi-hard penis.  We talk about why I laugh-cry.  I tell him the truth as I know it: I cry because I am overwhelmed with sensation and desire and for all the years of mourning I suffered through in my marriage; of never having felt that way with any kind of regularity.  He understands.  He says there’s nothing on this planet that turns him on more than when I do that.  I say we’re lucky then to have found each other.  He agrees.

He never stays the night, which I have decided to stop trying to figure out.  He gets up to go after many minutes of laying with me, perhaps as many as 30.  We’ve been together all night, hours.  I read his Tarot cards twice.  The second time because the outcome of the first wasn’t what he’d been hoping for.  I lied to him about the meaning of his outcome.  I omitted that it meant INCOMPATIBILITY.  I was too afraid that he had asked about me.  The Ten of Cups Reversed.  It would be hard, I told him, arguments and prejudice.  I didn’t mention the incompatibility.

His second reading said all the same things: he’s bright and clever, dependable; he has a decision to make concerning a woman, a woman who is proud and strong and revered among her friends.  He said, “What if that card is about you?”  I told him it would make me very uncomfortable.  He never told me his questions.

When I read my cards I thought about him.  The Lovers, two naked bodies entwined, was the catalyst according to the cards for my inquiry.  I blushed to my roots.  My outcome was Justice Reversed.  It means I feel like something is unjust in my life.  Do I disagree with his decision??

When I’d looked up from my reading he was fondling himself.  My satin black polka dot panties pulled down around his massive flesh.  He’d led me into my room then to take me a place where only he can these days.  He has officially replaced Troy in my sexual heart.  I am both elated and terrified.

Which is why, when he got up and put his clothes back on I walked over to him.  Naked and proud.  I kissed him tenderly, then with more demand.  His clothes rough against breasts and belly, his hands began to roam and I knew I had him for more when he rumbled how naughty I was and melted into me.

I fell to my knees and began to suck.  I pulled gently on his meaty sack and pried his ass apart just a little to press my fingertip against his anus.  His cock surged to a bigger bite in my mouth.

“Come to the bed,” he suddenly says and kicks off all his clothes, lies down on his back.  I fall onto his rod with gusto and each time he moans I wet myself some more.  I had told him his sounds heighten my own arousal.  He’s doing this for me.  I stroke counter-point against his asshole with my sucking.  He sucks in his breath, pleas with me to not change a thing, then whispers to deepthroat him when he comes.

I barely nod.  He’s close and my pussy is pulsing with blood.  His body is quivering with passion beneath my face, his cock diamond hard, then I feel his milk spurt into my mouth and his hands push my head down.  I can feel the bursts on the back of my throat as he empties into my velvety mouth.

He tastes goddamn delicious and I tell him so.  He drags me up his chest and kisses me hard with an open, hungry mouth.  “Fuck, I love your mouth.”

“I love your cock.”

The pride I feel at being the only woman on the planet to make him do that is the crown for my evening, but not his.  He grabs my vibe and tells me he wants to see me cum.  I oblige, and with his fingers buried deep inside of me my body explodes around us.

Not long after this he gets up for the final dressing and walk next door.  He kisses me again and I marvel at how handsome he is; wonder why I havent’ always seen it; know that I’m falling down a fucking rabbit hole of heartache.  At my door I tell him that I don’t have custody of my kid starting Monday.  He wiggles his eyebrows.  I also tell him that I want to celebrate my Anniversary for Passing a National Test on Tuesday.  He says that can be arranged.  At least I think that’s what he says… I honestly can’t remember for the cold was whipping at my bare feet and face and I was distracted by all my emotion and hope for a week filled with just him.

Just him.

I am an unethical slut.

After Phillip left.

I’ve been agitated and antsy all day.  Avoided doing some important work.  Wanting so badly to write a post for this blog, but not allowing myself until I get the work done.  This is a treat, damnit.  It’s almost 9 pm and the work still isn’t near complete, so I decided to go ahead and write here, let it out, expunge my thoughts.

I saw Phillip last night.  He opened his hotel room door dressed only in his boxers.  I was in knee-high tan boots and a green and white wrap around dress.  My girlfriends with whom I’d spent dinner had told me I looked exceptionally beautiful that night, gorgeous even.  I bloomed under their kind words and felt sensational as I strutted through the hotel lobby with my sequined bag and knapsack over my arms.  I was there for a very short stay, is what it all clearly told any casual observer.

We hugged hello, his skin was silky soft.  His lips lingered near my ear.  He offered me some water and he laid back down on the unmade bed.  I plopped down fully dressed beside him.  We chatted, I made him laugh, I relaxed.  He pulled off my boots to expose my hot pink argyle knee socks.  I like to mix it up.

And then after about an hour, the chatting is over.  He rolled over me and kissed me and squeezed my breast with a warm, heavy hand.  I arched into him and sighed, a tiny whimper escaped my lips.  My hands roamed his broad, muscled back.

We stroked over clothes, letting the burn rise.  I avoided his shorts, postponing the glee I knew I’d feel when his hot, tight skin burst into my palm.

He unwrapped my dress from my body like a greedy child on Christmas morning and deftly unhooked my bra, his mouth dipped to my nipples and he suckled.  My silver stretch marks glistened against his five o’clock shadow.

Naked, petted, wet, and hungry he knelt beside my face.  I wrapped my hands around his shaft and took his broad, shining head into my mouth.  I could barely take half of him he was so big, but I lapped and sucked and moaned and worked his glorious cock; his hand rubbed my mound and separated my lips, smeared my wetness around my folds and his fingers delved deep inside of me.

He positioned himself over me and I stopped him.  “Phillip,” I panted, “do you have condoms this time?”

“No.”

I just looked at him.  The last time we slept together it was the same story and I had given in.  He is not sexually active, I am promiscuous.  I trusted him, he trusted me and my sexual health and so we’d thrown caution to the wind and he’d filled me with his seed for two nights in a row.  But now… now it was different.  Jason and I have an agreement: we don’t use condoms with only each other.

Flummoxed.

Frustrated.

Horny.

Reeling.

I rolled away from him and he cuddled me.  “We don’t have to have sex, Hy,” he whispered into my ear as he hugged me close.  “I’m happy with this.”

“But I’m not,” I answered. “And here’s the thing…” and I told him my arrangement with Jason.

And then I did something immoral in the world of the ethical slut.  I betrayed a lover.  I fucked Phillip anyway.  Without a condom.  “I can’t not fuck you, Phillip.  I just can’t,’ I barely whispered.  And then he impaled me.

He flipped me on my stomach and pinched my knees together with his.  His giant cock stroked my g-spot as I rocked back on him, my buttocks softly punched against his thighs and pelvis.  Then I was on my side, his hand holding my knee up and he was sliding in and out of me, my juices running down my crack and puddling on the sheets beneath me.

He spanked me, I whimpered, I felt guilty and wonderful and fucked.  Back on my stomach and he pounded against me.  I heard him moan and grunt and felt him shiver inside of me and then he went still.  For only a minute.  And then — oh my fucking god — and then, he pulled me up to my hands and knees and ordered me not to move.

“Don’t move a muscle, Hy.  Be a good fucking girl and let me fuck you.”

“Be still,” he purred from above and behind me.

I whimpered and trembled, and he slowly — oh so slowly — started to stroke my pussy.  His hands on my hips, my fists balled up with sheets so I can be that good girl he’s demanding me to be and be as still as possible.

“You feel that?  That’s me fucking you, you fucking good little girl.  I’m gonna fill you up again with my cum.  You want that?”

I whimpered assent again.

“Oh god, your fucking pussy, Hy.  It feels so good.  Keep still.  Keep still.  Be a good little Girl Scout.

And something about those words sent me over the edge.  I saw white sparks, I thought about his Girl Scout-aged daughter and how goddamned filthy a thing that was to say to me and I squirted hard all over us, I became blanketed in a buzz, my skin  alight with pleasure.

His continuous, cruel and slow thrusting gave me opportunity to suck on his cock with my cunt as he pulled out and to push against it as he bore down  into me.  And each time, as the round head of his penis reached the edges of my hole, I squirted uncontrollably and shook with pleasure.

I was out of my goddamned mind.

And his bare cock felt like goddamned velvet.

I rationalized it as he was grandfathered in, he was before Jason, he was safe.  Jason isn’t fucking anyone else, either.  He’s safe, too.  These men are only fucking me.  I trust them implicitly.  And then I felt powerful in having a secret, in finally being the one who didn’t do everything right all the time; for thinking only of myself; for doing whatever the fuck it was I wanted.

He came again, more gently this time, and pulled me into the crescent of his body.  I lay there with his arm between my breasts, my heart thudding against it.  I don’t think we even said goodnight, but just drifted off into a post-orgasmic haze.

A few hours later, silently in the dark, we fuck again.  The helmet of his cock butts against my dry lips.  I spread them apart and the very movement of being spread quickly lubricates me.  Once the head was in, he slipped in and out with no problem.

I stretched like a cat beneath him and felt his dense muscular weight upon me.  I felt helpless and vulnerable.  Revered.  Panting, slipping, splattering of my ejaculate in the dawn; downtown city lights blroke through the hotel curtains.  He came and we dozed again; stayed inside me until he was soft and his breathing was even.  Then it was time for him to get up and go.

He showered, dressed in jeans and a navy t-shirt.  I watched him from heavy-lidded eyes, tangled in the white bedding that hotels love to put on their beds.  He pulled the covers up over me and tucked me in before saying, “Stay as long as you like.”  Then he kissed me and left.  It was the last time I ever saw him.

I played with two cocks on a dark and stormy night.

Another from my journal archives. I’ve been obsessing over MMFs lately — God, I miss them so much. Like, it almost hurts I miss it so much. Here’s the night that Troy and I met Ryan, a deliciously brown and muscled young man with no inhibitions. Enjoy.

Picture this: A big cock and an even bigger cock filled my line of sight. I took one in my right hand and the other in my left and licked from balls to balls, nibbling with my teeth, slurping with my tongue. I could hear moans of pleasure, feel them press their hips forward into my hands and mouth.

Earlier Ryan’s laugh filled me with a sense of warmth and trust. He’s been “in the lifestyle” for most of his adult life at the tender age of 28. Troy and I met him for drinks, decided he was cool, and went back to Troy’s apartment where I found myself with chilled white wine in hand and between the two of them, giddy, nervous, and excited.

I don’t know what magic voodoo happens in an MMF, but it’s there. There’s an element of freedom, acceptance, and sheer fun that vibrates off of the participants. I would venture to say it’s that way in any group situation, but, ohmygod, the fun of an MMF!! The brilliance, the sensation, the hotness! Nothing puts a smile on my face like a good MMF. Really.

When Ryan’s hands found my pussy I was a faucet. Troy murmured how hot I was and that I was a good girl, which caused me to flood Ryan’s hand further. I tried to control the flow, but my body wasn’t mine anymore. It was theirs to do with as they pleased — and please it they did.

I was bent over and stuffed, kissed, stroked, licked, patted, spanked, caressed, and impaled for 5 hours. Ryan squeezed into me while I wrapped my arms around Troy’s waist as he lay back on the couch. “She’s so tight,” Ryan said as he pushed his 10 inches deeper and deeper. His upward curve making my cunt more accommodating to his size. He laughed that I didn’t need any lube. I felt proud.

And when he started to pump I buried my head in Troy’s waist and tried to take it all in. The pounding from behind, the cock jutting between my breasts, the hands firmly on my hips, and the arms wrapped around me. I bent down and took Troy’s cock in my mouth and let Ryan’s thrusts dictate my sucking. Someone grabbed my braids.

I cried uncle a time or two and they let me rest and would play with each other. Between heavy lids and a buzzing pussy I would watch as masculine jaws practically unhinged as cocks were worshiped. Muscles flexing, big hands wrapped gently around tender packages of low hanging flesh. We tried DVP with Troy on the floor and Ryan entering from behind, but we couldn’t make it work. And it really didn’t matter. Everything else was so goddamned amazing.

Ryan’s kisses, his scent, his moves. Troy’s calm presence, his downy chest, his sheer enjoyment of seeing me enjoy myself, his moves.

Once, when I was on Ryan’s lap, happily, stupidly impaling myself on him, Troy was low to the ground watching like a porn cam operator. “Hy, it’s so hot watching you get fucked. You’re so hot, Hyacinth,” and I wasn’t even self-conscious. Ryan’s hands played on my breasts and I bounced and wriggled like I was on a pony ride.

When Ryan came I was on my back on the floor; he was deep inside of me and Troy’s tender balls hung over my face. They were facing each other. I reached up and suckled Troy’s low hanging fruit as I was split open. I take a break I see that Ryan has bent over me and is sucking Troy while he fucks me. I squeeze on Ryan’s shaft and push back hard and lick Troy’s balls some more while Ryan’s mouth works him over.

Almost suddenly, Ryan pulls out and in one stroke peels away his condom and cums all over me and Troy. His smile broad and rakish. “Holy shit, I couldn’t wait any longer. I think cum went that way!” and he motioned over his shoulder. We all laughed and I lay panting on the floor, overwhelmed with desire and satisfaction.

When I was ready again Troy got behind me and to my surprise it felt no different than the 10 inch cock that had just been filling me. I manage to tell him as much and I felt like I’d figured out the secret to his fantastic fucking: He’s got a magic dick. It’s 8″, but feels like 10″.

He pounded into me and I bore down with everything I had. I swiveled my hips at the end, I wiggled back on him whenever he tried to stop. Ryan’s thick rod was in my mouth and I did my best to not bite him as Troy continued to take me higher. Cum poured down my thighs and it was pooling on the rug at my knees. The tempo increased and I thought my chest was going to explode with tingling and numbness and then I hear moans and Troy pulls out and rips his condom off and unloads on my back. I turn around and let him finish cumming on my breasts and on my mouth.

I fall back onto the couch and lay my legs across Ryan’s legs. It’s started to storm and lightening flashes into the darkened living room. I barely know my name anymore. I think we talked about the weather as Troy cleaned up a little. He had a date the following night and he lamented about the state of his couch and rug (drenched by my pussy). How was he going to explain it?

Suddenly, I wanted to be home. So badly. I don’t know what happened to me, but I wanted to run through the rain to my car and lay in my own bed and dream. Hastily I got dressed, assured the men I was ok and ran out into a warm, summer downpour. The drops heavy and silky soaked me to the skin in seconds. I wasn’t upset to discover I’d forgotten my phone and had to run back. Troy met me at the door with it in his hand. I grabbed it and ran back. Soaking wet. Stupid-fucked. Reeling. Happy. Disoriented.

Hyacinth has hips

My first ever HNT post. I’m kinda nervous…