Password Level achieved.

I dig his little idiosyncratic spelling of “cum.”

“Fuck I can’t wait to get soaked in your fucking cumm,” he texted at 8 am Sunday morning. “Can we start now?” I asked where he was.

“The country club.”

We had plans later that day for me to come over again and watch the next episode of Game of Thrones. He would text more throughout the day. A video of him playing with his hardon (“I have never sent anyone something like this,” he’s told me), little notes about the day dragging on and his eagerness to see me. Finally I was able to commit to arriving at 4 pm.

Two weeks earlier I’d arrived around 6:30 for GOT. Sushi was on its way and I brought a bottle of his favorite, a Malbec — and some American Spirits Yellow at his request.

“You’re so nice to me,” he purred into my neck as he wrapped his arms around me from behind while I set my things down on the kitchen island.

I had butterflies; he oozed sex. The kind of sex that was terrifyingly exciting, the kind that nurtured an apprehensive unease and simultaneous thrill not unlike looking up at the massive roller coaster with 14 corkscrews and 3 loops at 100 mph and wondering how you’ll survive it.

But survive it that night I did. Sushi never came as it was supposed to, but I sure fucking did.

We rewatched the week’s previous episode and I spread my knees for him while he stared intently at my pink puss. His reverence and delight emboldened me to show him what I otherwise am shy about. His fingers pulled my lips apart and dipped inside. He disappeared into his room and came back with a fuchsia colored silicone egg with a long tail.

He squeezed it and it buzzed and pulsed then he slipped it inside of me. He’d bought me another toy, apparently. How thoughtful.

The toy was only a novelty, though, and soon we were naked in his bed writhing and grappling with one another like Grecian wrestlers. His cock, thick and angled just-so, pressed my release buttons and I drenched the bedding and screamed and bucked with joy.

His depth of desire has no bounds, nothing is off limits. It’s like I’m a mountain to be conquered and no crevice or swell is off limits. His tongue bathed me from head to toe, his fingers found every hole, his cock, too.

We showered and he peed on me again, delightfully. His watchful hazelnut eyes on my blue ones, registering my reaction. I smiled at his mischievousness and turned my bottom towards the stream unbothered.

We paused only long enough to watch that week’s episode, curled up on one another on the couch. When it was over we were naked again. My Hitachi – thoughtfully plugged in by him – drove me up over the moon as he railed up hard and deep inside of me. My cunt rained on us both and I sobbed unabashedly, spent, completely soaked in my own cum, and entirely out of my body.

I had watched him, as if from a seat in a theater, pull my cum which had pooled in his belly button and spread it across his chest and lick his palms clean. One hand guided my hips and his other pressed on my clit as I gyrated wildly on top of him uncaring of how things jiggled or swung. I was nothing but my electric pleasure and he was the conduit. His cock, ever hard, fascinated me and seemed inhuman, robotically stiff. Who the fuck is this man??

We would take periodic breaks for a cigarette, a sip of wine, or a bit of weed. Did I even walk the earth that night or did I simply float from couch to bed to backyard in a ghostly coital haze?

He finally came while in my ass with the Wand buzzing mightily against my mound. I think I found God.

We padded back into the living room and finally sorted out the sushi situation. I ate like it was my last meal then left at 11:30 with a chaste peck on the corner of my mouth from him at the door.

The following Saturday (on my custody week) found him drunk and drugged to the extent he canceled on me an hour before we were to meet. “Crushed” is too strong a word; I felt crumpled. I did a new thing where I said how I felt and left it at that, then held my breath for his reaction the next morning and was relieved that it was human; I could look forward to our next GOT date.

I arrived as promised at 4 pm with a bottle of white, my Hitachi, and his requested box of Yellows. Driving through his posh suburb by the golf course I felt my skin burn with anticipation and wickedness. On the street children played and mothers hovered, trees literally dripped with swinging, laughing kids as I drove towards my suburban den of iniquity.

Butterflies roared in my belly as I rang the doorbell. His great big, black floofy dog barked and the door cracked. His bare shoulder, then face, peeked out. He smiled and pulled the door open for me to step in. He was naked, his cock ramrod straight. He grabbed me and kissed me passionately. I tried not to press the chilled wine against his bare skin.

This Sunday was more of the same, except I was worried if my ass could take another pounding so soon after one from the night before with The Vet. Spoiler alert: it did just fine. We toked, we poked, we joked.

Out back taking long, slow drags off a shared cigarette I announced after countless orgasms and buckets of our cum – his included – that I had officially reached “password level.”

“‘Password level’?” he asked.

“Yeah, like, if I were captured by the enemy if they made me feel this good I’d tell them anything they wanted to know,” I could swear the rose bushes shook with a giggle at me. “I’d make a real shit spy.” He laughed, seemingly happy with himself.

“Fuck, you are so goddamned sexy! UGH!” he said as he snatched his hand off my knee. “I can’t touch you anymore! I have nothing left in me, but if I do, I’ll try and I’m just so tired,” he said mostly to himself. I could barely sit upright in my chair.

He had used the pink butt plug on me that I’d brought over. My plan had been to use it on him while I sucked him off, but he had other plans. After our second shower – and even before GOT started at 8 – under the thick blanket of lust that lay upon us he spread my ass cheeks and buried his tongue in my hole. I squirmed and squealed, horrified and titillated all at once. He licked and sucked and ate like it was a piece of juicy fruit until I felt a prick and a push and he was inside of me.

He pumped while I came and cried and then he was gone, but something else was inside: the butt plug. He lay down and pulled me on top of him and as I double penetrated myself with his meat he passed me the Hitachi. Dear Lord, please have mercy on my soul.

I screamed like a wild animal and clawed at his pale skin. He hissed as a rush of liquid spilled down over his abdomen and cried out with me when we came like thunder together. I shook uncontrollably, kissed his neck and stifled my sobs. My feet didn’t touch the ground again after that. How could they possibly?

We showered a last time then went to have that cigarette where the rose bushes laughed at me. Finally we watched the show and I absentmindedly played with his cock. I had absolutely nothing left in me. I was a bag of flesh and bones, him too, I assume. He’d cum twice and showered three times with me. I lost count of my orgasms after number ten.

When it was time to go I gathered my things. He’d brought me my Hitachi and cleaned butt plug and I put them in the paper bag that had carried the wine. I laughed that it looked like I was leaving with a bottle, when really it was a bag of sex toys.

He wrapped his arms around me from behind and I turned my face to kiss him. He dodged my lips and kissed the corner of my mouth and walked me to the door.

Face to face I tried to kiss him goodbye, but his lips landed on the corners of my mouth again, but I didn’t care. I smiled, happy anyway even if he couldn’t kiss me, and thanked him for yet another wonderful time, then floated out to my car.

I’m pretty sure the rose bushes were still laughing: password level achieved.

Friday, March 8th, is Boobday!

Hy tits banner in black and white v neck t shirt

Well, as I suspected I blew my writing wad on February Photo Fest and so I’ve been languishing in not writing much this week.  I’m also on an antibiotic for BV and I can’t drink for 10 days.  Not a big deal at all, but it has allowed me to just really have chill and introspective nights alone with myself which I’ve been enjoying a lot.

I suspect I got the infection from my raunchy night with the The Golfer.  Drunk men aren’t the best at not cross-contaminating with fingers in holes, after all.  So no booze what so ever and no sex what so ever, either this week.  It’s been really really great, actually.

Friends and men both have teased me about giving either or both a try, but I have been unwilling to experiment.  I need the puss in tip top shape for my trip to London in the event I get lucky.  I also don’t need to feel the wrath of whatever my body would do to me if I were to introduce alcohol.

So, here I am: sober and sexless and loving it.

Of course, having said that, I will be seeing TG tonight to finally get him his RayBans.  I think I’m going to bring my vibrator and some Topo Chico.

This weekend is the last mad push to get ready for Eroticon and I have lists as long as my arm to get finished before I leave next Wednesday.

As far as boobs go, I think y’all will like this week’s submissions – read Sandy’s comment closely.

xx

Hy

 

Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate:

1) either submit a pic to me via email (hyacinth.jones@hotmail.com) OR

2) submit a link below to your own blog post for Boobday.

Also, just as a reminder:

If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)

Tell me why you chose the photo you sent

And don’t forget to comment on everyone’s posts! This is all about spreading the love!

My tits:

I love doing these selfies again.

NOT my tits:

I love the sparkles on Sandy’s fingers and wrist.

Mother of the groom.

::

Strappy black on Miss B for the win.

This is a fun band bra to wear under anything and protects the precious boobs!

::

 


I have mixed feelings.

Bottles of champagne, Veuve Cliquot!, a hot, drunk young man confused about who to pay attention to, me or my friend with a long term boyfriend who’d been shamelessly flirting with him.

I watched half amused most of the night until at the second bar she began to exclude me where I had made sure to include her. I excused the two of us from the table.

“Tina, I’m not judging what you’re doing here, but why?? I’m single, he’s single, you’re not and you love your boyfriend. Do you really want to do this? I’m not going to compete for his attention with you.”

And then the night ended with him in my bed and his mouth all over me and his fingers lodged in my asshole as he pounded me to fucking oblivion and I came all over us and my poor pink bed like a goddamned vomiting waterfall.

He tried to get me to come home with him in the morning, but I demurred; I needed more rest and time to be alone with my thoughts. The sex was intense and when I closed my eyes and thought of it my pussy would pulse and twinge.

I may have accidentally gained a new pair of RayBans. “Nice,” he said when I told him I’d found his glasses in my purse. “When are you gonna come over and drop them off? We can soak my bed too.”

Another night set loose by bubbles and held by nothing but whimsy, my memory and manners spotty. Who knows if I’ll ever hear from him again. I hope I made his sad day brighter. He certainly brightened mine.

I’ve spent my entire Sunday washing the entirety of my bed linens and wondering when I’ll stop having drunken, loneliness-driven nights like last night.

Sinful Sunday
February Photofest