Monthly Archives: September 2013

For Those That “Like” Pussy

Yes frisky followers of the Hairless One, you may now “Like” your Pussy once again!

While rooting through a drawer looking for the keys to my handcuffs (Sorry Ohio118, I really didn’t mean to leave you hanging!) I found my long lost “Like” button.

So come on over, stick out your digits, and press my button.

That’s right, I said press my button.

Hey! Where are you going? I did not give you permission to walk away. You are the submissive here in case you didn’t know. So obey your Pussy and push that button.

Mmmmm…that’s right. Just like that. Lovely.

Now click it.

Oh! You clicked Pussy’s button so hard. Pussy gets a little out of hand when you “Like” a little rough.

Oooh! Click it again, right there. Oh yes, yessss, press it baby! Click it hard! Oh yeah! You really “Like” that Pussy don’t you?? Oh god, that’s it baby, now put me face down and press it again….use two fingers…yesyesyes! Now both hands…mmmmmm…oh..fuck…don’t stop…I’m gonna…oh God, YEAAHHHHH!!!!!!!

Whew. That was incredible. Thanks for your time. 😉

Your Panting Pussy



Filed under Love Notes


“Close your eyes and just relax.” I tell you softly.

You lie back on the bed, naked, skin still moist from the hot shower we just finished. You’re tingling all over, whether it was from the blissful scrubbing I gave you or the feel of my hands on your slick body or the anticipation, you can’t tell.

I smile sweetly as I reach down and retrieve the rope from the side of the bed. I lift your hand and slip the knot around your wrist. Your eyes fly open in surprise, words of protest already forming on your lips. “I’m no submissive, sweetheart.” You begin with a tinge of panic.

I stroke your face gently and lean in close to brush your lips with mine. “Don’t worry,” I reassure you, “This isn’t about submission, it’s about enjoying the gift of pleasure.” As I speak, I gently tighten the knot around your wrist, just as one would slip a leash on a wary stray dog. You look at me long and hard, asking yourself if you really want to do this. After all, you don’t know me that well. Part of you is curious, part of you is wary, but all of you is aroused so you relent and lie back again.

I reach for your other hand and repeat the action. You are restrained but there is enough play in the rope to allow you to move your hands, though your range of motion is limited.

I reach for the remote and click the CD player on. In the background you hear the sweeping, sensual notes of a song you don’t recognize. I lean in close again and the scent of my skin fills your senses. My lips taste yours, sweeping across your mouth slowly, savoring you. They continue to your jaw and down your throat, up the side of your neck near your ear. My breasts are brushing your chest, nipples tracing your skin. “Close your eyes.” I whisper in a low voice. You shut your eyes. “Relax your body.” I instruct. You do your best under the circumstances.

I break contact with your body and there is a long pause. You resist the temptation to peek and see what is going on. The answer comes quickly as you feel my fingers gliding over the lengthening shaft of your growing cock. I touch you softly, tracing my fingertip over the ridge of your head, teasing the opening at the tip. Your breath catches in the back of your throat as you feel the tip of my tongue follow the same path that my finger did. With tiny flicks, I whip your head with my tongue, spreading moisture over your skin and sensual delight throughout your body.

My other hand is reaching for your balls, stroking them lovingly, cupping them while my thumb rolls across the soft skin. My mouth can’t resist and I have to kiss you there at the soft, sweet junction between your balls and ass. The feel of my lips against you makes your cock twitch in my hand and you breathe out a sigh. The tension has left your body, leaving no trace of anxiety behind. Now you are filled with a new tension…a delicious tension whose release you eagerly anticipate.

My tongue returns to your cock, now rigid in my palm, and I lick your head. I make small circles around the opening at the tip, poking my tongue down inside and tasting you. I relish your flavor. You begin to squirm as your desire grows. You want to feel my mouth all around you, not just teasing your head. I lick down the shaft, dragging out the torture for a moment longer before coming back and engulfing your cock in my hot mouth. You gasp at the sensation, muscles contracting involuntarily. I see your hands pull at your tethers, trying to reach for me without success.

I run my wet finger down your crack. As my mouth moves slowly up and down your shaft my finger begins tracing your ass, teasing it with gentle pressure. My tongue is sweeping up the underside of your head, running along the seam in broad strokes. Your breathing is fast and shallow now, your legs tense, hips thrusting forward against my mouth. I take you in deeper, to the back of my throat, increasing both the rhythm of my mouth and pressure of my finger below it. I can feel you shaking, knowing all the foreplay in the shower has left you teetering on the brink. The way my mouth is working you now, fast and deep, sucking and fingering you, is not helping matters.

You groan, pulling against the restraints with growing frustration. The urge to grab my head and ram your cock into my mouth is burning you alive. You jerk savagely against the restraints, cursing them out loud before telling me how fucking good that feels. I know it does. Your swollen, red, straining cock is showing me exactly how good it feels.

I can’t believe how wet I’m getting. The feel of your hardness in my mouth, pressing against the back of my throat, is driving me insane. I want to fuck you so badly I can barely restrain myself.

I pull back, licking down your shaft and sucking you balls once more before driving my tongue against your ass. As my tongue writes wicked sentences of lust against your ass my hand is sliding up and down your shaft. Fingers sweeping over your head, gripping you tight as you thrust up against me, mindless with passion.

I can feel your orgasm coming. You are going to explode. I wait until the last second before I pull my tongue away from your pulsating ass and swallow your cock again. You cry out like an animal, jerking your hips up against my face as you fill my mouth with cum. Hot sticky streams of it. You paint the inside of my mouth and throat with your juice as spasms seize you. You shake and grunt, muscles clenched and hands pulling taut against the ropes as your orgasm obliterates you. As the spasms subside, I lick you clean.

I sit back with a smile, wiping saliva from my chin and admiring the beauty of your face, so perfectly relaxed and content. Your eyes are still shut and a blissful smile hovers on your mouth.

Suddenly, your eyes pop open and you growl, “Untie me. It’s time for my revenge.”

Your words cause the moisture to leak down my thighs and I reach for the ropes…

Originally posted on February 21, 2013 – Copyright 2013 CJ Riordan


Filed under Erotica

Confessions: The Suburban Housewife

I am a pretty ordinary woman.

I don’t have a lot of juicy stories or adventures. My idea of a wild night on the town is usually going out with a few of my fellow moms and unwinding with some drinks while we eat fattening foods, protesting that we “really shouldn’t” as we shove mouthfuls into our faces.

Most of my weekends are spent doing the chores that were procrastinated during the week. Making sure the laundry is all caught up and sheets are changed on all the beds. Stocking the pantry for school lunches and organizing homework folders. Making sure the husband has freshly pressed shirts for the week ahead. Attending birthday parties and soccer games. Selling cookie dough and coupon books for the PTA.

It is easy to get caught up in the minutia. It is easy to forget that before the diapers and endless loads of laundry, before the toy-strewn stairs and parent-teacher conferences, I was a woman. Never a Goddess or a Glamour Girl. But a woman first and foremost.

Recently, I had a startling reminder that there is still a woman underneath the soccer mom exterior. That eye-popping reminder came in the form of a cock in my ass.

It was the third Friday of the month. Mom’s night out. I had been sitting in the bar of a local cantina, swallowing margaritas with abandon and listening to my girlfriend Pam talk about the endless stream of guys she was meeting in her post-divorce OKCupid online dating frenzy. I’m not going to lie. I was jealous. It had been so long since my husband had taken me on a date, or done anything more romantic than look at me over the edge of his laptop and say, “Wanna have sex?” And even that wasn’t happening very often these days. As she prattled, my thoughts began pulling me into a familiar and dark place.

I ordered another margarita and watched Pam discreetly text as we chatted. It didn’t take long before she had lined up some action and gave me a lame excuse about needing sleep, promising to meet up again soon before she headed out of the cantina smirking. I glanced at my phone, it was 8:40. I thought about heading home but instead ordered another drink.

I didn’t go out that night with the intention of cheating. Hell, I hadn’t even shaved my legs. But somewhere between the jealousy, the alcohol and the fact that I hadn’t been laid in over two months, something inside me just gave in. When he approached my table and offered to buy me a drink, I didn’t even stop to ask myself if I should or shouldn’t. I didn’t think at all. I just acted.

I am ashamed to say I did it. I pushed the guilty thoughts aside and went to his place, a nondescript bachelor pad that I barely took note of. We got no more than three steps in before he pulled me to him and kissed me.

It didn’t take long for the clothes to come off. It took even less time for me to become completely lost in the feel of his hands and mouth on my body. I didn’t know this guy, but I did know that I liked the way he touched me. His strong hands were in all the right places and I happily gave myself over to the fantasy his touch created.

The sharp sting of his hand against my ass brought me swiftly back to reality. My skin lit on fire as my shocked mind registered the fact he had just spanked me. Hard. No sooner had the realization hit me then he struck again, the palm of his large hand landing flat against my pale round cheek. Flames of sensation licked across my ass. Again and again he spanked me, with such force that a sheen of sweat began to cover his face. I was starting to freak out, the painful heat becoming more than I could bear when he stopped.

“God you have a great ass.” He said breathlessly, trailing his fingertips across my blazing skin. He pulled his hands away long enough to yank my jeans completely off. He bent me forward, my palms splaying against the wall to brace myself. His foot pushed my legs wider apart and dropped to his knees. With a rush I felt his hands grab my tingling ass cheeks and spread me wide. Seconds later his face was buried in my pussy. I gasped, somewhere in my drunk mind registering the fact that his tongue was covering me from clit to ass, and it felt incredible. I moaned and pushed against his face, wanting more, getting lost in the sensations of his tongue lapping away at my swollen clit. Then I felt his tongue dip lower, flicking and swirling around my ass.

Now I am not someone who has never had her ass touched. Not like my friend Jenny who would rather swim through maggots than have a guy touch her asshole, but I am not that experienced with it. Assplay isn’t something my husband keeps in his standard rotation of tricks. But when this guy’s tongue started flicking across my ass and I could feel his hands gripping my cheeks and stretching me, I went gonzo.

I ground my body against him, I moaned and demanded he lick my ass more. There was no discomfort and I felt no embarrassment. Just dirty exhiliration at the sensation of his tongue probing my ass while his fingers delved into my pussy. He moaned in pleasure as my juices coated his hand and flowed over his palm. Thrusting up into me faster, he slid one of his lubed fingers into my ass, easing it slowly in as his tongue teased me open. My volume ticked up a notch. He slid that finger slowly in and out, stretching my tight, virgin ass. My fist pounded the wall.

Between the fingers filling my holes and his clever tongue it wasn’t long before I was cumming hard, gasping and filling his palm with liquid. He stood, face shiny with my juices and a demonic glint in his eye. He said nothing, just took my arms and led me to the back side of his couch. He bent me forward and without preamble, slid his cock into my still-tingling pussy and pushed his thumb into my ass. I came again in short order, shocked and amazed at how good my body felt.

He pulled out of me, grabbed my cheeks and spread me again, bringing the head of his cock to my ass and pressing against me. “Now I think I’ll fuck your pretty ass.” He told me and my pussy clenched and drooled in response even as raw fear swirled in my chest.

He eased slowly into me, encouraging me to relax my body as his cock carefully took up residence in my ass. I was speechless. The feeling of him filling me, the pleasure-filled pain of my body stretching to accommodate him, the sheer taboo thrill of it, all rendered me speechless. All I could do was groan.

And then he started fucking me.

Short strokes to start, just letting my body adjust to it. His hands roaming me, flicking my clit, teasing my pussy, pinching and twisting my nipples, as his strokes got longer. I could hear his breath coming faster, his groans of pleasure echoing my own. His deep voice filled my head with words so nasty I can’t repeat them without blushing. And I loved every second of it.

His hand slid across my back, up to my neck. I grunted as he gripped a handful of hair at the back of my head and pulled roughly. He used my hair like a handle, pulling me back against him, forcing me to meet that hungry cock thrust for thrust. He shoved two fingers into my pussy and the combination caused me to shudder and start cumming again. This time, he joined me. Filling my ass with his cum; conquering new territory in the name of man.

When I woke the next morning with a pounding headache, you could not see the red marks on my skin. I barely remembered the cab dropping me off at home. But my ass was sore and I smiled every time the familiar ache went through me that day. I don’t even remember his name. But I sure as hell remember what he did to me.

And that’s my confession.


Filed under Erotica

I am Aphrodite

I am just an average woman.
Average height, average weight, average looks.
Victoria will not share her secrets with me.
The only time I stop traffic
Is when I press the crosswalk button.
I am not the pinnacle of male desire.
When I smile at strangers their souls do not feel mated.
Their cocks do not jump like eager fish leaping at flies.

But when I am with you I transform.
When you stand before me naked
Heated longing engorging your body and mind
Words of passion spilling from your lips
Seeds of passion spilling from your rigid cock
You become a mirror
Whose reflection beams silver-threaded beauty back at me.

Your eyes reveal the sweet curve of my smile
Hands testify in fervent whispers
To the silken texture of my skin
Your body shakes with ravishing trembles
You drink my beauty unquenchably
Worship my curves, valleys, peaks and plains
Your sighs, the moans, the gasps and groans
Sing wordless hymns of the heaven found between my thighs.

I watch my beautiful reflection obliterate you
You cheerfully pull yourself together so I can obliterate you again
Your mouth lays claim to every part of me
I have never felt as beautiful as I do
When wrapped in your arms, thrusting, straining, screaming.
You make me love the primal beast we become
When I see my reflection in the mirror of you
I am not just a visitor in the Temple of the Goddess.

I am the Goddess.

I am Aphrodite.

original publish date: January 15, 2013

Copyright CJ Riordan 2013


Filed under Poetry

Love Notes From CJ

Beloved Pets,

Guess who’s back? Back again? Pussy’s back, tell a friend!

Words cannot express how pleased Pussy and I are to be back among our literary family. It has been a long few months, filled with upheaval and transition, metaphorical births and deaths, and plenty of erotic inspiration. 😉

Among my many wicked plots and schemes is a series I am calling “Confessions.” The first of these shall be unveiled within the next week so stay tuned for that. In the meantime, should you have any confessions of your own you would like to share, perhaps you will stop in at Pussy’s Confessional where you will find Pussy lends a most comforting ear. Pull up a pillow, pour yourself a cuppa, and unburden your spirit among friends.

In addition, I will be bringing back some old favorites from the Cliterary Closet. Posts that are near and dear to my heart, mind, and of course, Pussy.

I am looking forward to catching up on blogs I have missed reading and seeing what mischief my beloved Pets have gotten into in my absence. But I promise not to spend too long reading. After all, I must write…Pussy demands it.

Moistly yours,



Filed under Love Notes, Tasty Morsels

Sly Tendrils

They get me every time. Those sly little tendrils of hair across her eyes. It is a love/hate relationship. I love the feel of those strands. The softness of them against my palm as I push her face down onto my throbbing cock. I love the way they tickle my skin when she drapes them across my crotch and strokes my balls with their velvety touch.

But, goddamn them, I hate it when they obscure her eyes.

I don’t know which I love more. Those silky strands that form a dark joystick I use to control her mouth. Or the hazel promise of pleasure I see when I look into her large, expressive eyes. They both unnerve me. The mere touch of her hair across the back of my neck makes my crotch ache. The way she has of looking at me just so, a flicker of pure, unbridled sexuality that catches me off guard and makes the room feel like it doesn’t have enough oxygen.

You would think that after this much time, I could control myself. I’m a grown man after all, not some hormonal teenager. In spite of that, I’m no match for her. She disarms me with her lively conversation. Standing just beyond reach, her mind engaging me, drawing me in. Casually, she will lean over the counter and my train of thought begins to derail as my eyes are drawn to the curve of her ass. My mind begins racing, palms itching to make contact with the soft pale skin beneath her jeans.

Slowly she will move in, closing the distance between us until we are nearly touching. I will catch her scent, the same fragrance that will linger on my sheets the following day. Her laugh taking on on a husky edge and that familiar sparkle beginning to shine in her eyes. She will throw down a flirty remark, an indicator that her mind is no longer on the topic we are discussing.

As I sit there slightly dumbstruck, contemplating my move, she will look up at me and like a trap door opening, reveal the fire burning in her eyes. My crotch responding, my cock will start to fill in anticipation of the slick prize that awaits me.

And then, like a coup de grace a tendril will fall slyly across her cheek. Unconsciously, I will reach out to drag the loose strands off her face so I have an unobstructed view of that glimmer of sex; the erotic pledge in her eyes. The feel of her soft hair in my fingers will prove my undoing. It is in that moment the battle is lost. My mind gives way in a shudder, my cock strains belligerently demanding satisfaction. Then my willpower flees, my desire grabs the reigns and I know that I won’t be satisfied until I am buried inside her, painting her in my most primal shade.

This is my undoing. To fuck her is to give a piece of your soul to her. Not something I usually like to do. But I’ll do it. Not because I want to, but because of those sly little tendrils.

Damn them.


Filed under Erotica

Touch, Taste, Thrill

Don’t just stand there looking at me.

Touch me.

Unlock the chains that hold you rooted to doubt and put your hands on my warm body.

Feel the soft texture of my curves against your fingers.  Feel the dampness that gathers at my center, the moisture created by the mere sound of your voice.

Get on your knees. Put your lips on the soft places they yearn for. Ignore the fear.

Taste me.

Thrust your tongue, push your fingers into my velvet folds, lap up the juicy wetness you have created.

Love me. Fuck me. Possess me. Violate me with abandon.

Thrill me.

I am yours.  So don’t just stand there.

Touch me.


Filed under Erotica


He’ll only break your heart.

You don’t see it yet, but perhaps in time you will. He will use your firm body as his fuck toy and when he is done with you, he will cast you aside. You don’t see it yet, but I have seen it many times before.

Most people don’t stop to think about the things I see from my lone post; the security desk in the lobby of a large commercial bank building. They don’t realize I hear their cell phone conversations as they wait, feet impatiently tapping for the elevator doors to open. They forget I am there when they walk by, gossiping about their co-workers, lovers, spouses. I have borne silent witness to the comings and goings of the occupants of this building, five days a week for 17 years. My job is to keep watch, and watch I do.

I watch the cubicle drones shuffle past, clutching their Starbucks in one hand and last shreds of hope in the other. I quietly observe the power players who parade the halls as if every square inch of marble and polished wood is their birthright. I watch the eager young faces showing up for work each morning, hungry to carve their niche in their industry. I let my gaze roam over the figures of the women in their pencil skirts, daring blouses and tight pants with unimaginably high heels. The kind of girls he tends to favor with his sleek attention.

But you are different.

When you enter the building each morning between 8 and 8:15 a.m., you smile warmly at me. Some days the smile is stretched thin, like a sheet of pressed, pink fruit being strained. But most days your smile is luminous. I envy the raindrops that cling to your hair in the winter, just as I long to be the sunlight that warms those glossy strands in the summer. Those silky strands that he runs through his fingers. The dark satin he wraps his fist around when he pulls you tightly to him as he fucks you.

I don’t know when it started. But I caught the all-too familiar exit strategy: he leaves via the stairwell exit, you follow a minute later, flushed and slightly disheveled. I have worked here longer than he has and I know his game well. Though he sickens me, there are times when my curiosity is too much and I stand just inside the stairwell door and listen. I listen to the soft grunts, the breathless moans, the disgusting names he uses on the most beautiful of women.

I have also heard their sobs, the ones he sheds like a dry skin, sloughed off on the stairs when someone new has caught his eye. I have seen the dull expressions on their faces for the weeks and months afterward as they mourn the loss of their own private poison. I have even gazed carefully aside, holding the door as they fled out into the street, dramatically streaming tears and leaving behind good jobs. I have watched them throw their careers on the altar of lustful disgrace.

Other than a general disregard for him and his wanton partners, I have never cared before. Other than the odd twinge of sympathy I have not been moved by these brief little displays.

But you are different.

When it comes to you, I can’t help myself. I ride the elevator immediately after you disembark, just so I can breathe in the scent of your perfume. I ride up all 23 floors, inhaling the scent and imagining the taste of your skin. I linger in the stairwell, my cock finding its way into my hand, my cum finding its way onto the floor, gripping myself tightly as I listen to him fuck you. I can tell the difference between your orgasms. I know the nuances of them, from the ragged sounds of vaginal release to the ones you have when he takes his mouth to your dripping bud. I know from experience the sedate brutality of his kiss. I can see how swollen your lips get afterwards. I watch you walk on unsteady legs, knowing your ass is bright red from his spankings. I know the effect he has on you: how wet he makes you. There was that day in April when he fingered you to orgasm as the elevator descended. You were so shaken you didn’t realize you left your panties on the floor of the elevator. They were damp with desire. They are mine now.

I never say a word. I just hold the door, push the call button for the elevator, greet you, talk about the weather, tell you to have a nice weekend. You have been here three years and have no idea how long I have worshipped you. You are in love with him. In that way that all young, inexperienced women have of falling for the wrong man, you have decided he is your very own Prince Charming. I know differently. And one day, when his sweet attentions are turned towards another, you will know too.

He is going to break your heart. And when he does, I am going to break him.


Leslie and Tina bustled back toward the elevator with their expensive, flavored coffees in hand. As they walked Tina gestured toward the elevators with her coffee. “…It was almost a year ago. Yeah, he worked for the investment firm up on the 19th floor. He was working late one night and the next morning they found him at the bottom of the elevator shaft.” Leslie gasped in horror as she turned her wide eyes to Tina. “No way! I heard about that on the news!” Tina nodded sagely. “Yup. Sad too, he was only 28 and such a hottie.” Their conversation was cut short by the bell that signaled the arrival of the elevator. “So what are you plans this weekend?” As Tina began her answer, she nodded a greeting to the security guard at his desk nearby. They stepped inside and Tina punched the button for their floor.


Filed under Erotica

With a Whisper or a Bang

She breezes back into the blogosphere, with a whisper of fabric to serve as the herald of her arrival. The hiatus has come blessedly to an end.

In the silence of these last few months she has found a new voice. In the stillness of space between her words, entire stories have been told. Chapters have been ended, plot twists have taken place. New characters have been introduced, and well-known faces have faded to distant memory. When the wind picks up and blows the sand away from the edges, you may be surprised by what is left behind.

There is a hard-won wisdom, a new, vigorous self-respect, a wicked intent that has had time to percolate, and new-found longing for things that have been lost. There are adventures not yet spoken of. Characters not yet introduced into this heady tale. So much to look forward to; so much that lies the rear-view mirror still pulling on invisible strings attached to the heart.

Every end signals a new beginning. Every death is followed by a birth. Every exit is significant, whether that final goodbye is uttered in a whisper or a bang. And every entrance is equally significant, whether a quiet hello through lowered lashes or a boisterous greeting.

Neither the whisper nor the bang signify the surprise that lies within each new beginning. Each road that intersects our own brings its own magic that unfolds just as it is meant to. Billowing out in a puff of smoke to form the exact shape and intricacy it is meant to be. We are simply a blessed audience, watching a moment in time unfold. We are all simply bearing witness to the birth of that moment. Without comprehension and without any way of understanding the significance that smoky infant will play in our worlds. Just clap your hands and wait for the story to unfold…

There is only one thing that you can be sure of: CJ is back. And where ever CJ goes, Pussy inevitably follows. 😉

Moistly yours once again,



Filed under Love Notes, Tasty Morsels