Tag Archives: desire

Memory of a Kiss

 

What is on my mind tonight, you ask?

I am thinking of how I miss the feel of skin against mine.  I am pondering my craving for a silky caress that is laced with salacious reverence.  I want to feel fingertips stroke my face from the curve of my cheekbone to the line of my jaw, while lips dance across mine.  I miss the heat of another body pressing closer to me, trapping me against a wall, a kitchen counter, a door jamb, preventing my retreat.

I miss being kissed in sweet slow-motion, long and purposeful.  A kiss that leaves me breathless, my eyelids fluttering as desire washes over me in salty waves and I go under. I miss long, graceful fingers threading into my hair and pulling me gently forward for the next wave.

The kiss is not just the introduction.  It is the refrain that the symphony returns to; playing it again and again as our bodies crash and weave.  The kiss is the melody that lingers in my mind the following day.  I miss the feeling of true passion being given and taken, desire and yearning, lust and love all colliding in one moment in time that will remain forever.  Long after the owner of those lips has gone.

A memory imprinted on the cells of my body, on my mind and heart.  The memory of his kiss.

 

 

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Longing

I yearn for you.

My body swells at the thought of you; blood rushing to delicate places, heartbeat racing in my ear.

You ignite me.  Like a flame to dry tinder you set me ablaze in seconds. With a smile, with a look, with a word.

But your distance keeps you from the warm, sensual circle of my arms.  Your distance separates you from the hot longing that flows from me like salty rain.  You may be aware of my desire, or you may not.  But I can assure you, darling, it is there.  Like the sunrise, like the return of the moon every 28 days, my desire is ever-present.

I cannot slake this thirst.  I am not able to drive away this need.  The need for your body; your strong hands on my skin, your mouth in my moist, secret places.  This need will surely drive me mad.

Where are you my lover?

And why have you left me alone in this dark spiral of lust?  Without light, without touch, I am alone in a prison cell that has no walls.  Just skin and bones, muscle and sinew, and longing so vast it rivals the sea.

Please my lover, my lord, my one and only.   Won’t you please come set me free?

 

 

 

 

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Morning Coffee and Thoughts About Sex

He was supposed to visit today but had to cancel due to weather.  I was primed and ready, my body tingling with a hunger that needed – that still needs – to be filled.  I had been looking forward to seeing him all week.  Looking forward to what was sure to be that blissful pinnacle, the moment when I would finally feel his thick cock stretching me, driving into my body.  Damn.

I poured my morning coffee, the early morning air cold against my bare legs, and wondered how I could possibly fill the ache within me.  I certainly had options, but they all lacked the one thing I was really craving: human touch.  I could run my hands all over my own body, I could pleasure myself 15 different ways.  But there was nothing that could reenact the bliss of a another person’s hands on my body.  Fuck.

Sure I could whip out the medicine ball, slide Bessie (my favorite pink g-spot vibe) into my slick, tight body.  I could roll my hips, bounce a bit, each rise and fall driving Bessie deep up inside me.  It wouldn’t take long like that.  A bit of that action and I’d be cumming hard in a matter of minutes.  Sometimes, I like to draw it out a bit, laying Bessie on her side, bent tip up and nestled against my clit.  I rub and roll, grinding my hips in a figure eight while I play with ample tits.  The ball allows me a wider range of motion, rolling forward and back, feeling that vibrating nub from clit to ass and back again.  Nothing to complain about there…

But it wouldn’t be strong male hands on my body.  It wouldn’t be a warm, throbbing cock inside me.  Yes, the end result is the same.  But one is intimate, passionate, connected. The other is just me, doing filthy things to a piece of exercise equipment.

I sipped my coffee, deep in thought.  As the morning light brightened the white landscape outside my window, the light of inspiration slowly awakened inside me.

CJ, I said to myself, you have a hell of an opportunity here.  A perfect excuse.  A day to yourself.  No distractions, no obligations, no reason to leave your apartment.  Everything you need is here, music, food, fresh batteries, the laptop, coffee and a mischievous intent.  What more do you really need on a snowy Friday?

So my salacious friends, stay tuned.  I will report back after my day of mischief is complete…

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Sexy Mood

I went to bed last night and before my foot even crossed the doorway to my bedroom, the first sexy thought hit me.  Really it was more of an urge.  An urge to touch.  An urge that, lately, has been uncomfortably absent from my life.

I knew within an instant I would fulfill it.  Fresh batteries were obtained, the kind that make Bessie (yes, that’s her name) really vibrate hard.  The kind I like to place upon a pillow and mount myself on.

Oh yes, I mounted.

I grabbed a towel, threw it around the rolled up pillow and skillfully whipped my breasts out from my t-shirt while still leaving the shirt on.  I just hugged the pillow with my thighs at first, fingers rolling across my nipples as I conjured up the image of male flesh beneath me.  I didn’t bother with a face, my mental image was focused further south.   Focused on the texture of the towel against my thighs, the lips of my pussy, my clit.

My fingers continued to play with my nipples, I began to work my hips back and forth as the strokes turned to pinches, then abrupt slaps across my nipple.  My hunger grew exponentially.

Bessie was turned on with a flick, skipping directly to the second speed.  I saved the third, because I knew when I would really need it and I didn’t want to ruin the orgasm I could already feel swelling up like the sea inside me.  I reached down, pulling my full lips apart to nestle Bessie in with a whoosh of breath against my clit.  I slid my fingers into my mouth, tasting myself and coating my fingers with saliva.  I rubbed my clit, causing the moisture to spread, desire to build, I pressed myself down hard into Bessie and gave a few short thrusts.  You like that? I asked the faceless man in my head.  How does that pussy feel baby? Does it feel good to have your cock inside me?”

I got progressively more filthy as my excitement grew, I leaned down over Bessie, really grinding myself into her.  Finally I yielded to the moist cries of my body and eased myself down slowly over Bessie. I impaled myself on her pink hardness, moaning as each delicious inch slid into me.

Now the thrusts of my hips served to drive Bessie deeper into me. I pushed her out with each rise so I could feel the thrill of being filled with my imaginary lover’s cock; his face watching my pleasure, mouth against my breast.  I don’t know any details about his face and it didn’t really matter.  He was a rock-hard, faceless fuck toy anyway.  My fuck toy.

My thrusts went from long and smooth to hard and quick, abrupt, grasping fistfuls of blanket and at one point pressing my fists down into the mattress on either side of the pillow; effectively thrusting it up into my hungry body. I slid a finger behind me and teased my ass as I thrust.  I felt the animal unleash and I came with a shudder than ran from head to toe.  My body rigid, stock still as the sensations totally overwhelmed me.  I gasped, I cried out, and was grateful for my towel.  I like that sheet set.

I lay back with a laugh, enjoying the tingles.  I switched Bessie off, delightfully recoiling from the orgasm, already knowing I would soon go another round…

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Anniversary

The anniversary.  A measure of the passage of time, a mark on the road of life that tells you to stop, look back, take stock, be thankful, set new goals.  I have reached my one year anniversary with WordPress – one year of blogging about the fantasies in my mind, the stories in my imagination, the seductions, and the life that I wanted to live, rather than the life I had been living.

A playful writing exercise that took many twists and turns – erupting in moments of sensual bliss, the line of reality and fantasy at times blurred until they were hopelessly indistinct; like a tangle of limbs and sex-scented sheets.

What a year it has been.

Along the way strangers became friends, friends became lovers, and lovers became strangers once again.  I find myself alone on the precipice of a future that waits for me to sketch its shape, fill in its textures, colors, and details.  Pieces are still missing, elements are still being missed, benchmarks are falling short, there is much work to do.  But as I mark the passage of the last year, I remember many moments, simple and profound, that touched me.  Moments that shaped my blog, moments I recorded disguised carefully as puppets of a different color.

I think this year will be more honest.  More reality, less fantasy.  Whether or not the sex continues to pour from my keyboard remains to be seen.  There are times lately, when sex is the last thing on my mind.  When all I can feel is the pain, the drive to push myself harder, the sting of my own whip as I punish myself for mistakes.

And yet there are also times when the desires and urges that drive me to write, to touch, to feel, to fuck, are so overwhelming there is no room for anything else in my existence.

Can solace be found in the skin of a stranger?  Can emotional needs be met from a distance? Can that razor’s edge be walked without being cut to ribbons? Time will tell.  And a year from now, upon the cusp of another anniversary, we will see if the Pussy and Heart have indeed learned to exist in harmony.

Until then my loyal readers and friends I remain,

Moistly yours,

CJ

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A Hungry Pussy Speaks

Can’t you hear me howling?  I am bellowing at the top of my voice – why won’t someone answer my primal call?

Why won’t someone FUCK me?  Fuck me hard, fuck me rough, fuck me forward, backwards, sideways.  Fuck me until I’m sore and smirking.  Fuck me until the floodgates open wide and I gush. Fuck me until I sob.

Can’t you see I need it?  Can’t you read the raw hunger in my eyes? Do you not see the creamy drool spilling forth from my trembling lips, coating fingers, panties, toilet seats and virtually everything else I come into contact with?  I need it.

What about you sir? Or you over there? I am not picky, okay not that picky. (Picky enough that I told the 60 year old no.  But hey, can you blame me? His ad said he was 48!)

What about you there, what did you say? You’re married? Perfect.  It is highly likely you are horny as hell yourself and haven’t had sex in six months.

I don’t mind if there is a wife.  Hell, she can join us.  I don’t care if there is a legion of sister wives.  Just as long as they are willing and someone brings a strap on, I’m cool with it.

I am beyond hope, beyond the ability to quell this warm, gushing flood.

I am roiling in my own need.  And I just can’t take it any more.  I must be filled, stroked, slapped, fingered, licked, sucked, nibbled, and pounded until I am tender and yielding, spewing moisture and dirty words.

And don’t tell me to use a toy, for chrissakes.

I need touch.

Skin pressed against skin, hungry mouths on shuddering parts, probing, curious fingers delving into whatever holes they find.

You don’t have to love me.  But I am guessing when you’re done thrusting deep into my velvety tight tunnel, you might just have a lil crush.  😉

I am a good Pussy.  I am a warm and giving Pussy.

Won’t someone please come and make me purr?

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Press Play

You glance over your shoulder as you click play.  Your earbuds nestled in your ears, the quiet dark of your living room surrounding you.  She’s asleep upstairs.  She turned in hours ago, but your guilty conscience keeps you glancing back at the staircase, ever vigilant even though she wouldn’t be able to see the screen from her vantage point.

You exhale softly as the recording begins, not even realizing you were holding your breath in the first place.  You laugh quietly at yourself.  Your palms are slightly clammy and your breathing is quick and shallow.  You feel like a teenager sneaking a peek in your dad’s Hustler magazines.  You feel naughty, excited, guilty, horny.  And you love every second of it.

Your jaw falls open when you hear my voice.  It is deep, sultry, my words breathless because I had been teasing myself for over 20 minutes before I started recording.  I tell you that I am pinching my nipples into stiff little peaks and you can tell by the tension of my voice the exact moment when my fingers tighten on my hard buds.  As my voice narrates, my hands find their way down my stomach, to the sensitive skin on my inner thighs.  I cut myself off, my words turning to gasps of pleasure as I rake my nails up my thighs.  I am quickly losing my words, but I keep myself together enough to tell you how incredibly wet I am growing.

Then you hear it.

The wet, sticky sound of my sinfully aroused pussy.  As I flick my fingers over my clit and delve into my honeypot, my gasps turn to moans, my words growing dirtier by the second.

You can barely breathe, terrified to miss even a second of the experience.  Without even realizing it, your hand has found your lap, freed your swollen cock, and started stroking it in rhythm with me.  As my fingers tease and plunge, your mouth waters at the thought of my drenched pussy.  There is absolutely no mistaking the sensual deluge when I plunge the vibrator in.  It hums happily, my pussy slurping away with each thrust, my voice growing louder as I beg to be fucked senseless.

You would give anything in that moment to be wedged between my thighs, slamming your cock into me.  But instead you are home in your living room, no longer glancing at the stairs, cock in hand and head back as you mercilessly jerk yourself off to the sound of me getting off hard.

You can hear the orgasm coming.  You hear the strain in my voice, the tenseness of my body, the gasps and moans, the dirty, dirty words that accompany those dirty sounds.  You can barely hold off and as I scream out in pleasure, gushing fluid over my blanket, you fill your palm with cum.

You slump back in your chair and listen to me as I laugh delightedly.  We catch our breath together and the last sound you hear before my sexy voice bids you goodnight, is the tight, sucking sound of my vibrator being pulled from my juicy hole.

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Morning Kiss

I emailed him back almost immediately when I read his request.  A morning meeting at my place? I couldn’t think of a better way to start my day than with strong arms around me and hot lips pressed passionately to my skin.  Only a fool would say no to that kind of invitation.  And I am no fool.

I prepared carefully, shaving in the shower, running my hands over my legs, testing the silky factor of my skin and making sure it was as perfect as possible.  I wanted my skin to unhinge him.  To make him want, no, need to touch more.  I scented my body, a light floral scent that blended well with my natural smell.  As I went about my ablutions, my clit tingled like an antenna receiving a distant signal.  I watched the minutes tick by, marveling at my own chutzpah.  I barely know this guy.  By the end of our morning tryst, I will know him far better.

He arrived a bit late, having gotten lost and sending me an apologetic text.  He was chilled from the cold November air.  He took off his coat and settled himself, watching with amusement as I fumbled nervously with ice trays, trying to fix him a drink.  He laughed at me and I laughed at myself. How could I not? I was all thumbs just from the intense stare of his icy blue gaze – he hadn’t even touched me yet.

He took his drink and settled comfortably on my sofa, all long legs and confidence.  I prayed I looked cooler than I felt.  I was like a teenage girl on prom night.  And like prom night, I took a deep breath and dove right in.  I sat next to him and immediately he reached out for me.  There would be no time wasted with small talk.  He was there to press his lips against me, to taste my mouth and touch my body, and he was not going to wait for my girlish shyness to subside.  Rather than let my nerves settle on their own, he kissed me senseless instead.

When was the last time you just sat and kissed someone?  Not kissing as means toward fucking, but kissing for the sake of connecting intimately with another person? I am a big fan of the kiss.  A dying art, and something that when done skillfully, will vault a man to the top of my fuckable list.  He was skillful.  He absolutely vaulted.

I had to pull myself back more than once. Pull hard on the reins of my desire to keep myself from tearing off his clothes and mounting him like a thoroughbred about to be put through his paces.  At one point, his large hand was lingering above my breast, teasing the soft skin of my chest where it peeked out of my blouse.  I tried to hold back.  I really did.  But I broke down with a moan, grasping his hand and sliding it down lower, filling his palm with my breast.  He smiled at that.  By that point he knew enough of me to recognize the hunger I kept barely in check.

He paused, pulling away from me with a breathless whoosh of air and a mischievous grin.  He reached for his drink, eyes alight with a hunger of his own.  When he returned to my mouth his tongue was cold from the ice in his drink and I took great pleasure in warming it again.  As I licked and kissed his mouth, it was all I could do not to demand that cold mouth on my nipples.  Oh god.  I wanted to fuck him so badly it hurt.

He went down on his knees, spreading my legs and wrapping his arms around my torso, lifting me to his kiss.  I heard my pulse pounding in my ears and I pressed my breasts eagerly into his chest, my legs wrapping instinctively around his middle.  My hands roamed his back, taking in the sheer size of him, wondering what he would feel like, naked and buried balls-deep inside of me.  My pussy was drenched by this point.  He pressed his lips to the skin at the base of my throat, his hands sliding up the legs of my jeans.  He groaned into my chest as his fingers grazed the silky softness of my calves.  I smiled at the ceiling, a jolt of sensual victory that went straight to my dripping cunt.

He started pulling away at 7:30, telling me he needed to get to work.  But he kept coming back for more.  Another kiss led to another.  His hands roaming my body, still not touching the primal parts of me I knew he craved the most.  It was sweet torture and we were happy, captive participants.

As he took his last kisses, drinking in my mouth like a fine wine, he told me the next time he came over, he wanted to push me against the wall and frisk me.  His voice was husky as he told me how much it turned him on to think of touching me wherever and however he wanted.  I readily agreed.  Then he surprised me.  “Tonight when you are lying in bed,” he said thickly as he pressed kisses to my neck, “I want you to think about me frisking you, and I want you to touch yourself.”  I don’t even know if I said yes.  I think I just groaned a little and nodded.  It was enough for him.  He left for work late and smiling, adjusting his jeans as he walked out the door.

I came like a freight train on downhill track that night, shuddering and soaking the blanket beneath me as I thought of his hands on my most intimate parts.

I can’t wait until he visits me again.

 

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Sexting

I couldn’t help myself.  Once we started down that path, there was no way I could stop.  I looked around the office, eyeing the clock and glancing back at my cell phone.  Your text messages were staring back at me, tiny little characters of sin that my body could not help responding to.  I checked the schedule, at least 30 minutes before the next client was due for his appointment.  I fought with myself for a moment, trying to decide if I had the courage to follow through with the command you had sent me just moments before.

“Go to an empty office and close the door.  Remove your panties and tuck them into your purse.   Run your fingers all around that beautiful pussy until you cum.  Once you have made yourself cum, do it again.  Return to your desk and text me a picture.  Leave your panties in your purse for the remainder of the day.”

Oh shit.  What had I gotten myself into? Even as I stressed, I knew I was going to do it.  I couldn’t have said no to you even if I wanted to.  And I did not want to.  I scooted back my chair and left my cubicle, trying to look casual with my purse slung over my shoulder and a file in my hand.  I went into the senior attorney’s office.  He was out to lunch with a client and I knew from past history that particular client’s lunches took place at the bar and ran long.  I shut the door, my stomach fluttering and my crotch already wet with anticipation.  I sat behind the desk and whipped out my phone.  I rolled my red lace panties down to my ankles and snapped a picture and sent it.  I stuffed my panties in my purse and hiked up my pencil skirt.  The skirt was tight around my hips as I threw a leg over the arm of the desk chair.  I swiveled the chair away from the door as my eager fingers began stroking.  I used my finger to spread my wetness around my slit, sliding over my slippery clit and making myself gasp.  I was amazed at how wet I was.  We had been texting back and forth for a while this morning and my pussy was more than ready for some action.  I teased my clit some more as I greedily stuffed the two middle fingers of my other hand into my pussy.  I tried to go slow, in and out in slow strokes like you told me to.  But it wasn’t long before I was thrusting hard, my palm making slapping noises against my wet clit.  I could feel my arousal running down my ass and I arched up hard, cumming into my own palm as I panted and gasped your name.

Remembering my instructions, I kept stroking and thrusting, adding a finger in my ass for added measure.  The second orgasm was even stronger, my body clenching down on my fingers, cum running out of me and leaving a wet spot on my skirt that I hoped my jacket would cover.

I sat there for a moment, shaking with the aftermath of an incredibly strong orgasm, before reaching for my phone again.  I hastily snapped a picture, taking just enough time to make sure it was in focus.  I know how much you hate blurry photos of my pussy.  I stood up on shaky legs, pulled my skirt back down and reached for a kleenex to wipe the moisture off my hand and phone.  After a detour to the ladies’ room, I went back to my desk and took my phone out again.  The photo was a good one.  My pussy spread wide, white cream running in ribbons from my slit down past my ass.  You were going to love this.  I felt a wicked smile spread across my lips as I hit send.

 Originally published on February 16, 2013 – Copyright 2013 CJ Riordan

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Pussy’s Seduction

Pardon me…

To gain my attention…lure me in.
To capture my interest…let me explore you.
To tempt me…intrigue me.
To entrance me…draw me into your fantasy.
To excite me…touch me with deliberate intent.
To make me ache…tease me mercilessly.
To make me tremble…show me your sensual diversity.
To know me…taste me.
To elicit a sigh…stroke me with tender authority.
To elicit a moan…breach the walls of my inhibition.
To make me scream…push me farther than I think I can go.
To feel me gush…make me shake, quiver, twitch and cum.
To possess me…be worthy.

Do these things with empathy, respect, understanding and unbridled heat, and you will find your possession is wholly devoted to you. You will find yourself lost inside a world of pleasure that is ours to discover. You will find your own walls breached, your boundaries pushed, and you will ache for the opportunity to paint me white with your passion again.

Is it seduction you need? Is the temptation to touch me, taste me, plunge into me calling to your body? Do you writhe and struggle with the urge to follow me down the streams of sweat on your body?

And…is the lure enough?

originally published on May 27, 2013

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