Tag Archives: erotica

A Proximate Beginning

Bridge

You saw fit to share our origin tale.  Now I sit, bathed in blue glow with fingers to keys, to tell my side of the story.

Your digital cry was too distinct; too familiar.  In your words I felt my own heart, its beat of loneliness echoed in yours.  From your digital form I caught the faint stench of fear and downfall from grace.  And recognized that scent as my own.

The dance began, our steps falling so easily into rhythm it felt as if we had always shared the dance floor.

We kept making rules, and promptly breaking them.  We set boundaries then picked them up and moved them at will because even in our fragile, broken state, we both knew this was too rare and beautiful to squander.

Building up history, peeling away layers.  Facing fears, insecurities, accomplishments, and celebrations together.  We became twin arches supporting the bridge of emotion rapidly growing between us.

Until one of those arches gave way.

Until it vanished, leaving its twin collapsing under the weight.

Mourning.

And then the unthinkable happened.  I heard a different, yet familiar, digital cry.  And once again I answered. How could I not? Not a day had passed since the loss of my twin arch when I didn’t miss you with every part of my soul.

And so the dance began anew.  Tentative, delicate, deliberate.  We stepped gently at first, then more brisk; our tender confidence coaxing more strident rhythms from our feet.

Until you kissed me.

Until the incorrigible conflagration between us consumed us both.

We watered the words with our own salty fluids, nurturing them with skillful allusions until they grew so round and full we could not ignore them.  Like bright daffodils raising their faces to the spring sun, they would not be denied any longer.

I. Love. You.

In those first few months together we found freedom in each other.  Today, we find new freedoms, new moments, perfect, profound subplots in each other.  Our journey has only just started.

I don’t know what lies unwritten in the amazing, unfathomable story of us.  I don’t know how many chapters we can author together or what roles we play in the tale.

But I know this:  each word, paragraph, and chapter with you is a gift.  A gift I am eternally and profoundly grateful for.

 

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Unbefitting

There is no argument among the members of the jury:  I fucked up.

My mistake, a boundary somewhere on the path, blown past in my haste to understand. Sometimes, I rush to communicate and it backfires on me.

I am guilty.

Guilty of showing my insecurity.  Guilty of applying pressure, something I promised never to do.  Guilty of lashing out and not taking time to choose my words with care.

Guilty. As. Charged.

But the punishment Your Honor, was too severe.

The harsh degree of punishment did not befit the crime.

And in the face of these blows, I throw my hands up in defense and silently scream:  This doesn’t fit my crime!!!

I can’t change the judgment.  I can’t defend against this.  I can’t undo the crime itself.  I can’t get through to you.

I

Can’t

Stop

Missing

You.

I have moved on already.  Multiple times and in a variety of positions.  I have felt the tingling of emotion trying to blossom in my chest. And then I think of you.

And our friendship.

And our victory laps untaken.

And the dreams we confessed to each other.

And the sins we committed.

And the parting.

And the distance.

And my crime.

And the sheer void you left behind.

And the punishment that is still hurting.

And how it never fit the crime.

I pull back hard on the reigns of my heart.  I pull into myself like a snail recoiling from unexpected touch. I push that tiny blossom down under a weighty cloak of boundless cynicism.

I could try to argue.  But it would be pointless.  In the end I have to accept my punishment.  In the end, I have to submit to the Judge and Jury.  In the end, it is just another end – I’ve survived enough of them to know I’ll get through this one too.

But you were to ask me, Your Honor, how I feel about my life sentence I would raise my voice and say: “THIS PUNISHMENT SUCKS!”

And it did not fit the crime.

 

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Filed under Erotica, Poetry, Tasty Morsels, Tender

From the Vagina Vault: My Man

Originally published on February 19, 2013, this piece is as relevant today as it was the day I wrote it.  (And no, I haven’t found him yet.)

My Man

Are you my man?

Are you the one who can harness this flame?

Can you dance me to the end of love

And back again?

Do you have the strength

To hold me together when I shatter?

Do you see my beauty

Even with my imperfections?

When you look into my eyes

Do you see the Angel-courtesan within?

Can you feel the heat from the glow of her red halo?

Will you give heart and soul to me

Without fear or reservation?

Cherish our bond above any other?

Can you unleash the beast within

Brave the teeth and claws, the animal desire

And revel in the fact you’ll never tame her?

Are you strong enough to handle my love?

When I unleash it with both barrels?

Will you sanctify me

Pleasure me

Satisfy me

Forgive me

As I will You?

Don’t stand on my doorstep roses in hand,

Making honeyed promises you’ll never keep.

Don’t promise me forever.

Or say you’ll never hurt me.

For if you truly love me

You will hurt me.

And forever is just a myth.

Instead promise me that

You will love me in this moment

With everything you are.

Promise me that when you hurt me

You will nurse that hurt until it’s gone.

Promise me that you will treat

The gift of my love

With diligent reverence.

Show me you will give these things to me

And let me give them to you.

Now that you know what that question really means

Let me ask it again:

Are you my man?

Copyright 2014 CJ Riordan

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Who’s the Sub?

I agreed to meet you at the bar.  I told you I’d be the one in the black tights with the growling pussy.  You laughed and said I should be easy to find.

I’ll admit, my approach was less than subtle.  But the hunger was rising like a burning tide inside me.  Demanding release, needing touch.  There was no way I could hide it so I figured the safest bet was a full-frontal assault.

We met and relaxed over beer and conversation.  I caught my gaze as it locked on the outline of your nipples through your t-shirt.  Mmm…my mouth tingled at the thought of their hard outline between my lips.  I momentarily lost track of what you were saying.  Mesmerized by the fantasy reel playing in my head, I watched your lips move and picture that motion on my swollen clit.

We made casual conversation while I killed you in a game of darts.  That’s it, you announced with a smile, the handicap is over.  Next time, we both play straight – no slop.  I grinned back, the competitive spirit inside me alight and reveling in a heady rush.  Just one of many heady moments to come.

We headed out, my stomach rumbling with hunger that nearly matched that of my craven pussy.  In the parking lot, your mouth found mine, your fingers making a beeline for the V between my legs.  I opened my thighs and welcomed your touch, stopping myself just shy of grinding into your palm – there were people on the sidewalk behind me.  We discussed stopping for something to eat on the way to my place.  We made it a only a few blocks from the bar, when I texted you.

Forget the food.  Take me home and fuck me.

Your response:  🙂

I felt myself flirting with a dangerous edge.  My hunger had an unbidden quality that worried me.  I didn’t know you well enough – didn’t know if you would receive the full brunt of that danger well.  I fought for control even as my hands found their way into my pants. There were no panties to navigate, just the full lips of my pussy, already swelling and moist.  The beast had arisen…

We arrived at my place.  I continued to struggle for control of the animal urges while I poured a drink and flipped on a CD. But you read my signals.  You knew what I needed.  You wasted no time, stripping off my blouse and freeing my breasts to your touch.  You kissed and sucked them, twisted and pulled them in that way that makes me exhale in a slow hiss.  You squeezed them tight, trapping blood in my nipples and increasing the sensitivity.  I wrapped my leg around you, peeling off your shirt so my hands could touch your skin.  You leaned me back over the couch, then changed direction, pulling me by my nipples to the other side of the sofa.

You waited for me to remove your pants and laughed when I lacked the initiative.  I made an embarrassed mental note: next time, examine the belt – so I can rip it off with accuracy and not make a fumbling mess of it.

Take me to the bedroom I asked you.  I needed to have room to move, this passion could not handle the confines of the sofa.  You stood and grasped my taut nipples in your fingers, pulling me like a dog on a leash.  I obediently followed my master’s footsteps.

In the bedroom, I felt the swell of passion rise inside me like turbulent seas sluicing up in a punchbowl.  I pushed you down on the bed and my lips found your cock.  I licked the salty fluid from your tip, savoring the flavor of your desire.  I want you to cum on my tits I said breathlessly as my mouth worked its magic and your cock grew full and hard.  I was drunk on the power my mouth had over your body, seduced by the way you moaned and worked your hips beneath my face.  I went too far.

But you can’t cum until I say so.

Who is in control here?  The velvet softness of your voice belied the steel beneath.  I felt your hand clench into a fist at the back of my head.  You pulled me up, denying me the feast of your cock, pulling my face back up to yours. I am the Dom here you said with a silky growl.  You brushed your lips across mine, tightening your fist in my hair and giving me a little shake.  Who’s the sub?  You pulled me close, your mouth closing over mine in a kiss that swept over me like an inferno. I am, I sighed against your lips.  My mind fought for control, part of me wanting to push that boundary further, craving the knowledge of your dominance over me.  The other part of me wanted to please, wanted to retreat from the animal within.  That part won.

You pushed me back down, thrusting my face down onto your cock and pumping into my throat with a few deep thrusts to drive your point home.  I accepted you, accepted my place, yielding to your touch and giving up my pussy to you like an offering on an altar.

Our bodies engaged in an erotic performance; a dance of sensation punctuated by sighs and groans, grunts and strangled sounds, the deafening clap of your hands reddening my ass as a reminder.  In the end you kept the beast in its cage, you fed the hunger and ignited a new craving.

I have touched myself countless times since then – eyes closed, lips parted as my body thrusts and strains for release all the while repeating your words:

Who’s the sub here?

I am…for now.

 

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Dichotomy

The sun lifts its light to the horizon.  The dark profile of evergreen trees stark against the pale light.  It is daybreak and I am thinking of you.  I am thinking about how to keep you in my pussy and out of my heart.  Let’s face it, one of them needs you.  But the other?  The other does not.

It creates an interesting dichotomy.  The desire to touch your skin, make your blood race, work you hard until I can taste the sweat on your body.  Coupled with the desire to remain disengaged, friendly but not emotional.  A state of warm ambivalence.  An act of acrobatics I am likely not qualified for.   A tight rope walk I have failed in the past and yet here I am again, stepping out onto the rope.

Make no mistake – there will be no falling this time.  This time, if I start to wobble, I walk away.

Ultimately, my darling, you are my fuck toy.  I will touch your face softly, gaze at you with my sultry eyes while my mouth surrounds your cock, smile at you with a deceptive tenderness that you may read as feelings.  But you will be wrong.  The smile of tenderness is nothing more than an expression of gratitude for the pleasure you give.  Your needs do not matter to me.  My hungry pussy is what matters.

You will feed the beast.  You will offer me your body and I will devour your offering.  I will bend for you, moan and cum for you.  I will let you redden my flesh with your toys.  The pain is a reminder.

We will laugh, talk about our pasts, work, ex-spouses, children, tell stories, find common ground we didn’t know we had.  I may forget the time, but not the objective:  you are not allowed in.  In the end, I will walk that tight rope to the other side – where another rope will be waiting to challenge me.

You are my dildo.

My fuck toy.

End of story.

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That Look

His hands trail down the soft curve of her shoulder, his body sated, but still responding with a tremble to the softness of her skin.  He closes his eyes, relaxing into the softness of the pillow.  He smiles as she exhales softly and snuggles deeper into his shoulder.  The silky texture of her hair teases his arm as she turns her head, burrowing her cheek against his chest, lips brushing his nipple.  She tastes him gently at first.  Mouth and tongue lazily grazing his skin.  Her caresses become purposeful; her hand sliding down the soft fur on his belly.  Her smooth palm travels the length of his thigh, running back up his leg and cupping his balls, surrounding them in a soft, warm caress on the return trip.

He purrs in response to her touch, amazed at the effortless way she elicits a reaction from him.  His cock is fighting the lassitude of his last orgasm, sleepily rising to seek her damp offerings again.  A throaty chuckle and his eyes snap open.  He glances down at her and sees that familiar twinkle  – the gleam of mischief in her dark, sultry gaze.  He knows she is contemplating whether or not to leave him to his rest.  He can also see her body is making the decision for her.  She turns her hips, rising up and straddling his leg.  As she lowers her mouth to his thigh, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin before her tongue begins tracing dirty words on his balls, he can feel the exquisite heat coming off her sex.  Like a living, breathing animal, her pussy is calling to him and his body is answering in spite of his exhaustion.

Unconsciously his fingers tangle in her hair.  He sweeps back the dark locks so he can watch her mouth’s long, slow descent down his cock. The feel of his head against the back of her mouth causes the blood to flow in earnest.  As she traces her tongue in circles over the head of his cock, lapping up the taste of herself still left behind from their last coupling, his body arrives at full attention.  In a heartbeat, his hunger rises like a tiger and his hips thrust forward, sending his swollen cock deep into her throat.  She takes him all, one hand running down his belly, the other cupping his balls again.  She stabilizes him with one hand and holds herself still to receive his thrusts.  She barely moves as he pumps himself into her mouth, but he can feel the suction of her lips and tongue as he thrusts.

She begins her counterstrike; her movements the perfect foil to his thrusts.  She doesn’t move far, maybe an inch or two, but they are the difference between feeling his cock in her mouth, and feeling the head of his cock caressing the silky slickness of her throat.  He groans, hands wrapping around her hair and his palms apply pressure to her cheeks.  This gesture has no practical purpose.  He just can’t help himself – her mouth feels that fucking good.

She rises up, wiping the spit from her chin with a sexy grin as she straddles his hips.  He is one step ahead of her, guiding his cock to her wet slit like an eager hound waiting at the gate for its master.  She waits, just beyond his reach, eyes alight with passion.  She asks him in a husky voice, “Do you want my pussy?” He groans, one hand wrapping around her hip as he tries in vain to pull her down on top of him.  She laughs, throwing her hair back off her face as she lowers herself just enough to coat his head in her juices.  “Answer me, lover.”  She says pivoting her hips forward and back, dragging her pussy across his head.

“Fuck yes,”  he says in a breathless voice.  “I need you now.”  He strains upward again and is rewarded by one inch of entrance into her velvet gate. She takes his hands and brings them to her breasts and he squeezes hard, knowing she likes a firm hand on her breasts.  She gasps as his hands squeeze tight and she impales herself on his hard, red cock.  He fucks up into her violently, his hips pounding a furious rhythm from beneath and she counters once again with her own stroke.  He rises up, wrapping his arms around her and throwing her down on the bed.  He grabs her leg, opening her wide to him and buries himself inside her again.  He can feel the impact of their bodies, the sound of their skin making contact eggs him on as he fucks her with a furious intensity.  He can see she has lost herself in the moment.  Her eyes are closed, lips parted as she gasps in pleasure at his sensual assault.  She tenses her body and screams, pouring her liquid sacrament over his cock.  He shudders at the way her pussy twitches and clenches him, knowing it won’t be long before he has made an offering of his own.  A few hard thrusts later and he pulls out – just in time to spray his pleasure across her tits, coating her – marking his ownership.

She laughs breathlessly, her hands caressing his essence, rubbing it into her skin like a precious lotion.  He flops back on the pillow, sweat dewing both their bodies as she resumes her place nestled against his shoulder.

God damn.  He loved it when she got that look in her eyes.

 

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A Little Tease…

So there is this little thing that has been going on for some time now between yours truly and a fellow WordPressian.  You might call it a bit of a fling; an affair of words, if you will.

You see, it all started with a little word exchange in a comment thread.  As you all know, words are indeed powerful weapons.  Suffice to say this fellow blogger is armed with words of significant length and dimension and uses his, ahem, weapons very well.  😉

So today someone threw down the gauntlet.  Not a battle, not a war of words to see which one of us could verbally dominate the other.  Oh no, a challenge of a much more insidious nature:  A collaborative writing effort.

Oh CJ, you did not just go there??!!   Oh my heavens, no!  CJ would never do that.

Pussy on the other hand…

Oh yes, my sweet, sex-starved readers, Pussy did.   Not only did she go there, she texted me a picture of her standing next to the “Welcome” sign and stopped for burgers, fries and jell-o shots at the favorite local watering hole.

Now my faithful followers, you get to sit back and witness the chaos that ensues when an impertinent Pussy paints CJ into a corner.

What was that? Oh, Who? You want to know who the (un)lucky fellow is?

Stay tuned my beloveds…

 

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Filed under Erotica, Love Notes

Morning Kiss – Part Two

“I want to lie down next to you.”

His words were like litmus paper.  In an instant my entire nervous system was on fire. I had a moment of gratitude that I took the time to make my bed that morning.  I stood from the couch, grabbed the glass of cold water that we were sharing, took his hand and led him to my bed.

It had been weeks since our last visit.  He had been traveling for work, our only contact the occasional carefully worded email that gave just a hint of the animal desire we were both feeling.

There was a moment of awkwardness.  The first man to set foot in my room with the intent of lying next to me in my bed.  Which side? We laughed at our nerves and quickly settled in, our mouths joining fast and exploring in that slow sensual way we had discovered on the couch.

His large hand explored the curve of my hip, running over me and down towards the length of my thigh. I knew he could feel the muscles beneath my pants, the lean strength of my legs.  I know the feel of it so well, having run my own hands over those same lines a thousand times before.  It got me hot as hell to know what he was feeling. I could feel his response pressing into me, his body’s hunger belied by the slow pace of his exploration.  I loved that.  The fact that we both held ourselves in check.  Keeping the pace slow and exploratory, without yielding to the impulses of our bodies.  Without giving in to the urge to rip clothing aside and mate like animals.

He spooned me, his hardness pressing into the curve of my ass as his mouth brushed the skin at my back.  “Your skin tastes so good,” he told me breathlessly, “I can’t get enough of it.”  His words made my pulse race and his lips all but guaranteed I’d need to change my panties before heading into the office that morning.

His hands were under my blouse and I quickly offered to remove it.  He didn’t take me up on it at first, but then changed his mind.  Off came the blouse and he pushed me gently to my stomach and straddled me carefully.  He caressed me from shoulders to ass, his finger tracing the line of my panties to the point where it disappeared between my legs.  He kissed every inch of my back, his mouth drawing patterns that left my skin singing with lust.  My need to feel that sweet caress on my breasts won out and I confessed it to him like a guilty sinner.

He removed my bra, turned me over and soon I was fighting the urge to mount him again.  His kisses were like a slow motion caress that formed an endless loop of sensation – bringing my nipples to stiff peaks that begged for his touch.

By now, I could feel the prodigious bulge in his pants brushing against me.  For the life of me, I don’t know how I resisted the urge to run my hand down the front of his jeans, to feel the outline of him and squeeze in the hopes of driving him past his breaking point.  I simultaneously loved and hated the restraint we were showing. It was the most exquisite torture.

For over an hour we lay there together, caressing and kissing.  Never removing more than our shirts.  At one point, we took a break.  It was the only thing that would keep us from fucking like starving fiends.  And we wanted to continue the torturous exploration; to keep the sweet anticipation building.

So we rested together, hands entwined, his heart thumping strong and steady beneath my ear.  How I love that sound.  As much as I love the moan a man makes when the head of his cock is nestled deep inside my throat.  Or the whimper when my tongue traces his ass.  Love the sound of a man’s heart.  Strong, steady, seemingly timeless. With my head resting against the curve of his shoulder, his arm around me and my lips against his skin, I felt safe.

It didn’t last long.  We regained our control and pushed the envelope again.  My tongue circling his nipples this time.  His sounds of pleasure in my ears spurring me on.

He held my breasts in his palms, marveling at the weight of them in his hands, reaching up with his mouth to suck at me and kiss my soft, scented skin.

We had trouble parting, deciding next time with a laugh that we would set an alarm so as not to lose track of time.

We were both late to work.  But we arrived smiling.

I am looking forward to our next visit…

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Final Act of Wistful Sin

Author’s note:  I wrote this back on March 1, 2013, when one of my favorite bloggers, The Wistful Sinner, deleted his blog.  I had enjoyed many hours of wet abandon in front of my computer on his blog site, and I felt that I owed him some kind of tribute.  So I wrote out my own little fantasy of meeting him in person.  I never did meet him, but I am pretty sure had I done so, the result would have been a wet, gushy mess and a Pussy that purred for weeks afterward.  🙂  I suggest you check out his blog.  He doesn’t post as often as he used to, but the man still knows how to reach down and stroke your clit with his words.

***

I wasn’t sure you would agree to meet me, but you did.  As I strolled along the paved path that wound through the park, I was glad I wore a coat. The air had a chill to it that matched the feeling in my belly.  Icy dread mixed with anticipation.  I figured I could count on you, as I always did, to add the heat.

I saw your figure on the park bench and my heart began to beat faster in my chest.  This was nuts, but there was no going back now.  You were focused on the phone in your hand, intently staring down and did not see me approaching.  Whatever you read was making you smile.  A lascivious grin, I could well imagine the nature of the story.

“Sinner?” I asked, coming to stop a few feet from the bench.

Your head snapped up and the grin grew wider. “CJ.” It was a statement, not a question. Your voice was mellifluous, flowing over me like warm honey.  You rose and extended your hand, slipping you phone into your other pocket. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Slight emphasis on the word pleasure, as though your mouth caressed the word as it passed over your lips.

“I brought you a present,” I smiled, reaching out and stuffing my black thong into your coat pocket.  They were still warm from my body heat. Warm and damp.  “A memento for later.”

You raised a brow, the grin widening by another fraction. “Excellent.”  You replied.

I suddenly felt awkward as I watched your eyes rake me from head to toe.  I resisted the urge to shift my weight from one foot to another.  “Totally fuckable.” You declared with a glint in your eye.  I felt my thighs clamp together under your gaze.

Before I could answer, you stepped forward and took my hand.  “Come with me.”

I walked beside you, our hands clasped together as you led us down the path a few yards.  As I held your strong, warm hand, I couldn’t help but wonder what that hand would feel like cupping my…

“This way.” You said, showing me a small, worn footpath off to the left of the paved walkway.

I walked in front of you my eyes on the path, your eyes on the firm curves of my ass.  The footpath led past a copse of trees and shrubbery.  As we passed the line of tall, leafy shrubs, there was a clearing with one lone, ancient oak in the center.  I stopped momentarily, not sure where to go.  The firm pressure of your palm against my low back propelled me forward, toward the oak tree.  As I walked your hand stayed on the small of my back for a moment before dipping lower and running over my ass cheek.  “Fantastic.” Came your low voice from just behind me.

I felt your hands on my shoulders gripping me and turning me to face you.  The next thing I knew, your mouth had found mine, our lips beginning a sensual dance that our bodies would soon emulate.  The hard bark of the oak was pressing against my back, the hard planes of your body against my front.

Your hands undid the tie on my coat, pushing it off my shoulders and to the ground.  The cold air caused an immediate reaction in my nipples.  Well okay, maybe the cold didn’t cause them to harden into stiff peaks.  But it sounded good.  Your fingers traced me, pinching me through my shirt as you caught my gasp in your mouth.  Your tongue slid between my open lips, tasting me as your hands undid the buttons on my shirt.  Your mouth was hot against my skin, the lace of my bra not posing much barrier to the hungry nipping of your teeth.

My fingers wound into your thick hair, nails raking against your scalp as the first of a hundred moans of pleasure escaped my lips.  I felt your free hand sliding over my hips, pushing up my skirt.  “Oh God, yes.  Sinner, please.”  I opened my thighs, inviting you to taste me.  You went down on your knees in the dirt, pushing my skirt up over my hips and spreading my thighs aggressively. Your tongue traced me, teasing my inner thigh before lapping at my dripping slit.

I cried out at the feel of your mouth, hot and hungry against me.  Pushing my pussy against you, grinding my hips as the filthy words began to flow almost as fast as my honeyed juices.  I could hear you groan, feel your mouth taking me in, sucking on my clit before plunging your tongue into me.  Your fingers were not far behind, stroking and delving my softness until I was bucking against you, swearing to the gods as my orgasm washed over both of us.  You lapped it up, licking me thoroughly before standing up.

I grabbed you then, pulling you against me and kissing you hard, tasting my own essence on your mouth, smearing me on both our faces.  My hand went to the front of your pants where your hard cock was straining to be let out of its cage. I tugged open your belt, unzipped you and freed your beast in one swift motion.  As I wrapped my fingers around you and squeezed, you groaned and braced your hands on either side of my head.  “Oh fuck, CJ!”  You exclaimed as my fingers traced and teased you before my warm hand surrounded you again, squeezing.

You grabbed me by the hips, lifting me up and burying your cock in me in one hard stroke that left us both making animal sounds.  You thrust hard, your cock taking up substantial residence in the hot confines of my body.  More moisture flowed as you pressed yourself into me.  I wrapped my legs around you, moaning into your ear, urging you on.  You fucked me thoroughly, with utter command.  Just as I thought you would.  The feel of you filling me was almost more than I could bear, the orgasm threatening to reduce me completely.  You wound a hand into my hair, the dark color between your fingers a stark contrast to your skin.

I thrust against you, using the tree for leverage to propel my hips up and forward against you.  I could feel your own orgasm building, just as surely as I could see the fire of the beast in your eyes.  I lost myself in that moment, ignoring the scratching of the bark against my back, only able to feel you, feel your body pounding mine.  “Fuck me, Sinner!” I shouted, not caring who the hell heard me.  I no longer cared about anything.  Not the blogs, not the readers, not the public park you were fucking me in.  All I cared about was you.  Your strong hands gripping me, your lips crushing mine, your cock filling my hungry pussy to the brim.  I wanted your cum.  Like the desert sands craved the rain, I craved, I needed your cum inside me.

I felt my orgasm ignite, the flames roaring to life inside me, the heat coursing through me leaving every nerve ending scorched and twitching.  My cries were joined by yours as you shuddered violently and fed my desert a feast of sticky sin.  We held on to each other as the spasms rocked our bodies and you smiled again, that beautiful, lascivious grin, at the sound of my indecent little laugh in your ears.

When we could stand without trembling, you pulled away, lowering my feet to the ground and returning my skirt to its original position with a wistful sigh.  You adjusted yourself, pulling up your trousers while I fixed the buttons on my blouse.  I expected it to be awkward, maybe even shy.  But as we looked at each other we couldn’t help but giggle together, like naughty children enjoying a private joke.

As the laughter died down, I tried to think of what to say next.  I bent to retrieve my coat and as I stood, saw you were walking away, heading back down the footpath.

“Wait!” I called, reaching out towards you, “Where are you going?”

“It’s time for me to go.” You said softly.

“But you didn’t say goodbye.” I pointed out, dumbly.

You looked at me, the smile returning to your face again as you shrugged. “I’m not one for goodbyes.”  You turned and took a few more steps down the path before stopping “Thanks, Sweetheart.  That was sublime.”

I felt a gentle wind blow through the ancient oak, rustling the leaves above me.  I watched silently as your tall figure disappeared beyond the shrubs.

“Goodbye, Sinner.” I whispered.

Copyright 2013 CJ Riordan

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A Pussy In Motion

Greetings to all my Pussy Pals, old and new! 

Just a quick and dirty love note to tell my friends that the Pugnacious Pussy has moved.  Not the blog site mind you, but the actual physical abode of the Puss.  The House of Pussy has a new address! (Nope, not gonna share it.  I’m not ready for visitors!)

So Pussy has been getting worn out and dirty (not like that you perverts!) and unpacking boxes, building furniture (who knew Pussy could operate tools that didn’t use batteries!)

There has been very little time to write.  So Pussy is going to share a little something from the Vagina Vault. 

Enjoy.

Be back soon friends with fresh, hot coffee in hand and fresh, hot stories to tell.

xxx

P

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