Tag Archives: sex

Worry Box

I filled the box with my concerns.  Each written carefully on neatly lined paper.  My fears, my anxieties, my worries.  Spelled out before me in black letters.

I put them in the Worry Box and invited you to put yours there too.

Then we closed the Box and ran away together.

We rode 900 miles to escape our Worries.

But mine were never farther than the back pocket of my jeans, a denim cage that stretched taut across my ass as I straddled the seat of your motorcycle.  My Worries followed me – dogged every step of my foot through the mossy, tree-lined paradise we explored together.

I forgot them often – transported as I was by your smile, the sunshine on my face, and the laughter we shared.  The playful exchange of jokes, gentle barbs and tender kisses all provided me respite from those Worries.

But they were never really forgotten.

They would escape their cage and climb upon my shoulder, whispering in my ear as the landscape blurred past.  As the bike leaned through curves, they would dig in – holding fast to me and making sure they did not fall to the roadway as I desperately wished they would.

Fucking tenacious Worries.

You and I shared some beautiful moments over those three days.  Tranquility, companionship, intimacy.  I fearlessly drove my tongue into your most intimate spaces.  I savored your taste and smell, drinking you in and memorizing each moment. The gentle pressure of your hand reaching back to stroke my knee while riding.  The way your face looked bathed in glow from the campfire.  Watching you laugh and try not to choke on a mouthful of molten marshmallow and chocolate.  The sweep of your lips across my forehead as I rested in my snuggle spot.

In the back of my mind the refrain played over and over, “I will miss this.”

I said nothing but the words were there – gushed  across sheets, reflected in my eyes as I gazed up at you from my knees.  Clinging to the fingers that reached over as we walked and wound through yours.  I love you. Of that, there is no doubt.

In the shadow of that love I sense the pain coming at me.  Like a sharp S-curve that will tilt my world.  I don’t know how to avoid it.  I can’t seem to find a way to lessen the sting.  For all the armor I wear, I know it cannot protect me from it.  I am going to feel it.  Deep and hard.

And there is no way a box full of paper is going to save me.

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Sinfire

Couple in sunset

The sound of the waves pounding the beach was a perfect backdrop for the night.  We watched the sun go down from our camp chairs, cold beer in one hand, plate of delicious campfire food on our laps, soaking up a relaxing moment after a busy day of activities.

We counted down as the last sliver of sun went into the ocean and I made the familiar hissing sound as I pictured it submerging beneath the waves, fiery rays temporarily quenched by cool water.  He smiled sideways at me – not the first time my child-like mannerisms had resulted in that grin.  We toasted each other over our beers and tucked into our food.  The long day spent together had inspired a multitude of appetites; we quenched the most urgent one first.

After dinner, we used the campfire to melt marshmallows, trading our sunset views for starry skies above.  The coastal night, often shrouded in clouds and whipped by cold wind, was surprisingly clear and temperate.  We took full advantage of nature’s gift, deciding that s’mores tasted best when eaten with a side order of Milky Way.

I rose to put my empty beer bottle by the truck, pausing on my way to lean down and kiss him.  He responded eagerly, mouth teasing and tasting mine, hands roaming the curve of my ass as I bent forward to kiss him.  I pulled away, licking my lips, willing my body to slow down and not rush this rare, sensual moment.  I dropped the bottle by the truck and retrieved our campfire staple, a bottle of Sinfire.

I returned to my seat by the campfire, my legs grateful for the temporary reprieve from the heat radiating off the fire.  I briefly contemplated cups and then decided against it.  I took a swig and passed him the bottle with a glint of mischief in my eye. He smiled and accepted the bottle, his finger tracing mine before grasping the neck and taking a long drink of his own.

The cinnamon fire on both our tongues, he rose from his chair, handed me back the bottle and wound a hand in my hair, gently tugging my head back to drop a sultry kiss on my tingling lips.  He moved around behind me, hands sliding down my chest to squeeze my breasts as his mouth drank its fill from mine.  I sighed against his lips as his fingers found my nipples and he teased them expertly before pinching them hard and drawing a gasp from me.

He chuckled, walked away to put away the last of the food, and returned shortly, kissing me again on his way back to his seat.  I waited for him to get settled, taking a few more sips of Sinfire.  The whiskey worked its way quickly through my body and coating me in warm lassitude that was only enhanced by the fire.  After a few minutes of conversation, I rose again.  It was time to act.

I bent forward over him, tracing his lips with my tongue, tasting the flavors of him even as my nose savored the scent of his skin.  My lips traced their way down his neck, nipping and biting at the skin as he once again filled his palms with my breasts.  I stood and pulled my shirt off, removing my bra and leaning back down and admiring the shadowy view of his mouth eagerly teasing my nipples to stiff attention.  I moaned softly, the pleasure of his hot mouth on my skin in beautiful contrast to the cool kiss of the slight ocean breeze.

Before I could take advantage of my free hands, his husky voice broke the silence between us.  “Take your pants off.”  It was a command, not a request, and my heart raced a little as I stood to comply.  I knew the beach was deserted, that we were the only ones camping out there on that perfect autumn night.  But I had a moment of trepidation, knowing that when naked, my body would be on display – aglow in the blazing light of the campfire.

The pounding of my heartbeat was merely an overture for the a more intense cadence I knew was coming.   His fingers traced my face and he pulled me down again to savor my kiss. I could feel the heat of the fire making my backside tingle.  He flicked his hands across my nipples before raising my breasts to his mouth and devouring them one by one.  He sighed happily and I echoed the sentiment.  He used his teeth with gradually increasing pressure and I felt the wetness begin to ooze out of me.

He released me long enough to pull his pants down, a sudden wave of desire making fully removing them far too much work.  I felt the pressure of his palms on my head and heard his husky voice tell me what he wanted next.

I obliged.

My lips were coated with salty-slick precum before I could even open my mouth to taste him. He traced his cock across my lips, pulling me suddenly up again to kiss me hard.  I felt my pussy twitch with anticipation as he drank his own essence from my mouth before shoving me back down.  I was ready and my hot, eager mouth enveloped him.  He groaned louder this time, muttering “Oh my god, that is so fucking hot.”  I glanced up to see him looking over my shoulder, taking in the sight of my body aglow in the firelight.

He stroked my skin, petting my hair reverently then assertively grasping a handful to steer my mouth.  He thrust his hips up to meet me, then suddenly commanded me to turn around and bend forward.

I stood and turned, the sand and alcohol making my feet clumsy.  I spread my legs, bending forward and secretly hoping the alcohol didn’t send me face-first into the campfire.  It would be just my luck that a fireside fuck would turn into an emergency room trip and second degree burns.

He held my hips steadying me and when he felt my hands grasp his ankles, he leaned forward and drove his tongue into my wet slit.  He traveled all across my body, tongue flicking around my ass, dipping lower to my dribbling pussy, across the soft skin of my thighs and ass cheeks.  He reached around me with his other hand, smearing my cream all over my clit and making my legs begin to shake.  He recognized the precariousness of the situation and opted for a safer thrill.

“Sit.”  He said.

I lowered myself onto his waiting cock, using the arm of the camp chair for balance and slid down on his swollen sex.  He marveled at the sensation of my fire-hot skin against him.  I started out of the gate like I was trying to win the derby, my pussy so hungry it was greedy.  He steadied me again, telling me to slow down.  I fought my animal urges and made my body listen.

The orgasm was building up inside me, threatening to make me scream right there in the middle of the beach.  Once again he came to my rescue.  “Come have a taste of that beautiful pussy.”  He told me.  I stood and turned, once again baring my tender parts to the heat of the fire.  I licked him eagerly, my citrusy juice on his cock one of the best flavors I had that night. I swallowed him deep, thrusting him into the back of my throat in quick deep thrusts.  He pulled me up again with a firm hand in my hair.  “Sit again.”

I obeyed, my pussy aching to be filled again.  I sat effortlessly, my hot skin once again igniting his as he drove up into me, countering my thrusts until I cried out, shaking from head to toe as my pussy grabbed him and pumped his cock like a fist.  His lips were on my back, tracing tongue and biting teeth as my body shuddered and my juices poured down his balls.

With a deep groan and a powerful thrust, he filled me with his cum.  I couldn’t help the laughter.  My body felt so amazing and the experience was so liberating.  The air on my skin, the sand between my toes and the heat of the fire on my body.   He wrapped his arms around me, his lips kissing my shoulder over and over as his cock softened inside me.  When I stood finally to retrieve my clothing, he slid back into his pants and watched me pull on my clothes.  His eyes shimmered in the firelight as I settled back into the camp chair next to him.

He gave me a wolfish grin and handed me the Sinfire.

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2014 VagFest: A Festival of Vaginas

I was scrolling down the event calendar for our local convention center this evening when I came across an event that, to my mind, was long overdue:  2014 VagFest.

An entire festival dedicated to vaginas? My eyes sparkled as I considered the possibilities.  Grooming demonstrations (how to treat/avoid razor burn and ingrown hairs in delicate areas); erotic art displays; toys and lubes; scents and flavors to make even the most mundane vagina beguiling.  Anatomy lessons for those unfortunate souls who haven’t yet stumbled across their G-spot; group discussions on how to get the most pleasure out of every penis; exercise seminars to tighten and firm those most special muscle groups post child-birth and beyond.  That would be a valuable and popular seminar.  (Nothing intrigues a woman with three kids more than having a twat tighter than a 17 year old cheerleader.)

The smile spread like warm sunshine across my face as I began to feel at home in this imaginary, labial world.  I imagined a special area where men could also browse, learn and discover the secret world where men love, yet fear, to go.  Seminars designed to help them not feel threatened by the 11-inch black vibrator in their partner’s nightstand drawer.  Advice on how to navigate the menstrual cycle without having to skip the fun stuff.  A medical booth where embarrassing questions could be asked and strange pustules examined in anonymity by clinical professionals.  A homeopathic remedy booth nearby where women could purchase creams and tinctures that would make their nether parts smell like an herb garden. 

As I gazed off into the distance, my face lifted up in supplicant bliss at the notion that the vagina could be celebrated at level worthy of its own festival, I glanced back at my computer screen to make sure I was not dreaming. 

And that is when I read the event name again.  “2014 VegFest.” 

A festival of vegetables and not vaginas?

My shoulders slid into a destitute slump as the air left me in a dejected whoosh. 

Damn those organic farmers. They have all the fun.

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Son and Consort

A crisp lavender expanse of down and fluff.

Warmed by body heat and scented like my skin.

A 54×75 sanctuary where my two worlds dream.

Side by side in unwitting repose.

They will never meet here,

Merely know the feel of resting here with me.

I bear lone witness to this strange changing of the guard.

I am the treasure they share.

They each claim a place in my lilac-colored world.

The warm void between sheets the tender turf,

Where my intimacy runs free with Son and Consort.

I am the constant.

I am the Mother-Mistress.

I am the gravity that draws them here.

I am their common ground.

***

You climb into my bed in the wee hours of the morning.

Your warmth seeps into me as you snuggle close.

I can feel a sense of safety fill you as you settle in next to me.

I can feel the pull of my love,

like the gravity of the sun holding my universe together.

I stroke your hair and watch as you breathe deeper, relaxing into my touch.

Remembering many nights together.

The texture of your hair is coarser now.

Not the baby fine silk you had when you were three.

But the feel of it transports me back in time.

To every moment I rocked you to sleep in my arms or held you close to me.

You are my reason, my sanity, my tether to this world.

You are the reason I fight, I strive, I grow.

You are my heart and soul, the definition of my love.

You are my son.

***

I leave the door unlocked for you and climb between scented sheets.

My body tingling, anticipating your touch.

I try to sleep, knowing you are on your way to me.

But I think of your caress and abandon thoughts of rest.

My hands roam my body too hungry to wait for you.

I lose myself in the sea of my own desire.

You open the door and find me in passion’s throes.

A wolfish smile upon your face as your hand replaces mine.

I am shocked back to reality by your kiss.

And delivered to passion once again.

You are the one who stokes my fires, who drives me beyond my brink.

You are my balance, my motivation, my laughter, my release.

You are the visitor that drinks from the wellspring of my heart.

You are my lover.

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Right Bicep

It was the curve that caught my eye, drew me in.

That sloping curve from your shoulder to your elbow.

An erotic arc of skin and muscle.

It’s embarrassing to admit.  Like my fetish for a conference room table.   But…

The curve of your right bicep ignited something in me.

I could barely take my eyes off it.

I wanted to lick it.  I wanted to run my tongue along the line I saw.  I wanted to sink my teeth into your skin.

I wanted to taste the salt of you there, grip its left counterpart in my hand as passion reared.

I wanted to feel those muscles bunched up and tensed around me as you lifted my hips and drove yourself into me.

Wanted to feel them wrapped around my ass and holding me steady as I ground my pussy against your mouth.

The sweep of that line, from the cap of your shoulder in a graceful angle down to your bicep.

I wanted to taste it a dozen times that night.

I very nearly did.

Just as I very nearly got myself off in ladies room after the first game.

I laughed as I fingered my clit in the ladies room stall, feeling it swell, wondering how you would react if I sent you a picture of what I was doing at that moment.

I contemplated coating my fingers in my juicy goodness and offering you a taste when I got back to the table. Or would I just tease you with my scent and lick my own fingers clean?

I wondered if it would have the same effect on your concentration as the effect a wicked line of sinew was having on mine.

I am lucky that I didn’t pierce an innocent passerby as my wandering mind played havoc with my dart’s trajectory.

I am lucky I still managed to win two out of three and keep my bragging rights.

I am lucky I got to take you home and let my tongue re-enact the sensuously filthy things I was thinking about at the pub.

I am amazed at how completely you managed to wreck me.

With the curve of your right bicep.

 

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Moment of Change

When did it happen?

When did that moment occur when you stopped fucking me and started making love to me?

I didn’t see it happen, I didn’t feel the shifting of your emotional tide.  I just know at some point it changed.

You stopped spanking me.  You stopped pulling my hair.  You stopped tying me up, clamping me down.  You stopped the punishments.

You started caressing my skin.  You began stroking my hair.  You put away your tethers and devices.  You stopped trying to leash me.

When I asked you about the change, you said you didn’t need those things.  That you liked us just the way we are.

And I knew.

The shift had taken place.

The tide had changed.

You are invested.

I can see it in the subtle depth of colors in your eyes.

I can feel it in the loving way your mouth moves over mine.

Your feelings are silently present in the quiet moments lying naked with my head against your shoulder.

They are on the tip of the tongue you use to kiss me.

We laugh about it.  Joke about how it isn’t happening.  You assure me you are staying in your box.

But you are lying – and so am I.

There is a subtle depth of color in my eyes too.

There is something on the tip of the tongue I use to kiss you.

We aren’t fucking any more.

We are making love.

And now there is only one course left to take.

There is one more moment whose time has come…

 

The moment I let you go.

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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

Toy Shopping

I saunter up and down the aisles, searching for just the right one.  So many salacious options.  So many deviant choices.  But which one is right…for you?

Should it restrain? Vibrate? Grip? Punish? Fill? Tease? Flog? Penetrate?

Do I want it to leave marks? Do I want it to make you cum fast or slow?

Do I want it to make the streams of sweat run down both our bodies, or just yours?

Do I want to participate or watch?

I run my finger across my lips as I contemplate my options.  I do like variety, so maybe I need more than one?

I smile as I think of your reaction.  When you sit across from me in the funky little coffee shop on Alder Street and look bemusedly at the innocuous package I place in front of you.  I will watch you open it, my tongue tracing my lips like a hungry wolf.

Will you smile? Blush?Will your cock twitch in your jeans as you anticipate what I will do to you with your gift? Will you want to skip our evening plans and go straight home or will you have the self control to ride the waves of anticipation?

Will you let me insert it? Will you let me tease your most intimate places? Will you vocalize your pleasure or try and hide how good it feels?

Or will you throw open the cage door and unleash the animal? Grip my head, say dirty things to me, beg me for more? Beg me to go deeper, harder, faster?

As I walk the aisles with these thoughts swirling like a gossamer curtain around my mind, I can feel the slickness forming between my thighs.

I smile, clench my body as I picture holding you fast inside me and just squeezing you – squeeze and release, squeeze and release, until you can’t stand it any longer and your hands dig into the muscles of my ass as you thrust up into me.

The moisture is seeping into my panties now.

My eyes alight on it then.  The package is in my hands before I even realize I have reached for it.  I flip the box over and read the back as images of your response to this toy come unbidden into my mind.  I don’t even know it, but I’m smiling.  That grin.  The one you always tell me means mischief.

The best kind of mischief.

The kind you love.

The mischief you crave.

I walk to the register with my selection; my grin widening as I hear my own voice in my head:

“Open it, Sweetheart.”

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Ghost Fucking

I am brimming with vital energy.  I laugh, make animated gestures, sigh, whisper, moan.  I give my body again and again like an offering being impaled upon an altar.  Upon many altars.

I am the very essence of life-force.  Stand close to me and you will feel my warm vitality envelope you.  Kiss me and you will taste it on my sweet lips.  Fuck me and you may savor the salty mist from the Fountain of Youth between my thighs.

I can make you feel alive.

I can give you sensations from shivers to spasms, from tingles to orgasms. I can elicit feelings from your body and your heart.

But you can’t do the same for me.

You can make me writhe and moan, cum and shudder, scream and thrust back against you like the dirtiest of whores.  But you can’t reach beyond my body to the sanctuary within.  You can’t reach the fire inside of me.

Someone once commented that it would be difficult to fuck and keep my heart from becoming entangled.

I disagree.

The answer is simple.  Love a ghost.  Fuck a man.

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Filed under Erotica, Pussy's Jukebox

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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Filed under Erotica, Pussy's Jukebox