It may seem lately that most of my recollections and thoughts on previous and current lovers is mostly sex without emotion. That's completely untrue. As Stace discovered last month, I really do love everyone I sleep with, everyone I am friends with, everyone I work with. It's hard not to love an individual for their individuality, even if it is persistently and consistently a negative person.
But there were those past lovers of mine who I loved intimately, and not just in terms of their individual passions. I prefer to call this love adoration rather than love. For me, love has 13 implementations or categories, and I call none of them "love" other than in the generic term.
My first adoration was Mitch. She was the one that got away, if you will.
I had a good friend, Jewels. We were really close, although Jewels was 3 years my senior, I was 17. Jewels had a crush on me and I never realized it. To this day, I can never tell when someone has a crush on me, until they admit it years after it's too late to do anything about it. We hung out constantly, and we'd talk on the phone for hours.
One night, I called her house and a gal answered. She didn't sound attractive. We talked for over 2 hours about random literary items, including jokes we both thought were funny. When Jewels finally snagged the phone from Mitch's hand, she told me to not do that. I had no idea.
I saw Jewels that weekend, and inquired about Mitch. "She's fat." How fat? "Fat enough." Oh.
A few days later, Mitch called me on my phone. This was before Caller*ID, so I had assumed Jewels gave her my number. I later discovered she stole it from Jewelz' daytimer. Quality. Mitch and I spoke on the phone for hours for 2 weeks. Not every day, but at least a few times a week. I never wanted to meet her, because of my superficial lack of respect for large women (in terms of dating, not necessarily for friendship).
Many weeks later, after our phone calls had subsided for who-knows-what reason, I was at the local movie theater meeting Jewelz and a bunch of her gal-pals. Immediately I ended up talking to the prettiest, tallest gal there (of course). We spoke for about 20 minutes when the gal goes "Waitaminute, you're not Sane, are you? Jewelz' friend?" Ummm, yeah, what did she say about me? "Nothing. I'm Mitch!"
Flabbergasted. That's what I was. I went from a sly, confident 17 year old into a blubbering, salivating idiot. She laughed. "What's wrong?" Ummmmm, you're not fat. Note: I never say "umm." Ever.
"Who said I was fat, Jewelz?" Yes. "She has a crush on you I think." Oh. It made sense, really it did, but I denied the crush for many years. So Mitch and I talked, deciding to skip the movie that everyone was seeing and see an artsy flick starting in 20 minutes. Jewelz was NOT happy, but she let it go.
We had our movie date, and after the date we went for coffee. I walked her home (she lived in my parent's home town) after we shared a cab to that coffee shop. At her door, she looked at me longingly so I kissed her. She practically melted in my hands.
That spring, I asked if she wanted to go out more often, and she jumped at the chance. Mitch was the prettiest gal I had ever dated, and possibly to this day the prettiest gal I had ever seen. Over time, we shared our lives with each other. She was a model who actually traveled for shoots. She finished high school through tutors, and was pursuing a slow college degree in management so she could start her own model management company.
And she was adorable. I fell for her hard, not because of her looks, but because of her person. When we'd talk on the phone, I still pictured her as a slothy, unattractive, overweight gal. In person, she blew my mind with her muscular but feminine frame. She towered over me in heels, and neither of us minded.
We kissed, often. We held hands, constantly. I met her parents and they loved me to death. At 18, I started my direction to do the job that I do, traveling the world in search of customers. Her parents were in the airline industry, so they traveled as well, and we shared stories of odd airports and odd cities and odd customs.
Around 2 months into dating, she took her shirt off for the first time. I almost came in my pants her body was so perfect and gorgeous. When I went for her bra hooks, she pushed my body back for a moment and looked at me and then admitted it: "I'm a virgin." Uhhhh, no you aren't. "Yes I am." Uh oh.
So I refrained from removing her bra, and continued to just kiss her. The bra came off, eventually, and it was when I had learned that letting a woman lead by her showing HER desire is a good thing. It's not a hard and fast rule, but it's a rule that keeps women wet and wanting me constantly, and not just in bed. Mitch admitted to me that she would've had sex with me that night she wanted me so badly. We didn't fuck, but we did spoon naked. It was lovely, and my adoration for her grew.
She traveled, often, for work. She'd bring to my house photo shoots and final products. I never really had a problem with her career: models have a short-lived job life, and many end up falling away from good incomes quickly in life. She pursued college so she'd have a reason for the hard life of traveling for photoshoots, being a puppet and a doll.
I was the first person she gave head to. It took some training. She had her first orgasm with me (first other than her own) and she delved into masturbating more on my request. She loved my body, she worshiped my odd face and my short height. She adored the fact that I adored her over her mind and her passions and not her body or her face. To be honest, I am superficial, but I am more attracted to passions than looks. There are many, many gorgeous women who I wouldn't even kiss, because they have no goals, no passions, no desires.
But still, there was no sex. I had decided to do things correctly...
Continued in the next part.
Showing posts with label passion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label passion. Show all posts
Monday, June 15, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
Fighting over a woman's orgasm
Auto-Posted at noon since I am likely on a flight somewhere in South America.
I was chatting with someone last night who made the assumption that most women I've been with fake their first orgasm, or many of their initial orgasms, with me. Rather than battle with her over the specifics, I shrugged her off. There's no use in arguing with anyone who hasn't actually been in the bedroom (or the car, or the bathroom, or wherever it happens first). Myself included.
A woman's orgasm has NEVER been my goal in sex. My own orgasm isn't the goal, either. As I've reiterated time and time again, I want passionat people in my life, not sexual people necessarily. I can read a person's passion very quickly through body mannerisms and how they look at things. Most women have zero chance of getting into bed with me, they're cold and frigid and don't know what they're missing. No loss to either of us.
Sex is, for me, an awesome tool to display my passion for a woman. Sometimes that passion comes from having a really good date; other times that passion can come directly from our bodies' mutual needs for the other's. It can come from excitement over something fantastic that happened in our lives, it can come from something really sad. Passion is an odd thing, not really good and not really bad. I guess I could say soulfully-driven rather than passionate, both interchangable to some degree.
When a woman takes me to bed, and almost always it's that way and not the other way around, it very rarely is about sex. Clothes come off, bodies meld, mouths groan, fluids are thrown about, but it isn't the sex that drives us to want to be there. I love to fuck, sometimes hard and long and loudly, sure, but I prefer to try to increase the desire a woman has for me even more, and vice versa. Orgasm can be awesome, but increasing your desire is even better. I prefer to be a little frustrated, even, and want her more. I want her to want me more, too.
When it comes to my ministrations, most of my readers know my routine: tease, tease, tease. I want her getting my clothes off (the lovely, sexy lady in DC ripped my shirt off, not me). I want her touching my body. I want her kissing me deeper than I kiss her. I want her pulling, pushing, shoving, grinding. It's a sign of her passion, her desire. I don't want her laying there, frigid or bored.
The hotter both of us are, the better our orgasm will be, if we get there. In my history of lovers, I know of at least one who faked her first orgasm. It was obviously fake. I called her out on it laughingly, telling her she could do better. She caved and admitted she did it because she was nervous. I told her that nervousness, to me, means she wasn't ready and wanting it enough. She disagreed, but a few weeks later when we tried it again, the nervousness was gone and her orgasm was real. Then she agreed that I was right: it wasn't that she wasn't ready or wanting it, she just hadn't wanted it as badly as she did this night.
Her orgasms from that point forward were awesome, inspiring, passionate, and fun. If I was going down on her or I was banging away, she'd start them off by putting one hand out onto my abs or my hip, not pushing away, but not grabbing either. Sort of like a bumper for me to touch. Then her voice would get a little grunty. When she came, she'd kick her head back and then push off of me. Penetration for the next 5 minutes was unacceptable. She didn't even want me to touch her. I loved her orgasm, and we fucked even more because of it.
I can contrast that to the orgasm of some recent lovers who were less vocal and less physical. It doesn't bother me if a woman is quieter in her orgasm: some have years of experience living at home or with roommates and have gotten in the habit of forcing themselves to be quiet. Of course, this is a challenge, and when you can help a woman break that habit, their orgasms APPEAR to be louder and more physical, but they may not be better or worse.
Still, it isn't the orgasm I chase or covet. If she doesn't come, she doesn't come. I'm a great listener, and when we're done and out of the bedroom, I will often times ask if there is more I can do in general. Some women I've been with just didn't know their orgasms at all. Others were too sensitive, or not sensitive enough. Some preferred skipping foreplay and just banging hard for 45 minutes, others needed more touching than seemed possible, and light strokes that didn't go too deep. Each woman is different.
For the chatter who told me that most women don't orgasm from the first sexual experience with a guy, I'll disagree completely. I am friends with EVERY lover I've had save 3 (one being a recent one, mutually deciding to cut ties). They often still talk about how good I was with them, for them, on them, in them. It's not to stroke my ego (maybe to stroke theirs). Sometimes they ask me for advice on how they can get there with their boyfriends or husbands or lovers. Usually my answer is the same: build desire in yourself, in them. Tease more. Restrain yourselves more. Sex is too much fun to rush through it every time. Sex is too fun to forget to rush through it on occasion. Mix it up.
Never chase the orgasm. I won't come always from sex. I very rarely come from blowjobs, never from handjobs, never from ass fucking. It's just sex, as I said yesterday. When I fuck, when I make love, when I go down on a woman, it's just to shower her with my passion in hopes of stoking her own. The kissing, the touching, the foreplay, the sucking and fucking and unloading: it's all part of the sharing of our passions. If we both come, that's a bonus, but in reality, orgasm can be a let down if there's no more energy to play around some more.
And for me, the playing around before, during and after sex is far more important than the actual 2 minute orgasm you or I might have. Yes, I want to come. Yes, I want you to come. But more importantly, I want us to not get bored of our passion for each other, I don't want to lose it, waste it, derive sadness or frustration from it.
So if we fuck, let's fuck. Let's not chase the big O or the little O. I want you throbbing for me when you're not with me. I want you wet when you hear my voice on your voice mail. I want you aching for my touch, even if I am inches from you. I want you to want my body, my face, my hair, my hands. The cock and pussy are the least important things, and if they're used too fast or focused on too much, passion can disappear in a moment. That moment feels fucking awesome, but it still isn't enough, it isn't everything.
In my opinion, it's almost nothing.
I was chatting with someone last night who made the assumption that most women I've been with fake their first orgasm, or many of their initial orgasms, with me. Rather than battle with her over the specifics, I shrugged her off. There's no use in arguing with anyone who hasn't actually been in the bedroom (or the car, or the bathroom, or wherever it happens first). Myself included.
A woman's orgasm has NEVER been my goal in sex. My own orgasm isn't the goal, either. As I've reiterated time and time again, I want passionat people in my life, not sexual people necessarily. I can read a person's passion very quickly through body mannerisms and how they look at things. Most women have zero chance of getting into bed with me, they're cold and frigid and don't know what they're missing. No loss to either of us.
Sex is, for me, an awesome tool to display my passion for a woman. Sometimes that passion comes from having a really good date; other times that passion can come directly from our bodies' mutual needs for the other's. It can come from excitement over something fantastic that happened in our lives, it can come from something really sad. Passion is an odd thing, not really good and not really bad. I guess I could say soulfully-driven rather than passionate, both interchangable to some degree.
When a woman takes me to bed, and almost always it's that way and not the other way around, it very rarely is about sex. Clothes come off, bodies meld, mouths groan, fluids are thrown about, but it isn't the sex that drives us to want to be there. I love to fuck, sometimes hard and long and loudly, sure, but I prefer to try to increase the desire a woman has for me even more, and vice versa. Orgasm can be awesome, but increasing your desire is even better. I prefer to be a little frustrated, even, and want her more. I want her to want me more, too.
When it comes to my ministrations, most of my readers know my routine: tease, tease, tease. I want her getting my clothes off (the lovely, sexy lady in DC ripped my shirt off, not me). I want her touching my body. I want her kissing me deeper than I kiss her. I want her pulling, pushing, shoving, grinding. It's a sign of her passion, her desire. I don't want her laying there, frigid or bored.
The hotter both of us are, the better our orgasm will be, if we get there. In my history of lovers, I know of at least one who faked her first orgasm. It was obviously fake. I called her out on it laughingly, telling her she could do better. She caved and admitted she did it because she was nervous. I told her that nervousness, to me, means she wasn't ready and wanting it enough. She disagreed, but a few weeks later when we tried it again, the nervousness was gone and her orgasm was real. Then she agreed that I was right: it wasn't that she wasn't ready or wanting it, she just hadn't wanted it as badly as she did this night.
Her orgasms from that point forward were awesome, inspiring, passionate, and fun. If I was going down on her or I was banging away, she'd start them off by putting one hand out onto my abs or my hip, not pushing away, but not grabbing either. Sort of like a bumper for me to touch. Then her voice would get a little grunty. When she came, she'd kick her head back and then push off of me. Penetration for the next 5 minutes was unacceptable. She didn't even want me to touch her. I loved her orgasm, and we fucked even more because of it.
I can contrast that to the orgasm of some recent lovers who were less vocal and less physical. It doesn't bother me if a woman is quieter in her orgasm: some have years of experience living at home or with roommates and have gotten in the habit of forcing themselves to be quiet. Of course, this is a challenge, and when you can help a woman break that habit, their orgasms APPEAR to be louder and more physical, but they may not be better or worse.
Still, it isn't the orgasm I chase or covet. If she doesn't come, she doesn't come. I'm a great listener, and when we're done and out of the bedroom, I will often times ask if there is more I can do in general. Some women I've been with just didn't know their orgasms at all. Others were too sensitive, or not sensitive enough. Some preferred skipping foreplay and just banging hard for 45 minutes, others needed more touching than seemed possible, and light strokes that didn't go too deep. Each woman is different.
For the chatter who told me that most women don't orgasm from the first sexual experience with a guy, I'll disagree completely. I am friends with EVERY lover I've had save 3 (one being a recent one, mutually deciding to cut ties). They often still talk about how good I was with them, for them, on them, in them. It's not to stroke my ego (maybe to stroke theirs). Sometimes they ask me for advice on how they can get there with their boyfriends or husbands or lovers. Usually my answer is the same: build desire in yourself, in them. Tease more. Restrain yourselves more. Sex is too much fun to rush through it every time. Sex is too fun to forget to rush through it on occasion. Mix it up.
Never chase the orgasm. I won't come always from sex. I very rarely come from blowjobs, never from handjobs, never from ass fucking. It's just sex, as I said yesterday. When I fuck, when I make love, when I go down on a woman, it's just to shower her with my passion in hopes of stoking her own. The kissing, the touching, the foreplay, the sucking and fucking and unloading: it's all part of the sharing of our passions. If we both come, that's a bonus, but in reality, orgasm can be a let down if there's no more energy to play around some more.
And for me, the playing around before, during and after sex is far more important than the actual 2 minute orgasm you or I might have. Yes, I want to come. Yes, I want you to come. But more importantly, I want us to not get bored of our passion for each other, I don't want to lose it, waste it, derive sadness or frustration from it.
So if we fuck, let's fuck. Let's not chase the big O or the little O. I want you throbbing for me when you're not with me. I want you wet when you hear my voice on your voice mail. I want you aching for my touch, even if I am inches from you. I want you to want my body, my face, my hair, my hands. The cock and pussy are the least important things, and if they're used too fast or focused on too much, passion can disappear in a moment. That moment feels fucking awesome, but it still isn't enough, it isn't everything.
In my opinion, it's almost nothing.
Read the rest...
Monday, May 18, 2009
A True Story from a Real Reader
I love the emails I'm getting, the random chats (see sidebar) when you're bored and I'm around. It's good to hear that some people, single, married, dating, are working to reignite their sex lives and finding out is isn't that much work.
Here's a (true) story from someone who found this site and used it as their muse to reignite the passion in their marriage. Please leave comments (anonymously, if necessary) and let her know that she's doing a good thing.
~~~~~
Dear CS
Seriously, I have no idea why I am emailing you but I know that I have been reading your blog (ever see a million hits from the outskirts of Portland? That’s me) and I guess what I want to say is that I can’t thank you enough for the impact you have had on my sex life with my husband. You mentioned you have a lot of moms visiting your site. I have a feeling I am not the only one who needed your help, and if I am, maybe they will google phrases like “passion in marriage” or “married sex” and come up with this post right here and st art reading, which in turn will help them too. Which is funny since you aren’t married and from the sound of it, us marrieds are having sex a lot more frequently than you are.
The thing I wanted to tell you about was my night last night. When I was dating and screwing around, this story might not have been as worthy of telling, but what you might not understand is that 8 years of marriage and 2 kids and 3 dogs and all the other humdrum shit that comes along with this suburban existence takes its toll on the passion levels.
Now, I have to like pre-defend my husband here, who is a really great guy and a really great husband, helpful around the house, love love love love loves me, great dad, the whole 9. We are still very much in love -- well, moreso – than we ever were. We have this family and this apartment and we screw from time to time and make love from time to time and catch a quickie whenever we can. Every once in a while, we fuck like we used to. Mostly, we get each other off which is most definitely not the same thing.
Prior to starting our family, we used to have pretty kinky sex. Once we had kids, our sex became lovemaking. We were gentler with each other. We were careful. Mostly, we became efficient (gotta get the orgasms in before the baby starts to cry or the toddler comes toddling). And while it’s been nice, it’s been predictable and a little boring. I missed the intensity.
Reading your blog has reminded me of the one thing, sexually, that my husband has been really clueless about, which is that my hugest turn-on is to be completely submissive. We have been having these talks lately, mostly in order to avoid the next inevitable step of going to counseling, to work through some issues. Each of us puts an issue in the jar. During the first few weeks of this, we worked through some of the big issues in our marriage, family, discipline, that kind of stuff.
Last week, my piece of paper got pulled from the jar: SEX. I finally had to find the language – and this is where you come in opening the lines of communication – to tell him about this part of myself – the thing he had never really registered. He admitted that he always saw me as such a strong, independent and fiery woman – it never occurred to him that I enjoyed being submissive – he thought it was something I would sort of pretend to enjoy on occasion for his benefit but that unless I was calling the shots I probably wasn’t all that interested. This is hard to believe – that he could have missed all the signs that confirmed how much I love being told what to do, spanked, dominated, cum on, pushed to my knees and told to suck him. I just honestly was floored that he had missed how much I was enjoying these things too. I guess what I am getting at is that we never actually talked about what turns us on -- we just got consumed by the other things we had to deal with. And we expected each other to read minds. Which never works, right?
So the past few weeks have been hot around here. And the man finally got the message that I wanted to be romanced and he arranged for a sitter and took me out to dinner. Of course, by the time we got to the restaurant I was practically in heat and couldn’t keep my foot off his crotch. At one point, our conversation took a very un-hot turn and we laughed about how we got off track. I looked him deep in the eyes and told him to tell me what he likes. He surprised me with his immediate answer.
“I like it when you come,” he said, tilting his head slightly without breaking the gaze. “On my face.”
Now, I know he likes this (and trust me, I feel like I hit the lottery) but to hear him say it out loud sent shockwaves through my body. I told we needed to leave the restaurant N.O.W. (he couldn’t exactly stand up at that exact moment, but a few minutes later…)
He paid, we left and on the way out I discreetly grabbed hi s cock (which by the way, apparently felt the way I did) and told him we needed to go park somewhere immediately. It was like I was on some drug, tunnel vision, I need to be sucking on him or I thought I might actually die. My breath had quickened, my face was flushed and all the passion was right back where it belonged.
I got my wish, seconds later, when we pulled into an empty lot and I quickly released him from his clothing and sucked him off hungrily. We haven’t been to church in ages but I am pretty sure I heard him calling out to God. It was unbearably sexy and I think I pierced the upholstery of his car with my heels. It was still light out and we definitely are not turned on by being arrested, so we decided my orgasm (s?) could wait.
We went home, paid the sitter, pretended to be interested in what the kids had to say about their night. Our son is still little but we bribed him into going to bed like a big boy and we managed to get the kids to bed within 30 minutes of getting home.
I wasted no time. I came downstairs to the living room completely naked except for a sheer black string thong, shooting my husband sheepish looks, like he could tell me to do anything and I would do it. He ordered me onto the couch and started kissing me everywhere, kneeling over me. I begged him to feed me his cock, and he obliged. I slipped a finger into his ass just to keep him where I wanted him, which was right there, shoving his cock into my mouth. I could have stayed there forever. He made me finish myself off, he told me to. He said he was going to watch me make myself come while I sucked on him.
I could go on and on about the fucking that followed, but I won’t bore you with the details. Mostly he did exactly what I love the most – took me from behind and pulled my long hair and I think you are getting the picture and this is actually much harder to write than you make it look on your blog, that’s for sure. In the end, I let him have exactly what he wanted, which was for me to come – on his face. The lucky bastard. And I got what I wanted, which w as for him to jerk himself off and come all over me.
Not sure why I feel compelled to write this. Mostly because I don’t share these aspects of my life with people I know, I don’t have a blog, and I don’t keep a journal. I guess I just thought you might be interested to know you’ve had a very positive influence on life around here. Keep up the good work, and thanks.
Anonymous
Here's a (true) story from someone who found this site and used it as their muse to reignite the passion in their marriage. Please leave comments (anonymously, if necessary) and let her know that she's doing a good thing.
~~~~~
Dear CS
Seriously, I have no idea why I am emailing you but I know that I have been reading your blog (ever see a million hits from the outskirts of Portland? That’s me) and I guess what I want to say is that I can’t thank you enough for the impact you have had on my sex life with my husband. You mentioned you have a lot of moms visiting your site. I have a feeling I am not the only one who needed your help, and if I am, maybe they will google phrases like “passion in marriage” or “married sex” and come up with this post right here and st art reading, which in turn will help them too. Which is funny since you aren’t married and from the sound of it, us marrieds are having sex a lot more frequently than you are.
The thing I wanted to tell you about was my night last night. When I was dating and screwing around, this story might not have been as worthy of telling, but what you might not understand is that 8 years of marriage and 2 kids and 3 dogs and all the other humdrum shit that comes along with this suburban existence takes its toll on the passion levels.
Now, I have to like pre-defend my husband here, who is a really great guy and a really great husband, helpful around the house, love love love love loves me, great dad, the whole 9. We are still very much in love -- well, moreso – than we ever were. We have this family and this apartment and we screw from time to time and make love from time to time and catch a quickie whenever we can. Every once in a while, we fuck like we used to. Mostly, we get each other off which is most definitely not the same thing.
Prior to starting our family, we used to have pretty kinky sex. Once we had kids, our sex became lovemaking. We were gentler with each other. We were careful. Mostly, we became efficient (gotta get the orgasms in before the baby starts to cry or the toddler comes toddling). And while it’s been nice, it’s been predictable and a little boring. I missed the intensity.
Reading your blog has reminded me of the one thing, sexually, that my husband has been really clueless about, which is that my hugest turn-on is to be completely submissive. We have been having these talks lately, mostly in order to avoid the next inevitable step of going to counseling, to work through some issues. Each of us puts an issue in the jar. During the first few weeks of this, we worked through some of the big issues in our marriage, family, discipline, that kind of stuff.
Last week, my piece of paper got pulled from the jar: SEX. I finally had to find the language – and this is where you come in opening the lines of communication – to tell him about this part of myself – the thing he had never really registered. He admitted that he always saw me as such a strong, independent and fiery woman – it never occurred to him that I enjoyed being submissive – he thought it was something I would sort of pretend to enjoy on occasion for his benefit but that unless I was calling the shots I probably wasn’t all that interested. This is hard to believe – that he could have missed all the signs that confirmed how much I love being told what to do, spanked, dominated, cum on, pushed to my knees and told to suck him. I just honestly was floored that he had missed how much I was enjoying these things too. I guess what I am getting at is that we never actually talked about what turns us on -- we just got consumed by the other things we had to deal with. And we expected each other to read minds. Which never works, right?
So the past few weeks have been hot around here. And the man finally got the message that I wanted to be romanced and he arranged for a sitter and took me out to dinner. Of course, by the time we got to the restaurant I was practically in heat and couldn’t keep my foot off his crotch. At one point, our conversation took a very un-hot turn and we laughed about how we got off track. I looked him deep in the eyes and told him to tell me what he likes. He surprised me with his immediate answer.
“I like it when you come,” he said, tilting his head slightly without breaking the gaze. “On my face.”
Now, I know he likes this (and trust me, I feel like I hit the lottery) but to hear him say it out loud sent shockwaves through my body. I told we needed to leave the restaurant N.O.W. (he couldn’t exactly stand up at that exact moment, but a few minutes later…)
He paid, we left and on the way out I discreetly grabbed hi s cock (which by the way, apparently felt the way I did) and told him we needed to go park somewhere immediately. It was like I was on some drug, tunnel vision, I need to be sucking on him or I thought I might actually die. My breath had quickened, my face was flushed and all the passion was right back where it belonged.
I got my wish, seconds later, when we pulled into an empty lot and I quickly released him from his clothing and sucked him off hungrily. We haven’t been to church in ages but I am pretty sure I heard him calling out to God. It was unbearably sexy and I think I pierced the upholstery of his car with my heels. It was still light out and we definitely are not turned on by being arrested, so we decided my orgasm (s?) could wait.
We went home, paid the sitter, pretended to be interested in what the kids had to say about their night. Our son is still little but we bribed him into going to bed like a big boy and we managed to get the kids to bed within 30 minutes of getting home.
I wasted no time. I came downstairs to the living room completely naked except for a sheer black string thong, shooting my husband sheepish looks, like he could tell me to do anything and I would do it. He ordered me onto the couch and started kissing me everywhere, kneeling over me. I begged him to feed me his cock, and he obliged. I slipped a finger into his ass just to keep him where I wanted him, which was right there, shoving his cock into my mouth. I could have stayed there forever. He made me finish myself off, he told me to. He said he was going to watch me make myself come while I sucked on him.
I could go on and on about the fucking that followed, but I won’t bore you with the details. Mostly he did exactly what I love the most – took me from behind and pulled my long hair and I think you are getting the picture and this is actually much harder to write than you make it look on your blog, that’s for sure. In the end, I let him have exactly what he wanted, which was for me to come – on his face. The lucky bastard. And I got what I wanted, which w as for him to jerk himself off and come all over me.
Not sure why I feel compelled to write this. Mostly because I don’t share these aspects of my life with people I know, I don’t have a blog, and I don’t keep a journal. I guess I just thought you might be interested to know you’ve had a very positive influence on life around here. Keep up the good work, and thanks.
Anonymous
Read the rest...
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