I continued to wait for the other shoe to drop, so to speak, watching her become more overtly sexual on a daily basis. She had taken to idly caressing her sex as we lay in bed reading before going to sleep, her fingers absentmindedly reaching down between her legs to stroke back and forth as she read, dreamily causing herself to become more aroused. We had long ago stopped making love, but still had sex when she was in the mood, which was more often than not these days.
It all changed one Thursday night, when she came home late once again, long after I had given up waiting up for her. I understood that she was out with her friends on the prowl, drinking to excess and relearning the art of flirting. I was dead asleep, lost in my own private dreams, when she came in, overloaded once again with alchohol, thrashing around again while undressing and getting into bed, banging into furniture and making enough noise to wake the dead. She crept into the space that I had left for her, kneeling on the bed, pushing my shoulder once, then again, harder, until I woke up, half in this world and half in dreamland.
"Wake up, dammit...wake up!!" She pushed again on my shoulder, until I rolled over onto my back, trying hard to clear my mind and open my eyes long enough to look at her. "I'm asleep, leave me alone and go to sleep yourself. Your night is over." "It's over when I say it's over...not when you tell me," she replied, anger and frustration creeping into her voice. All of a sudden, she crawled up on the bed and straddled my chest causing my arms to spread wide.
"You're always so boring and vanilla, so ordinary, so run-of-the-mill. And right now I'm soooo fucking horny." She looked down at me with increasing anger, her eyes squinting in the darkness of the room. I could feel her skin against mine, the heat of her body cascading down on me as she knelt across my chest, her sex warmer still, the dampness just touching me. I could smell the sharp acrid odor of her pussy, the days accumulation of juices and perspiration and pee all still lingering on her cunt. She put her hands on either side of my head and forced me to look her in the eye. "Eat me, for chrissake. Eat me right now," she hissed at me, and I shook my head no. "Now, dammit, right now," and I shook my head no again.
"Don't you fucking tell me no. You'll do it right now," she said, and she scuttled forward so that her knees were high in my armpits, leaning her full weight against them to pin my arms high above my head on the bed. She put one hand behind my head and tried to elevate my mouth to her wetness, and when I resisted, she grabbed a handful of hair with one hand and pulled hard, then harder, until my mouth was hard against her sex.
"Now lick, make me cum," and when I didn't open my mouth, she reached behind her like a bullrider in the rodeo and grabbed my cock, yanking it towards herself until I gave and and started to eat her out, taking long slow swipes between her lips, finding her clit easily, rolling my tongue around the elevated stub until it stood up higher and harder. She finally let go of my cock, grabbing my hair with both hands and directing my mouth back and forth along her slit, her juices now flowing freely. In spite of myself I became hard, as she increased her rhythm, now moaning in time to the movements of my mouth. With a sudden surge she came, and I eagerly lapped up the juices.
She fell off me, coming to rest on the bed, asleep almost instantly, as I jerked off next to her, cumming in one massive burst, semen coursing across my stomach and part of the way up my chest.
The other shoe had started to drop, and we had definitely turned a corner.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
The Public Library
I've been a big fan of the library ever since I was a child. We would do every Saturday as a child. It was always a magic place, with its own smell and feel, a place where I could always find a book that would transport me. I took the Boy, for the first time, when he was less than a month old, knowing full well that he couldn't really see the library for what it was, but knowing also that he could learn its smell and sound, and would return to it as he got older. He repaid me by getting a PhD in Modern American Literature.
I've read two books lately that are worth passing on, one quite new, and the other written in 1967, seemingly not translated from the German until 2000. Both came from the New York Public Library, a source of great joy and treasures, and as I recently found, a bastion of civil liberties as well. I know this because when I tried to go back in my reading history to find a book whose title I had misplaced, I was told that the NYPL doesn't track reader histories, inasmuch as revealing what a person has been reading might be revealing information that they don't want shared...and I believe them.
The new book is the one I can't remember the title of. It's non-fiction, and I thought the title was The Edge of Desire, only to check amazon.com to find out I was mistaken. The book is in four different sections, each one devoted to the story of a sexual deviant of some sort---one an extreme foot fetishist, one a man sexually aroused by women with truncated legs or missing legs, the third a child lover and worshipper, the last a female sadist. I found the last particularly breathtaking, and discussed it with my friend viviane, who has met the woman.
The older book was titled Dark Spring, the autobiographical novel of an artists companion, model, mistress who was deep into the bdsm world, and who ultimately committed suicide, much as she had written about her character in the novel.
Both are fascinating reads, and I would recommend them highly.
I've read two books lately that are worth passing on, one quite new, and the other written in 1967, seemingly not translated from the German until 2000. Both came from the New York Public Library, a source of great joy and treasures, and as I recently found, a bastion of civil liberties as well. I know this because when I tried to go back in my reading history to find a book whose title I had misplaced, I was told that the NYPL doesn't track reader histories, inasmuch as revealing what a person has been reading might be revealing information that they don't want shared...and I believe them.
The new book is the one I can't remember the title of. It's non-fiction, and I thought the title was The Edge of Desire, only to check amazon.com to find out I was mistaken. The book is in four different sections, each one devoted to the story of a sexual deviant of some sort---one an extreme foot fetishist, one a man sexually aroused by women with truncated legs or missing legs, the third a child lover and worshipper, the last a female sadist. I found the last particularly breathtaking, and discussed it with my friend viviane, who has met the woman.
The older book was titled Dark Spring, the autobiographical novel of an artists companion, model, mistress who was deep into the bdsm world, and who ultimately committed suicide, much as she had written about her character in the novel.
Both are fascinating reads, and I would recommend them highly.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Not Enough #6
I continued to watch and observe her evolution in both her appearance and her demeanor. Her hair, which had been cut to shoulder length in a utilitarian manner now hung down to the middle of her back, the glossy chestnut brown now streaked with lighter tints and hues, longer curls appearing in what once was her line straight coif. Her forehead, the high brow which gave her face almost a madonna-ish look was suddenly hidden behind peekaboo bangs, her eyes disguised and partially hidden. Makeup went on much heavier, causing her to look like she was going out for the night when in reality she was just going to work...much more eye shadow and eye liner, lipstick and lipliner going brighter one day, much darker the next, contrasting with each other. I notice a second earring in her left ear only.
She started to have more nights out with her girlfriends, stopping for drinks and more on Thursdays, then Wednesdays and Thursdays, sometimes coming home well past the time that Jay Leno had put me to sleep. She would reek of alchohol, and I would wake up in the morning to her liquored breath, her clothes strewn all over the bedroom. She would always wake up in the morning to have breakfast with me, but sometimes it seemed like I was sitting opposite an out of control adolescent rather than the woman I had been with for such a long time.
And then there was the sex.
She started to have more nights out with her girlfriends, stopping for drinks and more on Thursdays, then Wednesdays and Thursdays, sometimes coming home well past the time that Jay Leno had put me to sleep. She would reek of alchohol, and I would wake up in the morning to her liquored breath, her clothes strewn all over the bedroom. She would always wake up in the morning to have breakfast with me, but sometimes it seemed like I was sitting opposite an out of control adolescent rather than the woman I had been with for such a long time.
And then there was the sex.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Not Enough #5
And so I watched and waited, as she slowly began to evolve and change.
The first thing to change was her underwear, as she seemed to subscribe to the philosophy that less is more. The fleshtone bras and panties became a thing of the past, overtaken by an endless parade of those little striped shopping bags from Victoria's Secret, with an occasional foray to the local branch of Agent Provocateur. Colors became the order of the day. The briefs disappeared under a cascade of scarlet thongs and pretty colored boypants, sometimes sheer, sometimes lace. Bras were only half cups or less, her breasts pushed up and now more jiggly as she walked, less constrained by fabric, the random quarter cup almost leaving her nipples wide out in the open.
Her jeans became tighter and lower cut, the kind with the two inch zipper or shorter, the waistband riding low on her generous hips, little or no thought being given to whether her tops even came close to meeting her jeans, her panties randomly peeking out above the jeans, although she did try to keep pushing them down with her fingers while pulling up the waist in some strange attempt at modesty. Tops for the most part remained the same, although the tinier bras often left little to the imagination, her boobs moving as she walked. the occasional skirt was tighter, cupping her ass, and shorter, as is often the fashion.
She no longer wore the flowery summer scent that had been a trademark for years, now preferring the aggressive thrust of patchouli, the dark musky aroma strangely evocative of a different person entirely.
And so I bided my time, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The first thing to change was her underwear, as she seemed to subscribe to the philosophy that less is more. The fleshtone bras and panties became a thing of the past, overtaken by an endless parade of those little striped shopping bags from Victoria's Secret, with an occasional foray to the local branch of Agent Provocateur. Colors became the order of the day. The briefs disappeared under a cascade of scarlet thongs and pretty colored boypants, sometimes sheer, sometimes lace. Bras were only half cups or less, her breasts pushed up and now more jiggly as she walked, less constrained by fabric, the random quarter cup almost leaving her nipples wide out in the open.
Her jeans became tighter and lower cut, the kind with the two inch zipper or shorter, the waistband riding low on her generous hips, little or no thought being given to whether her tops even came close to meeting her jeans, her panties randomly peeking out above the jeans, although she did try to keep pushing them down with her fingers while pulling up the waist in some strange attempt at modesty. Tops for the most part remained the same, although the tinier bras often left little to the imagination, her boobs moving as she walked. the occasional skirt was tighter, cupping her ass, and shorter, as is often the fashion.
She no longer wore the flowery summer scent that had been a trademark for years, now preferring the aggressive thrust of patchouli, the dark musky aroma strangely evocative of a different person entirely.
And so I bided my time, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
20K
Sometime over the weekend my counter thingy broke through the 20,000, and my sweet little blog achieved another milestone in its stop and start career. The number of visits have been helped along by being selected for Fleshbot twice in the last year or so, but the bulk of the hits come from individual readers and visitors, to whom I am eternally grateful.
Thank you for reading whatever I put up on the blog. Thank you to the recidivists, thank you to the sightseers who come over from fleshbot, thank you all.
Thanks to Her, who provides so much (but not all) of the material, thanks to S and Q who both try to help me conquer my technical inabilities, thanks to viviane who told me to start a blog to end out what I couldn't say out loud, thanks to engrailed who was patient with a dunce in oh so many ways.
Earwig-Always by Stephan Grapelli
Thank you for reading whatever I put up on the blog. Thank you to the recidivists, thank you to the sightseers who come over from fleshbot, thank you all.
Thanks to Her, who provides so much (but not all) of the material, thanks to S and Q who both try to help me conquer my technical inabilities, thanks to viviane who told me to start a blog to end out what I couldn't say out loud, thanks to engrailed who was patient with a dunce in oh so many ways.
Earwig-Always by Stephan Grapelli
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Always On My Mind
We all think about sex, some of us more than others...She always looks at me as if wondering how She got the defective model, the one with the itch that never seems to get scratched enough. And suddenly, one day last week, I knew that I had too much of sex on the brain, and needed to think about things in other ways. Two examples:
I've been working with a trainer once a week for a quite a while...it helps me condition properly for altitude work, keeps me on a baseline during my busy season. And because she pushes me harder than I'm sometime comfortable at 7 in the morning, I usually grab a Clif Bar or Power Bar Gel Shot before I leave for the gym. And so I walked down the street and tore open the packet with my teeth, squeezing the gel into my mouth by pulling the packet through my teeth. And all of a sudden, it hit me...this is what it feels like when someone cums in your mouth.
Later that same day, I was riding the subway downtown to see a client. The train was crowded, and an attractive woman leaned against the door, holding her coffee and a bag with a muffin in one hand, tearing off pieces of the muffin with her fingertips and putting them into her mouth...ordinary behavior, nothing unusual. And then I see that she's putting her entire hand into her mouth, holding the muffin pieces, until she's inserted her five fingers between her second and third joints on her fingers, and I'm thinking, this woman had the most gigantic mouth...assuming she has some feel for oral sex, she must give great head, her mouth is sooo large.
And that's when I knew that I really really needed to think about other things.
I've been working with a trainer once a week for a quite a while...it helps me condition properly for altitude work, keeps me on a baseline during my busy season. And because she pushes me harder than I'm sometime comfortable at 7 in the morning, I usually grab a Clif Bar or Power Bar Gel Shot before I leave for the gym. And so I walked down the street and tore open the packet with my teeth, squeezing the gel into my mouth by pulling the packet through my teeth. And all of a sudden, it hit me...this is what it feels like when someone cums in your mouth.
Later that same day, I was riding the subway downtown to see a client. The train was crowded, and an attractive woman leaned against the door, holding her coffee and a bag with a muffin in one hand, tearing off pieces of the muffin with her fingertips and putting them into her mouth...ordinary behavior, nothing unusual. And then I see that she's putting her entire hand into her mouth, holding the muffin pieces, until she's inserted her five fingers between her second and third joints on her fingers, and I'm thinking, this woman had the most gigantic mouth...assuming she has some feel for oral sex, she must give great head, her mouth is sooo large.
And that's when I knew that I really really needed to think about other things.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Not Enough #4
I stood up abruptly, not taking the time to tuck my cock back into my jeans, and walked the few steps down to her end of the long low couch. She paused for a moment, dropping out of her playtime as I leaned forward slightly, my flexed knees hitting the couch cushion, my right hand reaching forward ever so slowly towards her crotch, which still glistened with her wetness. Her hand strayed up towards my dangling cock, her littlest finger extended forward towards my slit, her unpainted nail slipping into the slit now wet with precum.
My fingers now reached her pussy, and I rubbed her moistened lips together, causing more and more friction on her clit, and she put her hand over mine, adjusting the rhythm and pressure slightly from moment to moment. Without warning I let go of her pussy lips, and plunged my two middle fingers into her slit, quickly reaching for the spot just behind her pubic bone where that spongy g spot area resided, giving her quick come hither flexes with my fingers. And I watched her start to lose it, drift far away, her mouth wide open as she continue to move her fingers back and forth furiously, her pale face now flushed with the eros of excitement, her breath shortening to panting. Her pussy walls started to flex, once, twice, thrice, as she froze in a rictus of pleasure, her two hands now moving together up and down, pushing her clit towards the mound below my thumb as she came, and I watched her as she did, and then waited for the orgasm to be over.
"Now me, you slut," I said, smiling down at her, my fingers now entwined in her hair, as I dragged her mouth up to my cock, forcing as much of it into her waiting mouth as I could in one shot, now fucking my cock with her mouth, forcing more and more of it into her mouth and down her throat, until I couldn't wait any longer, and came with several quick jerks, her mouth filling fast as she tried to swallow and clear her airway.
We had both cum within moments of each other, and we paused to catch our breaths. I knelt down further to kiss her mouth, tasting my own cum on her breath as she panted one or two last times.
"This doesn't change anything," she said. "It's still not enough for me, and I want someone else, I want something more."
And I knew that this part of the journey was indeed just beginning....
My fingers now reached her pussy, and I rubbed her moistened lips together, causing more and more friction on her clit, and she put her hand over mine, adjusting the rhythm and pressure slightly from moment to moment. Without warning I let go of her pussy lips, and plunged my two middle fingers into her slit, quickly reaching for the spot just behind her pubic bone where that spongy g spot area resided, giving her quick come hither flexes with my fingers. And I watched her start to lose it, drift far away, her mouth wide open as she continue to move her fingers back and forth furiously, her pale face now flushed with the eros of excitement, her breath shortening to panting. Her pussy walls started to flex, once, twice, thrice, as she froze in a rictus of pleasure, her two hands now moving together up and down, pushing her clit towards the mound below my thumb as she came, and I watched her as she did, and then waited for the orgasm to be over.
"Now me, you slut," I said, smiling down at her, my fingers now entwined in her hair, as I dragged her mouth up to my cock, forcing as much of it into her waiting mouth as I could in one shot, now fucking my cock with her mouth, forcing more and more of it into her mouth and down her throat, until I couldn't wait any longer, and came with several quick jerks, her mouth filling fast as she tried to swallow and clear her airway.
We had both cum within moments of each other, and we paused to catch our breaths. I knelt down further to kiss her mouth, tasting my own cum on her breath as she panted one or two last times.
"This doesn't change anything," she said. "It's still not enough for me, and I want someone else, I want something more."
And I knew that this part of the journey was indeed just beginning....
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