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Monday, August 31, 2009

A long time ago, in a bedroom not so far away....

Via Fleshbot:  How sad is it that in this clip featuring John Holmes and two pretty hot women (who's the blonde on top, anyway?) that the first thing I notice is the remixed Star Wars music in the background?

I am clearly far too much of a geek for my own good.

-- PB

[fiction] Dance the Night Away, Part 2

[Part 1 can be found here.]

Without warning she pulled me to my feet. "I love to dance," she purred. "I love to move, love to twist and twine my body around. Love the way the music shoots through me. But you know, even more than that, I love to be watched. And you've been watching me all night, haven't you?"

Why lie? I nodded and grinned, still wiping bits of her wetness off my lips and chin.

"Thought so," she said. "Let's see what we can do about that......"

I reached for her but she shook her finger at me. "Ah-ah!" she tutted. "You can just watch for a bit."

And so I stood back and watched as she began to run her hands up and down her body. In a few seconds more she was slowly moving to the music again, the music which we could still hear pulsing through the door. Her lips parted and she ran her tonguetip along her lower lip, still twisting and swaying slowly while caressing herself. She sighed softly as one hand cupped and lifted a breast, pinching gently at the nipples, which I could see were hard as tiny pebbles. Her other hand was now between her legs, pressed hard against the same spot I'd been sucking and licking so industriously not so long ago.

She moaned louder and threw her head back, suddenly stopping her dance. She lurched for a second and I almost reached out to steady her but remembered her "hands off" admonition and stayed put. She rocked back and leaned against the counter, using it to support her as her hands kept busily working away. Breathing hard, she fumbled at the snap on her jeans and slid them down. My eyes went wide as I discovered why those jeans had been so wet: no underwear met my gaze, only smooth skin and a tiny landing strip above a pussy that was slick and shining with her nectar.

Her fingers slid lower and plunged in. "Ohhhhhhh," she moaned, and her mouth went tight as she began to fuck herself. Decorum was far out the window now; she was too far gone to worry about niceties such as buttons as she ripped hard at the V-neck of her shirt. The buttons flew off, plinking on the tile floor, and she yanked the shirt wide, her breasts spilling free. Her hands were now moving all over herself, from sopping pussy to her tits and back again, mauling and squeezing her bright red nipples and then darting back to her slit to finger herself furiously. Her eyes flashed open and she speared me with a lusty grin, her gaze sliding down my body to the ridge in my jeans. She licked her lips and nodded in its direction.

My mouth was watering and my cock was aching. I had my own jeans and underwear pulled down in seconds, my cock standing out like an exclamation point to emphasize the amazing show she was putting on. Soon I was stroking myself in time with her own strokes, both of us now gasping with lust and shivering with desire. I was moving slowly towards her but somehow stayed separate still, even though my cock was now just inches away from her soaked slit.

Still she fucked herself, and still I flogged myself. Something had to give soon, and it was her. A mewling cry burst from her lips, a primal squeal of ecstasy as she buried her fingers deep in her pussy. I heard her juices splattering on the floor in a perfect torrent. Her hips bucked hard against her hand and seconds later she came again, jerking backwards and forwards like a marionette with its strings cut. She fell to her knees; I let go of my cock to help her up, but thoughts of chivalry vanished when she grabbed my ass and devoured my cock in a single gulp. Suction like I'd never felt sent my brain into a whirl. Her lips and tongue seemed to be everywhere at once, and I roared my own primal roar as I blasted off down her throat. A slight gurgle from her was her only reaction as she kept milking me, her throat clenching hard around my still-spurting cock, her saliva drooling out and around the base of my shaft.

Finally she pulled back, her hair wild and her ruby red lips red no longer -- all her lipstick was painted all over my softening cock. She stood up in one smooth motion, breathing hard, and leaned back against the counter. "Mmmmmm," she moaned, grinning at me, and went right back to fingering herself! Again I reached for her, and again she stopped me, this time with a hand on my chest, her other hand still working busily in circles on her clit. "No," she panted, looking up at me, "just....I....oh, oh, ohh, ohhhhh, YESSSSSSS......" Her entire body tensed up and her eyes went wide as she went rigid all over for what seemed like an eon, then slowly, slowly relaxed.

Still panting, she bent over and pulled her jeans up, swifly knotting her shirt together below the curve of her tits. Her gaze swept over my body and a smile swept over her face, a very self-satisfied look, like a cat that's been into the cream. And without another word, she turned on her heel and strode for the door.

"Wait!" My voice, a ground-glass croak. It did stop her, but only for a moment. She tossed another grin at me over her shoulder, unbolted the door, and slipped through it like smoke, gone. By the time I yanked my own clothing into a semblance of order, got out of the bathroom, and had convinced Security not to throw me out on my ass, she was nowhere to be found.

I resolved to come back here the next time this band was playing.


Hope you enjoyed this one!
-- PB

Saturday, August 29, 2009

[fiction] Dance the Night Away, Part 1

Rock concerts are really a crap place to meet people. Fortunate for me, then, that I don't go to meet people, but rather go to listen to the music. Last night, though, I met someone at a rock show, in about the most direct way you can meet them.

It was a show from one of my favorite blues guitarists. He and his band aren't much for small talk or patter in between songs -- they let the music do the talking. Their shows are always packed with people watching him and the boys pouring emotion and soul into their instruments, and women writhing like sirens on the dancefloor. I don't know what it is about this group that makes the ladies want to get up and act out their erotic dance fantasies, but as a lover of female beauty in all its forms, I always have trouble keeping my eyes on the band at these shows when there's such a wanton display of lust on the dancefloor.

Tonight was pretty much the same as usual for this group: dark, smoky club, people packed in around tables and chairs and bar, and the dancefloor full of men and women grinding against each other. I'd been watching one particular brunette all night, but she seemed off in her own world, eyes closed and weaving to the music, completely unselfconscious and completely unconscious of the effect she was having on all the males within fifty yards. I just shook my head in admiration, and turned my attention back to the band again.

A good, long set by a really good band doesn't just tire and dehydrate the band -- if they're doing their jobs, the watchers get tired and thirsty too. This would be why they play at bars, of course, and the owners love it when they're getting a nice influx from thirsty fans. Right now, I was one of those thirsty fans. Fighting my way through the mob to the bar, I managed to get a Scotch on the rocks and turned to head back to my spot near the edge of the club. Slithering sideways around a table, I backed to avoid somebody tipping back in his chair and felt a huge THUD as I ran squarely into someone else. The Scotch tumbler flew from my hand, arcing downward to splash directly into the jeans-clad crotch of the brunette I'd been watching all evening -- now off the dancefloor and standing right in front of me.

I was stunned for a moment, but she wasn't. Her mouth drew down into a line as she looked down at herself, and then shook her head, a half-grin now playing about her features. "You realize, of course, that you're going to have to make this right," she half-shouted, her voice cutting cleanly through the Delta blues rumble of the band.

"I'm so sorry," I shouted in return. "The guy over there" -- I half-motioned to the fellow who'd caused the mess, now leaning forward (of course) and talking animatedly to his friends -- "leaned back so fast I jumped to avoid him."

Her brows drew together. "What?" She motioned to her ear. "Can't hear a thing you're saying!"

I leaned forward, precisely at the wrong instant as she leaned forward as well. Our foreheads met with a white-hot CRACK and she staggered on her feet. Oh, this was going just wonderfully. Shaking my own head to clear it, I grabbed her by the shoulder to steady her and leaned in a bit closer into a very tantalizing aroma of womanly sweat and some indefinable perfume. "I was TRYING to say I was sorry," I yelled, "but it doesn't seem to be working very well, does it?"

She raised her head. Incredibly, she was still grinning. Stunning ice-blue eyes blinked up at me. "No," she allowed, "doesn't seem to be. You'd better come with me for a bit. Can't even hear ourselves talk here."

With that, she grabbed me by the wrist and began pulling me, quite sharply, towards the back of the club. Somehow she was able to eel her way through the mob with no problems at all, sliding through spots that closed seconds later, all of them bumping into me and giving me irritated looks. I tried to figure out where she was headed, surely not. What possible reason could she have for...?

I barely had a chance to stammer out "Um, is this really a good....?" before she had pulled me into the women's bathroom behind her. Two blondes looked up from the sinks, startled. "Out," she said curtly, pointing at the door. One of the two opened her mouth as if to say something, but closed it swiftly as the brunette's eyes flashed imperiously. The two of them beat a hasty retreat and the brunette locked the door behind them seconds later.

"What...?" I managed, before her hands went round my neck and she pulled me to my knees in front of her. "Suck," she said. "That looked like good Scotch and it'd be a shame to let it go to waste."

Well, who was I to argue with that? So I opened my mouth and got to work, sucking spilled Scotch out of the crotch of a pair of jeans molded around a woman I'd only met a few seconds ago.

I could only taste a bit of the Scotch, truthfully. Within only a few seconds, though, I didn't care in the least about that, because it was very obvious that not all of the heat and wetness on these jeans was Scotch, or sweat. This woman was so turned on that she had soaked through her underwear AND her jeans as well. The Scotch was just the overlay. Even through the jeans, though, she tasted amazing: dusky, spicy, and oh so very womanly.

I sucked and licked at her crotch for several minutes, her hands moving restlessly through my hair. The seconds ticked past and she began to moan as I began to press my tongue harder against her crotch. "Mm, yes, that's good," she sighed as I put my arms round her thighs and began to massage her firm ass, still licking and biting at her crotch (which, it must be said, was getting rather wetter, not drier from my attentions).

Without warning she pulled me to my feet. "I love to dance," she purred. "I love to move, love to twist and twine my body around. Love the way the music shoots through me. But you know, even more than that, I love to be watched. And you've been watching me all night, haven't you?"

Why lie? I nodded and grinned, still wiping bits of her wetness off my lips and chin.

"Thought so," she said. "Let's see what we can do about that......"


[Part Two can be found here.]

-- PB

Friday, August 28, 2009

Oops. That probably shouldn't have been said out loud.

Found today at

Busted Pipes

(My dad is a plumber. One day while trying to fix a clog, he finds a whole bunch of condoms.)
Dad: “I found the cause of your clog.  Next time, just throw away your condoms. They don’t dissolve, so it’s bad for the toilet.”
Customer: “But my wife and I don’t use condoms…”
(There’s an awkward silence as the customer mulls over what he’s just said.)
Customer: “I think I’ll be having a talk with my wife now.”


Of Quick Comebacks And Minute Men

(The store is very small with 2 registers and we call customers over one at a time to prevent overcrowding. A customer walks over to register with his wife, without being called.)
Me: “Oh, hold on there, sir. You came too fast.”
Customer’s Wife: “Story of my life.”


I haven't yet encountered anything like this in my line of work, although I have had a few people tell me what a nice voice I have. How about you folks? Ever had something weirdly sexual happen at your workplace?

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday

Empty, hurting, exhausted, used and discarded like a toy. How could she have known it'd come to this when she answered a comment about her HNT pic?

She'd thought, “there's no harm in just talking to him”. Then she'd thought “there's no harm in meeting him”. Then, no thought at all as his cock vanished down her throat and she vanished in a red haze. Such power....


This is my entry for Spanky's Flash Fiction Friday: 69 words about the picture shown above. She looks sad and tired to me, so no matter how I wanted to create something pleasant, it kept turning into something different. If you want to play too, go see Spanky's post.

-- PB

You don't want biographical info. I know what you REALLY want.

I know what you want.

Oh yes, I know it quite well. I want it too, you see. I'm just deciding how best to give it to you.

Should I bend you over the nearest chair, yank up your skirt and take you hard, roughly, using you for my own pleasure, ramming you without mercy until I blast into your soaking wet depths?

Or should I greet you when you come home from work by shutting the door behind you and dropping to my knees in front of you, to get your underwear off and devour your pussy like a starving wolf? Your hands twining in my hair while you collapse against the door for support? Licking you hard and fast until you come so hard your head spins?

Perhaps I should wait till you're cooking dinner and then begin a campaign of wordless seduction: gentle kisses on the back of your neck, my hands sliding slowly down your sides to your hips to pull you close against me, then slipping around front to cup your breasts and rub your nipples into hardness. Continuing my slow, deliberate assault on your body with more caresses and kisses, slipping a finger inside your shorts and underwear to slide it into your slippery slit. Pulling the shorts and underwear down so slowly, then lifting you onto the counter and dropping my jeans to slide my hard cock into you for a slow and grinding fuck.

Maybe I'll put some porn on the TV, then lie there on the couch, nude, stroking myself, until you get home and see the nice hard surprise I've got here for you. What will you do with it, do you think? Will you be wet enough from the naughty messages I've been sending you all day so that all you have to do is swiftly drop your clothing to the floor and mount me, reverse cowgirl style so we can both watch what's happening on the TV? Or will you come over and play with your new lollipop for a while, fingering yourself, until I can't take your teasing and throw you on the floor for some quick and dirty banging?

The possibilities are just endless. But one way or the other, you're going to get what you want tonight. And so am I.

-- PB

It seems introductions are in order

All right. After mucking about with the colors and templates yesterday I'm finally content enough with the layout to allow visitors. That means, of course, that I'd better get cracking on some actual content. So let's start off with an introduction: namely, that of your host.

Name: The Panserbjørne
Location: United States, southwestern area
Age: 36
Height: 5'11"
Weight: about 200 right now. Need to get back into the exercise habit.
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Brown
Marital status: Single but dating someone
Orientation: Hetero

Like the sidebar says, I'm not "bearlike" in the way it typically means in the sexual community. Neither am I a furry (got nothing against them, I think they're a bit odd, but that's not the way I swing, thanks). However, there's no way in hell I'd ever use my real name (or anyone else's real name) for anything I post here. But TOTAL anonymity means no real connection with anyone I might meet here, so I've adopted the Panserbjørne identity as a handy alias.

The sidebar also lists several sexy weblogs that I follow. All of them are interesting and well-written, mostly by women because that's where my interest really lies, but there are one or two written by men as well. I've also thrown up a list of the other erotic or adult websites I visit regularly. Check those out too.

This should serve fairly well, I think, for a bit of background on yours truly. There'll be plenty more of my thoughts, fantasies, and experiences here later on, but for right now: Hi. I'm the Panserbjørne, and these are my musings.

-- PB

Thursday, August 27, 2009

A Greeting

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

-- William Shakespeare

I am still working on setting up the look and feel of this weblog. (Side note: I really do hate the word "blog"; it sounds to me like somebody vomited all over the place). For right now this is just a repository for links to my favorite hot writers and other interesting erotic sites.

I will have actual, real content here whenever I'm satisfied enough with the layout to receive visitors.
-- PB