Flash Fiction Friday Challenge #10: "Ectoplasm"

He groaned, chills racing over his body as she engulfed him. He could see right through her, could see himself moving inside her ethereal form. But she felt real enough – tight and wet, though strangely cold.

She rode him with fervid abandon, low moans drifting from her lips, tossing her head, bucking wildly. Yet none of her actions stirred so much as a breath of air. She screamed like – well, like a banshee – when she came. And he came too, firing white bursts into her, plunging hard into her nothingness.

And then she was gone. Only streaks of ectoplasm remained....

(This is my entry for Spanky and Tiggs's Flash Fiction Friday Challenge #10: 100 words on the photo shown above, this time with a Halloween theme. Want to play too? Then stop by and check out the guidelines.)

-- PB

Relentless

There are times when I like lovemaking to be soft and gentle, whisperlight caresses, soft enfolding, balanced lightly atop each other, wordless sighs of pleasure.

This is not one of those times. This time is relentless.

This time I have you pinned beneath me, crushing your body underneath mine, ripping your clothes free. This time I am too far gone to bother with niceties like foreplay; once your body's bared for my attack, I get my jeans open, pull my cock out, and slam home into you without any preliminaries at all.

This time is selfish. It's hard and urgent. It's me grabbing and grasping at you, turning and positioning you for my use, spreading you wider so I can plunge deeper. It's a restraining clap of hand on flesh, a pull of your hair, a digging of fingers into your shoulders, yanking you harder against me.

This time is for invading, battering, ramming, pounding, hammering you. Driving forward relentlessly. Pulling back only far enough to get momentum for the next strike. A blur of sensation. A breach of your defenses. An all-out assault.

This time is for fucking, pure and simple. For the exquisite sensations of my hard cock in your velvety slick cunt. For clawing and tearing at you, leaving marks on your body. Pounding you so hard you'll be sore for days afterwards. Driving so deep that you feel like you've been impaled on a spear. Fucking you so fast and hard that all you can do is gasp out "Uh. Uh. Uh." with each thrust.

This time is for raging, for shouting, for rolling about in abandon, for breaking things, for making enough noise the neighbors think there's a fight going on. It's for banging you against the wall with your hands spread and braced to keep you from being rammed through. It's for fucking you till you scream, till I scream, till we both scream loud enough to hurt our throats. It's feeling the trembling sweeping over me, tightening my grasp on you till I'm about to rip you apart, and coming in a screaming red haze, filling you so full of my cum that it's going to run out your ears.

This time is for me. Next time.....next time is all for you.

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday #9: Private Session

She lay full length on the dais, artfully displayed, bronzed skin glistening under soft white light. Her breasts were thrust skyward and her hand worked restlessly, continuously, between her legs.

Exasperation shattered the stillness. “Dammit, woman, I said hold still. This portrait is going to take eons if you don't stop moving around.”

“Oh, god, please, just one?” she pleaded.

He shook his head. “Go ahead, then, if you absolutely have to.”

Beaming, she yanked her knickers down, tossing them aside with unseemly haste, and began a rapid rise towards a crest that wasn't very far away...

(This is my entry for Spanky and Tiggs's Flash Fiction Friday Challenge #9: 100 words on the photo shown above. Want to play too? Then stop by and check out the guidelines.) 

-- PB

Next Stop, Orgasm

She sighed and shifted uncomfortably on high heels that looked fantastic, but provided very little actual ankle support when you get right down to it. Not for the first time, she cursed the overcrowding in her city that forced her to take this annoying subway to work every day. The people were rude, the crowds were thick and the smell of hundreds of hurried, overstressed people was something better left undescribed.

She turned up the volume on her iPod a bit more and adjusted the headphones. Beethoven's Sixth washed over her, painting its usual idyllic picture of a pastoral countryside gathering. Her mouth twisted bitterly with recriminations. I should never have left. I hate it here.

Hating wasn't getting her home, though. She brushed her hair absently out of her face and stared hopefully at the electronic progress bar on overhead display. Still six stops to go, dear god was this day ever going to end? All she wanted to do was get home, drop her clothes on the floor and head straight to a bath. And a drink. Not necessarily in that order.

In that instant the subway lurched hard and she lost her grip on the pole. She staggered backward and thumped solidly against another person. A restraining hand came down on her shoulder and she heard a deep rumbling voice: "Whoa, there."

"I'm sorry," she stammered. "Just lost my balance for a second."

"Yeah, those heels don't look too stable," he agreed. She could hear the grin in his voice. His other hand grasped hers, and guided it back to the support pole. "There you go."

She nodded. "Thanks." She peered at his reflection in the glass ahead. Tall, at least six and a half feet, skinny as a rail, dressed in suit and tie. And a fedora -- how many men still wore hats these days? It looked good on him, from what she could see.

Brakes screeched and the subway lurched hard again; this time it was he who was thrown against her, with a very surprised "Oof!". She snickered inwardly but gasped with surprise as his hands went to her waist and clenched hard, even dragging her skirt down a bit. A tingling bolt shot through her and she swayed with a new unsteadiness that had nothing to do with the subway. Oh no, not here. Not now. 

"We seem to be having trouble keeping our footing. Maybe you'd better keep holding on there," she heard herself saying, from a long way away. A tiny flame kindled inside her, her slit beginning to trickle wetness. She slipped the earphones down off her head, wanting to hear that voice again.

A rumbling chuckle. "Indeed? Perhaps you're right." His hands tightened a bit, one on her waist, one sliding down a bit to the fullness of her hips. He shifted a bit behind her as the bell bonged and the car stopped at the new station, the doors opening and letting a positive flood of people in. In seconds, they were packed in like sardines. She pressed hard against him, feeling wiry strength in his frame, in the confidence of his hands on her.

And something else, too. There was a very definite rigidity pressing against her ass now. She shifted experimentally and rubbed "innocently" against him, catching a muffled groan before he chopped it off. Another lurch as the car started off again only made things worse. She grinned wickedly, her mind clicking along rapid rails now just like the speeding car, no longer worried about propriety, only wondering how best to accomplish her new goal: getting him into her as soon as possible.

First, access. "Belt," she murmured, and after a shocked second she felt his hands undoing his belt. She wriggled against him, her hands going to her skirt, rucking it up a bit. Her eyes caught those of a businesswoman standing across the car; the woman looked stunned for a moment, then a knowing grin spread over her face. No interference there, obviously.

She wriggled some more, fingers tearing at her panties, sliding them down her legs, just far enough. There, that should do it. Now him. "Open up," she whispered; startled, the hoodie-wearing kid to her right swung around. "Say what?" he inquired, and she dismissed him with a wave of a hand. Behind her, the real object of the comment was doing as asked; she felt the heat of his cock pressing hard against her. She bent forward a bit but the angle was wrong. "In! In!" she hissed, no longer caring who heard, and felt him probing at her lips till suddenly everything aligned and he slid home.

God, it felt so good, so fucking good. She bit her lip to stifle the moans that wanted to escape; several people nearby were now turning to watch, most looking horribly embarrassed and turning away again. One or two were openly admiring, though, including the businesswoman across the way, whose mouth was parted in a sulky pout. Her breath was coming fast.

Their breath was coming much faster, though. He pressed home his length into her, moving within her in quick, short thrusts -- there just wasn't space for anything else. It was more than enough, though. She tightened her cunt against the invading flesh, milking it, massaging it; his hands on her waist, so powerful, pulling her hard against him, helping him drive himself deeper. He growled deep in his throat and that noise had half of the car looking this way.

"You ready?" he murmured into her ear, still moving relentlessly inside. "Yes, yes, now, do it," she whispergasped, and was rewarded seconds later with his burning cum splashing into her depths. Frantically, she worked a finger around to her front and strummed her clit hard, once, twice, three times; that was enough to send her over the edge as well and she shuddered all over, chills racing over her body.

The bell bonged and half the car exited at the next stop, all of them glancing at the guilty pair as they left. Again, lots of embarrassed looks, mixed in with a few admiring ones. The businesswoman, grinning, stopped at their side long enough to say, "That looked like fun," and then exited with the rest of the horde.

"Fun?" she mused, feeling him slip out of her, no doubt leaving smears of cum and her pussy juices all over her legs, her ass, her skirt. "Yes, I think you could say that." She pulled her skirt down again, but stepped out of her panties -- they'd slid down to her ankles anyway. She picked them up and met her paramour's eyes. Gray as stormclouds, they were, but sparkling with glee.

"Want these?" she inquired.

He nodded silently. She tucked them into his jacket pocket, and turned to face the window again. Just another subway ride, she thought. God, I hate this city....but I guess it does have its good points.

-- PB

The Midnight Ride of....well, not Paul Revere

It's a strange thing, not knowing whether you're awake or asleep. Everything's washed in a drifting haze, a formless fog as thick as the blanket that falls over London at night. You can never tell whether the things you're seeing -- the sensations you're feeling -- are real, or whether they're just byproducts of overtired neurons firing cross-connections in your head.

So when I felt you beginning to go to work on my sleeping penis in the dead of night, I thought I was still lost in a pleasant dream.

Mmmmm. 

Ahh. Ohh. Mmmmm, that feels nice. Heat, wetness. Must have spilled coffee on myself in that diner. Think that'd be hotter, though, more painful, less "ahhhhh". Weird. 

Ahhh, that's good. Strange, doesn't seem to be any clothes down there. Must be one of those dreams where I'm naked for some reason. I guess that's why I can feel it so well. What is that, anyway? Ohhhhhhh. Mmmmmmmmmm. 

God, that feels fantastic. It fascinates me to feel my cock go from flaccid to tall and hard, and it sure feels like that's what it's doing right now. Ahhhhh. Mmmmm. Feels like.....like somebody's sucking me off. Swelling now, head raising up, looking around. I can feel her tongue flicking along the shaft. Pulse thumping in the great vein. Can feel her tickling my balls with her fingers. Soft pink flesh becoming warm pink marble. Can feel some incredible suction.........ohhhh GOD that's good.

Yep, definitely nice and hard now. What a fucking great dream this is. Still feel foggy. Where am I? And who's performing this magic on my shaft? Can't see too well. Oh, that's why -- it's because it's dark. Wait a second. It's........ohhhhhhh fuck, she's fantastic. It's....wait, I'm not dreaming. I'm awake! In my bedroom, in the dark. Is this really happening?

Oh yes. It is. Moist slurping sounds come from between my legs as you bob your head up and down on my cock, by now very rigid indeed. Your hair spills forward, hiding your face except for tantalizing flashes of your sucking mouth, your tongue running along my stalk, your teeth biting gently at the head. "Oh god," I groan in a voice made hoarse by sleep. "Ohhh, that's fucking good. Oh, fuck yes."

A low, throaty chuckle around my cock in your mouth. "You like?" A silky purr.

"Christ yes," I gasp as a particularly enthusiastic bit of suction rolls my eyes back in my head.

"Let's see how you like this, then." A brief shifting and I'm rolled from my side over onto my back. Wetness drips and smears across my legs and thighs as you slide on top of me. I have time enough to realize that you're absolutely soaked and it's your cunt dripping all over me before you reach down, grasp me in one small hand, and sink down on top of me with a groan -- at which point all rational thought goes right out of my head.

"Fuck me, that's good," I groan. Heat. Wetness. Tight and hot. "Oh yes," you sigh, moving up and down on me. "Yes, yes, yes. Oh, like that." My hands go of their own volition to your hips, clapping hard, clenching, lifting and dropping you. Wet and slippery. So hot. So good. Arching my back, raising my hips to lift up into you. Your tits bouncing as you rise and fall. Your hair still obscuring your face.

"Oh yes," you're moaning. "Oh, do me. Yeah, like that. Oh, I love that cock. God, I love to ride you." Your hips are confirming it, moving in tight circles. "Good," I groan, heavy and full, the tide rising. "'Cause I fucking love it when you ride me. Oh, yeah. Yeah, I can feel that pussy clenching. Give me that hot cunt. Fuck yourself down on my big cock."

"Fuck yes," you gasp. "I love feeling that cock inside me. Are you gonna shoot off soon? Gonna hose me down with a nice creamy load? Please say yes. I want it. Want it now. Oh yeah. Now. Now. C'mon. Give it to me." Fire glints in your eyes as you start bucking harder. "C'mon. Come for me. I want it. I need it. Now. Now. Nownownownownownowwwwwwwwwww........." and your voice becomes a howl, mindless pleasure taking over, shuddering wracking your body. I join you, gasping out "oh fuck yes" over and over, each time my twitching cock fires another spurt inside you. My hips jerk and my hands spasm, digging fingermarks deep into your ass and thighs. Over and over I come, grunting "fuck, fuck, fuck," like an animal, barely registering that you're grunting with me: "yeah, yeah, yeah....."

Long moments pass before you crash down heavily atop me, spent. I can feel our mingled fluids drooling out of your pussy and pooling on my thighs. My cock, still astonished at this lovely midnight surprise, starts softening, slipping out of you, slowly returning to its slumber. I can feel the fog reaching out to claim me too, and put my arms around you, willing you to join me in my dream, where maybe we can continue this lovely interlude......

-- PB

Uniquely Erotic

Why do you torment me so? Why do you dance in and out of my reveries, my fantasies? Why are you so damned hot?


It's.......
the blaze of your gaze, the toss of your wink, the flip of your ponytail. The curve of your hip, line of your shoulder, tip of your nose, the points of your nipples, the curve of your wicked grin. The pink orchid between your legs, already glistening with dew in the morning.

It's.......
the salt-sweat taste of your skin, the spicy sweetness of your cunt, the hint-of-strawberry taste of your mouth.

It's.......
the musky-sweet aroma that's all your own. The scent of your arousal, filling my head with light, making my blood burn and my cock twitch. The clean fresh tang of your sweat as you balance atop me, working hard.

It's.......
the tingling electricity that shoots up my spine when we touch. The heat of your body, so hot, so hot... it's a wonder there isn't steam drifting from your pores. The creamy smoothness of your skin. The distinctive hard ridges of your spine, your hipbones, your collarbone. The soft globes of your tits, capped with nipples tight and hard with excitement. The slipperiness of your girl gloss running down your legs.The slickness of your sweat-covered skin as you slide atop, around, over me.

It's.......
the soft sighs and moans you make, the little squeaks of surprise when I invade you, the growling purr as your lust rises, the screaming shrieks of ecstasy, the filthy words spilling from your lips as you urge me on: "Fuck me, spank me, treat me like your plaything. Take me, use me, do me deep and hard. Harder. I said harder, goddammit!" 

It's.......
the complete package, sight / taste / scent / touch / sound melding and mingling, producing something that is uniquely Woman, uniquely arousing, uniquely incredibly you.

Come a little closer.....I want to savor you some more.

-- PB

Shameless Plug

Just a reminder that Fantasia Lillith's  challenge post, "Le Manoir", is still live over at Fantasia's site and that I'm the lead story there -- but regrettably I am not currently leading in poll results. So, shamelessly, I am asking for more votes -- either leave a comment about my contribution, or use the poll itself to vote. Both will add to my total. The challenge closes on the 18th, so your time is limited -- use it wisely!

Remember that for the winner, Fantasia has offered to "personally donate to [the winner's] charity of choice the $ amount equal to the highest number of hits for a single day over the two week period the challenge will be live on [the] site. This could be a substantial donation!"

Again, since I enjoy supporting the arts, if I'm the winner my donation will go to the Ballet Company of the major city in which I reside. No, I'm not telling you which one it is. :)

Even if you don't vote for my contribution, I hope you'll read the story anyway because it provides a nice mix of voices and fantasies. It was fun to participate in this one; thanks, Fantasia!

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday #8: "Captured"

She raised her head, weakly, as she floated back to consciousness. Agony flooded through every pore and she inhaled for a scream. The hard core of rubber in her mouth prevented even that elemental release.

Stretched, pinioned with chained shackles at each extremity, splayed in a horrible reminiscence of “Vitruvian Man”, she hung exhausted in the prison of her pain.

And yet....

Wetness ran down her legs, her traitor body responding to the sensations awakened inside her. Images skirled through her mind, how he had taken her to the deepest depths and the most dizzying heights.

She wanted more...

(This, though a bit darker than my usual tastes, is my entry for Spanky and Tiggs's Flash Fiction Friday Challenge #8: 100 words on the photo shown above. Want to play too? Then stop by and check out the guidelines.) 

-- PB

Cloudburst

CRACK! KABOOM!

".....the fuck?" I mutter, coming awake with a start. My mind is still smeary, muzzy with sleep. I blink at the accusing glow of the bedside clock: 4:47 AM. The blackness outside is thick, oppressive, but I can see shadows and shapes shifting even through the drawn blinds. And noise, plenty of noise....ah, that's it. It's raining.

'Raining' is a rather dramatic understatement, I discover as I slide out of bed and lift the blinds. I can't even see through the screen, it's so bleared with water and wind. I can faintly see the shapes of the trees waving about, but that's really all I can discern.

Not good enough. I have this thing about storms, you see. I don't know what it is, but something about them, something deep and primal, speaks to a buried part of me. They always make my heart race. I love watching lightning streak the sky and feel pounding rain against my skin, to feel the wind on my face and rippling my clothes, to be buffeted by the blow and feel the thunder vibrating my bones.

So I go downstairs and walk out onto the balcony, to feel the storm firsthand. I'm already awake, after all. In a trice I'm soaked to the skin -- but then, since I sleep nude, that's hardly surprising. The rain splashes warmly over me, a thousand tiny caresses. I shake my head like a dog, splattering droplets everywhere, only to have more bucketsful of water poured over me in a matter of seconds. Laughing, I spread my arms wide and turn in a circle, feeling the wind curve itself around me. Normally I'd be worried about neighbors watching, but at 5 AM in a driving storm, who's going to be outside on their balconies? Besides me, that is.

Apparently you are. The door opens behind me and, astonished, I see that you've dropped your own nightgown to join me, skin to skin. You press against me from behind, our bodies as soaked and slippery as they would be in the shower. Your hands slide over my wet skin, teasing, tantalizing, slipping lower to where my cock is beginning to wake up. I feel your fingers wrap around my length, squeezing gently, testing its hardness (which is increasing every second due to your ministrations).

In response, I turn around slowly, my dick slapping against your belly as I press close. One hand goes between your legs where I discover immediately that not all the wetness there is from rain. You must have been playing with yourself upstairs before coming down here, to be this wet and ready. I dip my head and snare a nipple with my mouth, tearing a low cry of pleasure loose from you -- but the whistling wind flings it away.

My hands go to your ass and squeeze. You catch my gaze and murmur, "Now." So I lift you up, your arms going round my neck, and impale you on my cock. Both of us grunt in mindless pleasure, reveling in just how damned right it feels. Thunder crashes again, sending vibrations right down to our bones, making already-heated skin tingle, super-sensitized. I turn around slowly, balancing and supporting you, until you're leaning back against the balcony railing. Then we begin moving together, almost immediately overcome by mounting passions. In an instant we're rutting like animals, bodies slapping hard against each other, thrusting and pounding, grunting and growling. I press you hard against the railing and you spread your arms wide for support, throwing your head back, wild hair flying.

The lightning flashes are coming faster now. They paint the rain rivulets in silver on our skin and reveal tantalizing glimpses of our merging. The thunder is almost continuous and the rain is a positive deluge -- it pours over us both. You drop your head on my shoulder, not for support, but to bite hard at me, urging me wordlessly: "Harder. Harder. HARDER." And so I go harder, hammering into you, my thighs, my legs rigid as marble, my cock harder still. I feel your own wetness splashing my front, being washed away by the rain, then lose control and cry out soundlessly as I empty my balls into your cunt. You shiver with release and toss a grin my way.

Long minutes later I soften and slip out of you, releasing a torrent of our mixed cum onto the balcony floor. We share a deep kiss full of emotion, far from the primal lust of moments earlier. Wordlessly, both of us turn to the railing so we can enjoy the rest of the storm. Our own storm's already come and gone.


-- PB

I'm a guest contributor over at Fantasia Lillith's "Pillow Talk"!

Morning all. I hope your weekend was an excellent one.

A few weeks ago the lovely and talented Fantasia Lillith created a challenge: read the introductory tale she'd written, and then send in your own contribution of 200-400 words to continue the tale. Fantasia would then stitch the responses together with her own interstitial material to create one overarching tale.

This sounded like it would be fun, so I sent in my own contribution. It turns out that I was the first one to respond, and so my own mini-fantasy is the first one to appear in the finished story, which Fantasia has posted today.

Fantasia is now looking for votes from her Audience to decide the winner: whose story was the most well-crafted? If you have a moment and if you'd like to help me out, go read the finished tale, "Le Manoir" over at Fantasia's site and then vote for the contribution you like the most.

(Edited to add: Fantasia has also reminded me that I get one point for every vote and another point for every comment on the post about my contribution. So get voting and get commenting, both!)  :)

What else? Oh yes. I forgot to mention that for the winner, Fantasia has offered to "personally donate to [the winner's] charity of choice the $ amount equal to the highest number of hits for a single day over the two week period the challenge will be live on [the] site. This could be a substantial donation!"

As I enjoy supporting the arts, if I'm the winner my donation will go to the Ballet Company of the major city in which I reside. No, I'm not telling you which one it is. :)

This was an enjoyable challenge and I had fun contributing. Thanks, Fantasia!

-- PB

Remembrances

Today I'm thinking about a girl I dated off and on for a couple of years. I'll call her Melissa. We didn't really have a lot in common, and our personalities were extremely different in a lot of ways, so although it was serious a few times we kept drifting apart and then back together again months later. We'd always remain good friends when we broke up -- we'd just agree that it wasn't working as a serious partnership and we'd both be better off single, or dating someone else. Sometimes we'd even tell each other about the new people we were dating later on. But we kept drifting back to each other.

The one thing that kept us coming together (pun certainly intended) was that we were very, very good in bed. And out of bed. And everywhere. So we'd break up, and then weeks or months later I'd be over at Melissa's place after dinner and a movie, and we'd start snuggling, and kissing and fondling, and soon she'd ask me if I wanted to stay the night, and just like that we'd be screwing like rabbits again.

Eventually, we both realized it wasn't really a good idea to keep this up, that we really would be better off single or dating someone else. No-strings-attached sex would be great, but the two of us had too much history with each other to make pure sex with no real emotional attachment a possibility. So we broke it off for the last time, and agreed to see each other a lot less in an attempt to get some distance. Eventually, she met a great guy who could give her the emotional intimacy and the love she craved, and they were married a year or so later. I was and am delighted for both of them; she definitely deserved more than I was able to give her.

But today I'm thinking about her. Not sure why. There's a curious tapestry of thoughts going on here -- a bit of melancholy because I remember how we tried several times to make it work, only to fail each time. That's mixed in with memories of pure lust, recollections of the fantastic sex we had. She was the first woman I'd been with who showed a real, healthy interest in sex. She enthusiastically tried anything I suggested and would frequently come up with innovations of her own -- new positions, new toys, new locations. And our drives were both very high. From day one until the last day I saw her, both of us could rarely keep our hands (or lips, or other body parts) off each other.

I remember one time in particular when I was visiting her and we'd planned to go out for the evening, to play some mini-golf, eat dinner and generally goof around. It was around 3 in the afternoon and we were sitting on her couch. I began running my hands idly along the back of her shoulders. She sighed softly, shivered deliciously, and said, "Ohhh, that feels good." I should have recognized the danger signals -- once we got started we could almost never stop ourselves -- but I kept rubbing. Pretty soon our clothes were on the floor and she was riding my cock in reverse cowgirl, my hands on her tits, the couch getting slippery with our sweat. Hours later we were still fucking, still hadn't left the apartment, we hadn't eaten dinner and it was dark outside. We'd fucked standing up, against a bookcase. I'd bent her over the countertop in the kitchen and fucked her till she screamed. We'd screwed in the shower, all wet and slippery with soap and other fluids. She'd taken me by the cock as we were drying off and dragged me to the bed, then pushed me down and begun sucking me hard again, then continued blowing me until I spurted into her mouth. We'd segued into 69 position after that and I ate her until I'd recovered enough to get hard again, then pulled her around for some doggy-style action with spanking and filthy talk. It was almost 2 AM before we recovered ourselves enough to eat anything, and neither of us got dressed until I left the next morning.

I guess that's why I'm thinking about her today. I want that kind of drive and fire again. I want to be so full of desire that it flames along my nerves like the thrumming of a violin string. I want to be wanted. I want to play and experiment and enjoy, to have sex be the wonderland I've known it can be. I've had several talks with my current partner about our lack of a real sex life, and she's promised to work on it with me, but there hasn't been a lot of movement. It's hellishly frustrating for me, especially since I know (through my own experiences with Melissa if nothing else, and through reading your journals) that plenty of you women do love and appreciate sex and have high drives as well. So I work on helping my partner rediscover her drive, and when it's not enough, I visit your journals and fantasize about some of you, or I just scribble some thoughts here in an effort at catharsis. Some days it works, and some days it doesn't.

And there's nothing wrong with memories. Melissa's happily married now, and like I said, I'm delighted for her and her hubby -- but I still have fond memories of the times we spent making each other happy. I wish you well, Melissa.

-- PB

"And Then They Fucked"

I forgot to mention that I threw up a parody piece at Spanky and Tiggs's Erotic Flash Fiction yesterday. I don't know what possessed me to do this, but the idea of writing some deliberately bad erotica just wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. It took longer than I thought and every bit of it was like gouging out my eyeballs with a spoon. It hurts to write that badly. :)

If you're morbidly curious, "And Then They Fucked" can be found here. I take no responsibility for bleeding from the eyes, nose, or ears upon reading.

-- PB

TMI Tuesday #207

Busy, busy, busy today. Too busy for a really thoughtful entry, but I can squeeze in a TMI Tuesday.

1. What is your underwear "style" of choice?
Tighty-whities when I need support for the meat-and-two-veg, boxers when I want to be comfy, and commando when I want to be naughty. Mostly boxers.

2. How old were you when you had your first sexual experience?
I was 20 years old. Late starter, I'm afraid.

3. What about a potential partner turns you on?
Is she openminded? Is she outgoing? Is she attractive to me (yes, I'm a dog, physical attraction IS important)? Is she smart, funny, witty, interested in at least a few of the things that I enjoy in and out of the bedroom?

And, more to the point, does she love sex? Is she an enthusiastic partner? Is her drive similar to mine?

4. Have you ever played a game which may require you or others to disrobe?
No, sadly.

5. Given or received finger scratch marks during sexual activity?
Oh yes. It's lots of fun. I was at the gym once, the day after a night of fun with my partner of the time. A fellow gym-goer looked at the red furrows on my back and asked me if I'd been fucking Catwoman or something. I was amused.

Bonus: How many times is the most you have ever had sex in a 24 hour period?
This is kind of a repeat. I mentioned last week that my personal record is nine instances of actual penetrative sex, with many more instances of oral and digital play to make up for it when the flesh was weak. We were both pretty exhausted when it was all over with.

Want to play too? Go visit TMI Tuesday, or just copy the questions from me, really.

More hot and sexy writers to watch

If you're looking for something new and interesting to add to your watchlist and you aren't already reading these three fine people, why the hell not?

The first one is Fantasia Lillith, whose home is Pillow Talk. Fantasia has eschewed the "daily blog" approach for an "erotic fiction" approach; she had gotten fed up with the lack of classy, elegantly written erotica and so decided she wanted to create her own. And create she does -- well-crafted tales, full of emotion and dripping with sensuality. Tales of wonder and mystery; tales of sweet encounters; tales of fiery passion; tales of bittersweet parting; tales of dangerous liasons. Go check them out; I guarantee you won't be disappointed.

Dangerous Lilly, on her site This Could Be Dangerous... , doesn't need any extra traffic from me, I'm sure, as she's already got plenty of readers....but I have to mention her anyway. Lilly's fiction and real-life tales have a tinge of -- you guessed it -- danger about them. You're never quite sure what she's capable of or what she'll dare to do. She's not shy about her body and has provided many lovely shots of it, and details her fantasies and exploits in delightful detail. She also has a large archive to go through so there's plenty to keep you occupied once she's snared you. Recommended.

The Temptress, over at Archetype of the Temptress, is a self-described "mystical, irresistible and highly sexed temptress". Can't speak for "mystical", but I can say that the rest of that is bang on. A stunning raven-haired beauty who looks as if she'd be right at home as Bettie Page, or as the mobster's girlfriend in a crime noir, she writes about her fantasies and cravings with an achingly honest, touchingly sweet feel. It's rare to see this kind of emotion in a "sex blog" these days, but she's got it in spades. She also has an amazing capacity to go from touchingly sweet to filthy and depraved in seconds -- from zero to "come fuck me" in nothing flat. Very interesting and definitely worth reading.

Go visit these folks' journals and browse around a bit. They're fine hostesses and will be delighted to make you feel at home. Tell 'em I sent you. :)

-- PB

Editor's Choice in this week's Sugasm #174: it's me!

So I've just found that my mini-tale "A Race to the Finish" was given the Editor's Choice award for this week's Sugasm. I'm delighted to hear this, of course, and I'd like to welcome anyone who drops by here via a link from there.

Below is the Sugasm for this week. I hope everyone will check out some of these excellent writers, and the many other resources, stories, pics and reviews available from the "More Sugasm" link.


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The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #175? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
5 things I have learned from customers last week at the adult store
“Attractive men typically buy the freakiest toys on the market.”

Doctor’s Visit
“Reach back and spread your cheeks for me”

Voyeur
“Recently it was in a more public venue.”

Sugasm Editor
Freebies

Editor’s Choice
A Race to the Finish        (hooray for me!!!)

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

Think Of Me

I'm thinking about you right now. Yes, you. I follow lots of journals but it's you that's captured my imagination more than anyone else. I visit every day, hoping you've got some more stuff up, rereading your archives when there's no new entry. And you flit in and out of my thoughts all the time.

You really have no idea, do you? You don't know how wild you drive your readers with those naughty tales, those occasional photos, the dirty confessions and fantastic fantasies. You don't know what it does to me -- how it makes me achingly hard, ridge in pants standing out clearly for anyone to see. How it distracts me beyond belief to see each new teasing tale from you. Makes my head spin, my blood race, my heart pound. Makes me ooze precum till I'm soaking through my shorts. Makes me forget everything but the desperate tingling in my balls as I stroke myself relentlessly towards orgasm, still feverishly reading your words.

And I fantasize about you. Oh, yes, I do. I fantasize about what it'd be like to chat with you, to send you nasty emails, to detail my lusty thoughts in vivid black and white. I fantasize about sending you a list of demands for you to execute, knowing that your wild side will be brought forth in full flower by that. I fantasize about writing a story in tandem with you, building faster and faster on each others' thoughts until the final result is so hot it smokes. I fantasize about email exchanges between us, electrons flying back and forth at lightspeed, but not nearly as fast as my hand on my cock or your fingers buried in your sopping cunt. I fantasize about sending you text messages while you're at work, trying to concentrate, being distracted by my increasingly explicit descriptions of what I'm doing to myself right....this.....second.

Yes, you're in my thoughts quite a bit. I wonder what your voice sounds like. Wonder what I would do if I picked up the phone and you were on the other end, breathing hard and fucking yourself hard and fast with fingers, a toy, something. I wonder how long I'd last before spraying all over myself to the sound of your purring "That's it, come for me". I wonder if you'd be half as turned on as I was, if you'd seen as many stars as I had when I blasted off, if you were dripping with need as much as I imagine you are.

What would you be like if you were here, I wonder? Would you be submissive and eyes downcast as I directed you in a cold voice to strip for me? Would you be hot and wild and aggressive, pushing me back in my seat and yanking our clothing off so fast that I'm inside you in less than a minute? Would you scream as I nailed you to the wall from behind? Would you gush all over me as you rode me like a bucking bronco? How many times could I make you come with lips and tongue alone before you pushed me away, begging "no more, please"? Would you beg me to fuck you harder, harder, harder, or would it be slow and sensual and dreamy, all sighs and whispers and fingers tangled in each other as we urged each other toward sweet release? Would I fill your cunt with my come or would you beg me to hose you down on face and lips and tits?

Oh yes, I wonder. And I think of you. And I fantasize about you. All the time. Every time I read one of your entries.

How does that make you feel?

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday #6: "Bondage Ballet"

 “Swan Lake” filled the air as she shuffled about en pointe, nude, amidst a chorus of clinks. His eyes marked her, coldly appraising.

“Arabesque,” he stated, and she bent forward, leg raised, fighting the tether but succeeding.

“Jeté battu.” He nodded in approval as she complied, chain ringing.

“Pas de bourrée.” The first few she managed, but when she swung one leg back to extend, the chain brought her up short and she overbalanced. She crashed to the floor, weeping silently.

He knelt by her side, caressing her dancer's body. “You'll do,” he said softly.

(This is my entry for Spanky and Tiggs's Flash Fiction Friday Challenge #6: 100 words inspired by the photo shown above. Want to play too? Then stop by and check out the guidelines.) 

-- PB

Mouth For War

That mouth of yours is built for war.

Some women have soft, beautifully shaped lips. They're meant for gentle kisses, for tender merging, for quiet sighs and gasps and lovemaking on cool satin sheets. They're meant for words of love, for terms of endearment, for benedictions and acceptance and grace

Some women have thin, hard, compressed lips. They're meant for sneering, for pressing tightly together in disapproval, for excoriating curses, for bloodless slashes of cruel smiles. You don't kiss a woman like that -- she'll cut you. Lips like that part in pleasure only rarely, and usually self-pleasure at that.

Some women have generous, wide mouths. They're meant for smiling, for spreading in admiration, for cheer and crinkling of grins and splitting wide with full-on belly laughs. They're meant for enthusiastic kisses, full-bodied and plump with heady cooperative lust. They're meant for generous gasps of pleasure, for giving yourself to the moment, for loud cries of ecstasy.

Some women have tiny rosebud lips. They're meant for exploration, to tease and open up like the flower they resemble. They're meant to part with sighs of emotion, worried words that speak of the woman's fright at what she's feeling. They're meant to return kisses hesitantly, uncertainly, not certain of what's happening next.

And some women have a mouth for war.

All's fair in love and war, they say, and your mouth proves that. Dangerous lips, lips that quirk into a wicked grin or a knowing smile or simply part to reveal the tip of your tongue as it runs along the lower lip. Your mouth is meant for full-on contact, for bruising hard kisses, for drinking from your lover's mouth. It's meant for dirty talk, for yelps and screams, for filthy words of lust, for "fuck me" and "give me that come" and "I need your cock right now", for "bend me over the table" and "oh god yes right there right there right there FUCK YEAH".

A mouth for war. It's meant for sucking, for licking, for breathing deep the intoxicating aroma of lust and sweat and sex. It's meant for biting gently, for wrapping around my cock, for striving hard against my invading mouth when I slam you against the wall. It's meant for gulping down my come, for licking me from head to toe, for tasting your own girl gloss on your fingers after fucking yourself.

A mouth for war. Not one in a thousand. But you've got one.

(Title and inspiration for this entry stolen from Pantera's "Mouth for War", which I happened to be listening to today.)

-- PB