(Edited 12-5-09: I've just discovered that this entry was selected for Fleshbot's "best of " sex blog roundup for the week. Thanks, folks! To anyone who's dropping by via that link, welcome! Look around and stay a while. I think you'll find I'm a very pleasant host.)
The sound of the zipper was a loud purr in the silence. The only other sound was her panting breath as she worked herself into a state of excitement. Soon she'd have him in her mouth....
"No." Curt, impersonal, he cut her off and slapped her hand away. "Not like that."
"B-but......I don't understand," she heard herself whining.
"There are rules about this, you know," he declaimed, in a pedantic tone, knowing it always drove her wild when he lectured. "I'm your teacher, and this sort of thing is explicitly forbidden by the school's charter and rules of conduct, and parTICularly the teacher's code of behavior."
More stillness, broken by her small voice, drops of water in a pond. "........so what do I do, then?"
He grinned wolfishly. "You say, 'Teacher, may I please suck your cock?' "
"TeachermayIpleasesuckyourcock?" It spilled out of her so fast the words ran together, not drops this time but a deluge, a torrent.
"Again, please. And let's have that enunciation improved this time."
"Teacher, may I please suck your cock?"
He shook his head. "Again. I'm not hearing the proper attitude of deference and respect."
"Oh, teacher, may I please suck your big fat cock?" She was whimpering now, her head spinning. How long was he going to make her do this?
"That will be adequate, I suppose," he acknowledged. "You may begin.......now."
And her hands darted eagerly to his zipper again, yanking it down, setting him free with unseemly haste. He shook his head mentally. Such loss of control. He'd have to teach her more decorum and restraint. But.....some other time.
(This is my contribution for this week's Microfantasy Monday, hosted as always by Ang, the Sweltering Celt. Care to join in? Go check out Ang's place for the details.)
-- PB
Monday, November 30, 2009
Still Alive
Yes, I'm still alive. ("I'm doing SCIENCE and I'm still alive!" sings GLaDOS). I was out of town from Saturday the 28th until late last night, visiting family and friends. My apologies to anyone who thought I had dropped off the face of the earth, and to the several very nice people who emailed me to inquire what was up. I just didn't feel comfy visiting any salacious sites when I was using a shared computer belonging to someone else. I'm sure you can all understand that.
More substantive content will follow later today; now I must busy myself picking up the mounds of work that accumulated while I was gone.....
Hope all you Americans had a happy Thanksgiving!
-- PB
More substantive content will follow later today; now I must busy myself picking up the mounds of work that accumulated while I was gone.....
Hope all you Americans had a happy Thanksgiving!
-- PB
Friday, November 20, 2009
Flash Fiction Friday Challenge #13: "A Domme's Work is Never Done"
She sat down slowly, aching muscles creaking, joints pleasantly warm and loose. She stretched lazily and her breasts pulled tight, spilling out of the corset. It had been a good couple of sessions. Images drifted slowly across her brainspace, sending evil tingles through her. No matter how hard she came when disciplining her disciples, there always seemed to be room for more later on, when she was remembering.....
As she was now. In her mind's eye she saw the flickering crack of the lash across his back, painting precise patterns over his flesh, a study in crimson. Saw the arch of his body, not cringing to escape the next blow, but rising high to meet it. Saw him throw his head back, a soundless cry ringing voicelessly from lips gone red and puffy with lust. Saw her own hand tightening around the handle of the flogger, then pausing to determine where best to place the next blow. Saw him writhing from side to side, tantalizing glimpses of his hard cock twitching and jerking as he fought to keep from spraying his excitement everywhere.
It really was an art, she thought, pulling herself free of the dreamhaze and returning reluctantly to the present. The wetness running down her thighs cried for more action, and her hand went between legs and began stroking, slowly, slowly, building the fire...
“Mistress?” A hesitant voice from the doorway. She snapped alert, her hand going instantly to the flogger at her belt. He never learned.....
(This is my entry for Flash Fiction Friday Challenge #13: 250 words on the photo shown above. FFF is usually hosted by Spanky, but he's taking some time off so the lovely Sephani Paige has stepped in to host this week. Want to play too? Then stop by and check out the guidelines.)
-- PB
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Check out "Aural Sex" at Erotic Flash Fiction
No HNT from me today (a bit too busy just at the moment); instead, why not check out this brief tale I shared over at Erotic Flash Fiction today? It's called "Aural Sex" and it's about the sounds of love and lust. Feel free to comment here or there!
-- PB
-- PB
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
To Do List
This is my to-do list for today:
You
That's right. You're on my to-do list; are, in fact, the sum total of said list. I will be pursuing you with singleminded determination and efficiency. If all goes as planned, I will be done with my list, and with you, by noon today.
First I'll call in sick to work. It's easy to do when you take so few personal days off; being married to your work is sometimes a good thing. That will free me up for the rest of my more important tasks for the day.
Next, I'll hop in my car and drive to your office. Oh, yes....I know where you work. You've been keen to keep all professional references out of your scathingly hot journal entries, but a smart man, a methodical man, can put the pieces together and come up with a definite after some calculation and elimination. So I'll drive to your workplace, dressed to the nines in a smart suit, and stroll up to the receptionist.
"Can I help you, sir?"
"Oh, I think you can," I'll say, and tell her that I have an appointment with you.
"I.......didn't think she had any appointments this morning, sir. Can I have your name, please?"
"Surely. You can tell her that P. Bjørne Thørsen is here to see her."
"P. Bjørne Thørsen," she'll repeat slowly, and turn to her phone.
This is the one crucial spot. Will you recognize the name? Will your mind go winnowing through the recesses of your memory, connecting half-remembered email flirtations and salacious comments with a casually-tossed-off suggestion that I join you for "coffee" some day? Will you connect Mr. P. Bjørne Thørsen with me? And if you do....will you succumb to temptation?
Of course you will. I know you very well, you see.
And so the receptionist will inform me that you're ready to see me, and lead me down the hallway (passing curious co-workers who don't recognize me; "is he a new contact?" "Who's the sales guy?" "Anybody want the last donut?" -- well, maybe that last one wasn't about me) until we reach your own expansive office.
"Mr. Thorsen," she'll announce me, and then I'll close the door quietly, and it'll be just the two of us.
A long silence will fall, an electric silence, a tangible silence. It'll be the kind of silence that's thick with unspoken invitations, with possibilities. But you'll break first, as I knew you would. "You're a brazen bastard, aren't you?" you'll inquire, trying to sound angry.
Of course, I won't reply to that, simply staring at you, eyes scanning your body slowly, insolently, until you flush under the insistent heat of my gaze, and drop your own eyes to the carpet.
"That's better," I'll say. "You knew I'd come for you one day. It was only a matter of time."
Slowly, slowly, I'll sidle towards you, easing around your desk. Your eyes will follow me but you won't make a move, won't even turn to face me as I circle around behind you. My hands will go to your waist and press there, deliberately, firmly, but I won't touch you anywhere else -- not yet. A tiny shiver will be your only reaction so far. I'll bend forward to sniff along the back of your neck -- an animal scenting prey. I'll plant a trail of kisses along your neck -- a fine thing, these business dresses for women; they still leave a fine expanse of neck and shoulder free for the rest of us to admire -- and be rewarded with a breathy little sigh.
I'll pull you against me, allow you to feel the weight of my thickening erection against the softness of that magnificent ass of yours. My hands will run up your front now and find the buttons of your dress, where I'll begin unbuttoning them very slowly. I'll resume the kisses on your neck and throat, now being interspersed with light nibbles on the particularly tasty bits, and will listen with amusement to your deepening breathing, the sharp intakes of air when I do something you particularly like.
For example, when I get your dress unbuttoned far enough to expose your bra, and then unhook that to let your tits spill out. How nice of you -- you wore a bra that unhooks in the front, just for me. I'll run my hands over your globes, palms and fingertips making slow circles around your nipples and spiraling inward, tweaking them, making them stand out, standing up just for me. You'll be moaning deep in your throat right now, but your need for decorum will still be battling with your need to be fucked, so you'll be trying to keep it quiet despite the rising tide of sensations.
Abruptly I'll spin you around to face me and pull you hard against me for a fast and savage kiss. Invading, brutalizing, sandpaper of stubble rasping against your lips, contrasting with the eager heat and wetness of your tongue tangling with mine. I'll pull back from you with a moist parting sound and gaze down at you intently. There it'll be -- the fire kindled in your eyes, the heat that says "dominate me", the flame that's burning away the vestiges of your caution.
Accepting the flame, I'll push you down on the desk on your back, sweeping papers, office supplies and computer equipment off with a rustling, clattering crash. "No," you'll gasp, "the door. It's not locked." And of course I'll reply, "You knew it wasn't locked from the start and you didn't say anything. Too late to change your mind now," and punctuate the now by hiking the dress up past your waist.
Then, of course, I'll see that you aren't wearing panties, and chuckle, "My, you are a naughty girl today. Let's take care of that," and unzip my slacks. I'll chuckle some more at feeling your eager fingers helping free my cock from its confinement, and gasp softly when they wrap around me, drawing me closer. You'll be on the edge of regaining a modicum of control, but I can't have that, so I'll slam your wrists down on each side of you on the desk, pinning you beneath me, and thrust hard, upward, forward, into you.
Heat. God, the heat. I've fantasized about it for months, but never dreamed it'd be so. fucking. hot. inside you. But you'll be hot, all right, hot and wet, and tight as well, clenching around me as I batter my way into you. I'll be doing you hard and heavy, silencing your moans and gasps by covering your mouth with my own, slamming into you hard enough to leave imprints from the desk edge on the backs of your thighs.
Then, after a few minutes of banging, just when you're getting really into it, I'll stop completely, long enough for your eyes to fly open in shock and stare at me. I'll stare back at you, devouring you with my eyes, cock still buried deep in your cunt but utterly motionless. What a sight: to have you splayed on your desk, pinned and at my mercy, helpless before anything I might choose to do to you.
"Please....." I'll hear you whisper, afraid to raise your voice any more.
"Please what?" I'll inquire languidly, as if I hadn't been fucking you without mercy seconds before.
"Oh, God, do I have to beg for it?"
I'll pretend to consider, but in truth, this is what you love. You want to be dominated, to be taken, told what to do and how. So of course I'll say, "Yes, I think you do."
A flash of gratitude whirls across your expression and is gone. Then, "Please, fuck me. Take me. I'm yours. Do me hard and fast. Do me here on this desk, I don't care if anyone hears anymore. Slam me. Ram me. Give me that cock and fuck me hard. I'm begging you."
"It's....unseemly....for a woman.....to beg," I'll gasp out, punctuating each phrase by thrusting hard. You'll moan under the renewed assault, lifting your hips up to meet me each time. Soon we'll be back into a hard and fast rhythm again, bodies calling to each other, flesh meeting flesh with a flat, authoritative smacking sound, wet juicy sounds coming from your pussy as I pound you hard. I'll be mauling your tits by this time, with lips and tongue and teeth, trying to cram as much of you into my mouth as I can, feeling you arch underneath me to push your tits into my face.
Still I'll be fucking you, jamming into you harder and faster with every second. You'll be yelping and crying out now, past the point of caring, and me as well. I'll growl, "Cum for me, woman," and be rewarded by a cry of ecstasy, strangely quiet compared to how loud we've gotten. I'll emit a low moan of my own as your cunt clamps down on my cock, milking my own cum out to splatter your insides in pulsing jets. Then I'll subside, still panting.
It'll be long minutes before I soften and slip out of you, and I'll be spending the whole time caressing you, brushing your hair out of your face, planting soft kisses on your exposed skin from navel to forehead. Then, with a grin, I'll pull out my cell phone and take a picture of your new freshly-fucked look, before you can cover up or turn your face away.
"Blackmail material?" you'll ask, bitterly, as I pull back and begin tucking myself away.
"Of course not," I'll answer. "Just for my own enjoyment. You may be the president of the company, but I own you. I don't have any need for blackmail. And you know it."
You'll shiver, not entirely from the chill of the air conditioning, and straighten up, my cum already dripping down your legs. "I.......guess I do," you'll say.
I'll leave you to get cleaned up and head for the door. With a soft "click" I'll unlock it, and turn the knob.
"Wait!" I'll hear from behind me. "It....it was locked after all?"
"Naturally," I'll grin over my shoulder. "But next time, it won't be........"
-- PB
You
That's right. You're on my to-do list; are, in fact, the sum total of said list. I will be pursuing you with singleminded determination and efficiency. If all goes as planned, I will be done with my list, and with you, by noon today.
First I'll call in sick to work. It's easy to do when you take so few personal days off; being married to your work is sometimes a good thing. That will free me up for the rest of my more important tasks for the day.
Next, I'll hop in my car and drive to your office. Oh, yes....I know where you work. You've been keen to keep all professional references out of your scathingly hot journal entries, but a smart man, a methodical man, can put the pieces together and come up with a definite after some calculation and elimination. So I'll drive to your workplace, dressed to the nines in a smart suit, and stroll up to the receptionist.
"Can I help you, sir?"
"Oh, I think you can," I'll say, and tell her that I have an appointment with you.
"I.......didn't think she had any appointments this morning, sir. Can I have your name, please?"
"Surely. You can tell her that P. Bjørne Thørsen is here to see her."
"P. Bjørne Thørsen," she'll repeat slowly, and turn to her phone.
This is the one crucial spot. Will you recognize the name? Will your mind go winnowing through the recesses of your memory, connecting half-remembered email flirtations and salacious comments with a casually-tossed-off suggestion that I join you for "coffee" some day? Will you connect Mr. P. Bjørne Thørsen with me? And if you do....will you succumb to temptation?
Of course you will. I know you very well, you see.
And so the receptionist will inform me that you're ready to see me, and lead me down the hallway (passing curious co-workers who don't recognize me; "is he a new contact?" "Who's the sales guy?" "Anybody want the last donut?" -- well, maybe that last one wasn't about me) until we reach your own expansive office.
"Mr. Thorsen," she'll announce me, and then I'll close the door quietly, and it'll be just the two of us.
A long silence will fall, an electric silence, a tangible silence. It'll be the kind of silence that's thick with unspoken invitations, with possibilities. But you'll break first, as I knew you would. "You're a brazen bastard, aren't you?" you'll inquire, trying to sound angry.
Of course, I won't reply to that, simply staring at you, eyes scanning your body slowly, insolently, until you flush under the insistent heat of my gaze, and drop your own eyes to the carpet.
"That's better," I'll say. "You knew I'd come for you one day. It was only a matter of time."
Slowly, slowly, I'll sidle towards you, easing around your desk. Your eyes will follow me but you won't make a move, won't even turn to face me as I circle around behind you. My hands will go to your waist and press there, deliberately, firmly, but I won't touch you anywhere else -- not yet. A tiny shiver will be your only reaction so far. I'll bend forward to sniff along the back of your neck -- an animal scenting prey. I'll plant a trail of kisses along your neck -- a fine thing, these business dresses for women; they still leave a fine expanse of neck and shoulder free for the rest of us to admire -- and be rewarded with a breathy little sigh.
I'll pull you against me, allow you to feel the weight of my thickening erection against the softness of that magnificent ass of yours. My hands will run up your front now and find the buttons of your dress, where I'll begin unbuttoning them very slowly. I'll resume the kisses on your neck and throat, now being interspersed with light nibbles on the particularly tasty bits, and will listen with amusement to your deepening breathing, the sharp intakes of air when I do something you particularly like.
For example, when I get your dress unbuttoned far enough to expose your bra, and then unhook that to let your tits spill out. How nice of you -- you wore a bra that unhooks in the front, just for me. I'll run my hands over your globes, palms and fingertips making slow circles around your nipples and spiraling inward, tweaking them, making them stand out, standing up just for me. You'll be moaning deep in your throat right now, but your need for decorum will still be battling with your need to be fucked, so you'll be trying to keep it quiet despite the rising tide of sensations.
Abruptly I'll spin you around to face me and pull you hard against me for a fast and savage kiss. Invading, brutalizing, sandpaper of stubble rasping against your lips, contrasting with the eager heat and wetness of your tongue tangling with mine. I'll pull back from you with a moist parting sound and gaze down at you intently. There it'll be -- the fire kindled in your eyes, the heat that says "dominate me", the flame that's burning away the vestiges of your caution.
Accepting the flame, I'll push you down on the desk on your back, sweeping papers, office supplies and computer equipment off with a rustling, clattering crash. "No," you'll gasp, "the door. It's not locked." And of course I'll reply, "You knew it wasn't locked from the start and you didn't say anything. Too late to change your mind now," and punctuate the now by hiking the dress up past your waist.
Then, of course, I'll see that you aren't wearing panties, and chuckle, "My, you are a naughty girl today. Let's take care of that," and unzip my slacks. I'll chuckle some more at feeling your eager fingers helping free my cock from its confinement, and gasp softly when they wrap around me, drawing me closer. You'll be on the edge of regaining a modicum of control, but I can't have that, so I'll slam your wrists down on each side of you on the desk, pinning you beneath me, and thrust hard, upward, forward, into you.
Heat. God, the heat. I've fantasized about it for months, but never dreamed it'd be so. fucking. hot. inside you. But you'll be hot, all right, hot and wet, and tight as well, clenching around me as I batter my way into you. I'll be doing you hard and heavy, silencing your moans and gasps by covering your mouth with my own, slamming into you hard enough to leave imprints from the desk edge on the backs of your thighs.
Then, after a few minutes of banging, just when you're getting really into it, I'll stop completely, long enough for your eyes to fly open in shock and stare at me. I'll stare back at you, devouring you with my eyes, cock still buried deep in your cunt but utterly motionless. What a sight: to have you splayed on your desk, pinned and at my mercy, helpless before anything I might choose to do to you.
"Please....." I'll hear you whisper, afraid to raise your voice any more.
"Please what?" I'll inquire languidly, as if I hadn't been fucking you without mercy seconds before.
"Oh, God, do I have to beg for it?"
I'll pretend to consider, but in truth, this is what you love. You want to be dominated, to be taken, told what to do and how. So of course I'll say, "Yes, I think you do."
A flash of gratitude whirls across your expression and is gone. Then, "Please, fuck me. Take me. I'm yours. Do me hard and fast. Do me here on this desk, I don't care if anyone hears anymore. Slam me. Ram me. Give me that cock and fuck me hard. I'm begging you."
"It's....unseemly....for a woman.....to beg," I'll gasp out, punctuating each phrase by thrusting hard. You'll moan under the renewed assault, lifting your hips up to meet me each time. Soon we'll be back into a hard and fast rhythm again, bodies calling to each other, flesh meeting flesh with a flat, authoritative smacking sound, wet juicy sounds coming from your pussy as I pound you hard. I'll be mauling your tits by this time, with lips and tongue and teeth, trying to cram as much of you into my mouth as I can, feeling you arch underneath me to push your tits into my face.
Still I'll be fucking you, jamming into you harder and faster with every second. You'll be yelping and crying out now, past the point of caring, and me as well. I'll growl, "Cum for me, woman," and be rewarded by a cry of ecstasy, strangely quiet compared to how loud we've gotten. I'll emit a low moan of my own as your cunt clamps down on my cock, milking my own cum out to splatter your insides in pulsing jets. Then I'll subside, still panting.
It'll be long minutes before I soften and slip out of you, and I'll be spending the whole time caressing you, brushing your hair out of your face, planting soft kisses on your exposed skin from navel to forehead. Then, with a grin, I'll pull out my cell phone and take a picture of your new freshly-fucked look, before you can cover up or turn your face away.
"Blackmail material?" you'll ask, bitterly, as I pull back and begin tucking myself away.
"Of course not," I'll answer. "Just for my own enjoyment. You may be the president of the company, but I own you. I don't have any need for blackmail. And you know it."
You'll shiver, not entirely from the chill of the air conditioning, and straighten up, my cum already dripping down your legs. "I.......guess I do," you'll say.
I'll leave you to get cleaned up and head for the door. With a soft "click" I'll unlock it, and turn the knob.
"Wait!" I'll hear from behind me. "It....it was locked after all?"
"Naturally," I'll grin over my shoulder. "But next time, it won't be........"
-- PB
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Texts From Last Night
Also found in my wanderings today: Texts From Last Night. These are the text messages you wish you hadn't sent last night. Or sent and then realized you needed to share them with someone else.
I can't stop looking away from this site. It's like watching a horrible train wreck. Some of my favorites so far:
(407): i went to disney world today with my friends, met snow white, then saw her later at a bar. she is naked next to me in her bed, passed out. when you wish upon a star...
(214): Sex on bubble wrap = best decision ever.
(519): and then she said I drew a line on her forehead with my cum and whispered "Simba" (PB note: I snorted my drink through my nose after reading this one).
(510): he said he didn't have a condom.
(415): and you said?
(510): that that's fine cause i was ready to be a mom. yeah - he magically had a condom he forgot about after that.
(901): guy in the car over is getting some terrible road head. he just gave me a thumbs down when he noticed i was watching
(312): I remember going home with 2 girls. Woke up with 4.
(919): so I was just driving high and I stopped to let a pinecone cross the road because I thought it was a hedgehog.
Enjoy, folks.
-- PB
I can't stop looking away from this site. It's like watching a horrible train wreck. Some of my favorites so far:
(407): i went to disney world today with my friends, met snow white, then saw her later at a bar. she is naked next to me in her bed, passed out. when you wish upon a star...
(214): Sex on bubble wrap = best decision ever.
(519): and then she said I drew a line on her forehead with my cum and whispered "Simba" (PB note: I snorted my drink through my nose after reading this one).
(510): he said he didn't have a condom.
(415): and you said?
(510): that that's fine cause i was ready to be a mom. yeah - he magically had a condom he forgot about after that.
(901): guy in the car over is getting some terrible road head. he just gave me a thumbs down when he noticed i was watching
(312): I remember going home with 2 girls. Woke up with 4.
(919): so I was just driving high and I stopped to let a pinecone cross the road because I thought it was a hedgehog.
Enjoy, folks.
-- PB
This is too good not to share.
Found via Fuse Magazine. I couldn't resist passing this one along. Apparently the Mayor of London is considering closing the Westminster bridge in the early afternoon on sunny days, due to the.....er......phenomenon shown in the photo above.
I'm with the writer of the original article I stole this photo from. You'd think they would have noticed this when the bridge was opened in freakin' 1862.
-- PB
eLust #1
Note from PB: eLust is the replacement for Sugasm, which has gone dark for the foreseeable future. Like Sugasm, eLust is a community-driven "best of", where the top picks are chosen by the participants. So, without further ado, eLust #1 is below.....
HNT Courtesy of Coy Pink
Older and Better Than Ever
Good Morning
Your Eyes
MFM: The Student. The Teacher.
Get Me Off
The Club & Introductory Note
Don’t Come
The City
Howl at the Moon
Rimjob
Consumed
The Devil Inside (hey, that's me!)
One of the Greats
Room Service
Bad Taste?
Protocols
The Illusion of Beginning: Pt 1
“You hit me…”
Reconnecting
Too Many Buttons
Nadia’s Wishing Box
The Mason Jar
So Sexy Boots
Libido Resurrection Programme™
Check Up
Oh, Baby, Baby
UnderRated: Fucking the Mind
I’m Quoted in Time Out NY!
Top Five Tuesday – Euro Studs
She Makes Me Feel Like a Whore
HNT Courtesy of Coy Pink
Welcome to the first edition of e[lust]! Below is your source for inspirations of lust and sexual intelligence from a wide range of sex bloggers. Want to be included in the next edition? Submission period opens for e[lust] # 2 on November 20th – subscribe to the RSS feed and Twitter for all updates! Check out the submission guidelines and rules of general conduct here.
This week’s top three picks as chosen by fellow e[lust] participants:
At Your Service - His hand pushes on my thigh and I turn away from him, allowing him to inspect my ass. His hands spread my ass cheeks and again I flood with wetness.
Cinderella – “‘I want to fuck you…’ he growled, nipping at her neck and kissing down over her breasts, biting at her nipples through the fabric, making her cry out.
Anal Sex Pt 2: The Ins and Outs of Butt Sex - Butt sex is what you make of it. Enjoy yourselves, be careful, and try everything that looks interesting.
Editor’s Pick:
The Slut Chronicles #5 – The Flight Delay – “When her eye caught his blatantly checking her out, he only grinned wider, with no remorse at all and it was she who blushed furiously.”
A note from the editor: And so it begins…
At Your Service - His hand pushes on my thigh and I turn away from him, allowing him to inspect my ass. His hands spread my ass cheeks and again I flood with wetness.
Cinderella – “‘I want to fuck you…’ he growled, nipping at her neck and kissing down over her breasts, biting at her nipples through the fabric, making her cry out.
Anal Sex Pt 2: The Ins and Outs of Butt Sex - Butt sex is what you make of it. Enjoy yourselves, be careful, and try everything that looks interesting.
Editor’s Pick:
The Slut Chronicles #5 – The Flight Delay – “When her eye caught his blatantly checking her out, he only grinned wider, with no remorse at all and it was she who blushed furiously.”
A note from the editor: And so it begins…
See also: Pleasurist’s #54 for your sex toy review needs.
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!
Good Morning
Your Eyes
MFM: The Student. The Teacher.
Get Me Off
The Club & Introductory Note
Don’t Come
The City
Howl at the Moon
Rimjob
Consumed
The Devil Inside (hey, that's me!)
One of the Greats
Room Service
Bad Taste?
Protocols
The Illusion of Beginning: Pt 1
“You hit me…”
Reconnecting
Too Many Buttons
Nadia’s Wishing Box
The Mason Jar
So Sexy Boots
Check Up
Oh, Baby, Baby
UnderRated: Fucking the Mind
Top Five Tuesday – Euro Studs
She Makes Me Feel Like a Whore
Monday, November 16, 2009
Microfantasy Monday Week #54: "Games"
Tanya smiled to herself, anticipating his arrival in a few minutes.
Her plan was working to perfection so far. She'd reeled him in with the most confusing and bewildering array of mind games she'd yet been able to manage. Calling him in the middle of the night to talk about things that were bothering her, and only letting him go when he'd be too tired at work the next day to be anything other than useless. Whispering in his ear that she wasn't wearing panties at the beginning of a date, then angrily slapping him across the face when he tried to explore a bit under her dress. Texting him about how horny she was and how badly she needed to be fucked, then pleading exhaustion and a headache when he arrived, panting like a dog. Deliberately ignoring dozens of gradually more frantic voicemails, then calling him out of the blue and passing it off as her "just being so busy". Writing a romantic, emotional poem and leaving it in his briefcase, then laughing, "Oh, you thought that was serious? Don't be silly, darling." Disappearing halfway through a date and leaving him to pick up the check....and pay for a taxi home, since she'd stranded him as well. She was particularly proud of that last one.
Yes, it had worked beyond anything she'd ever dreamed. She'd never seen a man so drunk with lust, so turned on and twisted far out of recognition that he'd fall at her feet without a whimper if she so much as crooked her little finger.
But where was he? He was five minutes late, and that wasn't like him at all. She picked up her phone and dialed his number, quite peeved. Ten rings brought her his voicemail, with a message she hadn't heard before. "Sorry, can't get to the phone right now. Off for a vacation and I've left my phone behind. If it's important, leave me a message and I'll get back to you."
Well! That was really quite exasperating. If she were important? She drew in breath, preparing to blast the voicemail with a piece of her pique, and then was dumbstruck as the message continued, "........Oh, and if you're Tanya, don't bother calling me again. Ever. We are done, finito, over with."
The world reeled. Dimly her mind registered the voicemail beep, dimly her body went through the automatic actions of closing the phone. She couldn't get the sense from it, couldn't comprehend what she'd heard. Her brow furrowed and her mouth worked, shaping the words slowly: Done. Finito. Over with.
But.....he'd been enjoying the games they'd played. Hadn't he?
(This is my contribution for Sweltering Celt's Microfantasy Monday. The theme, as you may have guessed, is "Games". And if it sounds overly bitter, don't worry, that's just my extreme distaste for the games some women play coming through. I'm sure none of you lovely folk would ever do things like this.)
-- PB
Her plan was working to perfection so far. She'd reeled him in with the most confusing and bewildering array of mind games she'd yet been able to manage. Calling him in the middle of the night to talk about things that were bothering her, and only letting him go when he'd be too tired at work the next day to be anything other than useless. Whispering in his ear that she wasn't wearing panties at the beginning of a date, then angrily slapping him across the face when he tried to explore a bit under her dress. Texting him about how horny she was and how badly she needed to be fucked, then pleading exhaustion and a headache when he arrived, panting like a dog. Deliberately ignoring dozens of gradually more frantic voicemails, then calling him out of the blue and passing it off as her "just being so busy". Writing a romantic, emotional poem and leaving it in his briefcase, then laughing, "Oh, you thought that was serious? Don't be silly, darling." Disappearing halfway through a date and leaving him to pick up the check....and pay for a taxi home, since she'd stranded him as well. She was particularly proud of that last one.
Yes, it had worked beyond anything she'd ever dreamed. She'd never seen a man so drunk with lust, so turned on and twisted far out of recognition that he'd fall at her feet without a whimper if she so much as crooked her little finger.
But where was he? He was five minutes late, and that wasn't like him at all. She picked up her phone and dialed his number, quite peeved. Ten rings brought her his voicemail, with a message she hadn't heard before. "Sorry, can't get to the phone right now. Off for a vacation and I've left my phone behind. If it's important, leave me a message and I'll get back to you."
Well! That was really quite exasperating. If she were important? She drew in breath, preparing to blast the voicemail with a piece of her pique, and then was dumbstruck as the message continued, "........Oh, and if you're Tanya, don't bother calling me again. Ever. We are done, finito, over with."
The world reeled. Dimly her mind registered the voicemail beep, dimly her body went through the automatic actions of closing the phone. She couldn't get the sense from it, couldn't comprehend what she'd heard. Her brow furrowed and her mouth worked, shaping the words slowly: Done. Finito. Over with.
But.....he'd been enjoying the games they'd played. Hadn't he?
(This is my contribution for Sweltering Celt's Microfantasy Monday. The theme, as you may have guessed, is "Games". And if it sounds overly bitter, don't worry, that's just my extreme distaste for the games some women play coming through. I'm sure none of you lovely folk would ever do things like this.)
-- PB
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
Flash Fiction Friday Challenge #12: "Study"
The clacking keys of the old Royal typewriter gave the odd impression of a halfhearted war: sporadic bursts of machine-gun fire breaking out occasionally. She worked with set intensity, brow furrowed, back straight against the hardwood, absently brushing a strand of hair away from her face, annoyed it had escaped from its confinement.
The air was cold on her nipples and they stood at attention. Occasionally her elbows would brush against them, sending little darts of energy through her. These served as excellent foci for her attention. Honestly, she didn't understand why all writers didn't work this way. Without the confinement of clothing, she could get so much more accomplished.
“Is it time for a break yet, Miss?” she heard from the doorway. She raised an eyebrow and looked back over her shoulder, then pursed her lips in a soundless whistle as her eyes traversed his form and she saw what he had for her. A great big mass of thick red meat, nice and juicy. She clenched her legs together, willing herself not to show the excitement she was suddenly feeling.
“All right,” she agreed. “I guess I could go for a sandwich about now.”
He turned and snapped his fingers, and his twin brother appeared behind him. “Yes?”
“The Mistress wants a sandwich. Shall we oblige her?”
“Of course,” the newcomer agreed. “Is it my turn for her ass or her cunt this time?”
They turned to her, awaiting her decision.
(This is my entry for Spanky and Tiggs's Flash Fiction Friday Challenge #12: 250 words on the photo shown above. Want to play too? Then stop by and check out the guidelines.)
-- PB
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Good lord, you people are nuclear today.
I'm looking around at all the amazingly hot people who've participated in HNT today and am drooling, positively droooooooooooling, at all the beauty I see. And it's making me hot as hell. So, I thought I'd share a few of my favorite sex positions, courtesy of SexInfo101. This site's good for inspiration, although the comments on the positions tend to be (shall we say) lowest-common-denominator.
(Note: there should be animations for each of these. If you don't see an animation, try visiting the main site and looking around to see if you're missing a required plugin).
My all time favorite: doggy-style. I love this one because it makes me feel like the Big Bad Wolf, primal, raw, taking ruthlessly, growling and snarling. It makes me feel like an animal, and I like it.
Another favorite: having you riding me like a pole. This one's great for taking you up against the wall. I particularly like it when you wrap your legs around my ass while I thrust into you in this one.
The arch: a recent favorite. I've discovered just how great it feels to fuck in this position. It lets me get very deep into you as well, and there's just something about grabbing your legs and spreading them to lift and support you.
And one more: sitting rear entry. I would guess this does feel like a lap dance (although I've never had one). Still, it's fantastic to have you ride me in this position so I can reach around to grab your tits, squeeze them and fondle your nipples.
So there you have them -- some of my favorites. What are some of yours?
-- PB
(Note: there should be animations for each of these. If you don't see an animation, try visiting the main site and looking around to see if you're missing a required plugin).
My all time favorite: doggy-style. I love this one because it makes me feel like the Big Bad Wolf, primal, raw, taking ruthlessly, growling and snarling. It makes me feel like an animal, and I like it.
Another favorite: having you riding me like a pole. This one's great for taking you up against the wall. I particularly like it when you wrap your legs around my ass while I thrust into you in this one.
The arch: a recent favorite. I've discovered just how great it feels to fuck in this position. It lets me get very deep into you as well, and there's just something about grabbing your legs and spreading them to lift and support you.
And one more: sitting rear entry. I would guess this does feel like a lap dance (although I've never had one). Still, it's fantastic to have you ride me in this position so I can reach around to grab your tits, squeeze them and fondle your nipples.
So there you have them -- some of my favorites. What are some of yours?
-- PB
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
What do you want from me?
Hm. I'm not sure I have a big enough readership to do an entry like this yet, but what the hell. I'm kicking around a number of ideas for new entries, but haven't decided on any yet.
So I'll put the question to you: what would you like to hear from me? Do you want to know about my past? Do you want to know what I dream about? What do you want me to write next? Got a fantasy you'd like me to bring to life here? I'm curious -- what's your pleasure?
-- PB
So I'll put the question to you: what would you like to hear from me? Do you want to know about my past? Do you want to know what I dream about? What do you want me to write next? Got a fantasy you'd like me to bring to life here? I'm curious -- what's your pleasure?
-- PB
TMI Tuesday #212
TMI Tuesday is celebrating the Top 100 Sex Journalers of 2009 (which I posted about yesterday) by stealing their questions for this week from the 100th post of the #1 person on the list, the Coquitten. (Go read her, she's excellent).
Anyhow, the questions interested me this week, so I'm going to play too.
1. I lost my virginity at 18, in the back of a car, on prom night. Where and when did you lose yours?
In the bed of a girl I'd flown to visit, knowing that we'd almost certainly end up in bed during the visit. I was 20 years old. A late starter, perhaps....but it wasn't for lack of interest. :)
2. I think my ass is my best sexual feature. What is yours?
I've been told I have a very talented tongue, so I guess I'll go with that. I've also been told I have a very nice cock, so I'll put that down second. :)
3. A recurring theme in my fantasies is being slammed up against the wall. Do you have a recurring fantasy or a theme to your fantasies?
Two themes do keep showing up repeatedly -- firstly, exhibitionistic sex (being watched, not necessarily in a very public place -- just knowing that someone else is watching us fuck), and secondly, very aggressive sex (tearing clothes, breaking furniture, slamming up against walls, raw and primal and urgent). Hell, I'm getting hard just typing that.
4. I love watching guys masturbate. Do you enjoy watching others (a partner or a stranger) masturbate?
I'd love to watch my partner masturbate. My current girlfriend doesn't really like to do it for me, though, so I get my fix from watching vids online.
5. I hate when guys are quiet in bed. I like to hear you moaning as you cum. Do you like you partners quiet? Are you quiet?
I like it loud and enthusiastic, from both sides. I like lots of moans and sighs and yelps. I love dirty talk, both hearing it and giving it. The filthier the better. And I like to be loud myself, but if my partner's the quiet type it has a very inhibiting effect on me and quiets me down too. The converse is also true, of course -- the louder you get, the louder I'll get too, in a very pleasant feedback loop.
6. I love playing with nipples. Do you having your nipples played with?
This is something that does absolutely nothing for me, I'm afraid. Some guys love it, it just leaves me cold.
7. My ‘number’ is between 15 and 25. What is your 'number'?
I was going to dissemble about this and refuse to answer, but hell, what is this journal for if it isn't to be honest? I've had six partners, which roughly translates to one every three years I've been active (I'll be 37 this year).
.........Good god, how sad. I have to go kill myself now.
-- PB
Anyhow, the questions interested me this week, so I'm going to play too.
1. I lost my virginity at 18, in the back of a car, on prom night. Where and when did you lose yours?
In the bed of a girl I'd flown to visit, knowing that we'd almost certainly end up in bed during the visit. I was 20 years old. A late starter, perhaps....but it wasn't for lack of interest. :)
2. I think my ass is my best sexual feature. What is yours?
I've been told I have a very talented tongue, so I guess I'll go with that. I've also been told I have a very nice cock, so I'll put that down second. :)
3. A recurring theme in my fantasies is being slammed up against the wall. Do you have a recurring fantasy or a theme to your fantasies?
Two themes do keep showing up repeatedly -- firstly, exhibitionistic sex (being watched, not necessarily in a very public place -- just knowing that someone else is watching us fuck), and secondly, very aggressive sex (tearing clothes, breaking furniture, slamming up against walls, raw and primal and urgent). Hell, I'm getting hard just typing that.
4. I love watching guys masturbate. Do you enjoy watching others (a partner or a stranger) masturbate?
I'd love to watch my partner masturbate. My current girlfriend doesn't really like to do it for me, though, so I get my fix from watching vids online.
5. I hate when guys are quiet in bed. I like to hear you moaning as you cum. Do you like you partners quiet? Are you quiet?
I like it loud and enthusiastic, from both sides. I like lots of moans and sighs and yelps. I love dirty talk, both hearing it and giving it. The filthier the better. And I like to be loud myself, but if my partner's the quiet type it has a very inhibiting effect on me and quiets me down too. The converse is also true, of course -- the louder you get, the louder I'll get too, in a very pleasant feedback loop.
6. I love playing with nipples. Do you having your nipples played with?
This is something that does absolutely nothing for me, I'm afraid. Some guys love it, it just leaves me cold.
7. My ‘number’ is between 15 and 25. What is your 'number'?
I was going to dissemble about this and refuse to answer, but hell, what is this journal for if it isn't to be honest? I've had six partners, which roughly translates to one every three years I've been active (I'll be 37 this year).
.........Good god, how sad. I have to go kill myself now.
-- PB
Monday, November 9, 2009
Top 100 Sex Journals of 2009
Too busy today for anything more substantive than this, I'm afraid.
BMS has posted a list of the top 100 sex journals of 2009 (actually the phrase is "sex bloggers", but I still hate the world "blog" and always will, so I ain't gonna use it, nope nope). Go check the list out and see if you can't find some additional interesting people to follow. There are some really talented and intelligent writers out there.
How many of them do I read? Check the list on my sidebar to see; I keep my interests pretty much up front for all to see.
-- PB
BMS has posted a list of the top 100 sex journals of 2009 (actually the phrase is "sex bloggers", but I still hate the world "blog" and always will, so I ain't gonna use it, nope nope). Go check the list out and see if you can't find some additional interesting people to follow. There are some really talented and intelligent writers out there.
How many of them do I read? Check the list on my sidebar to see; I keep my interests pretty much up front for all to see.
-- PB
Friday, November 6, 2009
How do *you* define "cougar"?
I've read a couple of stories or comics recently that had me blinking in surprise. In all three of them (no, I won't provide links, because I honestly don't remember where they were -- this has been kicking around my head for days), the phrase "cougar" was used to refer to a woman who was "30 or older" and "usually considered to be past her sexual prime".
I reacted in two ways to this. Firstly, I went "You're considered to be a cougar now if you're over THIRTY? Isn't that kind of young for the appellation?" I mean, I'd always thought that the phrase "cougar" referred to mature women in their late forties and fifties.These stories, though, were implying that you were a cougar if you were thirty or older. That seemed ridiculous -- just artificially low to me.
Then I looked at it further, at the idea that cougars are "past their sexual prime", and at that I had plenty to say, but "Bollocks!" was the first I came up with. For one thing, wasn't the statistic for years that men reach their sexual peak at 18, while women don't do so until they turn 36? Used to see that pair of statistics around every corner, for years. For another thing, how many of the women in the sex-journalling world are in their thirties, or their forties and fifties? A scan of my watchlist turns up several in your thirties, plus a few more in your forties, and yes, a few in your fifties. And all of you have hearty and healthy appetites -- in fact, some of you have damn near incredible appetites. "Past their sexual prime", pfah. What a load of crap.
Anyway, this got me wondering -- what do YOU think a "cougar" is? Late forties? Fifties? Is it age-related only? Or do you buy this garbage about thirty being the cutoff point? Have cougars really passed their sexual peak, or do you agree that's crap as well? Or is it just that "cougars" go exclusively after men who are younger than they, and so you exhibit cougar behaviors even at thirty if you're chasing men who're in their twenties? I'm lost here.
For my part, I think I must be getting up there in my dotage as well, because a lot of the college students I see in my town look to me like they're twelve years old. Sure, some of 'em have nice hard bodies, but I hear snippets of their conversation and the banalities they talk about, and my interest in them shrinks to less than zero. There's got to be a brain there if I'm going to give a damn, no matter how hot you are, and the plain fact is that older women have had more life experiences and are more mature just by virtue of that.
Disclaimer: Don't for a second think that I'm singling out the younger ladies in the crowd for unfair finger-pointing. I can think of any number of you that are in your twenties, or younger -- Amy , Coquitten , Amorous Rocker and (I think) Ang come immediately to mind -- but you're smart too, and that's why you've got my attention, not just because of your pert young flesh. Although I won't lie, that does catch my interest as well. :)
So if I'm a cougar-watcher for loving women that are thirty and up, well, then, I guess you'd better cuff me, Officer. Oh, what's that, officer? You're over thirty too? Then why the cuffs? Oh. ..........Ohhh!!! Well, lead the way, then........
Rrrrrowr. Gotta love them cougars. And all the rest of you hotties as well. Regardless of age.
-- PB
I reacted in two ways to this. Firstly, I went "You're considered to be a cougar now if you're over THIRTY? Isn't that kind of young for the appellation?" I mean, I'd always thought that the phrase "cougar" referred to mature women in their late forties and fifties.These stories, though, were implying that you were a cougar if you were thirty or older. That seemed ridiculous -- just artificially low to me.
Then I looked at it further, at the idea that cougars are "past their sexual prime", and at that I had plenty to say, but "Bollocks!" was the first I came up with. For one thing, wasn't the statistic for years that men reach their sexual peak at 18, while women don't do so until they turn 36? Used to see that pair of statistics around every corner, for years. For another thing, how many of the women in the sex-journalling world are in their thirties, or their forties and fifties? A scan of my watchlist turns up several in your thirties, plus a few more in your forties, and yes, a few in your fifties. And all of you have hearty and healthy appetites -- in fact, some of you have damn near incredible appetites. "Past their sexual prime", pfah. What a load of crap.
Anyway, this got me wondering -- what do YOU think a "cougar" is? Late forties? Fifties? Is it age-related only? Or do you buy this garbage about thirty being the cutoff point? Have cougars really passed their sexual peak, or do you agree that's crap as well? Or is it just that "cougars" go exclusively after men who are younger than they, and so you exhibit cougar behaviors even at thirty if you're chasing men who're in their twenties? I'm lost here.
For my part, I think I must be getting up there in my dotage as well, because a lot of the college students I see in my town look to me like they're twelve years old. Sure, some of 'em have nice hard bodies, but I hear snippets of their conversation and the banalities they talk about, and my interest in them shrinks to less than zero. There's got to be a brain there if I'm going to give a damn, no matter how hot you are, and the plain fact is that older women have had more life experiences and are more mature just by virtue of that.
Disclaimer: Don't for a second think that I'm singling out the younger ladies in the crowd for unfair finger-pointing. I can think of any number of you that are in your twenties, or younger -- Amy , Coquitten , Amorous Rocker and (I think) Ang come immediately to mind -- but you're smart too, and that's why you've got my attention, not just because of your pert young flesh. Although I won't lie, that does catch my interest as well. :)
So if I'm a cougar-watcher for loving women that are thirty and up, well, then, I guess you'd better cuff me, Officer. Oh, what's that, officer? You're over thirty too? Then why the cuffs? Oh. ..........Ohhh!!! Well, lead the way, then........
Rrrrrowr. Gotta love them cougars. And all the rest of you hotties as well. Regardless of age.
-- PB
Flash Fiction Friday Challenge #11: "Antici......................pation"
She had never been so completely alive. Blindfolded, collared, chained, bound with silken ropes, she nevertheless could picture the scene intimately. Her senses had expanded far beyond anything she'd ever tasted – the air currents dancing over her superheated skin; the flickering light from the dancing candleflames arrayed all about her; the trickles of wetness running down her thighs.
The step of a watcher. They stopped in the doorway, drinking in the sight. She writhed sensuously, helpless to stop the flood of crashing sensations. “Please......” she begged, and knew not what for.
“No,” he replied. “At least....not yet.”
(This is my entry for Spanky and Tiggs's Flash Fiction Friday Challenge #11: 100 words on the photo shown above. Want to play too? Then stop by and check out the guidelines.)
-- PB
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Flower Worship
Last time I had you, it was all about me. I promised you that this time it'd be all about you. So lie back, my lady, and indulge me in a bit of flower worship.
It's no accident that poets, painters and artists have referred to the vagina as a flower. The folds, the delicate pink color, the glistening drops of dew -- just lovely. The scent and taste differ from woman to woman, but I've never found one that I don't like -- and I particularly like yours.
I start by standing in front of you and deliberately eyeing your body from every angle; feasting on you with my eyes, drinking you in, amazed that such loveliness can be mine. I walk around you, touching you here and there -- a caress on the cheek, a gentle touch on your breast, a trail of fingertips along your neck and collarbone, a slide of my palm down the small of your back. I can see you shivering with delight and anticipation, and smile to myself. I step closer, behind you, and put my hands on your waist. I nuzzle your neck and plant a trail of small kisses from the knob of your spine up and around to your earlobe. I nip lightly before releasing it -- a breathy "Ohhhh" escapes you -- and begin to unbutton your shirt.
Inch by inch my fingers trail down your front, caressing, exploring, unbuttoning. I pull the folds of the shirt free and run my thumbs over your nipples, then cup your breasts and squeeze them softly. You moan deep in your throat. I pull your arms behind you and draw the shirt down and off, tossing it aside, then begin slowly sliding your skirt up your thighs. Again, it's a slow thing -- lots of caresses, lots of whisperlight touches, brushing my hands over your knees, the insides of your thighs, the curves of your ass. I hike the skirt up further, to your waist, then suddenly I press against you from behind, letting you feel the bulge in my jeans, rubbing it up and down the crack of your ass. I know you like the feel of the denim against your bare flesh because a soft sigh escapes you.
My fingers are now working their way up the insides of your thighs, teasing, brushing, rubbing firmly. I brush my palm against the front of your panties and am rewarded by a quick gasp. I can feel your growing excitement through the thin fabric, and grin again. I brush my fingers against your crotch again, this time harder, pressing a bit more firmly, making a slow circular motion. You moan more loudly this time and I feel shudders passing through you. They're amplified when I work my hand inside the waistband of your panties and slip my fingers lower, questing further, slipping one finger then two inside your slit.
You're hot and wet already. I must be doing something right. I push my middle finger deeper, curling it around, trying for your G-spot. My thumb begins to work on your clit, spreading the wetness from your slit all around your lips, but concentrating on the little button that makes you gasp and moan. Inside, my middle finger still slides in and out, feeling your gushing wetness, massaging the little knot at the front, pressing softly at first then a bit harder.
When the trembling of your legs and the quivering of your flesh -- not to mention the cries of pleasure you're making -- signals me that you're going to have trouble standing for much more, I relent and pull my fingers free. I help you pull down and step out of skirt and panties, then turn you to face me. You move in for a kiss but I stop you with a finger on your lips, wanting to admire you for just a moment. You, on the other hand, have different ideas, capturing that finger and sucking your own slickness off of it. I sigh softly as your tongue caresses my digit, and my cock hardens still more. But this time isn't for me. I urge you back and help you lie down on the soft carpet, then prop a pillow underneath your ass to raise and spread you better for my access.
I lie down between your spread legs, admiring what I see. You're splayed and spread for me, your legs open wide, your body laid out for me like a sumptuous banquet. And I intend to dine well this night. I begin working my way up your legs, starting with your toes and trailing kisses and slow licks up your body. As I approach your pussy the kisses are longer, hotter; the licks harder and more deliberate. My tonguetip works its way slowly around your outer lips, teasing, probing. Gradually I move from using the tip of my tongue to swiping its entire broad length along your sopping slit from bottom to top and back again. Your moans are music to me; I use them as directions, telling me what you like and what works best. Your taste, so spicy-sweet, and your scent, so musky and affecting -- they're making my head spin.
Now I work a couple of fingers into you, sliding them about, getting them well and truly coated with your girl gloss. Then I use my thumbs to open you like a flower unfurling. It's not something I have to fight to do -- your lips are plump and shining with your excitement, swollen with need. Your hips are moving in slow undulating waves, responding to my touch, to my tongue, to my invading fingers.
I stop for a moment and survey your body, grinning. Your face is flushed and your hair is tousled from where you've been tossing it back and forth on the floor. The tips of your breasts are capped with nipples gone rock-hard from arousal. One hand is lazily massaging one breast, squeezing and pulling on a nipple, making it stand out like a pencil eraser -- but larger. You lick your lips as you see me gazing at you, and blink sleepy eyes dazed with pleasure.
Back I go to your dripping wet pussy, now working on you in earnest. I slide two fingers into you again and crook them in a reverse C, making a "come hither" motion. I put a bit of pressure on your G-spot and go back to work on the outside as well, licking and sucking around your outer lips, spiraling inward, plunging my tongue into you like a cock, then withdrawing it and making little circling motions around your clit. More moans drift from your mouth and your hips rise up towards me. Now I'm licking in long slow strokes from the bottom up to the top, using the broad side of my tongue, steadily increasing the pressure. I finish off each stroke with special attention on your clit. Sometimes I use the broad side on you, sometimes I use the tip to circle around and below it, sometimes I slip it back and forth across it, flicking gently.
Teasing is all well and good but I want you to crest the wave and fall, screaming. I gently capture your clit between my lips and then begin rippling my tongue back and forth across it, pressing from above. I know this drives you wild and very soon it has the desired effect; your hips are bucking furiously. I have to use my free hand to wrap around your thigh and hold you down; my other hand is still busy, two fingers inside you still pressing on your G-spot. I can tell you're getting near the edge, but refuse to be hurried; I continue the long slow strokes of my tongue on your clit with the same rhythm of my fingers inside you. I feel your hand wind into my hair and clench hard, keeping me in place -- not that I'd want to go anywhere else!
Abruptly your body goes rigid and a high, keening wail bursts from you. "Yes! Yes! Yes, right there, right there, rightthererightthererightthere.....OHHHHHHHH!" I keep up the oral / digital assault for a few more seconds, guiding you gently over the edge, then halt before you grow too sensitive and push me away. Gasping and moaning, you shiver to conclusion, going rigid all over, then slowly relax. I wait for about ten seconds, then go right back to work on you, trying for round two. In no time at all you're throwing your head back and forth and your hips are rising to meet me once more. "Oh yeah. Oh, like that. Oh, don't stop. Yeah, right there. Oh, god, that's good. Yes, yes, yes.....yes.......yes.......YES!!!"
This time you're shuddering and shaking as you come even harder. It's almost half a minute before you've stopped quivering and thrashing about, stars exploding in front of your eyes and sunlight filling your head. But you're just coming down from that when you feel it building again; I've resumed licking you gently, rippling the broad side of my tongue across your clit and this time sliding two fingers in and out of you. I feel you clenching around me, so tight, so hot, and shake my head mentally at the heat and wetness you're generating, but only mentally; I'm still busy, taking you to the finish line for the third time. My free hand now slips up to your breast and begins fondling it, first gently then much more roughly. I hear you shriek in surprise as I tweak one nipple hard and your hips buck twice in surprise, but then you're begging me to do it again, do it harder, to squeeze your tits, to eat you like an ice-cream cone. I'm licking at you harder now, most of the niceties gone, but still in the same deliberate rhythm. My fingers, on the other hand, are pistoning in and out of you faster and faster.
I raise my head long enough to murmur, "Now, baby. Come for me," and it seems you were just waiting for that signal. With another scream of pleasure you come for the third time, your hips rising up to meet my invading tongue and fingers, arching like you're trying to emulate a rainbow. Quivering and shaking, heated chills racing over your skin, rippling waves of pleasure washing you from head to toe, you cry out your joy then fall limp, your pussy clenching around my fingers, your girlcum trickling out of you to pool on the carpeting.
I wait for you to come down a bit more, then slowly slide my fingers out and pull my mouth off of you. I sit up, wiping my face absently on my forearm, and behold one of the sexiest sights a man can ever see -- the sight of a woman who's been given exactly what she wanted and enjoyed the hell out of it.
How lucky for me that it was exactly what I wanted as well.
-- PB
It's no accident that poets, painters and artists have referred to the vagina as a flower. The folds, the delicate pink color, the glistening drops of dew -- just lovely. The scent and taste differ from woman to woman, but I've never found one that I don't like -- and I particularly like yours.
I start by standing in front of you and deliberately eyeing your body from every angle; feasting on you with my eyes, drinking you in, amazed that such loveliness can be mine. I walk around you, touching you here and there -- a caress on the cheek, a gentle touch on your breast, a trail of fingertips along your neck and collarbone, a slide of my palm down the small of your back. I can see you shivering with delight and anticipation, and smile to myself. I step closer, behind you, and put my hands on your waist. I nuzzle your neck and plant a trail of small kisses from the knob of your spine up and around to your earlobe. I nip lightly before releasing it -- a breathy "Ohhhh" escapes you -- and begin to unbutton your shirt.
Inch by inch my fingers trail down your front, caressing, exploring, unbuttoning. I pull the folds of the shirt free and run my thumbs over your nipples, then cup your breasts and squeeze them softly. You moan deep in your throat. I pull your arms behind you and draw the shirt down and off, tossing it aside, then begin slowly sliding your skirt up your thighs. Again, it's a slow thing -- lots of caresses, lots of whisperlight touches, brushing my hands over your knees, the insides of your thighs, the curves of your ass. I hike the skirt up further, to your waist, then suddenly I press against you from behind, letting you feel the bulge in my jeans, rubbing it up and down the crack of your ass. I know you like the feel of the denim against your bare flesh because a soft sigh escapes you.
My fingers are now working their way up the insides of your thighs, teasing, brushing, rubbing firmly. I brush my palm against the front of your panties and am rewarded by a quick gasp. I can feel your growing excitement through the thin fabric, and grin again. I brush my fingers against your crotch again, this time harder, pressing a bit more firmly, making a slow circular motion. You moan more loudly this time and I feel shudders passing through you. They're amplified when I work my hand inside the waistband of your panties and slip my fingers lower, questing further, slipping one finger then two inside your slit.
You're hot and wet already. I must be doing something right. I push my middle finger deeper, curling it around, trying for your G-spot. My thumb begins to work on your clit, spreading the wetness from your slit all around your lips, but concentrating on the little button that makes you gasp and moan. Inside, my middle finger still slides in and out, feeling your gushing wetness, massaging the little knot at the front, pressing softly at first then a bit harder.
When the trembling of your legs and the quivering of your flesh -- not to mention the cries of pleasure you're making -- signals me that you're going to have trouble standing for much more, I relent and pull my fingers free. I help you pull down and step out of skirt and panties, then turn you to face me. You move in for a kiss but I stop you with a finger on your lips, wanting to admire you for just a moment. You, on the other hand, have different ideas, capturing that finger and sucking your own slickness off of it. I sigh softly as your tongue caresses my digit, and my cock hardens still more. But this time isn't for me. I urge you back and help you lie down on the soft carpet, then prop a pillow underneath your ass to raise and spread you better for my access.
I lie down between your spread legs, admiring what I see. You're splayed and spread for me, your legs open wide, your body laid out for me like a sumptuous banquet. And I intend to dine well this night. I begin working my way up your legs, starting with your toes and trailing kisses and slow licks up your body. As I approach your pussy the kisses are longer, hotter; the licks harder and more deliberate. My tonguetip works its way slowly around your outer lips, teasing, probing. Gradually I move from using the tip of my tongue to swiping its entire broad length along your sopping slit from bottom to top and back again. Your moans are music to me; I use them as directions, telling me what you like and what works best. Your taste, so spicy-sweet, and your scent, so musky and affecting -- they're making my head spin.
Now I work a couple of fingers into you, sliding them about, getting them well and truly coated with your girl gloss. Then I use my thumbs to open you like a flower unfurling. It's not something I have to fight to do -- your lips are plump and shining with your excitement, swollen with need. Your hips are moving in slow undulating waves, responding to my touch, to my tongue, to my invading fingers.
I stop for a moment and survey your body, grinning. Your face is flushed and your hair is tousled from where you've been tossing it back and forth on the floor. The tips of your breasts are capped with nipples gone rock-hard from arousal. One hand is lazily massaging one breast, squeezing and pulling on a nipple, making it stand out like a pencil eraser -- but larger. You lick your lips as you see me gazing at you, and blink sleepy eyes dazed with pleasure.
Back I go to your dripping wet pussy, now working on you in earnest. I slide two fingers into you again and crook them in a reverse C, making a "come hither" motion. I put a bit of pressure on your G-spot and go back to work on the outside as well, licking and sucking around your outer lips, spiraling inward, plunging my tongue into you like a cock, then withdrawing it and making little circling motions around your clit. More moans drift from your mouth and your hips rise up towards me. Now I'm licking in long slow strokes from the bottom up to the top, using the broad side of my tongue, steadily increasing the pressure. I finish off each stroke with special attention on your clit. Sometimes I use the broad side on you, sometimes I use the tip to circle around and below it, sometimes I slip it back and forth across it, flicking gently.
Teasing is all well and good but I want you to crest the wave and fall, screaming. I gently capture your clit between my lips and then begin rippling my tongue back and forth across it, pressing from above. I know this drives you wild and very soon it has the desired effect; your hips are bucking furiously. I have to use my free hand to wrap around your thigh and hold you down; my other hand is still busy, two fingers inside you still pressing on your G-spot. I can tell you're getting near the edge, but refuse to be hurried; I continue the long slow strokes of my tongue on your clit with the same rhythm of my fingers inside you. I feel your hand wind into my hair and clench hard, keeping me in place -- not that I'd want to go anywhere else!
Abruptly your body goes rigid and a high, keening wail bursts from you. "Yes! Yes! Yes, right there, right there, rightthererightthererightthere.....OHHHHHHHH!" I keep up the oral / digital assault for a few more seconds, guiding you gently over the edge, then halt before you grow too sensitive and push me away. Gasping and moaning, you shiver to conclusion, going rigid all over, then slowly relax. I wait for about ten seconds, then go right back to work on you, trying for round two. In no time at all you're throwing your head back and forth and your hips are rising to meet me once more. "Oh yeah. Oh, like that. Oh, don't stop. Yeah, right there. Oh, god, that's good. Yes, yes, yes.....yes.......yes.......YES!!!"
This time you're shuddering and shaking as you come even harder. It's almost half a minute before you've stopped quivering and thrashing about, stars exploding in front of your eyes and sunlight filling your head. But you're just coming down from that when you feel it building again; I've resumed licking you gently, rippling the broad side of my tongue across your clit and this time sliding two fingers in and out of you. I feel you clenching around me, so tight, so hot, and shake my head mentally at the heat and wetness you're generating, but only mentally; I'm still busy, taking you to the finish line for the third time. My free hand now slips up to your breast and begins fondling it, first gently then much more roughly. I hear you shriek in surprise as I tweak one nipple hard and your hips buck twice in surprise, but then you're begging me to do it again, do it harder, to squeeze your tits, to eat you like an ice-cream cone. I'm licking at you harder now, most of the niceties gone, but still in the same deliberate rhythm. My fingers, on the other hand, are pistoning in and out of you faster and faster.
I raise my head long enough to murmur, "Now, baby. Come for me," and it seems you were just waiting for that signal. With another scream of pleasure you come for the third time, your hips rising up to meet my invading tongue and fingers, arching like you're trying to emulate a rainbow. Quivering and shaking, heated chills racing over your skin, rippling waves of pleasure washing you from head to toe, you cry out your joy then fall limp, your pussy clenching around my fingers, your girlcum trickling out of you to pool on the carpeting.
I wait for you to come down a bit more, then slowly slide my fingers out and pull my mouth off of you. I sit up, wiping my face absently on my forearm, and behold one of the sexiest sights a man can ever see -- the sight of a woman who's been given exactly what she wanted and enjoyed the hell out of it.
How lucky for me that it was exactly what I wanted as well.
-- PB
Monday, November 2, 2009
The Devil Inside
(A bit late for Halloween, but what the hell.)
Smoke, hubbub, pounding music, fumes of sweat and alcohol, perfume and colognes, leather and latex and vinyl. It was fairly standard, as Halloween costume parties go.
It was also, he mused, extraordinarily boring. Not a target in sight, not a conversationalist who could keep up with him, not a single interesting individual worthy of attention this evening. Then again, so many of them had gone overboard with their costumes, while he'd favored the understated approach. No pitchfork and bright red-tailed spandex getup here; he'd chosen a sober grey double-breasted suit, dyed his hair black and slicked it back from the temples, added a bit of rouge to his cheeks, trimmed his goatee so it came to a fine point -- small things, really. His one concession to the devil motif was a pair of tiny horns he'd affixed to his forehead with spirit gum and prosthetic makeup. They were barely noticeable unless you were looking for them. But most people hadn't bothered looking, all night.
Wait a second. That looked promising. Oh, she was a looker, all right. Masses of ash blonde hair tumbling around her creamy white shoulders. A figure that would make hourglasses weep in envy, shoehorned into a clinging diaphanous dress of purest silver that left everything and nothing to the imagination. Purest silver in color, it seemed constructed of cobwebs and moonlight. He wondered idly how she'd gotten here without being arrested. Thigh-high slits on the sides revealed tantalizing flashes of leg as she turned this way and that and the full points of her nipples were clearly visible. Clearly she was enjoying something about this party. Her face, though, was utterly impenetrable, inscrutable, revealing no hint of what she was thinking.
And -- what the fuck? -- an argent halo glittered insubstantially over her head. Stranger still, no one seemed to be paying her -- or it -- any attention.
Surely not, he thought. What's she up to?
He sidled through the crowd and touched her elbow. "Pardon me, my dear," he intoned.
She turned, apparently unsurprised. "Yes?"
"As someone in the business" -- he didn't say which one, knowing she knew full well what business he was in -- "I'm curious about the halo. Draws attention, doesn't it?"
"Only when I allow it to," she answered. "Now that I've drawn yours, I don't need it. Does it bother you?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Bother? No, not exactly. It affects me, that's for certain, but not in the way you might think."
She raised an eyebrow of her own in response. "How then does it affect you, pray tell?"
He smiled grimly at her phrasing. Deliberately, he ran his eyes up and down that statuesque body, then -- just as deliberately -- looked down at his crotch, where his excitement was showing rampantly.
The halo flickered and died over her head. Her lips parted and her eyes smoldered. "Ah," she said, articulating the word very deliberately. "I see."
He slid around behind her, arms encircling her waist, leaning in close to whisper in her ear. "Was this your idea, or that of the Presence?"
She sighed and leaned back against him, pressing her softness against his burgeoning hardness. "Mine. I'm so God-damned tired of His holier-than-thou attitude. He created sex, why is He so uptight about it? I haven't been laid in centuries. This is the Night of Mischief; His attention's elsewhere tonight and I figured no one would miss me."
He chuckled and ran his hands up her front, cupping the weights of her breasts. "I've always enjoyed corrupting you types. I guarantee you'll enjoy yourself, if you'd like to accompany me to somewhere more private." He punctuated the last word by tweaking her nipples sharply, and she gasped, her hips bucking involuntarily back against him.
"Yes, I do think I'd like that," she murmured, undulating against him in a manner that was swiftly stoking his interest -- and his passions -- to a high flame. "How shall we do this?"
He grinned, and took her hand. "The bathroom's unoccupied." She trailed after him, quiescent for now. They stepped into the bathroom and he closed the door behind them; a flash of ire seared and sealed the lock. "Don't want to be disturbed, you know," he remarked offhandedly.
He put both hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. "Tell me, my little Seraphim, what do you want this night?" He knew the ritual: she'd pretend aversion for a token time, then cooperate eagerly, the formalities of her protestations having been satisfied.
But she surprised him by dropping to her knees in front of him and drawing down the zipper of his pants. "To worship this," she said softly. "To take in the profane and make it sacred." Her small hands went inside, caressing, feeling the weight and length of his erection; he growled subvocally as her fingertips rippled up and down. "To feel what I've been denied for so many years."
Abruptly she pulled downwards and his pants fell around his ankles. His cock, hard and red, stood out like a prod, pointing directly at her face. She looked up at him then, and there was in her eyes such a look of lust that even he was swayed by its force.
"Or, not to put too fine a point on it," she purred now, "to have you fuck my brains out." Her hand went to his shaft and grasped it firmly. He gasped at how cool and soft her fingers felt around his heated flesh. She began stroking him, gently twisting her grasp around and around, squeezing him downward and then upward, milking the first drops of pre-cum free. Her hot tongue darted out to taste the pearly beads. "Better than pearly gates," she whispered. Her tongue laved his head, spreading her saliva and his pre-cum all round. "Much better."
He groaned and raised her to her feet. His hands roamed now, all over her body, questing, caressing, stroking, and then clenching and grasping hard. The fabric of her dress tore with a barely-audible thrumming sound, and her breasts -- marvels of shadowed rondure -- spilled free. He manhandled them, squeezing and tugging, mashing them together, cupping them, hefting and pulling. She gasped and threw her head back. "Yes," she sighed, "like that. Oh, yes, like that. Harder. Bite them!"
He did as he was told, feeling her hands still twisting and caressing on his cock, now slick with her saliva. Worse yet, he was rapidly losing control in her grasp. He growled deep in his throat as she milked the head, making circles around the mushroom tip. A particularly apt touch drew a rattling, ragged gasp from him and another from her as he bit harder on her nipple. "Christ yes," she moaned. "Oh, fuck me. Wanted your cum first but I can't wait."
"You've much to learn about devils," he grunted as she began pumping his shaft, hard. "We excel at teasing....but we can stay hard as long as we want."
"Ah, so?" she grinned wickedly. "Then let's have it. C'mon. I want that devilcum all over my tits." She began pumping him in earnest and dropped to her knees again, presenting him with a tempting target, working his shaft with enthusiasm and skill he'd rarely felt even from the lower-circle demonesses. He howled his delight as his burning seed erupted and splashed all over her tits, streams and spurts flowing and coating her creamy white flesh with even more whiteness. "Yes, yes, yes," she moaned, working him harder. "More. More! I want more!" He reached down inside and kept it going, erupting and erupting, all over her hands and forearms, all over her tits, splashing and splattering over the ripped remnants of her dress, drooling down her legs and pooling on the floor.
Finally he stopped, afraid he'd drown her before he'd even gotten into her, but she surged to her feet and engulfed his lips in a savage kiss. He felt his hot cum smearing all over his suit and tore furiously at it, wondering why he wasn't as nude as she was, or at least close to it. Buttons flew and cloth fell to the floor as he pulled her hard against his bare chest. "Mmmmmph," she moaned into his mouth. "Need it now. Give me that big hard cock. Want it in me. Now. Now!"
He ripped savagely at the shreds of the dress around her waist, getting them out of the way. In a twinkling he had spun her to face the mirror and slammed her down on the counter. She sang a high crystalline note of pure voiceless need and spread her legs as far as she could; he accepted her offering and drove home into her, hard and deep.
A red haze filmed his vision. This was what he was. He snarled and his hands clenched; the fingernails grew till they were claws. One hand clapped hard on her shoulder, yanking her against him; the other came down with a loud crack on her ass. She yowled in delight and began shoving back against him as he pistoned into her, fucking her deep and hard. And he began reviling her, savaging her with words as he savaged her body: "Slut. Filth. You're all the same -- so pure and holy and good when He's watching, but give you a little taste of the good stuff and you're all over it. You can't get enough. I could fuck you for days and it wouldn't be anywhere near what you need; you'll be begging for more cock even after I've bruised you inside, filled you with gallons of come, clawed and shredded your flesh, fucked you till you were damn near split in two. Isn't that right?"
"Yeah," she gasped. "I want it. I'm a dirty slut. I want cock. I'm meant for fucking. Take me, use me, pound me, fill me. Fuck my filthy hole with that big devil cock. Give me more of that hot steaming seed. I want it so bad."
And he drove into her. In. In. In. Harder and faster. She was gasping, screaming, her hair flying about, her eyes blazing, locked with his in the mirror as he pounded her harder, deeper, faster. Their bodies blurred together, pounding and thrusting in desperate frenzy. Time stretched and flowed, everything in the universe drawn down to this one unholy mergence. They fucked and they clawed and they scratched and they bit. He banged her from behind till the countertop shattered. He threw her against the wall and she jumped onto his cock again, wrapping her legs around him so tight he felt something creak. He drove her to the floor and had her there, leaving claw marks on her shoulders, her waist, her legs, her breasts; she left him unmarked but took everything he threw at her and begged for more.
Eventually even immortal flesh tires, but not without a final climax. He drew her down hard and fast, clenching her ass, pouring his essence into her in a fiery river of pleasure so great it was agony. She shrieked filthy words in a voice made raw by lust and rough use, and he howled imprecations at her, calling her slut, whore, succubus, finally grunting oaths in bastard pre-Druidic language as the pleasure overwhelmed him. They collapsed together to the floor, neither one truly sated yet, but knowing that their time here was done. Such a union isn't meant to be, after all.
-- PB
Smoke, hubbub, pounding music, fumes of sweat and alcohol, perfume and colognes, leather and latex and vinyl. It was fairly standard, as Halloween costume parties go.
It was also, he mused, extraordinarily boring. Not a target in sight, not a conversationalist who could keep up with him, not a single interesting individual worthy of attention this evening. Then again, so many of them had gone overboard with their costumes, while he'd favored the understated approach. No pitchfork and bright red-tailed spandex getup here; he'd chosen a sober grey double-breasted suit, dyed his hair black and slicked it back from the temples, added a bit of rouge to his cheeks, trimmed his goatee so it came to a fine point -- small things, really. His one concession to the devil motif was a pair of tiny horns he'd affixed to his forehead with spirit gum and prosthetic makeup. They were barely noticeable unless you were looking for them. But most people hadn't bothered looking, all night.
Wait a second. That looked promising. Oh, she was a looker, all right. Masses of ash blonde hair tumbling around her creamy white shoulders. A figure that would make hourglasses weep in envy, shoehorned into a clinging diaphanous dress of purest silver that left everything and nothing to the imagination. Purest silver in color, it seemed constructed of cobwebs and moonlight. He wondered idly how she'd gotten here without being arrested. Thigh-high slits on the sides revealed tantalizing flashes of leg as she turned this way and that and the full points of her nipples were clearly visible. Clearly she was enjoying something about this party. Her face, though, was utterly impenetrable, inscrutable, revealing no hint of what she was thinking.
And -- what the fuck? -- an argent halo glittered insubstantially over her head. Stranger still, no one seemed to be paying her -- or it -- any attention.
Surely not, he thought. What's she up to?
He sidled through the crowd and touched her elbow. "Pardon me, my dear," he intoned.
She turned, apparently unsurprised. "Yes?"
"As someone in the business" -- he didn't say which one, knowing she knew full well what business he was in -- "I'm curious about the halo. Draws attention, doesn't it?"
"Only when I allow it to," she answered. "Now that I've drawn yours, I don't need it. Does it bother you?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Bother? No, not exactly. It affects me, that's for certain, but not in the way you might think."
She raised an eyebrow of her own in response. "How then does it affect you, pray tell?"
He smiled grimly at her phrasing. Deliberately, he ran his eyes up and down that statuesque body, then -- just as deliberately -- looked down at his crotch, where his excitement was showing rampantly.
The halo flickered and died over her head. Her lips parted and her eyes smoldered. "Ah," she said, articulating the word very deliberately. "I see."
He slid around behind her, arms encircling her waist, leaning in close to whisper in her ear. "Was this your idea, or that of the Presence?"
She sighed and leaned back against him, pressing her softness against his burgeoning hardness. "Mine. I'm so God-damned tired of His holier-than-thou attitude. He created sex, why is He so uptight about it? I haven't been laid in centuries. This is the Night of Mischief; His attention's elsewhere tonight and I figured no one would miss me."
He chuckled and ran his hands up her front, cupping the weights of her breasts. "I've always enjoyed corrupting you types. I guarantee you'll enjoy yourself, if you'd like to accompany me to somewhere more private." He punctuated the last word by tweaking her nipples sharply, and she gasped, her hips bucking involuntarily back against him.
"Yes, I do think I'd like that," she murmured, undulating against him in a manner that was swiftly stoking his interest -- and his passions -- to a high flame. "How shall we do this?"
He grinned, and took her hand. "The bathroom's unoccupied." She trailed after him, quiescent for now. They stepped into the bathroom and he closed the door behind them; a flash of ire seared and sealed the lock. "Don't want to be disturbed, you know," he remarked offhandedly.
He put both hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. "Tell me, my little Seraphim, what do you want this night?" He knew the ritual: she'd pretend aversion for a token time, then cooperate eagerly, the formalities of her protestations having been satisfied.
But she surprised him by dropping to her knees in front of him and drawing down the zipper of his pants. "To worship this," she said softly. "To take in the profane and make it sacred." Her small hands went inside, caressing, feeling the weight and length of his erection; he growled subvocally as her fingertips rippled up and down. "To feel what I've been denied for so many years."
Abruptly she pulled downwards and his pants fell around his ankles. His cock, hard and red, stood out like a prod, pointing directly at her face. She looked up at him then, and there was in her eyes such a look of lust that even he was swayed by its force.
"Or, not to put too fine a point on it," she purred now, "to have you fuck my brains out." Her hand went to his shaft and grasped it firmly. He gasped at how cool and soft her fingers felt around his heated flesh. She began stroking him, gently twisting her grasp around and around, squeezing him downward and then upward, milking the first drops of pre-cum free. Her hot tongue darted out to taste the pearly beads. "Better than pearly gates," she whispered. Her tongue laved his head, spreading her saliva and his pre-cum all round. "Much better."
He groaned and raised her to her feet. His hands roamed now, all over her body, questing, caressing, stroking, and then clenching and grasping hard. The fabric of her dress tore with a barely-audible thrumming sound, and her breasts -- marvels of shadowed rondure -- spilled free. He manhandled them, squeezing and tugging, mashing them together, cupping them, hefting and pulling. She gasped and threw her head back. "Yes," she sighed, "like that. Oh, yes, like that. Harder. Bite them!"
He did as he was told, feeling her hands still twisting and caressing on his cock, now slick with her saliva. Worse yet, he was rapidly losing control in her grasp. He growled deep in his throat as she milked the head, making circles around the mushroom tip. A particularly apt touch drew a rattling, ragged gasp from him and another from her as he bit harder on her nipple. "Christ yes," she moaned. "Oh, fuck me. Wanted your cum first but I can't wait."
"You've much to learn about devils," he grunted as she began pumping his shaft, hard. "We excel at teasing....but we can stay hard as long as we want."
"Ah, so?" she grinned wickedly. "Then let's have it. C'mon. I want that devilcum all over my tits." She began pumping him in earnest and dropped to her knees again, presenting him with a tempting target, working his shaft with enthusiasm and skill he'd rarely felt even from the lower-circle demonesses. He howled his delight as his burning seed erupted and splashed all over her tits, streams and spurts flowing and coating her creamy white flesh with even more whiteness. "Yes, yes, yes," she moaned, working him harder. "More. More! I want more!" He reached down inside and kept it going, erupting and erupting, all over her hands and forearms, all over her tits, splashing and splattering over the ripped remnants of her dress, drooling down her legs and pooling on the floor.
Finally he stopped, afraid he'd drown her before he'd even gotten into her, but she surged to her feet and engulfed his lips in a savage kiss. He felt his hot cum smearing all over his suit and tore furiously at it, wondering why he wasn't as nude as she was, or at least close to it. Buttons flew and cloth fell to the floor as he pulled her hard against his bare chest. "Mmmmmph," she moaned into his mouth. "Need it now. Give me that big hard cock. Want it in me. Now. Now!"
He ripped savagely at the shreds of the dress around her waist, getting them out of the way. In a twinkling he had spun her to face the mirror and slammed her down on the counter. She sang a high crystalline note of pure voiceless need and spread her legs as far as she could; he accepted her offering and drove home into her, hard and deep.
A red haze filmed his vision. This was what he was. He snarled and his hands clenched; the fingernails grew till they were claws. One hand clapped hard on her shoulder, yanking her against him; the other came down with a loud crack on her ass. She yowled in delight and began shoving back against him as he pistoned into her, fucking her deep and hard. And he began reviling her, savaging her with words as he savaged her body: "Slut. Filth. You're all the same -- so pure and holy and good when He's watching, but give you a little taste of the good stuff and you're all over it. You can't get enough. I could fuck you for days and it wouldn't be anywhere near what you need; you'll be begging for more cock even after I've bruised you inside, filled you with gallons of come, clawed and shredded your flesh, fucked you till you were damn near split in two. Isn't that right?"
"Yeah," she gasped. "I want it. I'm a dirty slut. I want cock. I'm meant for fucking. Take me, use me, pound me, fill me. Fuck my filthy hole with that big devil cock. Give me more of that hot steaming seed. I want it so bad."
And he drove into her. In. In. In. Harder and faster. She was gasping, screaming, her hair flying about, her eyes blazing, locked with his in the mirror as he pounded her harder, deeper, faster. Their bodies blurred together, pounding and thrusting in desperate frenzy. Time stretched and flowed, everything in the universe drawn down to this one unholy mergence. They fucked and they clawed and they scratched and they bit. He banged her from behind till the countertop shattered. He threw her against the wall and she jumped onto his cock again, wrapping her legs around him so tight he felt something creak. He drove her to the floor and had her there, leaving claw marks on her shoulders, her waist, her legs, her breasts; she left him unmarked but took everything he threw at her and begged for more.
Eventually even immortal flesh tires, but not without a final climax. He drew her down hard and fast, clenching her ass, pouring his essence into her in a fiery river of pleasure so great it was agony. She shrieked filthy words in a voice made raw by lust and rough use, and he howled imprecations at her, calling her slut, whore, succubus, finally grunting oaths in bastard pre-Druidic language as the pleasure overwhelmed him. They collapsed together to the floor, neither one truly sated yet, but knowing that their time here was done. Such a union isn't meant to be, after all.
-- PB
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