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Thursday, December 31, 2009

Happy New Year

He stood on the balcony, the cold air swirling lazily about him. Cars honked faintly from the street far below, lights twinkling in the distance as if winking at him in invitation on this most festive of nights. He sipped slowly. Bubbles tickled his nose, and he almost sneezed. Remembering....

"Achoo!" she sneezed. "Dammit, I don't think I'm ever going to like champagne very much."

He smiled, sipping slowly from his own wineglass. "That's all right, it's only a once-a-year thing for us anyway."

She grinned back, and very deliberately poured her glass all over her chest; her dress, already clinging like a second skin, went transparent immediately and outlined her pointy nipples and the curves of her breasts quite nicely. His breath caught at the sight.

"Very true," she purred. "But I still don't like champagne. Maybe you'll drink up what I seem to have spilled here." She reached for him hungrily.

He shook his head, emerging from reverie. Wind skirled around the corner of the building and bit hard at his face, blowing around his legs next and making his wool overcoat flap. He pulled it more tightly around him, then frowned. Remembering....

"For you, my dearest," she said, holding out a largish box. He frowned in surprise, and his brow furrowed as he opened the box to reveal a gorgeous charcoal-grey wool overcoat.

".....the hell?" he queried, clearly puzzled. "Since when do we give gifts on New Year's Eve?"

"Not for New Year's, you insensitive clod," she scolded, the sweet smile on her face taking any sting from her words. "Our anniversary. Remember?"

"Oh, that's right," he mused. "God, it's been a year already since we first met?"

"Are you saying you haven't enjoyed it?" she smirked, coming closer and tilting her head up.

"Now I'd be a fool indeed, to say something like that," he breathed, and bent to kiss her. She tasted like strawberries and cream, and her intoxicating scent, indefinable as always, filled his head till it spun round like a top. How sweet, he thought hazily as she growled happily into his mouth and pressed ardently against him. How sweet she is....

Again he shook his head, harder this time, bringing himself forward once more to the present. A lick of cold startled him: a snowflake, landing on his nose. He looked up and saw it was beginning to fall in earnest, creeping up stealthily amidst the silence that surrounded him. No tunes or party from the dark and empty apartment at his back. No voices cutting through the stillness. No sound of breathing from his side. No warmth of presence from a delicate hand held tightly in his.

Such a contrast. He drifted again, remembering the chaos and noise from that one year. Remembering..... 

"How many of these people did you say you know?" he shouted into her ear. "I thought you said this was going to be a small party!"

She speared another small bite of the cake on the plate she was holding and chomped delicately. "As far as Rick's concerned, this is a small party, hon," she rejoined after a moment's chewing. A bit of white frosting clung to the corner of her mouth; she wiped it off quickly and licked it off her fingers, as unselfconscious as a dog. "What's the matter? Too much light and chaos? C'mon, let's find somewhere more quiet."

She took him by the hand and led him up the stairs, the crowd reluctantly parting for them, then closing thickly in their wake, like Jello. The din was considerably lessened when she led him into the guest bedroom and cut off entirely when she drew him into the bathroom beyond that, closing the door behind them.

"Hon, what.....?" he started, but was silenced by her finger on his lips. She locked the door, put her cake down on the counter, and then began unbuttoning his slacks, darting a swift hand inside and sliding it deliciously up and down, creating lovely heat and friction against his very surprised, but very pleased dick. As was usual for her, she had him hard and throbbing in a twinkling.

Her first task accomplished with dispatch, she grinned at him and drew his cock free from his briefs. Her eyes locked with his and she sank slowly, oh so slowly, to her knees. Keeping her eyes on him, she opened her mouth and began licking him from tip to base. He moaned as her tongue decorated him, swirling about, wrapping about his shaft as if it had a life of its own, wet slurping sounds echoing off the tile, saliva glistening in the fluorescent light.

She pulled back for a quarter second and grinned that devil-may-care grin at him once more, then took his cock in both her tiny hands and began to pump him slowly. He was already breathing hard but seconds of this delicious torture soon had him panting like he'd just run a marathon, sagging against the sink, hands clutching helplessly at the air. God, she was such a minx. And if he knew her at all, this wouldn't be enough for her, she'd have to....yes, there she went, engulfing him with her eagerly sucking mouth, lips and tongue working, moaning in her throat, blowing him so deliriously and sloppily that strings of ropy spit were streaming from his dripping cock, breaking free to pool on the tile below. Lightning danced in his brain and he groaned her name, the only thing he could get out past the pleasure already crowding him to overfilling.

Suddenly she stopped completely, his cock still buried down her throat, and locked eyes with him. Sounds were coming from the bedroom behind her and abruptly there was a knock on the door. "Anybody in there?" came a slurred voice. "My back teeth are floatin'."

She slid his cock free with a slow and deliberate "pop" that had to have been audible through the door. "Occupied," she said sweetly. "Come back in ten minutes, please."

"Fuckin' Rick," they heard the bathroom-seeker muttering as he left in search of a less-busy haven. She looked at him and grinned. "Where were we? Oh yes....I believe you were about to fuck me until I screamed."

And she stood up, pulled up her dress -- no panties beneath, he realized, stunned anew. Minx, he thought again, gazing at the wetness already dripping down her thighs -- how long had she been hot and ready? Had she been planning this, or was it just her usual constant slow burn? God, she's incredible. How the fuck did I get so lucky? She shrugged the dress's straps off her shoulders and then did a slow bump-and-grind. Her tits spilled out immediately, her nipples -- hard and crinkled -- standing out like bright red rosy buds, begging to be sucked. He reached for her, but she forestalled that, wheeling around and bending over the counter. She tossed her head, her blonde mane slipping to one side, and gazed back at him sidelong.

She waggled her ass at him, reaching back one-handed to finger her sopping pussy and spread it wide for his delighted gaze. "Take what's yours, loverboy," she whispered.

Wetness on his cheeks, freezing to cold diamonds in his beard. He tried angrily to brush them away -- more unwanted detritus -- but they clung stubbornly. A shuddering sob tried to tear itself free and he choked it back. He reached convulsively for the railing and clutched it hard, steadying himself, its rigid edges biting into his hand. Memories. Only memories now, as intangible and substanceless as air. All lost; all gone; all ruined; remained only dust and ashes in the hearth that once banked the flame of their love.

There on the deserted balcony, clad in the gossamer film of broken dreams, snow drifting around him in silent invitation, ghosts of New Years' past crowding close, he raised his champagne flute on high in fingers made cold and stiff by the biting wind. "Happy New Year," he said softly.

-- PB

(This was not originally how I intended to end the year, but this balcony scene just wouldn't leave me alone. I hope you enjoy this one despite of -- or perhaps because of -- the ending, and that your New Year's Eve is much happier than his. May all your dreams come true in this upcoming year. Thanks for reading!)

Wednesday, December 30, 2009


I have a few New Year's-type thoughts rolling around in my head but nothing concrete yet. I have a few stories written but they aren't polished enough for my taste yet. So for a bit of new content today, enjoy this link to Penny Arcade's gallery of Dickerdoodle contest winners. Oh, and why not, a link to last year's gallery of winners as well (scroll down a bit)  . I'm such a giver.

(Oh, you don't know what a Dickerdoodle is? Cock-shaped cookies, preferably with lots of cum frosting. The more depraved, the better. Here's a sample photo.)

I'm gratified at the response to yesterday's offering, "Late Arrival: An Airport Encounter". If you liked the tale, why not tell a friend? The more the merrier. :) </shameless pimping>  I think I'll submit it for the next eLust -- which reminds me, I need to post the new eLust here.

-- PB

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Late Arrival: An Airport Encounter

(A note to anyone stopping by via e[Lust] -- welcome! I hope you like what you see here. Drop in anytime.  -- PB)

Most airports are chaotic, disorganized masses of humanity even at the best times. During holiday seasons, however, they become something to stagger the imagination. It's normally my policy to spend lots of time people-watching when I'm stuck at an airport for one reason or another, but I was far too distracted for that this time. Part of it was the unfamiliarity aspect, as I pushed my way through crowds of folk on the slideway taking me closer and closer to my destination; strange airports are interesting places, but not good if your nerves are already strung to the breaking point.

As they were now. God knew, I'd spent enough time emailing her, flirting with her, leaving risque comments on her journal and chatting with her into the wee hours. I figured we knew each other pretty well after the details and photos we'd shared, and the filthy things we'd told each other we'd commit upon the other's person. But to fly halfway across the country just for a meeting like this....was I out of my fucking mind?

Then my eyes lit on her, waiting at the point where we deplaning passengers get disgorged into the flow of outside humanity, and my doubts dissolved, swept away in a tide of lust. Obedient to my brazen demands, she'd dressed in thigh-high boots, a black miniskirt, and a green sweater-top. Impish delight danced in her eyes, glinting from behind her glasses....and oh, yes....she'd worn the collar. Its black leather was a stark contrast to the chrome rings spaced here and there around it. Perfect for snapping something onto.

Perfect, yes. I reached into my travel bag as I drew closer to her and pulled out a silver chain leash. Our gaze locked for a second -- I swear sparks flew -- and then her eyes slid away, to the chain I was holding up. She stiffened and then relaxed again, so quickly I could only wonder if I'd really seen that glimpse of fear. And then she shivered all over and slowly, deliberately, closed her eyes.

I waited, but they remained closed. I stepped closer, close enough to take in her scent -- a heady mix, the leather of the collar, a hint of jasmine, and a stranger scent that I identified, much later, as old, dusty paper -- and placed a hand on her shoulder experimentally. She shivered again but held still. Her lips parted and I heard a faint whisper: "Yes."

That one simple word broke a dam somewhere inside me. The dark raging current that poured through swept all rational thought away. It didn't matter anymore that this was my first time meeting her. It didn't matter that we were starting to draw strange looks from passersby. It didn't even matter that we were in the midst of a crowded airport with no privacy to be found anywhere. All that mattered was that she wanted this as much as I did, and that she belonged to me utterly.

No time like the present to claim the prize. I grasped her by the throat, lifting her chin, and snapped the leash onto one of the trailing rings from her collar. Her eyes flew open at the nearly-inaudible "clink"; there was something dark and wild dancing in their depths. I released her throat and she sighed softly and, bowed. She was bowing her head in an attitude of deference.

Oh, I like this. That dark tide was still sweeping me along. My pulse throbbed. My vision was dimming. My entire body was tingling. My cock was painfully hard in my jeans -- when had that happened? It was all going so fast, so fast. My head whirled. All I knew was one thing...that I had to have her.


Her head was still bowed, but it jerked up quickly, wild and proud, when I pulled on the leash and began leading her along. She came with me eagerly, pressing close, barely even requiring a tug here and there to indicate my will. I kept sneaking glances at her exquisite body, moving and flexing alongside me; curve of hip, sideswell of breast, globe of rounded ass. I could feel the heat from her, could still smell that scent, could sense the electricity crackling between us. This was all woman.

And all mine. I saw a possible haven ahead: a pilot disappearing into the pilots' lounge. I could think of nowhere else that would offer us even a modicum of privacy. Time to brazen it out. With her still walking obediently alongside, I pushed my way into the lounge. Three pilots looked up, eyebrows raising into the stratosphere as they saw her, collared and chained, at my side -- but then their normal arrogance began to assert itself. "Who are you?" one of them demanded. "This lounge is reserved for pilots only. You'd better...." His voice died away, however, at something in my gaze, and I could see he was uncharacteristically flustered.

Still carried along by that dark river, I jerked my head towards the door. "Out. All of you." Two of them bolted almost at once, hearing something that brooked no argument in my voice. The first hesitated, then left as well, but fired a parting shot as he did so: "I'm calling Security."

Once they were gone, I slammed the door and locked it, dismissing them from my head, sweeping the first stirrings of panic away into a closet and slamming the door. Time enough later to deal with that. She was more important. She was all that mattered. Filling my head, racing through my bloodstream, filling my cock to bursting -- she might be utterly mine, but in a way I was utterly hers as well. Time to do something about that.

"We've little time," I said rapidly. "This would have been better suited for privacy, for a hotel room, but it's too late. It was already too late when I first saw you. So: no dissembling, no equivocations. Are you Mine?"

She nodded once. No hesitation. That dark gaze again, burning, searing.

"Do you want it? Now?" I shook the leash, gently, for emphasis.

Again the nod. "Yes. More than anything."

And the last vestiges of control were swept away. I slammed her against the wall, crushing her mouth with my own. Her hips thudded against my crotch, her hands clutched at my ass, pulling me against her. Her tongue was hot, seeking, twining insistently against mine. I pulled back a bit and felt her hands working at my belt buckle and the snap on my jeans; great minds think alike, I thought, as I yanked her miniskirt up. Oh, bliss; she'd anticipated my wants enough to go commando today, and her bare pussy was only inches away. My fingers explored, pushed deep, no time for niceties; her wetness gushed over my hand. She was dripping.

I wanted her mouth on my shaft, wanted to feel her hands encircling the base and playing with my sack as she took me deep, wanted to feel my balls tighten as I spurted into her eagerly sucking mouth. But both of us were too far gone, maybe had been from that first electric contact, hand on shoulder. My jeans slid down my legs, her fingers grasping my hardness firmly, squeezing, stroking. She hiked up one leg and hooked it around my ass and her other arm went round my neck. "Now," she whispered, those burning eyes still locked with my own.

I drove in hard and deep, groaning with the sheer pleasure of it. Her head came down on my shoulder and she bit deep to stifle a scream. Then she was bucking against me, hips thudding forward to meet my thrusts, arms clenching, fingernails digging into my back, gaze once again locked with mine. Primal delight, primal urges, pure unbridled sexuality; she was dripping with it like her cunt was dripping with her girl gloss. Burned by the flame, but loving it, I thrust harder and harder into her, lifting her further off the ground each time, legs and calves straining with effort, one hand on her thigh helping spread and lift her, the other one sliding up further, still gripping the chain locked to her collar, pressing against it and pinning her in place. A grin rippled across her face and was gone, replaced with that same intense look of -- what? concentration? Lust?

Perhaps "capture" was the word, I thought dimly as I kept slamming into her, her body flexing against mine, rising to meet me. Every time I met her eyes, they captured me. But it wasn't an ownership thing; or at least not in the sense of her owning me; instead they seemed to be saying "Yes. Take me, I'm Yours. I belong to You." If there was any other message hidden there, it was hidden well; all I could see was desire thrumming along every nerve, something pure and clean, a strange contrast to the dirty things we were doing to each other.

Minutes. Short, delicious minutes, but only a few. I felt her pussy clenching around me; a sharp "uh!" was her only sound, but the look in her eyes and the heat of her pussy left me no doubt she'd just cum hard. My balls drew tight; my cock swelled; my breath caught; my hips slammed forward almost of their own volition. Without warning, the fire burst through me everywhere, sweeping over me and pouring out of my cock as I erupted into her, thickly, forcefully, and seemingly endlessly, spurting and spurting as if I was trying to hose down the burning heat at her core with my own burning seed.

But flame only begets more flame. I pulled back and out of her after long seconds, those dark eyes still locked with my own. With trembling hands I pulled my jeans up, and with shaking hands she pulled her miniskirt down. Still we stood there, still staring, neither of us sure what to say.

I was first to break the silence. "Mine," I whispered. And "yes" she whispered back.

"We'd better get out of here," I managed, voice still hoarse with pent-up desire. "Come on." I pulled on the leash and she followed close by my side; we left the lounge at a dead run, as if the hounds of hell were at our heels, and maybe they were. Still, one thing was definite: this visit wasn't anywhere near finished. Oh, no.

There were things we still needed to do. Urgently.

-- PB

Monday, December 28, 2009

Microfantasy Monday #60: "Surprises"

"Oh god, oh fuck, don't stop, oh my fucking god yes, so good, so good, ohh yeah........"

She was making much more noise than usual, I thought, relishing the way she was thrashing about, hips pumping hard against my invading tongue, head rolling back and forth, breasts heaving, moaning uncontrollably. I'd been slurping away at her delicious pussy for a good half hour and she'd come twice already, but that wasn't anywhere near good enough for me. I inserted a pair of fingers into her sopping slit and crooked them in the "come hither" which always made her come, hither -- pressing on her little G with gentle but relentless pressure. Simultaneously I took her clit between my lips and flicked it side to side with my tongue -- once, twice, a third time.

She tensed all over and a banshee wail escaped her. And something else, too. In seconds, I was positively covered by a warm splash of fluids, producing only a startled "glug!" as she came so hard she squirted all over me. I'd seen videos of the phenomenon before, but she'd never demonstrated this particular talent to me. She was sure as hell demonstrating it now, though; her juices had gushed all over my face, my hair, my ears....hell, I couldn't have gotten any wetter if I'd poked my head all the way inside her.

Delighted, I raised my dripping head to see her crimson from head to navel, flushed with her exertions and perhaps a bit of embarrassment. She seemed about to say something -- an apology?  a thank you? -- but I forestalled any comments by very deliberately licking my lips, then rubbing her wetness from my face all over my throat, chest, arms, and anywhere else that wasn't already wet.

"Ready for round four?" I inquired softly, and was rewarded with a dazzling smile....

(Microfantasy Monday is the brainchild of Ang, the Sweltering Celt. She exhorted us this week to write about surprises; here's my contribution. If you want to play too, go see Ang, by all means.)

-- PB

Sunday, December 27, 2009

100th Anniversary

I had intended to write up a quick fantasy about an airport encounter but just realized this is my 100th post since starting this journal in late August. I began this almost on a whim, as an outlet for my perverted thoughts and fantasies, and as a form of release for the relentless, insatiable drive inside me that has me thinking about sex fifty times a day. I also hoped that by writing about my thoughts and fantasies I'd find some ways to deal with the problems of my relationship. I had been reading plenty of other sex-related journals for weeks or months, and had always wanted to interact a bit more with those whose work I enjoyed reading, but without a proper identity it seemed a waste of time.

Thus, the creation of Insatiabear: A Panserbjørne's Musings. I created a new email account, set up a journal, wrote a couple of introductory posts, and began leaving comments on the journals I was already reading. I would add a few new journals to my watchlist every couple of days, and spout off about whatever was turning me on that particular day. I was gratified to have a few people start reading me regularly, leaving comments and even sending emails sometimes. Surprisingly, the response has been universally positive; I think I have yet to receive any negative comments in any medium.

Today, some four months later, I'm still enjoying the hell out of doing this. I can't say it's given me any real solutions to the problems in my relationship, but it's definitely allowed me to meet some amazingly talented and incredibly hot people through this odd little subculture of the Interwebs. I've greatly enjoyed getting to know some of you through your own writings, and I look forward to continuing that in the months (years?) to come.

So instead of an airport fantasy today, I'd like to toss out a very heartfelt thank you to all of you folks who like my scribblings, who encourage me with comments and emails and even the occasional naughty pictures. Thank you for being there, thank you for reading me, and thanks for the words of encouragement and criticism (yes, I do welcome that as well, if you have any comments in that direction). Thank you, my friends.

(And don't worry -- I'll write up that airport fantasy soon enough, as well as plenty of others that are percolating in my head. I'm the Insatiabear, you know. I never stop thinking about this stuff).

-- PB

Friday, December 18, 2009

Flash Fiction Friday #17: Vanishing Point

She'd never been nude in a car before, and certainly not while driving. But protesting got her nowhere, not when he told her to stand up and display herself, and certainly not when the darkness came down over her vision. She shrieked, but his steadying arms were immediately around her, one on the wheel, the other on her flank.

Let go,” he whispered, words barely audible over the roar of windblast, and with a shuddering sigh she did just that. Excitement stirred between her thighs as they boomed down the road into the great unknown.

(Flash Fiction Friday is normally hosted by Spanky but he's taking some time off from blogging, so the always-enchanting Luna Mauvaise has provided this week's photo and word length requirement: 69 words on the photo shown above. Luna would no doubt be pleased to know this is the first time I've broken the rules, and the word length requirement, choosing instead to reverse it and go with 96 words. Go visit her to see who else is playing!)

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

You've got my attention, folks -- more hot writers to read

It's time for another installment of "Go Read These People, Dammit", wherein I tell you about the lovely sensual people that've really grabbed my attention of late. Hopefully you will go check them out if you aren't already reading them, and then will add them to your own blogroll / watchlist / regularly visited sites / whatever you call it on your own journal. Because they're all worth reading.

The first should really need no introduction -- the infamous Library Vixen. This woman is so hot that she actually had her Blogger journal shut down by complainants and had to relocate to her her own domain. Apparently some people don't care for tawdry tales of lust in the library stacks, torrid stories of a woman who's got a primal current of dark sexuality running through her soul, sensual poetry that weaves a spell around the reader, and carefully-selected erotic photographs to go with the poems and stories. She also has a remarkable talent for posting not just purely hot, sexual stories -- though she does excel at that -- but also for weaving an unexpected thread of pure emotion into her tales and recollections. Many's the time I'll be reading another hot story from her and be surprised yet again by the upwelling of melancholy, wistfulness, dark hunger, or just pure joy that her tales evoke. I've been a huge fan of Vixen ever since I first started this journal and she's overdue for her time in the spotlight. She's been much on my mind of late, so she gets top billing today. Go check her out!

Next up (and the rest of these are in no particular order), we have a relative newcomer, Cheeky Minx and her entertaingly-titled journal "Love Hate Sex Cake". (Man, what would a cake like that taste like, I wonder?) This Aussie minx is fond of posting little mini-vignettes, tiny scenarios arrayed around a theme, a sensation, a quick encounter, a phrase, a mental image. It would be very easy to dismiss this sort of thing as the scribblings of a writer who doesn't have the talent for anything longer but that's definitely not the case. Rather, her brief tales whet the appetite for more. You want to see more, hear more, feel more beyond what she already has you feeling. She has a unique turn of phrase and a curiously effortless style that makes for some very smooth reading, and the little scenes she scribes are always vivid and evocative. And her avatar picture is tantalizingly sultry. :)

Next, we have a journal that's relatively new just to me, but has been around much longer than I. A concerted effort by two people who're very much head over heels for each other, Frances and Daniel's "29 Pearls in Your Kiss" is the ongoing story of two people that are hopelessly in love with each other but have a lot of obstacles to overcome. For example, both of them being married but not to each other. "Oh, another infidelity journal," you might sigh, but there's just something about these two that's captured my interest. A touching sweetness, a warmth of expression, a curiously intense combination of innocence and sensual heat. They post tales of their encounters, tell us how they deal with the obstacles in their paths, share private photos and text messages, and somehow manage to be open and vulnerable while still remaining strong and balanced.The two of them admit they're still trying to figure everything out. I'll be along for the ride, you can be sure of that.

And finally (but definitely not least), we have "Bringing my Sexy Back", the online home of the enchanting Duchess. The Duchess started her journal just over a year ago in an effort to recapture the sexiness in her life -- to recapture her drive, the fire and passion that she felt she'd lost. I recommend starting at the beginning of her archive, because it's absolutely fascinating to see the progression from somewhat timid explorer to the stunningly fabulous Duchess that's so evident in today's posts. Here is a woman who's made huge strides in just over a year, who posts fascinating, evocative fantasies, whose carefully-crafted tales never fail to make my head spin. Moreover, she truly is an excellent writer -- her vocabulary and phrasing are impeccable, her writing head and shoulders above many of the slice-of-life journals you may find out there. And what fascinates me still is that the Duchess persona she embodies so well is completely confident in her own sexuality, but once in a while we can still see a touching vulnerability that she chooses to share with us, an admission that she's still not sure of herself, that she's still working on being more open, more aggressive about getting what she wants. The Duchess, too, is one of the first journals I started reading when I began here, and she's also overdue for her turn in the spotlight. Go check her out as well.

-- PB

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

TMI Tuesday #217

I only do these when I feel some of the questions are interesting, or my responses to them are. I think a few of these responses say some revealing things about me. So, here's my answers to TMI Tuesday #217.

1. Have you ever mooned/flashed anyone? How long ago?
See my HNT post from last Thursday. :)

2. Pick an animal that best displays your personality.
Hm. Perhaps a penguin. I'm strange and a little quirky (and, I admit, perhaps a bit roly-poly), look devastatingly good in a tuxedo, and prefer cold weather. 

3. Do you mail out holiday cards, and if so, how do you pick the list?
Never been one to send holiday cards, oddly enough. I say "oddly" because I really do enjoy the winter holidays, both Thanksgiving and Christmas. I do make sure to keep in touch with my friends and family during the holidays, just not with cards. 

4. How often do you wear something sexy to get attention (lingerie, low cut dress, silk boxers, etc...)?
I am sadly ashamed to say I never have. In my current relationship it would be completely ignored; sexy overtures like that just don't seem to be at all interesting to her. In past relationships I've just never done it for some reason. Besides, I sleep in the nude. :)

5. Have you ever tasted breast milk SINCE you were an adult?
The answer to this is yes, but involuntarily. I dated a girl once ("Melissa"; see this entry for more details) who really got off on having her breasts and nipples sucked really really hard. So one time we were going at it and I was sucking hard on her nipples, like usual. The foreplay went on longer than usual this time, and I started noticing a strange taste in my mouth. Eventually it got strong enough to wonder if I was sucking her hard enough to make her bleed or something. I pulled back and discovered her nipples were oozing white droplets. It didn't take much to realize it was breast milk. So I sucked more softly after that, as the taste wasn't something I really cared for.

Bonus: Do you like "talking" when you have sex?
I love it. Dirty talk can be really really hot, from all participants. There's a dichotomy there, though -- if my partner doesn't enjoy it (like my current girlfriend doesn't), then I become pretty silent myself. It's hard to be an enthusiastic talker if there's very little response to it.

Also, I think it's fun to talk and laugh during sex. Sex shouldn't always be deadly serious -- it's essentially a pretty silly act, so talking and laughing during shouldn't be that odd. Unless you're laughing AT the other person. That's a pretty good way to kill the mood pretty quickly.

Double Bonus: If Santa is a guy, how is it that he never seems to get lost?
Christmas magic, naturally.

If you want to play too, go hit up the TMI Tuesday site!

-- PB

eLust #3

HNT Courtesy of 13Messages
Welcome to e[lust] - your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you're looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you're going to find it here. Want to be included in the next edition? Start with the rules, check out the schedule in the site's sidebar and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

♦ This Week's Top Three Posts ♦

Presence - I wish that you would look at me now. I am willing you to look at me now, over her body, rocking with the motion of her mouth. But you do not.

Restraint - “Do you like what you see?” the blonde asks. “Are you excited by what’s before you?” the redhead enquires. He nods.

What Not to Fetishwear - DON'T wear a PVC sleeveless vest if you fall into the rotund category. You will look like a bowling ball. With chubby arms.

e[lust] Editress

Fucking for Art - The proximity of their nakedness and my scrutiny resulted in this beautiful agony of arousal for them both. I asked if they would feel comfortable doing some poses of vaginal penetration for me, and they readily agreed.

♦ Featured Post

The Naked Truth - He didn’t just write a pretty story we could act out, he worked hard to delicately lay us out on the page together, as we are.

See also: Pleasurists #56 and #57 for all 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!

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Tricky Balls
Propaganda Sucks in All Directions
What Not to Fetishwear
Wicked Grounds
Which Reindeer Sex Style Are You? Five Tuesday: 2010 AVN Award Nominees

Kink & Fetish

Come what may..
While I waited
Caning Before the Movies
Savoring Submission
The Ruler
Give In
Flagging brown
The Mummy Returns
Finding Power Through Play
Microfantasy Monday 24

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Wife Unsure About Sex With Others
Thought Provoked
The Naked Truth
December: Month of the Rant
Less is More
That's My Cervix!
Femme Invisibility
Are You Just Kinky or Is It a Lifestyle
Baby Steps and Giant Leaps
Cyber Sex

Erotic Writing

Friends with Benefits
The Tease
Cock. Confession #386
Cal's wisdom
Blinded and Bound        (hey -- that's me!)
The Little Things...
The Witness
Quiet and Still
Giving and Receiving
Beasts in the Bathroom
Fixation: Touch
The Pussy Eating Challenge
An Oceans Release part 1
MFM: Etiquette
Office Party
Daydreams & Distractions Droit de Cuissage
Tant pis
Toys, toys, toys
Revenge (Pt. 1)
Claiming: Assume the Position

Monday, December 14, 2009

Microfantasy Monday: "Role Reversal"

The air was heavy and thick, redolent with citrus and jasmine scents. Candles glowed from corners of the room and Miles Davis drifted from the stereo, trumpet sounds weaving between their entangled bodies. Neither of them was listening.

"Want to try something different tonight?" she inquired, kissing her way down his chest, licking and biting as she went. Her hands were busily massaging his cock, bringing it to pulsating, granite life.

"Sure," he sighed, gasping at a particularly effective stroke on his shaft. "What'd you have in mind?"

"Well..........." she purred softly, "how about a little role reversal?"

"Oh, you want to be on top this time?" he smiled. "Sure, that sounds like fun."

Her hands left off caressing his cock and went under the covers. His eyes widened when he saw what she brought out: a thick, heavily veined strap-on dildo, at least ten inches long, and a bottle of lube.

"That wasn't quite what I had in mind, my dear," she grinned, her voice all velvet and steel. Her eyes twinkled, but there was something dangerous smoldering there as well.

He hadn't thought it was possible, but his cock got even harder at the very thought.

"Oh yes," he heard himself saying from very far away. "That will do just fine....Mistress."

(Microfantasy Monday is the brainchild of Ang, the Sweltering Celt. Go see her if you want to play too!)

-- PB

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Working Hard, or Hardly Working?

"Interoffice mail, Josh."

Josh was startled out of his midmorning daze -- what shall I have for lunch? Will there be time to get the research done on those bonds before Mrs. Wright's 2:00? Damn, I hate this uncomfortable chair -- by a sultry, smoky voice. He looked up to see Lynne, the office assistant who also served double duty as mail girl, staring at him rather like the cat who just swallowed the canary. And, as always happened when she spoke to him, he got tongue-tied and couldn't think of anything to say.

"Uhhh...." he managed finally, after a thick silence had persisted for several seconds.

Lynne's smile broadened. "Ohhhh, my. Was my Josh having a naughty daydream? Did I interrupt something? Should I let you get back to your" -- her gaze strayed down his chest to the crotch of his slacks -- "fun?" She pronounced that last with an exaggerated, breathy pout.

Josh instantly went beet red and began stammering (again par for the course, he thought irritably; damn it all). "No, I, um, I was just thinking about, about, about some stuff, that's all,, not that." And bit his tongue. He sounded like a fucking idiot. Why the hell did this woman make him so nervous? Why did she make his heart pound, his tongue tangle, his brain whirl...his cock throb?

Maybe it was because she absolutely refused to wear business attire. Well, she did wear a suit jacket and skirt, but somehow the skirt was always just a few inches short of decency and the suit jacket was always open and the blouse was always unbuttoned so her big breasts swelled into some very impressive cleavage. Maybe it was because she licked her lips whenever she saw him, and winked at him, and kept playing with her hair whenever she caught his eye from across the office. Maybe it was the Nordic goddess look that she pulled off so well, with her white-blonde hair and those high cheekbones.

Or maybe it was because she kept looking at him like a target fixed in her crosshairs. As she was doing now. "What's so wrong with....that?" she inquired, lazily. "Having naughty daydreams? I do it all the time, you know." She giggled throatily, and stretched like a lioness, the movement pulling her blouse tighter over her straining breasts. His eyes bugged out.

There was absolutely nothing he could say in reply to that, only stammer and stutter. Goddamn it, he thought, am I never going to learn to deal with women? She could make it a little easier, anyway; doesn't she see what she's doing to me?

Abruptly, Lynne seemed to tire of playing with him. "Interoffice mail," she reminded him, holding up one of the big envelopes and dropping it on his desk. "See you later, loverboy." And she flounced off, pushing her little cart between desks, ass working prettily under that tight skirt. He stared after her, but gulped and pulled his head down like a turtle into its shell when she glanced over her shoulder, smiling wickedly, and caught him red-handed (and red-faced, he thought ruefully).

Shaking his head to clear it, he turned his attention to the envelope. Light. Must be another damn memo from Carlson in A/R. If that fucker tried to disallow his travel expenses one more time, Josh was going to march over there and force-feed him the expense claim sheets he seemed to love so damned much. He slit the envelope and shook it a bit, dislodging something that fell out onto the desk with a faint plop.

It was a pair of red panties.

What the hell?

For several long seconds the gears in Josh's brain squealed and smoked, grinding futilely in an effort to get some synapses firing, figure out the reason for this, anything. He stared, and stared. They were still panties. And wow, were they bright red. And -- he sniffed, realizing he smelled something musky and strong -- they smelled really good.

Abruptly he realized that he was in the middle of a busy office with a fucking pair of women's panties sitting out on the middle of his desk. He snatched them up, looking around guiltily, and stuffed them hastily into a drawer.

What in the hell was going on?

Grasping at straws, he reached for the envelope again and shook it some more. A half-sheet of paper fell out. He turned it right-side up and read what was written there in a feminine hand, with mounting shock: 


I'll make this short and sweet. I've seen you staring at me. I know I embarrass you, but you don't need to be embarrassed. I want you, and I want you now. These are my panties. I just took them off in the bathroom. That means I'm not wearing any right now. Come meet me in the supply closet in five.

-- Lynne

Wildly, Josh scanned the room, sure the truth must be printed all over his face clear as day, and saw the culprit staring openly, boldly, at him. She looked once, very directly, at the open envelope, then back at his face again. And slowly, deliberately, mouthed the words Want you. Want you NOW, Josh. And got up, and walked down the hallway, in the direction of the supply closet.

Josh got up himself, a little unsteady on his feet, and began drifting -- it felt like his feet were several inches off the floor -- across the office and down the hallway. He passed a few people who said hello, but he was incapable of speech, incapable of caring that they gave him odd looks, surprised by the dazed look on his face. He found the supply closet and knocked, feeling stupid the instant he did it -- who knocks at a supply closet door? Gritting his teeth, he opened it and stepped inside.

And there she stood, gaze playing over his body, a hungry look in her eyes. Before Josh could say a word, she'd stepped close to him and captured his mouth with hers.

God, what a kiss. It went on and on and on. Her tongue swirled around his, her hands slid down his back to his ass and clenched there, her hips were thudding against his. His cock was awake and roaring, hard and angry. She was moaning into his mouth, writhing against him, one hand now on the back of his neck, the other one working at his belt and the catch of his slacks. He felt cool air on his legs as his pants fell down around his ankles and she broke the kiss long enough to murmur, "Let's see what you've got, loverboy." And she dropped to her knees, both hands going to his boxers and pulling them down. There was an instant of pain as the waistband caught on his cockhead, but then they were down and his cock was pointing at her face.

She obviously knew what to do with it and engulfed him like someone who hadn't eaten in months. White lightning danced in Josh's brain and he groaned as she took his shaft down her throat all the way to the base. She rubbed her nose back and forth in his pubic hair, humming around his cock, lips forming a tight, hard O at the base. Then she pulled back. His cock sprang free with a wet pop, slick and shining with her saliva, and she looked up at him with a devilish grin as she began to work it with both hands. Massaging, twisting, sliding friction up and down oh dear GOD it felt good.

Without warning she was on her feet again. She took his hand and guided it under her skirt; he gasped as he felt heat, wetness. He'd read stories, of course, had seen pornos, but never in a thousand years had he thought it was like this in real life, this heat that could scorch his fingers, this fire in her eyes, this hunger in her happy growl. She sighed happily and smiled at him, mouth wide, licking her lips as she moved his hand to where she liked it most. He felt a soft nubbin under his fingertips; experimentally, he pressed lightly on that button, and was rewarded by a burst of more wetness and a shuddering gasp from Lynne. "Oh yes," she sighed, "yes, play with my clit. Oh, yes, Josh, like that."

Encouraged, he kept rubbing, remembering from his reading that women liked it best when you kept a nice steady rhythm. So he did just that, moving his fingers in slow circles over her clit, watching in awe as she shook and shuddered, hips bucking towards him, legs clamping hard around his hand and making it harder for him to touch her.

Abruptly she spun away from him and hiked up her short skirt; dumbfounded, he could only stare at the globes of her ass as she presented it to him. She bent over, bracing her hands on the shelving, and tossed a glance back over her shoulder. She licked her lips and fixed her gaze on him, a searing contact, then said, very deliberately, "Do me now, Josh."

Head spinning, he stepped closer to her, fumbling his cock between her spread legs. He probed with the head, then found her center; heat and wetness splashed over his shaft as he fumbled. She wiggled her ass at him, moaning, and suddenly he sank home and there was no doubt anymore. His eyes rolled back in his head; he felt like he was flying, being pulled onward by the incredible pleasure flaring outward from his cock, buried in her velvety slick softness. He thrust forward, moaning uncontrollably. Her cunt clenched around him as he pulled back and thrust again, and then he was sliding in and out, bucking wildly against her, balls slapping against her ass, hands clenching around her hips, pulling her against him. Not that he needed to -- she was pushing back hard against him, trying to find a rhythm with him, eagerly cooperating, spreading herself wider, chanting his name softly.

He could feel his balls churning and boiling after a few minutes of this, and instinctively sped up till he was banging her with pure abandon. She threw back her head and cried out with joy, and he gasped out, somehow, that he was about to, to, to, and she moaned yes, yes, do it, fill me, cum in me, shoot for me, loverboy, and he felt his consciousness spiral downwards, inwards, funneling out through his cock as he fountained urgently inside her, coming hard, hips jerking spastically, hands clenching uncontrollably, body filled with sunlight, mind whirling, legs shaking. He pulled back -- exquisite agony as his cock popped free! -- and heard wet squelching sounds. She gasped as he slid out, and purred, "Oooo, Josh, you fucked me so good and hard. I'm gonna be oozing your cum for hours, I just know it."

She straightened up, flipping her skirt down, and stepped close to Josh, who was still panting from his exertions. She looked fantastic -- face full of color, eyes glittering, lips full and sulky. He wanted to pounce on her, take her again -- his cock gave a twitch just at the thought -- but with completion his initiative seemed to have deserted him again. He could only stare in wonder.

She opened the closet door and giggled as Josh frantically began pulling up his clothing. "Coast is clear," she reported. She gave him another very direct look that was fraught with promise. "Tell me, loverboy.....what are you doing after work?" She grinned, and slipped out the door before he could even come close to forming a reply.

And Josh realized his office life had just gotten a great deal more interesting.

-- PB

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Blinded and Bound

(A few weeks back I asked what you fine folk would like to see here. Spring Flower requested a story on blindfolds and binding, so without further ado....)

God, I can't believe the cliches, she thought. Heart fluttering like a bird trapped in a cage -- check. Blood rushing to my face -- check. Trembling like a leaf in the wind -- check. Wetness trickling down my thighs -- definitely check. Why is it this is affecting me so much?

Maybe it has something to do with the shock of it all. I wanted him to surprise me the next time he was feeling frisky, but didn't expect anything like this!

"This" was a dead-eyed, austere husband, who met her at the door after a long day at work. "This" was him ordering her coldly to "get those fucking clothes off, now." "This" was him ripping the shirt off her back and using a knife to cut her panties free when she wasn't fast enough to suit him. "This" was him snapping a dog collar round her neck, pulling her by its chain to the bedroom, and looping the chain through a ringbolt in the wall over the bed.

"This" was him locking two fur-lined handcuffs around her wrists and shackling those to the bed's headboard. "This" was him pulling her legs rudely apart, and more shackles around her ankles; shackles that went to the corner bedposts.

"This" was him standing there, observing her clinically, drinking in her mingled fear and delight -- how far, precisely, would he take things? "This" was him reaching into the bedside drawer and bringing forth a soft velvet cloth, then lifting her head gently, sweetly, but relentlessly. "This" was him wrapping the cloth twice round her head, over eyes and ears, cutting off most sound and all light and vision.

"This" was her breath coming hard and fast. "This" was her tongue, moving nervously over suddenly dry lips. "This" was the slow hot pulse between her legs, the throbbing beat which was already increasing in intensity. "This" was the beads of sweat forming on her shivering skin. "This" was the growing wet spot beneath her as her excitement trickled down the insides of her thighs and soaked the bed below.

"This" was her voice, begging in a cracked and broken tone she'd never heard from herself before. "This" was his own cold tone in response, faded through the muffling cloth, moving around the bed, taunting her as her blinded head whipped back and forth, trying to follow him. "This" was the epithets he was using on her, scoring her psyche as surely as if he were cutting her with a flechette: Slut. Whore. Cunt. Tramp. "This" was the flood of emotion those words brought forth -- the expected rush of guilt and shame, but also a dirty pleasure, a secret pride at being so well and truly Named.

"This" was him trailing his fingers over her trembling body, whisperlight caresses at odds with his harsh words. Playing gentle circles over her belly, her nipples, her breasts. Tangling in her hair for a quick, sharp pull that brought tears to her eyes, then soothing the hurt away with more caresses on her face. "This" was her suckling eagerly at his fingers as they crossed her lips; "this" was him admonishing her "no" with a gentle smack on her cheek; "this" was him leaning in to place soft kisses and licks all over her writhing body.

"This" was him suddenly invading her cunt with his fingers, thrusting hard, rudely, with no finesse. "This" was his thumb dancing gently on her clit, somehow perfectly in tune with the throbbing of her pussy, at odds with the seemingly untutored fingers. "This" was her gasping and shuddering, wracked with pleasure, moaning his name. "This" was her hips bucking upward to meet his plundering hand, traitor body awakened by his ministrations. "This" was his mouth now replacing his thumb, his tongue lashing over her clit relentlessly, driving her hard and fast towards orgasm.

"This" was the disappointment she felt when he halted suddenly, fingers yanked free, mouth and tongue pulling back just short of tipping her over. "This" was the howl of anguish that burst from her till her throat was raw. "This" was him covering her mouth with his own, stubble rasping against her, bruising her with the savagery of his assault. "This" was his body weight coming down hard upon her, denim shirt brushing roughly against her hard nipples, making her moan into his mouth. "This" was him driving upward, forward, into her, stretching and filling her till her eyes rolled and turned helplessly beneath the stifling blindfold.

"This" was a relentless, hard rhythm. "This" was sensation so pure it made her brain burn and her soul sear. "This" was him biting at her nipples, lightly at first, then harder when she whimpered and thrust her tits harder into his mouth. "This" was their bellies smacking hard against each other in a quickening beat. "This" was her silent cry as her cunt clamped around him in clenching approval. "This" was his animalistic grunting as he fucked her harder and harder. "This" was him sitting up, grabbing her thighs tightly enough to leave marks, using them to pull her against him. "This" was her monotonous chant of "yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah" as he plundered her. "This" was her orgasm exploding through her like a bomb, a nova rushing outward from her liquid center all the way to her tingling fingertips and toes. "This" was him pounding into her, longer, faster, harder still. "This" was him pulling back, out of her, then working his cock feverishly, splattering jets of his cum all over her sweaty body: belly, tits, chest, neck, one or two droplets even on her face.

"This" was her breathing hard and heavy when at last he'd finished coating her. "This" was him disappearing for a long minute, then returning with a soft towel. "This" was her whispered "thank you", seemingly unheard as he cleansed her with the towel and caressed her body's curves lovingly.

"This" was a benediction, a coda, as he pulled the blindfold free and unlocked her shackles, but left the collar round her neck. "You're welcome, my love," he murmured against her throat as he lay close, enfolding her in warmth, brushing away the tears that were starting to flow now.

-- PB

Friday, December 4, 2009

Flash Fiction Friday: "Constriction"

He'd left in high dudgeon, slamming out the door with an angry, “Well, I can't very well fit you into my fucking suitcase, can I?” And she knew he was right; she'd just have to wait till he returned. But she dreamed....picturing the total blackness, the stabbing pains in her constricted limbs, the agony of uncertainty, the utter, grinding, crushing helplessness. And felt a delicious spear of excitement impale her at the thought.

Next time, she thought. Besides, once I pop out and get my mouth around his cock, he wouldn't be mad.

Would he?

(This is my contribution for Flash Fiction Friday, hosted this week by the always-enchanting Luna Mauvaise. Luna's directive was to write 96 words exactly on the picture shown above. If you want to play too, why not stop by her place and see her?)

-- PB

Christmas Warmth

I do love Christmas music (almost seventy albums' worth of the stuff) and it's most of what I play in December. The timeless tunes, interpreted so many different ways. Traditional vocal and orchestra; spacey synth arrangements; rock guitar instrumentals; rock opera; pop flavored; ethereal new age; remixed electro/techno renditions; dancehall/reggae; acoustic piano or guitar; blues or jazz. Not to mention the classic crooners like Crosby and Sinatra.

Invariably during the Christmas season, though, I'll be out shopping somewhere and I'll see a Santa somewhere with his Christmas elves. And my perverted mind will drift off (as it does) to images of a hot blonde dressed in a sexy elf outfit with Santa hat on top, wiggling her finger at me and saying, "I need MY stocking to be stuffed, Santa." This is a longtime favorite and it gets frequent mileage during the holiday season. I also have fond memories of a Christmas Eve where my partner-at-the-time and I sat up watching a fire, snuggling close, sipping hot chocolate, and then sipping from each other, making love in front of the dancing flames.

How about you? Got any Christmas-related fantasies or sexy Christmas memories?

-- PB

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

eLust #2

Twisted Monk as The Bad Cop
Photo courtesy of Twisted Monk

Welcome to e[lust] - your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you're looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you're going to find it here. Want to be included in the next edition? Start with the rules, check out the schedule in the site's sidebar and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

♦ This Week's Top Three Posts ♦

The Heart of Darkness
- "I swear that man can sense my fear like a hound scenting a rabbit, and just like the hound, his blood rises to it."

- "Forever is a beautiful idea, a wonderful goal, but it’s not a magic spell."

His First Fuck - "He stood there, obviously nervous, obviously aroused by what he had been witness to seconds earlier."

e[lust] Editress

I Dare You - "Aided by our clutches of printed papers, me hiding my nipples that could cut glass and him hiding the hard bulge in his dress pants, we scurried back to our cubes where the messages flew back and forth."

♦ Featured Post

Who am I?
- "I’ve been through a lot of shit in my life and couldn’t fit it all on one piece of poster board."

See also: Pleasurists #55 for all 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!

♦ Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships ♦

First. Confession #380
In Defense of Squirting
Gender, Buck Angel, and Me
G Spot Orgasms: It's all about the clitoris
They May be Bi, But They're Still Boys
Why I Sometimes Fake Orgasms
Wonderland: The British in Bed

♦ Kink & Fetish ♦

The Workout (fiction)
I Am Not Clark Kent
Lips Parted
She brought her own toys
Rope Bondage: Hemp vs. Mfp
Phew! Another Hole
My virginity and how I lost it..
Spicing it up: Bondage Materials

♦ Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor ♦

20 Questions with Cyd
This Ain't No Disney
A Thank You Note
Vegas Virgins
Sex and Happiness

♦ Erotic Writing ♦

1 Full Body Massage / 1 Happy Ending
The Slut Chronicles #7 ~ I Said No
To Do List    (hey, that's me!)
the date
And Your Hands and Your Lips and Your Tongue Tricks
Oh Fuuuck
I Get Around
Sometimes, Love Hurts
In The Dark
Making Up
Quickie - A Good Girl
What I Want You To Do To Me
Hitachi Fun
Her Curves
marks she left
Wicked Wednesday: I Love Watching You Watching Me
Birthday Boy
Fucking & Making Love
Thy Mother and Thy Father: A Vodoun Love Spell
What Just Happened?
Happy Birthday Me
What Cums Around