Search the Pansersite

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

e[Lust] #8

HNT Courtesy of Blue-Eyed Vixen
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 e[lust] #9? 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 ~

This Isn’t Play. . . BDSM and Rape - The very basic principle that we hold so dear in BDSM play, “Nothing without consent” seems to stand in stark contrast to a very common form of play, “Rape Play”.

Half-Full - When I get my ass beaten, is it as much for the sensation as it is for the “Good girl…I knew you could take that for me.” that I want so badly at the close of the scene?

House Party Part 2 -His wife walked by at one point and he cryptically asked her to "do what she did to so-and-so earlier". His wife disappeared behind me, but I felt her hands touching me and his cock as it entered me.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

Backseat Orgasms - We kissed lightly and without focus, both a sensual act and maddening at the same time. More, I needed more. In a blur I was on my knees on the seat, straddling his leg, his mouth latched onto one nipple and his fingers hunting for the key to undoing my dress pants.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

Are You Watching Me? - A plan of devious proportions begins to form. Before this is over with, I will have forced you into a corner…forced you to act…forced you to give ME what I want.

See also: Pleasurists #64 and 65 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!

Erotic Writing

A story of FL
Floor Exercises
Good day for a milking
G-Spot Orgasms Galore - Part 2
Mark. Confession #423
Nothing says I love you quite like...
Playful and Dangerous
Play your part
Splish Splash
The Library Hotel
The Secret I Couldn't Keep
Triple X
Three A.M. Surprise           (hey, that's me!)

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships
Anatomy of Desire (PT. Two)
Better Cautious Than Raped
Lingerie Tales Vol 1 An Obsession Begins
My life as a gamer's slave
Saturday Texting
So Simple
The Elusive Female Orgasm
The G Spot Mouse or How To Make A Woman Squirt
Transtastic: On Language

Kink & Fetish

A No Limits Slave?
Are Discipline and Punishment The Same?
BDSM Advice Series: Pet Play
Bondage 101—Part 1: Bondage Basics
Breaking the Demons
Dark/DirtyBlog Crush
Factory Doll
Hand vs. toys
I'm on a book cover: 'The Punishment List' by Abel
Men as sex objects
Rough Porn
Raleigh and La Fortress
Savouring the texture of my skin with his teeth
The Way They Look At Me
The Slut Chronicles #13 ~ The Auction
Whither the spankosphere?

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Happy Valentines Day!
Hookers, Catholic School Students and Facebook
Lane Bryant Makes Puppies and Kittens Cry
Pussy Cosmetics and Vagina Myths

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

The Silence of Snowfall

Heavy, drifting flakes skirled down through the air outside -- big, soft, wet flakes that spelled trouble for road crews and power companies. It wasn't coming down hard, but with a steady, implacable pace that told of endless reserves above. Most of it melted as it struck, but already there were a few small accumulations here and there.

Inside, the silence was thick and soft, heavy with promise. He lay on the couch, she curled against him, head on his chest. His hand ran slowly through her curls, stroking, tangling and untangling.

"We don't get much of that stuff where I'm from," she noted quietly.

"Nor here, really," he said. "That's a rare event. It'll probably all be gone in a couple hours." He shifted a bit and she shifted in response, adjusting her fit against him. "But isn't it nice to watch?"

" 'Tis," she agreed. "Cold out there, warm in here. You're like a furnace, you ever hear that before?"

"It may have been mentioned once or twice," he allowed. "I can't help what I am."

"That's all right," she murmured softly. "I like what you are."

His hand moved down her back, along the ridge of her spine. She let out a small sigh and burrowed closer against him, nuzzling against the hollow of his throat. Her tongue darted out and tasted him there, once, twice. He shivered, but not from the cold, and he groaned. His arms tightened around her. She pressed against him ardently, feeling the ridge in his jeans. Her hand slid down between them and gave it a gentle squeeze. His own hand stole down to her ass and squeezed that.

"Here? Now?" she asked dreamily.

"Yes. Yes."

She raised up briefly, fumbling. Zippers were drawn down, garments hastily tugged down or aside. A shifting, an exploring, a fitting. Some of the cold crept in but it didn't last long. Heat and wetness met and merged. She raised her hips and settled down on him. He said her name with a soft gasp of wonder, and she sighed his.

She laid her head back down on his chest, eyes fixed on the drifting snow outside. Her hips moved slowly, liquidly. Moist sounds, flesh parting, being parted, accepting and releasing him. His hands moved over her back restlessly, ceaselessly, slow caresses. One hand twined into her hair and tightened there.

They drifted in a sweet haze, all sighs and murmurs and cries of delight, clinging to each other, pushing back the darkness and the cold, a tiny oasis there on his couch, the silence of snowfall enveloping them, enfolding them, holding them close as they made long, languorous, passionate love.

-- PB

Monday, February 22, 2010

Panserhistory, part 5: Laurie

Since I started this journal several of you folks have asked me about my past. Who've I been with? you want to know. What was it like, being with them? Did they let you....y' THAT to them? Did they hurt you? Did you hurt them? Did you learn anything from them? Would you do it again, if you had a chance?

So I'm going to write some entries about my history, limited as it is, and let you see for yourself. As always, all names I use here have been changed.

All of the women I've mentioned up till now have been wonderful. Laurie, on the other hand, was the first really trying relationship I'd had. Danger, there are shoals ahead.

Part 5: Laurie

I met Laurie several years after college. At the time, I was fairly active on the mailing list of one of my favorite prog-metal bands, and on nights when I was bored I could occasionally be found in an IRC chat room that was ostensibly dedicated to the band as well, but was more often just a "hang out and gab with friends" thing. One night Laurie popped in and (after getting the usual welcome from the regulars) she and I started talking. I don't even recall whether it was me who first private-messaged her, or vice versa, but I do recall my ears pricked up when I discovered that she actually lived in my area. About 99.9% of the friends I'd made through this mailing list (or IRC channel) lived scattered all over the world, so it was pretty unusual to find one who actually lived nearby.

Then I discovered that she was single (she was, as I recall, bitching about her lack of a love life) and my ears pricked up even further. Having already found that she lived in the area, I began idly wondering if she and I had anything else in common besides our love of the band. We started privately chatting and it turned out we did have a few other things in common. The biggest one, though, was that we were both very annoyed at being dateless losers on a Friday night, and so I think it was boredom more than anything else that led her to accept my offer to meet for coffee sometime. She sent me a pic and I sent one back to her so we'd know what the other looked like, and then we met to go see a movie.

To my astonishment she looked almost exactly like the pic she'd sent me. I'd met loads of people via the Internets by then, and it'd been my experience that (shock!) several of them misrepresented themselves via the image they portrayed online, or sent pictures that were way out of date or way different from the way they typically looked. But Laurie, surprisingly, looked very much like the pics she'd sent -- a tall, slim girl with straight, reddish-brown hair, a studious expression, wireframe glasses, and a shy smile. She had a "librarian chic" thing about her -- shy, retiring, a bit mousy, drab clothing, but very beautiful in her own way.

When she smiled at all, that is. I quickly discovered that Laurie was very, very quiet, and very shy, and that I did most of the talking when we were together. She was obviously very intelligent but she was so reticent about expressing herself that I had a lot of trouble drawing her out. I got to know her slowly over the weeks that followed, and other dates, but there were a lot of conversations when there were long stretches of silence -- and not always the comfortable kind. We mostly talked about music, the biggest thing we had in common, and one of the things she did when we were out one afternoon was to turn me on to a new musician I wasn't familiar with. I've since become a massive fan, bought all eight of his albums, and been to see him play three times -- one of the few good things that came out of this relationship.

I also found to my dismay that she had severe intimacy issues. When I went to give her a hug after our first real date, she stiffened up so much that it was like hugging a tree. I bent over for a kiss goodnight and she looked terrified, like a deer trapped in headlights. Now, you will never, ever catch me forcing anyone, so I just turned the kiss into a quick peck, but I left that night wondering why a little intimacy scared her so much.

It didn't improve much over the weeks to come, either. I could hold her hand when we went someplace, or stroke her hair if we sat together on the couch, but anything beyond that seemed to panic her or just turn her off like a light switch. Our hugs goodnight were always the same, and never ended with more than a kiss -- I would reach out to her, she would stiffen up, and sometimes I wouldn't even put my arms around her, just putting them lightly on her waist. A quick peck, and then I'd be off again.

I talked with her for hours, about everything under the sun, trying to make her feel comfortable. I never pushed her, never asked for more than she was willing to give, never got visibly angry or upset when she rejected my advances. In fact I rarely even made any advances, once I saw how uncomfortable she got with any kind of physical intimacy. But privately I grew more and more frustrated with the situation, and with her continuing reticence to share....well, pretty much anything with me.

I tried drawing her out. Tried asking her about her past. I asked her once if she had had a bad experience with an abusive or controlling boyfriend. She shook her head no and said it wasn't that. I tried telling her that I didn't want to make her uncomfortable and would she rather that I just stopped seeing her. I tried asking if she just didn't find me attractive. Every time she assured me that no, she didn't want me to go, and that she loved being with me, and that she did find me attractive. She just....danced around the problem every time I brought it up with her. And so I kept trying, although it was becoming apparent that in addition to emotional intimacy issues, she also had other emotional problems. Problems with depression. Problems with her family. And a self-image that was so low it barely even registered at all. I began to feel like I was going nuts with duct tape trying to fix the cracks in her personality, and nothing I ever said or did seemed to make any impression on her at all.

Still, she was beautiful, and I have a stubborn streak a mile wide, so I kept trying. And trying. Soon I was also discovering an unpleasant thoughtlessness about her. She would frequently do things that inconvenienced me or caused issues without seeming to care -- she was always, always late for everything, for example, and we missed two dinner reservations, one movie, and were thirty minutes late for one concert because she could never be ready when I came to get her. And she never argued, only went with passive-aggressive behavior when upset -- she would tell me one thing, but then act in a completely different manner that belied her words. I couldn't even count the number of times I had this conversation with her: "What's wrong?" (Long pause, deep sigh from her.) "Oh..........nothing." I don't like playing games, so I would take her at her word, but it began to grate on my nerves.

One night, for example, I took her to a large Christmas party being thrown by my boss. All of my coworkers would be there with their girlfriends or wives and I'd told her I would be very happy if she'd come with me, but that I didn't want her to come along if she wouldn't be comfortable in a large group of people, or okay with meeting my coworkers. She assured me that she'd love to go and that she'd really enjoy the night out. And then spent the entire evening sitting in a corner, talking to no one but me, sipping at a drink, and closing up like a clam any time anyone came near her or even said hello. I asked her repeatedly if she wanted to go home and she kept saying no, but when the fifth person in twenty minutes had asked me if she was okay, because she looked absolutely miserable, I had had enough and took her home. Over and over I asked her why she had agreed to go if she wasn't going to enjoy herself, and over and over she assured me that she had been having a good time, everyone had just misinterpreted her quietude. I was so upset that evening that I didn't even bother to try for a goodnight kiss, just dropped her off and told her I'd call later.

Things came to a head one weekend, after we'd been dating for about four or five months. A guitarist I particularly admired (we'll call him Johnny Rich just for brevity) was doing two solo shows in a neighboring state, one of them five hours from where I lived, the other one six hours away. I asked Laurie if she would like to come see either show with me; I'd planned on going to both and was going to grab a hotel room in between them so I didn't have to drive another ten hours back home and then to the next show. She was not free the first night, but said she definitely wanted to go the second night and was looking forward to it. That meant I'd have to drive back home, five hours, after the first show, pick her up the next day, and then drive six hours up to the second show. Annoying, but doable, and she seemed worth it; also, I really wanted her to see Johnny play.

So I drove up the first night, had a great time, and talked with Johnny after the show. Now, I'd traveled a couple of times, long distances, to see him play previously, and he remembered me, so he made a surprising offer: since I'd come so far, would I like to follow along to the next show and see that one too, free of charge? I could hang out with them on the tour bus, crash in a spare bunk if I wanted, watch from backstage, hang out with the band, whatever I wanted. I had to tell him that I wished I could, but I'd promised my girlfriend that I would come back and bring her up for the second show, so I couldn't take him up on the offer. I drove the five hours back home, got in early in the morning, and went to bed.

When I woke up, I called Laurie to make arrangements to pick her up that night so we could drive up to see the second show. Unfortunately, it seemed that she was no longer interested in going, even though she'd promised me several times that she did want to go. It was okay if I went, of course, but she "just didn't feel like it".

For the first time I genuinely lost my temper with her. I do have a temper sometimes, though I keep it under tight control. I felt I'd been very accomodating of her issues, but this wasn't the first time I had missed out on something or given something up for her. I'm afraid I exploded at her, railing about her thoughtlessness and how I was tired of bending over backward for her. I told her I was tired of her using me as a doormat and continuously taking advantage of me. I also brought up the issue of physical intimacy and wanted to know why, after four months, she still turned into a stone statue every time I tried to hold or kiss her. I wanted to know what, exactly, the problem was with our relationship, why nothing I did ever seemed to make any difference to her. There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and that only enraged me further: "There's nothing wrong? Or you just aren't going to tell me?" Another long silence, but not a word did she say. I let it stretch, and stretch, and stretch. "Hello?" I said, and she said "I'm here," but not a single word more.

I had had enough. I told her it was fairly obvious she just didn't want to communicate with me, and I was tired of being in a relationship where all of the talk was one-way. I told her that I knew there were problems, but that I couldn't fix anything if I never knew what the problem was. I told her that I had done everything I could to help her, tried to be patient and understanding, but that it never seemed to do any good at all. I told her quite a bit more, some of it very hurtful, lashing out in frustration and rage. And finally I told her that I hoped she would find somebody who was better suited for her than I was, but that I was cutting loose before I wasted any more of my time. I waited, but there was only silence on the other end of the line. She didn't even seem to care enough to castigate me for my harsh words, it seemed. I said goodbye and hung up with a bang, and that was the last I heard of Laurie.

In retrospect I know that I handled that extraordinarily badly. Yes, I'd put up with a lot from her. Yes, I'd bent over backward for her countless times. Yes, she probably did have emotional and mental issues that were interfering with our relationship. Maybe she had had some kind of trauma in her past. Maybe all of this. Maybe none of it. I don't know, because she would never tell me, would never talk with me. But I could have been more kind about it when breaking things off. I didn't have to be so hurtful and didn't have to be so pointed. There's enough hurt in the world already without me adding to it.

I also learned a few more things about dating, and a few things about myself -- not all of them good. I learned that some people are just incompatible with you, and no amount of effort will change it. I learned that some people have problems that go too deep to be healed easily, and that being with someone like that requires a kind of patience that I do not possess. I learned that, for me, intimacy is important -- friendly connections are nice, but if you aren't able to develop any emotional or physical intimacy, you'll never have more than just a friendship. I learned that although I talk about how patient and attentive I can be, if driven beyond my limits I can be extremely cruel and hurtful. I learned that if I don't keep a tight rein on my temper I can say things that I will regret for a long time. I learned that for me, life is too short to continue swinging futilely at a target that you will never, ever reach, not if you try for a thousand years. And I learned to stand up for myself and say something when there are things about a relationship that are bothering me, rather than just internalizing everything until I explode.

I saw Laurie a few more times in the years since, always at concerts or music festivals. Most of the time she didn't see me, although one of those times, her gaze did meet mine. She looked very uncomfortable and slipped through the crowd in the opposite direction, obviously not at all interested in saying hello.

I'm sorry, Laurie. You drove me nuts for months, but I shouldn't have been so cruel when I broke it off with you. I hope you did find somebody who could help complete you and salve the hurts in what was obviously a hurting soul. But it wasn't me.

-- PB

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Group Post: "The Day...."

He would never forget that day, not if he lived to be a thousand. It was graven in his mind as deeply as words chiseled into granite tablets. Wind and sand and water might blow but the words, the images, were proof against time, never to be forgotten. Ozymandias only wished he had been that memorable.

That day....

....he had come home from work early, but hadn't called her. She was always so good at surprising him; he wanted to see if he could manage the same. He'd even stopped by her favorite Thai place on the way home to grab some for her.

That day....

....he'd entered the house, finding it strangely quiet and still. Hell of a contrast to her normal demeanor around the place -- singing lustily, slamming pots and dishes around in the kitchen, screaming imprecations at the TV as she was frustrated by a game she was playing. He turned in a slow circle, trying to figure out where she was without calling out to her and giving the game away.

That day....

....he'd heard faint sounds emanating from upstairs, and smiled. She must be in bed having some solo fun. Discarding his jacket, he'd picked up the Thai takeout box and crept upstairs, silent as a cat with sound-damping pads on its paws.

That day....

....he'd padded slowly down the hallway, her soft moans and rustling sounds drifting under the closed door of their bedroom. Had grinned even more broadly as he imagined the scenario: she was probably watching some porn on the TV, propped up on pillows, fucking herself with her favorite Njoy wand.

Hang about. Closed bedroom door?

They never closed the bedroom door -- why bother to, when there are only two people living in the house?

That day....

....he'd pushed open the door, brow furrowing in puzzlement, and frozen in shock as he beheld the tableau: the love of his life, propped up on pillows just as he'd imagined; porn on the TV, just as he'd imagined; her Njoy wand plunging in and out of her cunt, just as he'd imagined.

But what he hadn't imagined was that the hand manipulating the Njoy wasn't hers. It was a slim, strong, hairy hand, attached to a slim, strong, hairy arm, in its turn attached to a slim, hairy male body. A nude male body, well-shaped, well-toned. He got a confused impression of a mop of dark hair before the head dipped to begin licking his wife's very obviously soaked pussy. She moaned louder and her hand twined through the interloper's hair.

Always good at surprising me, he thought fleetingly. Never like this, though.

He cleared his throat and was gratified at the immediate response: she shrieked, but not with pleasure. The guy skittered, crablike, across the bed and stood in a kind of bent-over crouch, arms shielding his groin, instinctively protecting that which meant the most. She looked terrified, and pulled out the Njoy with a wet pop, attempting furtively to hide it behind her. He smiled grimly.

"Honey," she rasped, then tried again. "Honey. This, this isn't what it looks like. He's. He's, um, a friend, and he, and he....uhhhhh....why the hell are you laughing?"

Indeed he was laughing, silently shaking with it, rocking back and forth as gales of mirth blasted through him. The Thai takeout dropped to the carpet, forgotten, and he laced both hands over his belly, trying to contain his laughter. He threw back his head and roared out his amusement, echoes reverberating, mixing with the groans and moans of the porn still playing on the TV. He noted with even more amusement that both of them were exchanging glances, no doubt wondering if the shock had driven him out of his mind.

Finally he ran dry and choked and spluttered to a halt. "Babe," he chided her, still snickering, "there are better ways you could have told me you wanted to open up our marriage."

A dawning hope replaced terror and bewilderment in her eyes. " mean you...." she wanted to know, but couldn't continue.

"Did you want me to join in this time? Or would you two rather finish up while I go have dinner?"

"Um." She still had a slightly stunned look on her face, but rallied swiftly: "Um, why don't you watch for a while?"

"Suits me," he nodded. And motioned towards the other guy, who was now regarding him with a strange mixture of respect and fear. "You planning on introducing me?"

"Um." She seemed to hunt for words, then: "Er, hon, this is, um, this is Stephen."

"Good to meet you, Stephen," he said, sitting down in a chair and stretching his legs nonchalantly in front of him. "Well? Keep going, don't mind me."

-- PB

(The Group Post is hosted by Kimberly, the Errant Wife. If you liked this, why not see how these other folks took and ran with the theme of "The Day..."?)

Petal --
Kink Chronicles --
Ms Scarlett
FG Sakes
They Belong To Us
and our host, Kimberly --

Monday, February 15, 2010

Microfantasy Monday: "Furniture"

"What's the theme this week, hon?" she gasped, moving up and down on him.

"Furniture, it appears," he answered. She raised an eyebrow.

"Well, we've already got a good start, here in the chair," she sighed. He nodded, thrusting a bit harder up and into her, grunting.

"What next, then?"

"Mmmmm. How about this?"

Steadying her with one arm, he swept papers and other crap off the desk with the other. Standing, he lifted her with him and dropped her unceremoniously on the mahogany surface. He grabbed at her shoulder to keep her from sliding off the desk on a tide of her own sweat. And other things.

"Ouch!" she laughed. "Not so hard!"

"Not so hard, eh?" he grinned, and began pounding into her again. "I thought you liked it nice and hard."

"Oh yes," she moaned as the hammer struck. "But only in some cases."

They stayed in that position, rocking and reeling, for a few minutes before her roving eye lit on the couch. "Oo! There! There! Always wanted to be Jeanne Tripplehorn in Basic Instinct."

"How nice for you," he growled, lifting her up and walking her to the couch, then throwing her forward over it so her round ass pointed back at him, "that I always wanted to be Michael Douglas taking her in that scene." And he spread her legs and slammed home into her. She screamed, but not in pain. "God yes! Oh, I'm liking this week's theme."

"Have to remember to thank Ang afterwards," he grunted, pistoning into her, smacking her ass. "I didn't think I could be any hotter for you, but she's managed it." He fucked her for a double dozen strokes and then pulled out with a wet schlicking noise."Next."

"Next?" she wondered, raising her head groggily, hung over the back of the sofa like wet laundry on a line. "Hey, give me a hand up, dammit."

He pulled and she flew up and into his arms. "Mmm, yes," she murmured, and wriggled against him. "Who needs furniture? We can just do it right here." And wrapped her hand around his cock to squeeze.

"Dammit, woman," he snarled, trying to sound stern, "we should at least fulfill our obligation before losing control completely. That okay with you?"

"Oh, sure," she said, and began walking towards the kitchen table, leading him by the cock. "Anything you say." She hopped up on the table and lay down carefully, spreading her legs invitingly. "Mind the breakfast dishes."

"Fuck the breakfast dishes," he growled, and drove upward, forward, into her. Her eyes went wide in mock disapproval. "But I'd rather you fuck me!" she squealed happily.

"Good," he moaned, and began doing so in earnest. 

(Microfantasy Monday is the brainchild of Ang, the Sweltering Celt. If you want to see who else is playing this week, why not go see her?)

-- PB

Friday, February 12, 2010

Three A.M. Surprise

He clicked off the PC's power button and glanced at his watch. 2:48. Great, he thought, another night killed by work. I won't deny that six figures is nice, but just once it'd be nice to throw this fucking pager into the nearest lake.

Stretching, he stood and wandered through the silent apartment, plodding upstairs to bed, his mind fuzzy, eyes sandy, neck aching. He shivered, a chill scurrying down his neck. Maybe we should have turned on the heat tonight. He resolved to get under the covers as quickly as he could. He noted sadly that she was a silent lump on her side of the bed, and smiled a little at her cover-stealing ways -- again 85% of the bedclothes were wrapped around her, leaving him his usual pittance.

He stripped off his clothes wearily and slid under the covers, amazed as always at her sleepy bed-warmth. "My own personal heater", he'd called her once, and she'd been offended for all of a quarter second before bursting into giggles. "Can I help it if I'm warm-natured?" she'd wanted to know, and kissed him happily.

As he sighed softly and wriggled to get into a more comfortable position, trying not to awaken her, she suddenly spoke. "Did you think I was sleeping?"

"Well, yes," he admitted. "You were quiet enough to be."

"I was watching you," she said. "A bad one this time?"

He nodded, his movements only half-seen in the midnight stillness. "Those numbskulls at Pyragore went and hired a new sysadmin and he managed to FUBAR their network in just one day. Their accounting server was offline and if I hadn't fixed it by 3 -- well, 3 our time, anyway -- their CEO wouldn't have gotten his weekly paycheck. And we all know we can't have that."

"I guess not," she sighed, snuggling closer to him. He felt her warm flesh pressing against him. Flesh? Wait a minute. She never went nude to bed. "Hey, you're nekkid, woman! What are you up to?"

"Mmmmmm," she purred, snuggling closer still, throwing one leg over him. He felt wetness smearing across his thigh. "I've been lying here waiting for you. Having a little fun. But it wasn't enough. Never is, you know."

He did know. Once she got going, she was like those massive centrifuges the military uses to test the endurance of pilots. They take what seems like hours to wind down when the tests are over. She was the same way. Not that he minded! Especially now, with her purring against his throat, nuzzling and licking, and writhing against him, half-straddling him. His cock was wide awake now, trying to raise its head but being prevented by the pressure of her leg. He bent his head and she divined his intent right away, raising her lips for a long hot kiss. Her mouth was eager and soft, devouring, tasting. She seized his tongue with her teeth and sucked on it hard enough to draw a soft hiss from him. She slid her body over his and he felt the tips of her nipples scoring trails down his chest. God, she was worked up.

A second later she slid her leg down his body; his trapped cock sprang up. "Oooo," she murmured in delight. "Look what I've found." Her exploring hands slid over his chest, his abs, his groin, tangled briefly in the curls there; then slid lower still and grasped him firmly by the shaft. He groaned with pleasure. "Is this all for me?" she wanted to know.

"Christ yes," he managed. "God, I don't know how you do that."

"Do what?" she inquired innocently, now stroking him deftly, squeezing below the head, forcing more blood into his already painfully hard shaft. "How I do this?" And emphasized it with a long languorous stroke. His hips bucked involuntarily upward.

"No," he growled, and his mouth found hers again for a savage kiss, then broke. "How you can get me hard in less than ten seconds, just with a caress or two."

"Or five or six or seven," she agreed, stroking him, stroking. "I just like my toy nice and hard, you know." And she slid around some more, climbing on top, straddling him, reaching down, guiding, positioning. The covers fell away; he could swear he saw steam rising from underneath, where their bodies touched. Her breath caught, hitched, as she settled firmly onto his cock. "Couldn't do that if you weren't nice and hard, could I?"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhh," was his only response as she began grinding away on top of him. Her hips pistoned up and down, a nice hard rhythm. He'd thought she might want it slow and soft, but that hard driving motion made her intentions crystal clear: she wanted to fuck him, to bounce up and down on his cock until she got off again. She didn't care if he came or not. Just wanted to use him for her own pleasure.

That was just fine with him. He met her bouncing with hard, sharp thrusts of his own. Up and into her. Up and in. Up and in. Thirty seconds and both of them were breathing hard. A minute, and she threw her head back, crying out, her hips moving faster and faster. Her urgency spread itself to him; he knew he had only bare minutes to cum in her before she went off like fireworks. His hands went to her tits, groping them, tweaking the nipples savagely. She bucked against him excitedly, moaning, head rolling back and forth bonelessly as she fucked him. He felt the urge rising and began to yell, helpless to stop, helpless beneath the rippling savage grasp of her cunt, feeling her milk him efficiently, dribbles of precum now becoming a foaming torrent, feeling short spurts become long sticky blasts of cum as he emptied himself into her, thrusting hard, lifting her upwards, hands now on her ass, squeezing hard as she rode him to an orgasm of her own. A sharp hiss from her and a bitten lip was the only outward sign, but the spasms in her pussy were proof enough of her pleasure.

She sat there for a moment, breathing hard, hands braced on his chest. "Good to see you remember your role," she breathed happily. "That's my good, good cock."

"Oh yes," he said softly. "Yours any time you want it."

Her voice was low, sultry. "Indeed? What if I said I wanted it again, right now?" And punctuated it by clenching around him. Wonder of wonders, he was still hard.

"Then I guess you can do as you damn well please," he murmured, and his hands went around her waist as she began pumping her hips again....

-- PB

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Panserhistory, part 4: Faith

Since I started this journal several of you folks have asked me about my past. Who've I been with? you want to know. What was it like, being with them? Did they let you....y' THAT to them? Did they hurt you? Did you hurt them? Did you learn anything from them? Would you do it again, if you had a chance?

So I'm going to write some entries about my history, limited as it is, and let you see for yourself. As always, all names I use here have been changed.

Part 4: Faith

Faith is somebody I've known now for almost twenty years. I "met" her in my first or second year of college. At the time I was reading some USENET newsgroups fairly regularly (this was long before they were all taken over by spammers) and she had made some particularly insightful comments in a newsgroup about one of my favorite authors. I replied to it via email, getting her first and last names transposed in the process because the message header had reversed them for some reason -- not a good start! Fortunately, she didn't seem upset and just corrected me, and that started what has turned out to be one of the longest friendships I've ever had.

Faith and I developed our friendship almost exclusively online for several years, sending emails back and forth. We made one or two phone calls but it was mostly via email. We talked about everything under the sun -- geeky stuff we both enjoyed, politics, TV shows, music, what we wanted out of life, and tons more. We even talked about the people we were dating at the time -- if either of us was dating. She, like I, was pretty selective, and like me she was slow to give her heart away.

Initially, I just saw her as a friend, but a very good one. From almost the very first, I felt that I could trust her with just about anything I said to her. I realized that she would never judge me unfairly, that she would always measure anything I said carefully against her own opinions and experiences, that she would keep any secrets I shared in confidence. She was and is one of the smartest people I've ever met, with an enormous drive to succeed and the willpower to go after whatever she wanted -- and get it. She was well-informed on politics and current events. And, like me, she was very very passionate about everything she did and said, and wouldn't hesitate to get into a lively discussion about anything on which we happened to disagree.

I think it was about two years after we first said hi to each other that we decided we should really meet face to face. If I remember right, it was during summer break and she was living with her parents then. So I drove up to meet her (and her parents, and her sister), and spent a couple of days hanging out with her.

When I met her in person I thought she was just lovely. Dark hair, dark eyes, beautiful curves (an ass to die for, fantastic cleavage hinting at great breasts too, great muscular legs) and one of the most dazzling smiles I had ever seen. I'd felt an attraction to her for some time, but since I was still fairly inexperienced at the time I never really did anything about it. I had a wonderful time just being with her, but there was little privacy since we were at her parents' place and her sister was usually around when her parents were not.

One moment in time does stand out, even years later. We had the room to ourselves for a rare couple of minutes, and I summoned up the courage to reach out and touch her. I gave her a soft caress on the back of her neck. I couldn't help myself -- her skin just looked so soft and I just really wanted to touch her and express some of the attraction I was feeling very strongly right then. It never went beyond that, but she gave me a look that seemed to say "what was that?" and so I backed off immediately.

A few years later, she told me that that one touch was like a jolt of electricity to her. It had affected her almost as strongly as it did me. But (like me) she didn't do anything about it either. More fools we, eh?

In any case, I left after a couple of days and headed back home. And our friendship kept going, strong as ever. She told me about the guy she was seeing, and I told her about what had happened (or was happening) with me and Charlotte, with Rachel, with Melissa. And the years passed, and we drifted apart a bit, but always kept in touch via email and the occasional phone call.

Then, about six years after I'd first said hi to her, we started talking, in a roundabout way, about the attraction we'd felt to each other on that first visit, and the attraction that we, y'know, still kind of felt for each other. Neither of us was seeing anybody at the time (me having just broken things off with Melissa for what was probably the first or second time, and she having recently gotten out of a relationship where the guy treated her like crap). This was also when Faith told me how powerfully she'd been affected by that one touch on the last night of our first visit. From there it was a short step to start talking about sex and how much both of us loved it, and from there (of course) it was just a short jump to how much we'd love to do naughty things to each other.

The attraction grew and grew. The sexy discussions flew back and forth. We talked about fantasies, about things that we'd done, about things that we wanted to do. We quizzed each other. We wrote fantasies. We talked about games we'd like to play. At one point I even wrote her a novel-length erotic fantasy story featuring two characters that were very obviously based on us. And soon we began discussing an extended visit. At the time she was happy with her job and where she lived (in the northeast US), but I was not happy with my own situation. So I began contemplating a relocation, but first I wanted to make sure that the attraction still existed when we saw each other in person. We eventually arranged for me to come see her for a week, so we could determine whether or not it was a good idea for me to move up there.

The time came and I was more nervous than I'd ever been. Yes, we'd been sending messages back and forth about how nervous we both were, and yes, she kept talking repeatedly about how we were likely to jump each other in the car before we even got back to her place. In fact, I'd even gone so far as to get tested for STDs so I could show her the (clean) results; neither one of us liked condoms and we wanted pure skin-on-skin. She was on the pill, so the protection thing was taken care of. But some part of me kept wondering where the catch was. Fortunately, there didn't seem to be any catch. I got up there, and we embraced, and within seconds I knew: this was going to be a very good visit.

And it was. She told me later that she knew I wanted her very badly because I was having trouble making eye contact, and she was right. Although it was me who made the first move, leaning in for a kiss just after we got into the car to head back to her place. She kind of giggled when it was done, but assured me she wasn't laughing at me. And when we got back to her place, she proved it -- it wasn't long before we were both naked and entwined on her bed. She was as enthusiastic, as playful, as fun-loving as I'd hoped, and she smelled and tasted so good. Her body was as exquisite when unclothed as those hints I'd seen years before had suggested -- beautiful breasts, soft smooth skin, voluptuous curves, muscular legs that she loved to wrap around me.

That was a very good week. We went out on the town and she showed me around. We visited Niagara Falls (she lived just a couple hours away from there) and wandered around the Canadian side, holding hands and delighting in each others' company. We went out to eat. We watched movies and listened to music. She even showed me off to a few of her friends when she threw a party one night.

And over and over, we made love. And we had sex. And we fucked. She and I both agreed that there are differences between each of those, and there's a time and place for all of 'em. We screwed on the floor of her living room, giving each other carpet burns. I slurped her pussy for what felt like hours sometimes -- I couldn't get enough of the way she tasted. I gave her a long, long full-body massage and it turned into something rather more like a naked oil wrestling match. I gave her the dirty talk she wanted (she said that she really liked the idea but her partners thus far had been too timid to really try it; I was happy to oblige her during one very extended session and we eventually made enough noise that the people in the apartment below hers started banging on the ceiling as a not-so-subtle hint). We had soapy slippery shower fun. I loved her body, and she seemed equally excited by mine. As with Melissa, she was just as likely to attack me as I was to pounce on her, and so for a week we reveled in each others' bodies, and each others' company.

We did discover, though, that discussion of a relocation might have been a bit premature. We got along fine in person, don't get me wrong, and the physical attraction was every bit as intense as we'd expected, but because we are both extraordinarily strong-willed and intense people with some fundamental differences on our outlook on life, our personalities did clash more than once. In fact I think we had a small fight before the first night was even over, and there were a couple more small ones before I left, though it never grew to a serious confrontation or ruined the time we had with each other.

We parted at the airport, both of us agreeing that it had been an awesome week. But for some reason we never really spoke of my relocating again. I think it was fairly obvious to us both that we worked really well as friends, and really well as lovers, but that we might be a bit too different fundamentally, too stubborn and hard-headed and strong-willed, to work out well in a serious relationship. We'd probably wind up fighting too much, and that's no basis for a relationship.

But over the years we've stayed friends, and kept in touch. Faith is one of the best friends I've ever had. I've never wavered in my convictions that I can trust her with absolutely anything, and that she will always be there for me. And I like to think she knows the same about me. I wouldn't lose her friendship for the world.

One last note. A year or two ago Faith told me that she was seeing someone again, so I of course started interrogating her for more information. She eventually told me that he was actually still married, and I was completely shocked by that. I told her that I supported her in her choices, but that I wasn't really sure I approved. And, in truth, I didn't -- at the time I was still pretty judgmental of anyone who'd cheat on their spouse. Over time my stance on the matter changed -- at least, with respect to her and her beau -- but at first I was not at all happy to hear what she had to say.

In recent months, of course, since reading all the stories from you folks who are in unhappy marriages due to distant, unavailable, or downright abusive husbands or wives, I have rather changed my opinion on the whole thing. If a man's wife outright refuses to have sex with him, or a husband tells his wife that she just doesn't turn him on any more, or there are medical issues preventing one party from participating, or one of the partners is being emotionally or physically abusive -- then the whole "adultery" situation is no longer so cut-and-dried. Faith is no more a homewrecker than the other frustrated people I see stories from every day -- she's just somebody who wants a loving relationship. She just happens to be in love with someone who's already married. And given what she's told me of the situation, the guy has done everything short of a divorce to try and remedy things with his wife. Apparently that woman just doesn't have any interest at all in working out their problems.

In any case, Faith is one of my dearest friends and I still talk to her every couple of days. I wish her nothing but the best and I hope that eventually she'll find a way to be with her lover openly, so that they don't have to hide their relationship from the world at large.

And Faith -- I still love you, too. (Yes, she does know about this journal, and yes, I got her approval before writing about her. Told you she was cool).

-- PB

Monday, February 8, 2010

eLust #7

HNT Courtesy of Coy Pink
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 e[lust] #8? 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 ~

Uncoiling - I slip the blade between your hip and the fabric of the undergarment, and slide. The pretty thing splits easily, and the panty leg opens, revealing your skin underneath.

Ahead of Time - I know you don’t like to know ahead of time when I’m going to let you out, but I just wanted you know that it’s going to be, well, a long time.

Blogging For Choice: My Story - Should I begin with Catholic high school? Sure, why not. I suppose that’s when I first began thinking about abortion, especially when the opportunity for double credit for community service hours rolled around.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

Vignettes: Virtual Peep Show - I kept my bullet vibe on low to draw it out as long as possible for me as I stared, mouth open, at the two cute girls who loved to show off. I let the room in general, and the girls too, know that I was watching, appreciating and jerking off with them. I was encouraged by the greedy, horny men in the room to join them on camera.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

I missed you... - I could smell your cologne as I reached past you, key in my hand to unlock the door. That smell always set me off and you knew it. Your eyes told me what you wanted. You saw in mine what I couldn’t say out loud.

See also
: Pleasurists #62 and #63 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!

Kink & Fetish

A hand in the...
Breaking Down
Drop and Aftercare, A Discussion
Erotic Hypnosis
Erotic Zen: Masturbation Fantasies
Fantasy Vs Reality in M/s
Four kinksters, a wealth of toys
Spanking Story: Head of House
The Kink Club Dinner
The Devil Is In The Details
The Last Chip

Erotic Writing

A Surfer's Story
Across a Crowded Room, Part 3
Her Pleasure
Saturday with my Sweetheart
Sex Behind the Wheel (#5)
SexxxConfessions: Jumping the Fence with My Best Boy
sex sex sexx
The Slut Chronicles #12 ~ The Bar

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

"All men are potential rapists" breeds fear and mistrust. Not caution
JM Darling
NYC Sex Bloggers Calendar is Going National in 2011!
Sex Addiction
S&M video producer in Hungary raided by police
Tauntaun Porn

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationship

A Non Scene that went to a Bad Place
Blow Jobbing. Confession #413
Hard Time Getting Wet
I Can't Get No Contraception. Part 5
Innocent and Clueless? I Think Not!
Kegel Magic - For Men As Well As Women
Kyle's Visit - Collaring My boy
One Year: The Story of My Rape
Swing Shift Volume 29- Maintaining Balance
Swallowing is overrated
The Tiger Way to Sex Rehab

Microfantasy Monday: "Public Places"

"You know," she said sweetly, "I've always wanted to suck a guy's dick in public."

He choked and spluttered, spraying toast crumbs over the diner's table. A minute or two of coughing and hacking and he had recovered enough to say, "Christ, couldn't you kind of work up to something like that? My heart isn't what it once was. Can't take surprises like that one anymore."

"Bollocks," she opined, and put a hand on his on the table. "You're not even forty yet. I just surprised you. I like surprising you."

"You do at that," he allowed, drinking deeply from his orange juice. "Ahh. That's better. Now what the hell prompted you to say that anyway?"

She looked around the crowded room. "Dunno. I'm just feeling frisky right now, and this seemed like as good a time as any. This diner's tables" -- she patted theirs -- "have nice long tablecloths, I've noticed."

His eyes widened as he realized where she was going with this. "No. Absolutely not."

"Oh, come onnnnnnn....." she wheedled, her hand already running up his thigh to his crotch. "Don't tell me you've never fantasized about it too."

"Fantasizing and doing are two different things," he hissed. "Dammit, stop that!" 'That' was her opening his fly and snaking a hand inside, wrapping her fingers around his rapidly swelling cock. He drew breath sharply and darted a shaken glance around. No one appeared to have noticed...yet.

He turned to her to give her a tongue-lashing and blinked; she wasn't there anymore, but he could still feel her hand on his cock. What the hell? Oh, no, she wasn't. Was she?

Yes, she was. Under the cover of the tablecloth, she'd slipped under the table and was now on her knees in front of him, her talented tongue now dancing over the crown of his cock. He grunted, the shock of pleasure stunning him, as she took him deep, humming quietly to herself, no doubt laughing like a demon inside as he moaned helplessly and began thrusting forward into her eagerly sucking mouth. She was really going for it, too, using every trick of her considerable skill. Pleasure was exploding outward from his groin, adrenaline whipping through his bloodstream. One of his hands crept under the table and twined into her hair; he heard her giggle, low and soft, around his cock.

Suddenly he sat bolt upright in shock, eyes going in terror to the front door, where a familiar pair of faces had come in. Oh fuck, that's the Richardsons. Please don't let them come over here, please don't let them come over here, please don't let them come over here.....

"Jimmy!" A hailing shout. "What've you been up to?"

If you only knew, he thought, forcing a grin onto his face and struggling to bite back the groans of ecstasy that wanted to escape as underneath the table she continued to suck his dick loudly, sloppily, enthusiastically. He just prayed he wouldn't give the game away when he blasted off down her throat, which by all indications wasn't going to be very long....

(Microfantasy Monday is the brainchild of Ang, the Sweltering Celt. If you want to see who else is playing, go see Ang!)

-- PB

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Panserhistory, part 3: Melissa

Since I started this journal several of you folks have asked me about my past. Who've I been with? you want to know. What was it like, being with them? Did they let you....y' THAT to them? Did they hurt you? Did you hurt them? Did you learn anything from them? Would you do it again, if you had a chance?

So I'm going to write some entries about my history, limited as it is, and let you see for yourself. As always, all names I use here have been changed.

Part 3: Melissa

I've written a bit about Melissa before (see this entry for details) but here's the full story.

I met Melissa at a Fourth of July party hosted by my friend Jonathan. She was a friend of Jonathan's sister. I liked her looks, liked her long curly black hair, liked her intelligence and ready wit, liked her geeky chic look, liked her geeky interests. We spent a lot of time talking that night but I left without getting her number. So, feeling like I was in grade school and sending a note to someone asking "Do you like me? Please check yes or no", I called up Jonathan's sister and, after hemming and hawing a bit, finally got around to asking if Melissa was seeing anyone. I could actually HEAR the smile in her voice as she said no, Melissa wasn't dating anybody, and by the way, would I like her number?

Good god, women can see right through us, can't they?

It was three more days before I got up the nerve to call Melissa, but she seemed delighted to hear from me and we made a date for that weekend. I drove down to see her (she lived about an hour away from me) and we had a perfectly lovely evening. Dinner out, a trip by a bookstore we both loved, winding up with a walk outside on a lovely summer night. We ended up on a wooden swing in her apartment complex, just talking. The night was warm, the stars were kind. I put an arm around her. We talked less and less, letting the silences build. And finally there was a moment when we both turned to each other, and the silence stretched, and slowly, slowly, I bent my face to hers.

If there is such a thing as a perfect first kiss, that was it. It seemed like we both wanted exactly the same thing, and were perfectly in tune with each other; I could see the anticipation on her face and it must have mirrored my own. Her eyes closed a bare moment before her lips met mine and I swear I heard her sigh softly. Her lips were warm and soft, a little damp; I tasted a hint of sweat on her upper lip from our walk.

We kissed, and kissed again. There were no words, only a growing urgency as our mouths merged. Warm lips, and growing warmer; they opened under mine and her tongue slid into my mouth. She moaned and I sighed in response. Our kisses built and built. Her arms went round my neck. We kissed, and kissed, and kissed.

Eventually I broke from her and mentioned something about not wanting to get arrested (we were, after all, still in a public place, albeit somewhat secluded on this little backyard swing). So we went into her apartment, where we made it all of five feet from the door before I backed her against the wall and we resumed our oral duel. More kisses, hungry now, full of fire. We must have stood there, just kissing and hands gently exploring, for a good fifteen minutes.

In what may have been one of the all-time bonehead moves, I fianlly broke from her again and said that I'd better head home now, or pretty soon I wasn't going to be able to. There was a hint of disappointment on her face but she agreed that it was probably best to cut things off there for now. I asked if she'd like to come visit me next weekend and she looked delighted. She immediately went to her desk, pulled out a pad of paper, and asked for directions; seeing her bent over the desk like that, I just couldn't resist. I slipped up behind her and put both arms around her, hands going to her breasts, fondling them and squeezing gently.

Now I didn't know it yet, but Melissa's total weak point was her breasts. Just a touch there was enough to get her hot and bothered, and so when I began fondling her tits that night after our heated kissing interlude, she told me later that she felt a spike of desire go through her so sharply that she wanted to turn around and jump me right then and there. As it was, she moaned loudly and pressed back against me, rubbing her ass against my crotch, confirming for herself that I was just as turned on as she was.

Somehow, I don't know how, I managed to stop after a minute or two, and in a ragged voice I finished giving her directions to my place. I drove off feeling a giddy excitement that she evidently shared.


A week later, and Melissa and I were parked on my couch, watching TV. My roommate, showing an understanding beyond belief, had absented himself for the evening (in fact, he crashed at someone else's pad that night, giving me -- us -- plenty of privacy). It had been another fine evening, full of more good conversation and laughter, with plenty of double entendres and innuendos. Sitting there on my couch soon gave way to more kissing and exploration; soon she was lying back and moaning while my lips brushed against her neck and my hands slipped underneath the shirt she wore to find warm flesh beneath.

After a few more minutes of delicious torture, I found the balls to bring up protection. In all-time bonehead move #2, I hadn't bothered to pick up any condoms ahead of time, somehow thinking that I'd be jinxing things if I did. She agreed, with a sultry smile, that we should go and get some. Like, right now. Like, how fast can we get there and back?

I set a new record for a trip to the grocery store, and pretty soon we were back in my apartment, and then in my bedroom. I undressed her slowly, so slowly, marveling at her body -- she had a fantastic figure, womanly, full of curves. It wasn't a model's frame, but I didn't care -- the curve of her hips, the globes of her ass, the magnificent swells of her breasts -- oh god, she had fantastic tits. Soft, full, hanging heavy under their own weight, large hard nipples, begging to be sucked. And I sucked them, and she moaned, and soon we were on my bed, and I had my head buried between her legs, and I was slurping her pussy until she was crying out my name with joy.

It was here that I made yet another tactical error. I had been hard from pretty much the get-go, and the smart thing would have been to give her an oral orgasm and then give her what both of us were obviously wanting very badly -- a good, proper fucking. But she tasted so good and she was enjoying my attentions so much that I just kept right on going. She came again. And again. And again. And my aching cock was still aching. And pretty soon my balls were aching too, from frustration. But I ignored them and kept slurping away at her. Again she came. Again. And my balls were REALLY aching now, to the point where I made a soft sound of pain when I shifted position. After about an hour and a half of oral delight for her, she was begging me to take her. I fumbled a condom open, got my jeans and underwear off and tried to slip it on, but discovered to my horror that the steady dull pain from my balls -- now quite intense! -- had made me go soft. I massaged myself a bit to see if I could get hard again, and my balls sent a fresh bolt of pain through me. I tried a few more times, and Melissa even had a go herself, wrapping her fingers around me and then taking my cock in her mouth -- but it was no go.

Eventually we halted for the night, me still bright red from shame, she waving it off as nothing serious. "It happens sometimes, don't worry about it," she said. "We'll try again another time. And there WILL be another time, believe me." She fell asleep in my arms, and I lay there reflecting that sometimes too much foreplay really IS too much. Yet another lesson learned.


A week later, and Melissa had sent me a letter informing me that she didn't really like condoms much anyway, and so she'd been to see the doctor to get on the pill. She went on in much more intimate detail, telling me exactly how beautiful and sexual she felt when she was with me, and telling me how much she looked forward to seeing me again and continuing where we'd left off.

And we did. Oh, god, did we ever.

Again my roommate had absented himself for the evening (man, did I owe him big-time) and this time we skipped all the preliminaries like dinner and conversation. She showed up at my door and we went directly to bed -- do not pass Go, do not collect $200, go directly to hot makeouts. This time she undressed me, and then I undressed her, and we stood there, nude, caressing and kissing for ten or fifteen minutes, hands exploring heated flesh. I slipped two fingers inside her; she was wet, so wet, and her knees buckled when I penetrated her. She retaliated by wrapping her hand around my shaft and pumping me oh so slowly. I bore her backward onto the bed and she spread her legs wide, breathing "Now, now, do it now,". I slid about a bit, trying to find the right spot, and suddenly I found the right spot and there was no longer any doubt as I sank into her.

God, what a feeling, to be inside a woman for the first time, unencumbered by a condom. Rachel and I had made love many times but had used a condom for each. This was the first time I'd had sex without one and oh dear GOD it felt good. I think I just lay there on top of her, grinning, cock pulsing inside her, for a good two or three minutes, before I even started to move. But eventually I did, and she began moving with me, and before the night was over we had fucked four times.


That was the beginning of a beautiful relationship -- at least, in the bedroom. Rachel had initiated me into sex but had never been tremendously enthusiastic; I'd gotten the impression that she was mostly indulging me as a gift. Melissa, on the other hand, was just as voracious and insatiable as I was -- she loved sex and she wanted it often, and wasn't shy about showing it. Whenever we were together it was usually a tossup as to which one of us would jump the other one first.

Oh, what a playground we made of each others' bodies. We fucked in every room of our apartments. We made love for hours, entwined on her bed with raindrop shadows sliding down our bodies. We did it standing up leaning against her bookshelf. I bent her over the desk in her bedroom, enacting what I'd wanted to do so badly that first night. I took her in her kitchen with the kitchen blinds wide open, providing a free show to anyone who'd happened to walk by outside. We screwed on the couch, in chairs, on the floor, on the stairs, on a table. I'd stay inside her after coming until I went soft, then she'd start squeezing my cock with her pussy and pretty soon I'd be hard again, and we'd get right back into it without me ever having pulled out. We loved to do it in the shower, frequently staying in there and fucking for so long that we were more sweaty and messy when we got out than we had been when we got in. We played with toys, with lube, with food; I painted her with honey and licked it all off; she made me her own personal ice-cream sundae and licked THAT all off. I turned her into a Slip-and-Slide with a bottle of massage oil; what a mess THAT made, but we were past caring after we'd fucked each other into a slippery messy coma. We role-played: "teacher and student", "master and slave", "doctor and patient". She dressed up in naughty lingerie and delighted in the reaction it got from me. We read erotica together, making love in interludes or whenever we got too hot; we watched porn together, both laughing at it and getting turned on by the hotter scenes. She was always up for exploration, for trying new things, for new scenarios, dirty talk, new positions, phone sex, mutual masturbation, experimentation -- anything went, anytime.

She loved to be held down. She loved it when I pressed my full weight on her, when I pressed her hard against a wall or pinioned her by her wrists. She came so hard she almost exploded when I tied her up and had my way with her. She loved having her breasts fondled, her nipples sucked, and sucked hard; she could come just from me playing with and sucking on her nipples. She loved fucking for hours, sliding from position to position over and over and eating dinner in bed because we STILL couldn't keep our hands off each other. I still remember how we just lost control when we were together, tossing inhibitions out the window. I recall one time in particular when we had made so much noise that the cops came to my door, saying they'd been called because neighbors had thought someone was being murdered in here. I had to produce Melissa, dressed in just a bathrobe, before they got the idea. (I'd never seen a cop blush before.) We were always ready, always open; just a few seconds of caresses -- from either of us! and we'd be breathing hard and trying to restrain ourselves. Countless times we'd plan to go out for the evening and never make it out the door because we just couldn't keep our hands off each other. We spent a lot of time at my place or hers just walking around nude, because it saved time disrobing; after all, we never knew when the urge might strike next. I loved that she was completely unselfconscious about her body and loved to show it to me; she told me later that I was the first guy she'd felt that way around, and I felt a smug self-satisfaction.


Unfortunately, although Melissa and I were utterly perfect in bed (and out of bed, and anywhere else), we were not tremendously well-suited as romantic partners. We had a lot of things in common, but we had many other things that turned out to be personality conflicts, and eventually we split up. Oh, we kept giving it a try for several more years, on and off; one of us would call the other to say hi, and drop by for a visit, and usually they'd wind up spending the night because the smoldering physical attraction between us was always ready to burst into flame again. Sometimes we'd even agree to make another go of the relationship, but within a few months the old problems would crop up once more. And neither of us was the sort for completely casual sex, quite aside from the fact that we had so much emotionally invested in each other already that it could never really be casual again. We finally had our last fling about eight or nine years after I first met her -- she'd come to my place for a visit and, just like old times, had started fondling each other while watching a movie, and soon I was banging her from behind while she screamed for me to do it harder. I remember that she told me as she was leaving the next morning that this might be our last time for a while because she was going on a date next week. And oddly enough, I felt delighted for her.

Melissa is married now, to that same guy. He treats her like a queen and they are very much in love. I met him once and he seems like a really great guy. You get the impression that they are just perfect for each other -- interlocking puzzle pieces that fit just so, and can't be pulled apart without tremendous effort. They have the kind of marriage where they positively glow when they look at each other.

I wonder sometimes if we had that same glow when she was with me.

Thanks, Melissa. You taught to me that women can and do enjoy the hell out of sex, and helped me to be just as uninhibited about it as you. You are still one of the best lovers I've ever had.

-- PB