Another day, another morning waking up with an erection and nothing useful to do with it. Stuck with a ridge in his jeans, uncomfortable friction, rasping cloth against sensitive flesh already oversensitized from too many times jerking off. Not for the first time he cursed his demonically high drive, particularly when there were no handy targets to vent it on.
His mind drifted, slipped sideways, came to rest on her (as it usually did in times like these). Her impish smile, the way she bit her lip when she was aroused, the breathy little-girl voice she did so well. He shifted uncomfortably, his cock throbbing painfully in his jeans. This wasn't helping. It didn't help to think of the feel of her silky hair, the taste of her tongue, the scent of her pussy when she was as turned on as he, the way she shrieked like a firebell when she came hard. It didn't help at all to remember the velvety feel of her slick tunnel, the way she fitted herself to him with a happy sigh, the way she hooked her legs over his shoulders and crossed her ankles behind his head. It was making things not the slightest bit better to recall the way she bounced up and down in his lap, begging him to play with her tits while he fucked her, to remember the insane heat of her body against his, the way she splashed against his crotch, fountaining out around and against him while he rocked deeper and deeper within.
Down went his jeans again, his boxer briefs along with them. Rigid, commanding, standing tall, he took himself in hand and began to stroke, already breathing hard, hips bumping upward on the downbeat. Hazily, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt this would only be the first of many, many times. Knew she would be dancing in and out of his thoughts for the entire day, drifting from dream to dazed acceptance of reality, but still achingly hard and ready for another go. Knew he'd be coming up with more scenarios, more fantasies, even as he sprayed hot cum up onto his own shoulder and chest. Knew it would only be a matter of minutes before he had to take yet another break, to try doggedly to tame the beast, to get a few minutes' respite from the aching, throbbing hardness that returned any time he dared even think her name.
He wondered when he'd see her again, and how long it would take before she was screaming his name that time. He wondered who was sharing her bed right now, and if they had a clue how lucky they were. He wondered why she affected him like this, but as always found any explanation wanting. She just....was. Hooked on a feeling, addicted to her body, enjoying it to the hilt even as he hated the fact that he never had a moment's peace.
Absently, he wiped the cum off his chest, shoulders, stomach, groin. Tossed it into the nearby wastebasket nearly full of crumpled paper towels -- it'd be time to empty that again soon. He sighed, and regarded his already-twitching cock as it swelled, lengthened, thickened again, pointing at him in gleeful, hungry joy.
He got up and padded toward the bathroom, kicking the tangled clothing free of his ankles as he went. Maybe an icy shower would help. But he guessed it probably wouldn't.
-- PB
Showing posts with label masturbation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label masturbation. Show all posts
Monday, February 17, 2014
Friday, May 6, 2011
Flash Fiction Friday 5-6-11: "Once Upon a Time...."
(Source image: "Bedtime Reading" by Valery Bareta)
“The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty”. Hmm. Well, I sure as hell haven't got anything better to do tonight, so I might as well give this a shot.
A bit slow to start, but I'll give it the benefit of the doubt. Always wanted to read a hot fairy tale.
Hmm. Intriguing. Interesting concept, at least.
They did what? How awful. This cannot be turning me on. Et tu, nipples? Et tu, cunt? Traitors.
Oh. Oh my. I think I'm glad I wore a nightie to bed and not anything more substantial. Makes for easier access. Mmmmm. Ohhh, that feels good. Mmm, delicious.....fingers.....wetness.....oh yes. Nice slow strokes.
Hell of a situation. Why isn't she running away? I mean, granted, she's a bad girl, but....wait, what? Did I really just SAY that? Am I getting off on her pain?
Ouch. Ohh, yes. Like that. Punish her. Make her beg like the nasty slut she is. Ohhh. Ohhh yesssss. Oh gods, yes. More. Harder. Ohhh, ohhh, ohhh, OHHHH, OHHHHH.........
The book crashed, unheard and unheeded, to the floor.
Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 160-185 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:
"...unheard and unheeded..."
Nobody's checking word counts, or for the key phrase, but you're only cheating yourself if you break the rules. Unless you're doing it to earn a spanking (in which case, see me after class).
Special Bonus Director's Commentary Track:
When I was with Melissa, years ago, one of the things we experimented with was reading erotic stories together. It was a fantastic idea and we read a lot of stuff that turned both of us on. One of those, however, was Anne Rice's "Sleeping Beauty" series (The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty; Beauty's Punishment; Beauty's Release), a decidedly adult fairy-tale series with extreme sadomasochism and bondage in it. And some of the stuff in it turned my stomach, mostly because of the humiliation and degradation involved for the characters. I don't mind the idea of S&M, or mixing pain with pleasure -- though it's really not high on my list of fun stuff -- but when the people in the story are being treated like filth, humiliated and tortured and broken, I just don't get how someone can find that erotic. We read only part of the first book before deciding it wasn't doing anything for either of us and changing to something else. I did read the rest of the series eventually, mostly to find out if it got any better, but didn't enjoy the rest of book one or books two and three any more than I had previously.
When I saw this picture, out of nowhere came my memories of those stories, and I knew I wanted to write about her experiences with same. Maybe she liked the pain, the humiliation; maybe she felt a kinship with the Beauty of the tales. Maybe she wanted in her secret heart to be tormented and hurt like the ones in there. It isn't my cup of tea, but the books sold fairly well, so who's to say that someone else might not really get off on those tales? Your mileage may vary. That's part of the fun in relationships, discovering what turns someone else on. How boring it would be if we all liked the same things, eh?
Please note that I am no longer collecting the participants list. If you are playing along this week, please leave your link below using the widget. It will appear in the text of the post itself, not in the comments, so everyone that's playing will be listed here. This frees me from having to chase people down to find out if they're playing or update the Friday post several times for late entries. Your cooperation is appreciated.
In any case, the participants list is below. Go check them out, and thanks to all who played along.
Check back here on Monday for the next challenge! And if you have any photos or artwork you'd like to see in a future challenge, please send them my way.
-- PB
Friday, November 5, 2010
Flash Fiction Friday 11-5-10: "Test Drive"
This summary is not available. Please
click here to view the post.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Flash Fiction Friday 9-10-10: "Exaltation"
This summary is not available. Please
click here to view the post.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Flash Fiction Friday 8-6-10: "Uprising"
This summary is not available. Please
click here to view the post.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Flash Fiction Friday 6-4-10: "Craving the Spotlight"
(Source image: "Spotlight" by Marty Provost.)
The spotlight lit her in stark bas-relief. Her face, eyes closed, was set in stone, but the rest of her body was alive. Her breasts, marble-tipped, trembled. Her thighs quivered. Her pussy glistened.
Steadily, steadily, her intensity built. Her hands stiffened on her knees; her brow furrowed; her lips were compressed. Abruptly, she shrieked as her excitement fountained over the first two rows of the audience.
“And there you have it, folks,” the announcer shouted. “A true hands-free orgasm!”
Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of exactly 81 words. Nobody's checking word counts, but you're only cheating yourself if you break the rules. Unless you're doing it to earn a spanking (in which case, see me after class).
The following people are participating this week. Why not go check out their take on this FFF?
Gray: http://mygrayline.blogspot.com
Spring Flower: http://agirlsgottahaveoptions.blogspot.com
Jonsbabydoll: http://thebloggingslave.com
Soren: http://amorousdays.blogspot.com
Lexi: http://lex-ploits.blogspot.com
Katia: http://katiaswritings.blogspot.com
Netsfan44: http://netsfan44eroticstories.blogspot.com
Cate: http://categoesdown.com
Max: http://mystic-satyr.blogspot.com
Luna Mauvaise: http://lunamauvaise.blogspot.com
Diable Incarne: http://conningdevil.blogspot.com
Check back here on Monday for the next challenge! And if you've any photos or artwork you'd like to see used in future, send them my way.
-- PB
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Interlude: Anatomy of a Wank Session
Men are privy to a feeling that women can never quite feel -- the insanely frustrating but oh-so-delicious sensation of a cock that's hardening, trapped in the constriction of boxer shorts or briefs, held captive by jeans or slacks, throbbing and pulsing with each beat of our hearts, each beat and pulse increasing the friction and frustration. The slight pain as it tries to lift its head upward, but is denied by logistics; the little darts of pleasure that fly through us as we shift uncomfortably, trying to find a new position that works; the flush of embarrassment as we try to hide the growing bulge from others, if we're unlucky enough to be in public when it happens (as it does, all too often).
How much better, then, to be at home and private when the urge strikes (brought on by reading her latest entry; ye gods, the fantasies that woman creates -- how they burn in the mind), to be able (as now) to sigh with relief, undoing the constricting jeans, sliding the zipper down, opening the folds, sliding the jeans down. Prolonging the torment a bit by running a hand along the bulge, feeling the rippling fabric as it slips and catches along heated flesh. The exquisite friction ramps up a bit more, the pulse becomes more insistent, more urgent. A bright spear of pleasure strikes home as I slide the boxers down as well; the object of my attentions standing free now, pointing skyward, a mini-tower constructed for pleasure's purpose.
I start by running my hands along my thighs, cupping my balls, fondling them a bit. My cock dips and plunges as I pull on my sack, bobbing and weaving. Lazily, I encircle the base of the shaft with thumb and forefinger, squeezing gently. The head throbs harder still in response. I squeeze again, and stroke upwards as I squeeze, more blood rushing through in response, the great vein standing out, every texture sculpted in pink marble. More precious stones appear -- glistening pearls of precum now oozing from my slit. I squeeze harder still, now using thumb and two fingers, and more precum drools out. God, she's gotten me more worked up than I thought. I remove hand from cock temporarily to move mouse and keyboard, accessing her archives and bringing up one of the hottest fantasies I've seen there, and my brain goes into overdrive, imagining myself as the guy she's working over with such delight and enthusiasm.
I take myself in hand fully now, rubbing, stroking. The head is slick and shiny with precum; I take a moment and use thumb and palm to rub the precum all over it. Glistening and purple with arousal, it begs for more attention. I grasp myself in loosely curled fist and begin stroking very very lightly. Slickness of precum provides plenty of lubrication; it's still dripping out with every stroke, and is now running in slow strands down the side of my shaft, making things nice and slippery. I rotate my hand in slow corkscrews, twisting around, spreading the me-lube, covering myself in my arousal.
I begin a nice slow rhythm, stroking up.....and down. Up.....and down. I sigh and close my eyes, my attention now fully on the sensations at my groin. In my head it's her hand that's stroking me, her lips caressing me, her cunt clutching me. It's her body that's pressed against mine, it's her fingertips that brush my head, it's her gentle suction that has me tingling from head to toe.
Up.....and down. Up.......and down. With each downstroke I squeeze my little finger gently around the base of my cock; with each upstroke I squeeze thumb and forefinger just below the head. The net result of that is that my heart is beating harder and harder. Hell, my cock is harder and harder, throbbing almost angrily, harder than I've been in a long time, feeling like a goddamn railspike. I'm so horny that I could fuck a rock right now, and I want to tear right through to the other side, but something keeps me using that same slow, deliberate pace. Stroking....stroking....stroking.
Long minutes pass. There are no sounds but my own breathing and the soft slap of flesh on flesh as I work myself steadily. Up....and down. Up....and down. My thighs are trembling. My breath is coming faster. I imagine her above me, rising and falling. Imagine her pussy engulfing me, splashing all over my thighs as she takes me to the hilt in one stroke. I can hear her sighs -- or are those my own? I'm moaning now, helpless to stop, unable to hold back the tide of sensations.
Almost without volition my hand begins speeding up. I'm gripping a bit more firmly, stroking harder. Up....and down. Up.....and down. Now my hips are rising with each downstroke, thrusting upwards, plunging into her softness, my hand providing a poor substitute for what I want so badly from her. I throw my head back and lean back in the chair, my free hand gripping the armrest hard enough to make it creak. My cock is twitching, throbbing spasmodically. My balls have drawn tight and are hard stones; I can feel them churning, roiling, building up a wave.
For ten seconds I stop utterly, gripping myself hard, but making not a sound or movement, trying to let the excitement die so I can prolong this wonderful torture. When I resume stroking in ten, it's clear that hasn't helped at all. I feel like I've stuck my cock into a light socket; every touch now sends electricity through my entire body. Moaning urgently, I grip a bit more tightly and begin to stroke in earnest now. Up and down, up and down, harder and harder, my cock so covered in precum it looks like it's been lacquered, hips bucking hard upward, driving into her. I can smell her scent, can see her grinning at me, can hear her voice in my head. And she's saying what I want most now: "Cum for me, babe. C'mon, shoot off. Give me a nice big creamy load."
And with a roar, I do, tensing so hard that my muscles will be sore for a day afterward, fountaining urgently, a hot white jet shooting out so fast and far that it lands on my shoulder. Groaning, grunting, I keep stroking, each motion I make producing another blast. Pearlescent white pools are forming on my chest and stomach, their heat so much more than that of my own body. Orgasm cresting, my cockhead is sensitive now, but I can't stop myself, I'm still flogging it hard, and the jets are still spurting, though smaller and more pitiful now.
Finally, gasping, I let go of my cock -- it flops down now, exhausted, splashing into a pool of cum -- and fall back into the chair. I feel utterly satiated, drifting on a cloud of pleasure, warmth spreading through me from scalp to toe. In a few minutes I'll grope for a towel or something to clean up the mess I've made, but for right now it's enough just to sit here, drifting, fantasizing about her, and hoping she gets half as much enjoyment from reading this as I did in writing it....and enacting it.
-- PB
How much better, then, to be at home and private when the urge strikes (brought on by reading her latest entry; ye gods, the fantasies that woman creates -- how they burn in the mind), to be able (as now) to sigh with relief, undoing the constricting jeans, sliding the zipper down, opening the folds, sliding the jeans down. Prolonging the torment a bit by running a hand along the bulge, feeling the rippling fabric as it slips and catches along heated flesh. The exquisite friction ramps up a bit more, the pulse becomes more insistent, more urgent. A bright spear of pleasure strikes home as I slide the boxers down as well; the object of my attentions standing free now, pointing skyward, a mini-tower constructed for pleasure's purpose.
I start by running my hands along my thighs, cupping my balls, fondling them a bit. My cock dips and plunges as I pull on my sack, bobbing and weaving. Lazily, I encircle the base of the shaft with thumb and forefinger, squeezing gently. The head throbs harder still in response. I squeeze again, and stroke upwards as I squeeze, more blood rushing through in response, the great vein standing out, every texture sculpted in pink marble. More precious stones appear -- glistening pearls of precum now oozing from my slit. I squeeze harder still, now using thumb and two fingers, and more precum drools out. God, she's gotten me more worked up than I thought. I remove hand from cock temporarily to move mouse and keyboard, accessing her archives and bringing up one of the hottest fantasies I've seen there, and my brain goes into overdrive, imagining myself as the guy she's working over with such delight and enthusiasm.
I take myself in hand fully now, rubbing, stroking. The head is slick and shiny with precum; I take a moment and use thumb and palm to rub the precum all over it. Glistening and purple with arousal, it begs for more attention. I grasp myself in loosely curled fist and begin stroking very very lightly. Slickness of precum provides plenty of lubrication; it's still dripping out with every stroke, and is now running in slow strands down the side of my shaft, making things nice and slippery. I rotate my hand in slow corkscrews, twisting around, spreading the me-lube, covering myself in my arousal.
I begin a nice slow rhythm, stroking up.....and down. Up.....and down. I sigh and close my eyes, my attention now fully on the sensations at my groin. In my head it's her hand that's stroking me, her lips caressing me, her cunt clutching me. It's her body that's pressed against mine, it's her fingertips that brush my head, it's her gentle suction that has me tingling from head to toe.
Up.....and down. Up.......and down. With each downstroke I squeeze my little finger gently around the base of my cock; with each upstroke I squeeze thumb and forefinger just below the head. The net result of that is that my heart is beating harder and harder. Hell, my cock is harder and harder, throbbing almost angrily, harder than I've been in a long time, feeling like a goddamn railspike. I'm so horny that I could fuck a rock right now, and I want to tear right through to the other side, but something keeps me using that same slow, deliberate pace. Stroking....stroking....stroking.
Long minutes pass. There are no sounds but my own breathing and the soft slap of flesh on flesh as I work myself steadily. Up....and down. Up....and down. My thighs are trembling. My breath is coming faster. I imagine her above me, rising and falling. Imagine her pussy engulfing me, splashing all over my thighs as she takes me to the hilt in one stroke. I can hear her sighs -- or are those my own? I'm moaning now, helpless to stop, unable to hold back the tide of sensations.
Almost without volition my hand begins speeding up. I'm gripping a bit more firmly, stroking harder. Up....and down. Up.....and down. Now my hips are rising with each downstroke, thrusting upwards, plunging into her softness, my hand providing a poor substitute for what I want so badly from her. I throw my head back and lean back in the chair, my free hand gripping the armrest hard enough to make it creak. My cock is twitching, throbbing spasmodically. My balls have drawn tight and are hard stones; I can feel them churning, roiling, building up a wave.
For ten seconds I stop utterly, gripping myself hard, but making not a sound or movement, trying to let the excitement die so I can prolong this wonderful torture. When I resume stroking in ten, it's clear that hasn't helped at all. I feel like I've stuck my cock into a light socket; every touch now sends electricity through my entire body. Moaning urgently, I grip a bit more tightly and begin to stroke in earnest now. Up and down, up and down, harder and harder, my cock so covered in precum it looks like it's been lacquered, hips bucking hard upward, driving into her. I can smell her scent, can see her grinning at me, can hear her voice in my head. And she's saying what I want most now: "Cum for me, babe. C'mon, shoot off. Give me a nice big creamy load."
And with a roar, I do, tensing so hard that my muscles will be sore for a day afterward, fountaining urgently, a hot white jet shooting out so fast and far that it lands on my shoulder. Groaning, grunting, I keep stroking, each motion I make producing another blast. Pearlescent white pools are forming on my chest and stomach, their heat so much more than that of my own body. Orgasm cresting, my cockhead is sensitive now, but I can't stop myself, I'm still flogging it hard, and the jets are still spurting, though smaller and more pitiful now.
Finally, gasping, I let go of my cock -- it flops down now, exhausted, splashing into a pool of cum -- and fall back into the chair. I feel utterly satiated, drifting on a cloud of pleasure, warmth spreading through me from scalp to toe. In a few minutes I'll grope for a towel or something to clean up the mess I've made, but for right now it's enough just to sit here, drifting, fantasizing about her, and hoping she gets half as much enjoyment from reading this as I did in writing it....and enacting it.
-- PB
Friday, October 2, 2009
Think Of Me
I'm thinking about you right now. Yes, you. I follow lots of journals but it's you that's captured my imagination more than anyone else. I visit every day, hoping you've got some more stuff up, rereading your archives when there's no new entry. And you flit in and out of my thoughts all the time.
You really have no idea, do you? You don't know how wild you drive your readers with those naughty tales, those occasional photos, the dirty confessions and fantastic fantasies. You don't know what it does to me -- how it makes me achingly hard, ridge in pants standing out clearly for anyone to see. How it distracts me beyond belief to see each new teasing tale from you. Makes my head spin, my blood race, my heart pound. Makes me ooze precum till I'm soaking through my shorts. Makes me forget everything but the desperate tingling in my balls as I stroke myself relentlessly towards orgasm, still feverishly reading your words.
And I fantasize about you. Oh, yes, I do. I fantasize about what it'd be like to chat with you, to send you nasty emails, to detail my lusty thoughts in vivid black and white. I fantasize about sending you a list of demands for you to execute, knowing that your wild side will be brought forth in full flower by that. I fantasize about writing a story in tandem with you, building faster and faster on each others' thoughts until the final result is so hot it smokes. I fantasize about email exchanges between us, electrons flying back and forth at lightspeed, but not nearly as fast as my hand on my cock or your fingers buried in your sopping cunt. I fantasize about sending you text messages while you're at work, trying to concentrate, being distracted by my increasingly explicit descriptions of what I'm doing to myself right....this.....second.
Yes, you're in my thoughts quite a bit. I wonder what your voice sounds like. Wonder what I would do if I picked up the phone and you were on the other end, breathing hard and fucking yourself hard and fast with fingers, a toy, something. I wonder how long I'd last before spraying all over myself to the sound of your purring "That's it, come for me". I wonder if you'd be half as turned on as I was, if you'd seen as many stars as I had when I blasted off, if you were dripping with need as much as I imagine you are.
What would you be like if you were here, I wonder? Would you be submissive and eyes downcast as I directed you in a cold voice to strip for me? Would you be hot and wild and aggressive, pushing me back in my seat and yanking our clothing off so fast that I'm inside you in less than a minute? Would you scream as I nailed you to the wall from behind? Would you gush all over me as you rode me like a bucking bronco? How many times could I make you come with lips and tongue alone before you pushed me away, begging "no more, please"? Would you beg me to fuck you harder, harder, harder, or would it be slow and sensual and dreamy, all sighs and whispers and fingers tangled in each other as we urged each other toward sweet release? Would I fill your cunt with my come or would you beg me to hose you down on face and lips and tits?
Oh yes, I wonder. And I think of you. And I fantasize about you. All the time. Every time I read one of your entries.
How does that make you feel?
-- PB
You really have no idea, do you? You don't know how wild you drive your readers with those naughty tales, those occasional photos, the dirty confessions and fantastic fantasies. You don't know what it does to me -- how it makes me achingly hard, ridge in pants standing out clearly for anyone to see. How it distracts me beyond belief to see each new teasing tale from you. Makes my head spin, my blood race, my heart pound. Makes me ooze precum till I'm soaking through my shorts. Makes me forget everything but the desperate tingling in my balls as I stroke myself relentlessly towards orgasm, still feverishly reading your words.
And I fantasize about you. Oh, yes, I do. I fantasize about what it'd be like to chat with you, to send you nasty emails, to detail my lusty thoughts in vivid black and white. I fantasize about sending you a list of demands for you to execute, knowing that your wild side will be brought forth in full flower by that. I fantasize about writing a story in tandem with you, building faster and faster on each others' thoughts until the final result is so hot it smokes. I fantasize about email exchanges between us, electrons flying back and forth at lightspeed, but not nearly as fast as my hand on my cock or your fingers buried in your sopping cunt. I fantasize about sending you text messages while you're at work, trying to concentrate, being distracted by my increasingly explicit descriptions of what I'm doing to myself right....this.....second.
Yes, you're in my thoughts quite a bit. I wonder what your voice sounds like. Wonder what I would do if I picked up the phone and you were on the other end, breathing hard and fucking yourself hard and fast with fingers, a toy, something. I wonder how long I'd last before spraying all over myself to the sound of your purring "That's it, come for me". I wonder if you'd be half as turned on as I was, if you'd seen as many stars as I had when I blasted off, if you were dripping with need as much as I imagine you are.
What would you be like if you were here, I wonder? Would you be submissive and eyes downcast as I directed you in a cold voice to strip for me? Would you be hot and wild and aggressive, pushing me back in my seat and yanking our clothing off so fast that I'm inside you in less than a minute? Would you scream as I nailed you to the wall from behind? Would you gush all over me as you rode me like a bucking bronco? How many times could I make you come with lips and tongue alone before you pushed me away, begging "no more, please"? Would you beg me to fuck you harder, harder, harder, or would it be slow and sensual and dreamy, all sighs and whispers and fingers tangled in each other as we urged each other toward sweet release? Would I fill your cunt with my come or would you beg me to hose you down on face and lips and tits?
Oh yes, I wonder. And I think of you. And I fantasize about you. All the time. Every time I read one of your entries.
How does that make you feel?
-- PB
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Fun at Work
Christina: picture this
Christina: i'm wearing a blue satin silk top
Christina: and ass hugging jeans
Panserbjorne: I like the picture already.
Christina: the top is low cut and is a nice contrast w/ my white breasts
Christina: now picture me stroking your chest
Christina: and asking to wrap my legs around your waist
Christina: that's where i'm at right now
Christina: at least inside my head
Panserbjorne: mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Panserbjorne: I see that it's one of THOSE nights for you. :)
Christina: stroking my shaved pussy
Christina: so i can feel you get hard beneath me
Christina: i was thinking about you all the way home from the party i was at.
Panserbjorne: Oh, wow. :)
Panserbjorne: What happened at the party to get you worked up?
Christina: i just feel sexy tonight.
Christina: and a lot of guys staring at my tits
* Panserbjorne grins.
Christina: you're the one i want to bring home though.
* Panserbjorne blushes.
Christina: my C cups runneth over
* Panserbjorne grins.
Christina: nice and full
Christina: they desperately need to be fondled.
Panserbjorne: I would delight in doing so.
Christina: damn i want to fuck you.
Christina: i want to suck you nice and hard
Christina: and then slide right onto you
Panserbjorne: mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Christina: swivel my hips
Christina: and thrust up and down
Christina: while you kiss my breasts
Christina: your hands everywhere
Panserbjorne: *kiss kiss kiss*
Christina: fuck me, PB
Christina: seriously, you were all i could think about on the ride home
Christina: i'd have touched myself but it was pouring, and i needed both hands to drive.
Panserbjorne: man, I just can't say how nice that makes me feel :)
Christina: i bet i could make you feel nicer.
Christina: c'mon
Christina: i want to see if you're as good as you write. ;)
Panserbjorne: well
Christina: i want your cock.
* Panserbjorne shudders deliciously.
Christina: i'll make you shudder inside of me.
Christina: i want to ride you
Christina: nice and hard
Christina: grinding my pussy into you
Christina: i want your hands on my waist
Christina: helping to move me back and forth
Christina: until we both cum
Christina: i need your hands on my tits and my ass
Christina: your fingers buried in my cunt
Christina: i want my lips on your chest
Christina: my hands in your hair
Christina: my moans in your ears
Christina: satisfy me
Panserbjorne: You have no idea what that's doing to me, do you? :)
Christina: nope
Christina: you're not being very vocal...;)
Christina: fuck me
Panserbjorne: I SO wish I could.
Christina: i need you in me
Panserbjorne: I would rather be anywhere else than here right now.
Panserbjorne: in your bed, sliding in and out of you, feeling your skin slippery with sweat against mine, would be a perfect escape.
Christina: would you pound me?
Panserbjorne: That depends.
Panserbjorne: I would start slow and grinding
Christina: i need rough sex tonight, not lovemaking
Panserbjorne: until you were panting for more.
Christina: i need you to make me cum, PB.
Panserbjorne: oh, wait, that's different.
Panserbjorne: If you want it rough and hard, then I would give it to you rough and hard.
Christina: i'm hot
Panserbjorne: yank your jeans down
Panserbjorne: bend you over a chair
Christina: my pussy is dripping for you.
Panserbjorne: yank your top up (or down) so I could maul your tits
Christina: mm
Christina: but i'm only in my underwear now..
Panserbjorne: then I'd yank THAT down. :)
Christina: and my fingers are stroking my clit
Christina: while i think about you having your way w/ me
Christina: fuck me good and hard
Christina: i feel naughty tonight
Panserbjorne: oh, my, yes.
Panserbjorne: banging you against the wall
Panserbjorne: your hands spread to brace you
Christina: yes please
Panserbjorne: perhaps yanking on your hair or your shoulders to pull you against me
Christina: yes
Panserbjorne: fucking you so hard that your ass is sore the next day from my flesh slapping against yours
Christina: but not so sore that i wouldn't want you again
Panserbjorne: Oh, of course not. :)
Christina: it's raining out
Christina: i'd love to bang you and listen to the rain.
Christina: or we could fuck in the rain
Panserbjorne: or perhaps bang me out in the rain?
Panserbjorne: :)
Panserbjorne: twisted minds think alike. :)
Christina: you could bend me over my fire escape and nail me.
Christina: i need you to nail me, PB.
Christina: i want you so badly.
Panserbjorne: over your fire escape, hmm?
Christina: mm hmm
Panserbjorne: out on the fire escape, rain pouring down, you shrieking so loud your neighbors think it's a firebell and call the fire department. :)
Christina: or they start to fuck too.
Christina: i'm going to go think of you and masturbate.
Panserbjorne: oh, that would be nice, too. to be the catalyst.
Panserbjorne: mmmmmmmmmmmm
Christina: promise you'll try to come soon?
Panserbjorne: as soon as I can humanly manage. :)
Christina: good
Christina: i can't wait to cum on your cock.
Panserbjorne: (probably in the next half hour, since I'll have to run to the restroom to take the edge off here).
Christina: i meant come here, dirty boy
Panserbjorne: and yes, I know that's not exactly what you meant. :)
Christina: then i'll make you cum over and over.
Panserbjorne: and the response is the same. Heh.
Christina: hell's bells
Christina: i'd do you in the parking lot
Christina: skirt
Christina: no underwear
Christina: riding you in the passenger's seat
* Panserbjorne shivers deliciously again.
Christina: i want to hear about you masturbating later, ok?
Panserbjorne: Same goes for you.
Panserbjorne: I want to know what you did to yourself after signing off. :)
Christina: will do, lover
Panserbjorne: mmmmmmmmm
Christina: think of me fingering myself to orgasm while you finger the keyboard
She signed off and I stretched nonchalantly. "Back in a minute, got to use the restroom," I called to a coworker; he looked up briefly and nodded.
I was glad to find the bathroom empty. Talking with Christina had really gotten me worked up and there was an uncomfortable tent in my pants. I headed at an almost dead run into the stall, locked it behind me, and dropped my pants and underwear, taking myself in hand. It didn't take very long before I was panting hard, trying to listen for the bathroom door while stroking myself furiously. I was already so turned on that it was only about a minute before I was grunting and spewing come everywhere. White jets splattered all over the toilet, some on the floor, and one even hit the wall above the toilet. I spent several minutes cleaning up the mess (and myself), tucked myself back in, and returned to work.
Of course, when I got home I sent Christina a nice description of what it had been like when I came, and that started yet another interesting conversation, but that's a story for another time.....
[[A recent post from the enchanting Luna Mauvaise inspired this; she said that I should share a few of my own naughty-fun-at-work stories. This took place a few years ago when I was working the graveyard shift at a company and had little to do except monitor a bank of computer systems for failures. That led to some interesting IM conversations with this young lady, who I regrettably still have not met. The names have been changed and some of the convo has been cut, but otherwise this is word for word.]]
Christina: i'm wearing a blue satin silk top
Christina: and ass hugging jeans
Panserbjorne: I like the picture already.
Christina: the top is low cut and is a nice contrast w/ my white breasts
Christina: now picture me stroking your chest
Christina: and asking to wrap my legs around your waist
Christina: that's where i'm at right now
Christina: at least inside my head
Panserbjorne: mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Panserbjorne: I see that it's one of THOSE nights for you. :)
Christina: stroking my shaved pussy
Christina: so i can feel you get hard beneath me
Christina: i was thinking about you all the way home from the party i was at.
Panserbjorne: Oh, wow. :)
Panserbjorne: What happened at the party to get you worked up?
Christina: i just feel sexy tonight.
Christina: and a lot of guys staring at my tits
* Panserbjorne grins.
Christina: you're the one i want to bring home though.
* Panserbjorne blushes.
Christina: my C cups runneth over
* Panserbjorne grins.
Christina: nice and full
Christina: they desperately need to be fondled.
Panserbjorne: I would delight in doing so.
Christina: damn i want to fuck you.
Christina: i want to suck you nice and hard
Christina: and then slide right onto you
Panserbjorne: mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Christina: swivel my hips
Christina: and thrust up and down
Christina: while you kiss my breasts
Christina: your hands everywhere
Panserbjorne: *kiss kiss kiss*
Christina: fuck me, PB
Christina: seriously, you were all i could think about on the ride home
Christina: i'd have touched myself but it was pouring, and i needed both hands to drive.
Panserbjorne: man, I just can't say how nice that makes me feel :)
Christina: i bet i could make you feel nicer.
Christina: c'mon
Christina: i want to see if you're as good as you write. ;)
Panserbjorne: well
Christina: i want your cock.
* Panserbjorne shudders deliciously.
Christina: i'll make you shudder inside of me.
Christina: i want to ride you
Christina: nice and hard
Christina: grinding my pussy into you
Christina: i want your hands on my waist
Christina: helping to move me back and forth
Christina: until we both cum
Christina: i need your hands on my tits and my ass
Christina: your fingers buried in my cunt
Christina: i want my lips on your chest
Christina: my hands in your hair
Christina: my moans in your ears
Christina: satisfy me
Panserbjorne: You have no idea what that's doing to me, do you? :)
Christina: nope
Christina: you're not being very vocal...;)
Christina: fuck me
Panserbjorne: I SO wish I could.
Christina: i need you in me
Panserbjorne: I would rather be anywhere else than here right now.
Panserbjorne: in your bed, sliding in and out of you, feeling your skin slippery with sweat against mine, would be a perfect escape.
Christina: would you pound me?
Panserbjorne: That depends.
Panserbjorne: I would start slow and grinding
Christina: i need rough sex tonight, not lovemaking
Panserbjorne: until you were panting for more.
Christina: i need you to make me cum, PB.
Panserbjorne: oh, wait, that's different.
Panserbjorne: If you want it rough and hard, then I would give it to you rough and hard.
Christina: i'm hot
Panserbjorne: yank your jeans down
Panserbjorne: bend you over a chair
Christina: my pussy is dripping for you.
Panserbjorne: yank your top up (or down) so I could maul your tits
Christina: mm
Christina: but i'm only in my underwear now..
Panserbjorne: then I'd yank THAT down. :)
Christina: and my fingers are stroking my clit
Christina: while i think about you having your way w/ me
Christina: fuck me good and hard
Christina: i feel naughty tonight
Panserbjorne: oh, my, yes.
Panserbjorne: banging you against the wall
Panserbjorne: your hands spread to brace you
Christina: yes please
Panserbjorne: perhaps yanking on your hair or your shoulders to pull you against me
Christina: yes
Panserbjorne: fucking you so hard that your ass is sore the next day from my flesh slapping against yours
Christina: but not so sore that i wouldn't want you again
Panserbjorne: Oh, of course not. :)
Christina: it's raining out
Christina: i'd love to bang you and listen to the rain.
Christina: or we could fuck in the rain
Panserbjorne: or perhaps bang me out in the rain?
Panserbjorne: :)
Panserbjorne: twisted minds think alike. :)
Christina: you could bend me over my fire escape and nail me.
Christina: i need you to nail me, PB.
Christina: i want you so badly.
Panserbjorne: over your fire escape, hmm?
Christina: mm hmm
Panserbjorne: out on the fire escape, rain pouring down, you shrieking so loud your neighbors think it's a firebell and call the fire department. :)
Christina: or they start to fuck too.
Christina: i'm going to go think of you and masturbate.
Panserbjorne: oh, that would be nice, too. to be the catalyst.
Panserbjorne: mmmmmmmmmmmm
Christina: promise you'll try to come soon?
Panserbjorne: as soon as I can humanly manage. :)
Christina: good
Christina: i can't wait to cum on your cock.
Panserbjorne: (probably in the next half hour, since I'll have to run to the restroom to take the edge off here).
Christina: i meant come here, dirty boy
Panserbjorne: and yes, I know that's not exactly what you meant. :)
Christina: then i'll make you cum over and over.
Panserbjorne: and the response is the same. Heh.
Christina: hell's bells
Christina: i'd do you in the parking lot
Christina: skirt
Christina: no underwear
Christina: riding you in the passenger's seat
* Panserbjorne shivers deliciously again.
Christina: i want to hear about you masturbating later, ok?
Panserbjorne: Same goes for you.
Panserbjorne: I want to know what you did to yourself after signing off. :)
Christina: will do, lover
Panserbjorne: mmmmmmmmm
Christina: think of me fingering myself to orgasm while you finger the keyboard
She signed off and I stretched nonchalantly. "Back in a minute, got to use the restroom," I called to a coworker; he looked up briefly and nodded.
I was glad to find the bathroom empty. Talking with Christina had really gotten me worked up and there was an uncomfortable tent in my pants. I headed at an almost dead run into the stall, locked it behind me, and dropped my pants and underwear, taking myself in hand. It didn't take very long before I was panting hard, trying to listen for the bathroom door while stroking myself furiously. I was already so turned on that it was only about a minute before I was grunting and spewing come everywhere. White jets splattered all over the toilet, some on the floor, and one even hit the wall above the toilet. I spent several minutes cleaning up the mess (and myself), tucked myself back in, and returned to work.
Of course, when I got home I sent Christina a nice description of what it had been like when I came, and that started yet another interesting conversation, but that's a story for another time.....
[[A recent post from the enchanting Luna Mauvaise inspired this; she said that I should share a few of my own naughty-fun-at-work stories. This took place a few years ago when I was working the graveyard shift at a company and had little to do except monitor a bank of computer systems for failures. That led to some interesting IM conversations with this young lady, who I regrettably still have not met. The names have been changed and some of the convo has been cut, but otherwise this is word for word.]]
Monday, September 21, 2009
When I Think About You I Touch Myself
Ah, the joys of self-love. Masturbation's always there for you, when your partner's at work, or busy, or just not interested. Or, for that matter, when you don't have a partner to take your frustrations out on.
Over the years I've gotten very good at it, of course. Usually I wank myself with a loosely curled hand around my shaft, sliding the loose skin up and down, or just rubbing up and down more loosely for friction. Sometimes I'll use thumb and fingers to rub the head. I tend to speed up more as I get closer to coming, and sometimes I grip harder and more frantically too.
I've been experimenting lately with "minimal stimulation" masturbation, though. Instead of using my whole hand, I'm using just thumb and index finger, and very light, very short movements to stimulate myself. It's very interesting to feel the sensations sweeping over me as I get closer and closer to exploding. I get tingly all over and my cock's head swells, and I deliberately slow down still more and use an even lighter touch. Sometimes I even let go entirely and just use a gentle index finger pressing along the underside of my dick, rubbing up and down oh so gently.
The results have been very interesting indeed. When I start coming, my cock pulses several times and come drips and drools out everywhere for a second or two, THEN all of a sudden the hard blasts start firing and I jet several inches up in the air. Weirdly enough, sometimes it feels even more intense this way than it does when I'm relentlessly whacking myself while watching a hardcore porno.
I don't think I'll ever be able to manage a completely handsfree ejaculation, but there's something really cool about bringing yourself off with just a single finger and some brief light touches. Definitely a subject worthy of further study. In fact, I think I'll study some more right now. My dick's standing up and it seems to want some attention, so I guess I should give it some.....
-- PB
Over the years I've gotten very good at it, of course. Usually I wank myself with a loosely curled hand around my shaft, sliding the loose skin up and down, or just rubbing up and down more loosely for friction. Sometimes I'll use thumb and fingers to rub the head. I tend to speed up more as I get closer to coming, and sometimes I grip harder and more frantically too.
I've been experimenting lately with "minimal stimulation" masturbation, though. Instead of using my whole hand, I'm using just thumb and index finger, and very light, very short movements to stimulate myself. It's very interesting to feel the sensations sweeping over me as I get closer and closer to exploding. I get tingly all over and my cock's head swells, and I deliberately slow down still more and use an even lighter touch. Sometimes I even let go entirely and just use a gentle index finger pressing along the underside of my dick, rubbing up and down oh so gently.
The results have been very interesting indeed. When I start coming, my cock pulses several times and come drips and drools out everywhere for a second or two, THEN all of a sudden the hard blasts start firing and I jet several inches up in the air. Weirdly enough, sometimes it feels even more intense this way than it does when I'm relentlessly whacking myself while watching a hardcore porno.
I don't think I'll ever be able to manage a completely handsfree ejaculation, but there's something really cool about bringing yourself off with just a single finger and some brief light touches. Definitely a subject worthy of further study. In fact, I think I'll study some more right now. My dick's standing up and it seems to want some attention, so I guess I should give it some.....
-- PB
Monday, August 31, 2009
[fiction] Dance the Night Away, Part 2
[Part 1 can be found here.]
Without warning she pulled me to my feet. "I love to dance," she purred. "I love to move, love to twist and twine my body around. Love the way the music shoots through me. But you know, even more than that, I love to be watched. And you've been watching me all night, haven't you?"
Why lie? I nodded and grinned, still wiping bits of her wetness off my lips and chin.
"Thought so," she said. "Let's see what we can do about that......"
I reached for her but she shook her finger at me. "Ah-ah!" she tutted. "You can just watch for a bit."
And so I stood back and watched as she began to run her hands up and down her body. In a few seconds more she was slowly moving to the music again, the music which we could still hear pulsing through the door. Her lips parted and she ran her tonguetip along her lower lip, still twisting and swaying slowly while caressing herself. She sighed softly as one hand cupped and lifted a breast, pinching gently at the nipples, which I could see were hard as tiny pebbles. Her other hand was now between her legs, pressed hard against the same spot I'd been sucking and licking so industriously not so long ago.
She moaned louder and threw her head back, suddenly stopping her dance. She lurched for a second and I almost reached out to steady her but remembered her "hands off" admonition and stayed put. She rocked back and leaned against the counter, using it to support her as her hands kept busily working away. Breathing hard, she fumbled at the snap on her jeans and slid them down. My eyes went wide as I discovered why those jeans had been so wet: no underwear met my gaze, only smooth skin and a tiny landing strip above a pussy that was slick and shining with her nectar.
Her fingers slid lower and plunged in. "Ohhhhhhh," she moaned, and her mouth went tight as she began to fuck herself. Decorum was far out the window now; she was too far gone to worry about niceties such as buttons as she ripped hard at the V-neck of her shirt. The buttons flew off, plinking on the tile floor, and she yanked the shirt wide, her breasts spilling free. Her hands were now moving all over herself, from sopping pussy to her tits and back again, mauling and squeezing her bright red nipples and then darting back to her slit to finger herself furiously. Her eyes flashed open and she speared me with a lusty grin, her gaze sliding down my body to the ridge in my jeans. She licked her lips and nodded in its direction.
My mouth was watering and my cock was aching. I had my own jeans and underwear pulled down in seconds, my cock standing out like an exclamation point to emphasize the amazing show she was putting on. Soon I was stroking myself in time with her own strokes, both of us now gasping with lust and shivering with desire. I was moving slowly towards her but somehow stayed separate still, even though my cock was now just inches away from her soaked slit.
Still she fucked herself, and still I flogged myself. Something had to give soon, and it was her. A mewling cry burst from her lips, a primal squeal of ecstasy as she buried her fingers deep in her pussy. I heard her juices splattering on the floor in a perfect torrent. Her hips bucked hard against her hand and seconds later she came again, jerking backwards and forwards like a marionette with its strings cut. She fell to her knees; I let go of my cock to help her up, but thoughts of chivalry vanished when she grabbed my ass and devoured my cock in a single gulp. Suction like I'd never felt sent my brain into a whirl. Her lips and tongue seemed to be everywhere at once, and I roared my own primal roar as I blasted off down her throat. A slight gurgle from her was her only reaction as she kept milking me, her throat clenching hard around my still-spurting cock, her saliva drooling out and around the base of my shaft.
Finally she pulled back, her hair wild and her ruby red lips red no longer -- all her lipstick was painted all over my softening cock. She stood up in one smooth motion, breathing hard, and leaned back against the counter. "Mmmmmm," she moaned, grinning at me, and went right back to fingering herself! Again I reached for her, and again she stopped me, this time with a hand on my chest, her other hand still working busily in circles on her clit. "No," she panted, looking up at me, "just....I....oh, oh, ohh, ohhhhh, YESSSSSSS......" Her entire body tensed up and her eyes went wide as she went rigid all over for what seemed like an eon, then slowly, slowly relaxed.
Still panting, she bent over and pulled her jeans up, swifly knotting her shirt together below the curve of her tits. Her gaze swept over my body and a smile swept over her face, a very self-satisfied look, like a cat that's been into the cream. And without another word, she turned on her heel and strode for the door.
"Wait!" My voice, a ground-glass croak. It did stop her, but only for a moment. She tossed another grin at me over her shoulder, unbolted the door, and slipped through it like smoke, gone. By the time I yanked my own clothing into a semblance of order, got out of the bathroom, and had convinced Security not to throw me out on my ass, she was nowhere to be found.
I resolved to come back here the next time this band was playing.
********************
Hope you enjoyed this one!
-- PB
Without warning she pulled me to my feet. "I love to dance," she purred. "I love to move, love to twist and twine my body around. Love the way the music shoots through me. But you know, even more than that, I love to be watched. And you've been watching me all night, haven't you?"
Why lie? I nodded and grinned, still wiping bits of her wetness off my lips and chin.
"Thought so," she said. "Let's see what we can do about that......"
I reached for her but she shook her finger at me. "Ah-ah!" she tutted. "You can just watch for a bit."
And so I stood back and watched as she began to run her hands up and down her body. In a few seconds more she was slowly moving to the music again, the music which we could still hear pulsing through the door. Her lips parted and she ran her tonguetip along her lower lip, still twisting and swaying slowly while caressing herself. She sighed softly as one hand cupped and lifted a breast, pinching gently at the nipples, which I could see were hard as tiny pebbles. Her other hand was now between her legs, pressed hard against the same spot I'd been sucking and licking so industriously not so long ago.
She moaned louder and threw her head back, suddenly stopping her dance. She lurched for a second and I almost reached out to steady her but remembered her "hands off" admonition and stayed put. She rocked back and leaned against the counter, using it to support her as her hands kept busily working away. Breathing hard, she fumbled at the snap on her jeans and slid them down. My eyes went wide as I discovered why those jeans had been so wet: no underwear met my gaze, only smooth skin and a tiny landing strip above a pussy that was slick and shining with her nectar.
Her fingers slid lower and plunged in. "Ohhhhhhh," she moaned, and her mouth went tight as she began to fuck herself. Decorum was far out the window now; she was too far gone to worry about niceties such as buttons as she ripped hard at the V-neck of her shirt. The buttons flew off, plinking on the tile floor, and she yanked the shirt wide, her breasts spilling free. Her hands were now moving all over herself, from sopping pussy to her tits and back again, mauling and squeezing her bright red nipples and then darting back to her slit to finger herself furiously. Her eyes flashed open and she speared me with a lusty grin, her gaze sliding down my body to the ridge in my jeans. She licked her lips and nodded in its direction.
My mouth was watering and my cock was aching. I had my own jeans and underwear pulled down in seconds, my cock standing out like an exclamation point to emphasize the amazing show she was putting on. Soon I was stroking myself in time with her own strokes, both of us now gasping with lust and shivering with desire. I was moving slowly towards her but somehow stayed separate still, even though my cock was now just inches away from her soaked slit.
Still she fucked herself, and still I flogged myself. Something had to give soon, and it was her. A mewling cry burst from her lips, a primal squeal of ecstasy as she buried her fingers deep in her pussy. I heard her juices splattering on the floor in a perfect torrent. Her hips bucked hard against her hand and seconds later she came again, jerking backwards and forwards like a marionette with its strings cut. She fell to her knees; I let go of my cock to help her up, but thoughts of chivalry vanished when she grabbed my ass and devoured my cock in a single gulp. Suction like I'd never felt sent my brain into a whirl. Her lips and tongue seemed to be everywhere at once, and I roared my own primal roar as I blasted off down her throat. A slight gurgle from her was her only reaction as she kept milking me, her throat clenching hard around my still-spurting cock, her saliva drooling out and around the base of my shaft.
Finally she pulled back, her hair wild and her ruby red lips red no longer -- all her lipstick was painted all over my softening cock. She stood up in one smooth motion, breathing hard, and leaned back against the counter. "Mmmmmm," she moaned, grinning at me, and went right back to fingering herself! Again I reached for her, and again she stopped me, this time with a hand on my chest, her other hand still working busily in circles on her clit. "No," she panted, looking up at me, "just....I....oh, oh, ohh, ohhhhh, YESSSSSSS......" Her entire body tensed up and her eyes went wide as she went rigid all over for what seemed like an eon, then slowly, slowly relaxed.
Still panting, she bent over and pulled her jeans up, swifly knotting her shirt together below the curve of her tits. Her gaze swept over my body and a smile swept over her face, a very self-satisfied look, like a cat that's been into the cream. And without another word, she turned on her heel and strode for the door.
"Wait!" My voice, a ground-glass croak. It did stop her, but only for a moment. She tossed another grin at me over her shoulder, unbolted the door, and slipped through it like smoke, gone. By the time I yanked my own clothing into a semblance of order, got out of the bathroom, and had convinced Security not to throw me out on my ass, she was nowhere to be found.
I resolved to come back here the next time this band was playing.
********************
Hope you enjoyed this one!
-- PB
Saturday, August 29, 2009
[fiction] Dance the Night Away, Part 1
Rock concerts are really a crap place to meet people. Fortunate for me, then, that I don't go to meet people, but rather go to listen to the music. Last night, though, I met someone at a rock show, in about the most direct way you can meet them.
It was a show from one of my favorite blues guitarists. He and his band aren't much for small talk or patter in between songs -- they let the music do the talking. Their shows are always packed with people watching him and the boys pouring emotion and soul into their instruments, and women writhing like sirens on the dancefloor. I don't know what it is about this group that makes the ladies want to get up and act out their erotic dance fantasies, but as a lover of female beauty in all its forms, I always have trouble keeping my eyes on the band at these shows when there's such a wanton display of lust on the dancefloor.
Tonight was pretty much the same as usual for this group: dark, smoky club, people packed in around tables and chairs and bar, and the dancefloor full of men and women grinding against each other. I'd been watching one particular brunette all night, but she seemed off in her own world, eyes closed and weaving to the music, completely unselfconscious and completely unconscious of the effect she was having on all the males within fifty yards. I just shook my head in admiration, and turned my attention back to the band again.
A good, long set by a really good band doesn't just tire and dehydrate the band -- if they're doing their jobs, the watchers get tired and thirsty too. This would be why they play at bars, of course, and the owners love it when they're getting a nice influx from thirsty fans. Right now, I was one of those thirsty fans. Fighting my way through the mob to the bar, I managed to get a Scotch on the rocks and turned to head back to my spot near the edge of the club. Slithering sideways around a table, I backed to avoid somebody tipping back in his chair and felt a huge THUD as I ran squarely into someone else. The Scotch tumbler flew from my hand, arcing downward to splash directly into the jeans-clad crotch of the brunette I'd been watching all evening -- now off the dancefloor and standing right in front of me.
I was stunned for a moment, but she wasn't. Her mouth drew down into a line as she looked down at herself, and then shook her head, a half-grin now playing about her features. "You realize, of course, that you're going to have to make this right," she half-shouted, her voice cutting cleanly through the Delta blues rumble of the band.
"I'm so sorry," I shouted in return. "The guy over there" -- I half-motioned to the fellow who'd caused the mess, now leaning forward (of course) and talking animatedly to his friends -- "leaned back so fast I jumped to avoid him."
Her brows drew together. "What?" She motioned to her ear. "Can't hear a thing you're saying!"
I leaned forward, precisely at the wrong instant as she leaned forward as well. Our foreheads met with a white-hot CRACK and she staggered on her feet. Oh, this was going just wonderfully. Shaking my own head to clear it, I grabbed her by the shoulder to steady her and leaned in a bit closer into a very tantalizing aroma of womanly sweat and some indefinable perfume. "I was TRYING to say I was sorry," I yelled, "but it doesn't seem to be working very well, does it?"
She raised her head. Incredibly, she was still grinning. Stunning ice-blue eyes blinked up at me. "No," she allowed, "doesn't seem to be. You'd better come with me for a bit. Can't even hear ourselves talk here."
With that, she grabbed me by the wrist and began pulling me, quite sharply, towards the back of the club. Somehow she was able to eel her way through the mob with no problems at all, sliding through spots that closed seconds later, all of them bumping into me and giving me irritated looks. I tried to figure out where she was headed but...no, surely not. What possible reason could she have for...?
I barely had a chance to stammer out "Um, is this really a good....?" before she had pulled me into the women's bathroom behind her. Two blondes looked up from the sinks, startled. "Out," she said curtly, pointing at the door. One of the two opened her mouth as if to say something, but closed it swiftly as the brunette's eyes flashed imperiously. The two of them beat a hasty retreat and the brunette locked the door behind them seconds later.
"What...?" I managed, before her hands went round my neck and she pulled me to my knees in front of her. "Suck," she said. "That looked like good Scotch and it'd be a shame to let it go to waste."
Well, who was I to argue with that? So I opened my mouth and got to work, sucking spilled Scotch out of the crotch of a pair of jeans molded around a woman I'd only met a few seconds ago.
I could only taste a bit of the Scotch, truthfully. Within only a few seconds, though, I didn't care in the least about that, because it was very obvious that not all of the heat and wetness on these jeans was Scotch, or sweat. This woman was so turned on that she had soaked through her underwear AND her jeans as well. The Scotch was just the overlay. Even through the jeans, though, she tasted amazing: dusky, spicy, and oh so very womanly.
I sucked and licked at her crotch for several minutes, her hands moving restlessly through my hair. The seconds ticked past and she began to moan as I began to press my tongue harder against her crotch. "Mm, yes, that's good," she sighed as I put my arms round her thighs and began to massage her firm ass, still licking and biting at her crotch (which, it must be said, was getting rather wetter, not drier from my attentions).
Without warning she pulled me to my feet. "I love to dance," she purred. "I love to move, love to twist and twine my body around. Love the way the music shoots through me. But you know, even more than that, I love to be watched. And you've been watching me all night, haven't you?"
Why lie? I nodded and grinned, still wiping bits of her wetness off my lips and chin.
"Thought so," she said. "Let's see what we can do about that......"
****************
[Part Two can be found here.]
-- PB
It was a show from one of my favorite blues guitarists. He and his band aren't much for small talk or patter in between songs -- they let the music do the talking. Their shows are always packed with people watching him and the boys pouring emotion and soul into their instruments, and women writhing like sirens on the dancefloor. I don't know what it is about this group that makes the ladies want to get up and act out their erotic dance fantasies, but as a lover of female beauty in all its forms, I always have trouble keeping my eyes on the band at these shows when there's such a wanton display of lust on the dancefloor.
Tonight was pretty much the same as usual for this group: dark, smoky club, people packed in around tables and chairs and bar, and the dancefloor full of men and women grinding against each other. I'd been watching one particular brunette all night, but she seemed off in her own world, eyes closed and weaving to the music, completely unselfconscious and completely unconscious of the effect she was having on all the males within fifty yards. I just shook my head in admiration, and turned my attention back to the band again.
A good, long set by a really good band doesn't just tire and dehydrate the band -- if they're doing their jobs, the watchers get tired and thirsty too. This would be why they play at bars, of course, and the owners love it when they're getting a nice influx from thirsty fans. Right now, I was one of those thirsty fans. Fighting my way through the mob to the bar, I managed to get a Scotch on the rocks and turned to head back to my spot near the edge of the club. Slithering sideways around a table, I backed to avoid somebody tipping back in his chair and felt a huge THUD as I ran squarely into someone else. The Scotch tumbler flew from my hand, arcing downward to splash directly into the jeans-clad crotch of the brunette I'd been watching all evening -- now off the dancefloor and standing right in front of me.
I was stunned for a moment, but she wasn't. Her mouth drew down into a line as she looked down at herself, and then shook her head, a half-grin now playing about her features. "You realize, of course, that you're going to have to make this right," she half-shouted, her voice cutting cleanly through the Delta blues rumble of the band.
"I'm so sorry," I shouted in return. "The guy over there" -- I half-motioned to the fellow who'd caused the mess, now leaning forward (of course) and talking animatedly to his friends -- "leaned back so fast I jumped to avoid him."
Her brows drew together. "What?" She motioned to her ear. "Can't hear a thing you're saying!"
I leaned forward, precisely at the wrong instant as she leaned forward as well. Our foreheads met with a white-hot CRACK and she staggered on her feet. Oh, this was going just wonderfully. Shaking my own head to clear it, I grabbed her by the shoulder to steady her and leaned in a bit closer into a very tantalizing aroma of womanly sweat and some indefinable perfume. "I was TRYING to say I was sorry," I yelled, "but it doesn't seem to be working very well, does it?"
She raised her head. Incredibly, she was still grinning. Stunning ice-blue eyes blinked up at me. "No," she allowed, "doesn't seem to be. You'd better come with me for a bit. Can't even hear ourselves talk here."
With that, she grabbed me by the wrist and began pulling me, quite sharply, towards the back of the club. Somehow she was able to eel her way through the mob with no problems at all, sliding through spots that closed seconds later, all of them bumping into me and giving me irritated looks. I tried to figure out where she was headed but...no, surely not. What possible reason could she have for...?
I barely had a chance to stammer out "Um, is this really a good....?" before she had pulled me into the women's bathroom behind her. Two blondes looked up from the sinks, startled. "Out," she said curtly, pointing at the door. One of the two opened her mouth as if to say something, but closed it swiftly as the brunette's eyes flashed imperiously. The two of them beat a hasty retreat and the brunette locked the door behind them seconds later.
"What...?" I managed, before her hands went round my neck and she pulled me to my knees in front of her. "Suck," she said. "That looked like good Scotch and it'd be a shame to let it go to waste."
Well, who was I to argue with that? So I opened my mouth and got to work, sucking spilled Scotch out of the crotch of a pair of jeans molded around a woman I'd only met a few seconds ago.
I could only taste a bit of the Scotch, truthfully. Within only a few seconds, though, I didn't care in the least about that, because it was very obvious that not all of the heat and wetness on these jeans was Scotch, or sweat. This woman was so turned on that she had soaked through her underwear AND her jeans as well. The Scotch was just the overlay. Even through the jeans, though, she tasted amazing: dusky, spicy, and oh so very womanly.
I sucked and licked at her crotch for several minutes, her hands moving restlessly through my hair. The seconds ticked past and she began to moan as I began to press my tongue harder against her crotch. "Mm, yes, that's good," she sighed as I put my arms round her thighs and began to massage her firm ass, still licking and biting at her crotch (which, it must be said, was getting rather wetter, not drier from my attentions).
Without warning she pulled me to my feet. "I love to dance," she purred. "I love to move, love to twist and twine my body around. Love the way the music shoots through me. But you know, even more than that, I love to be watched. And you've been watching me all night, haven't you?"
Why lie? I nodded and grinned, still wiping bits of her wetness off my lips and chin.
"Thought so," she said. "Let's see what we can do about that......"
****************
[Part Two can be found here.]
-- PB
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