Brace Yourself

Want

I want to lock eyes with you across a crowded room, our connection a palpable thing, desire like an electrical current between us.
I want to feel your hand find my own as we walk down the street, or on the beach, or as we sit beside one another, waiting, enjoying the other’s presence.
I want to feel your lips against mine, soft yet firm, teeth solid behind them, then hearing that soft moan deep in your throat as they part and your tongue reaches for me.
I want to taste the salt of your skin, your throat, the soft area behind your ear, your belly, your thigh, the back of your knee. I want to feel your skin grow taut beneath my lips, feel your nipple pucker as my tongue circles and flicks it, your hands entwining my hair in their fingers, pressing my mouth hard against your breast, demanding that I suckle you deeper.
I want to feel your palm on my belly, the elastic of my briefs stretching to accommodate your intrusion, the cool skin of your hand touching, circling, gripping my hot, insistent member.
I want to feel the lace of your panties, the heat of your sex radiating from you, the soft flesh of your inner thighs, the slickness of your willing pussy. I want to feel you stretch around my fingers, tight and strong, opening and then drawing me into you.
I want to see your eyes glaze with lust, your skin flush with desire, your teeth grip your lower lip with barely restrained need.
I want to look down and see my cock in your fist, gripped hard, veins distended and fully engorged as you pump me.
I want to taste you, your essence, musky and strong, salty and sweet, my tongue drinking you in between its assault on your stiffening clit, circling it, drawing it out, coaxing an orgasm from deep in your belly, until it explodes from your throat, a raw, primal scream, as your thighs clamp around my head, one hand gripping my hair, the other beating wildly on the bed beside you as the moment stretches out.
I want to watch you swallow me, see the length of me disappear between your lips, feel your tongue on the underside of my shaft, feel your fingers gently fondle my balls, a finger teasing my asshole, the head of my aching cock pressing deep, into your throat as you take as much of me as you can.
I want to pound into you, our flesh slapping loudly as I drive every inch of myself in, deep and hard, your breast in one hand, the other gripping a hip to help with my thrusting.
I want to watch your face as you ride me, the changing expressions as the sensation grows almost too good to bear, my hands playing with your swinging breasts, then gripping your waist as I grind you down onto me.
I want to bend you over and watch my cock slide into you, amazed at how we fit together, slapping your ass and moistening your asshole with my own finger.
I want to watch your thighs quiver, feel you open wider with the approach of your orgasm, your fingers digging deeply into my shoulders, your breathing turning ragged, then to a moan and a scream, watching your ride that wave, seeing you lose yourself completely, on and on, until you flutter back to earth, finding your body once again, only to feel the sensation begin once more.
I want to kiss you hard, telling you how good you feel, that I can’t take it any more, crying out as I spasm inside you, emptying myself completely within you, until I am spent, falling onto you, looking into your beautiful eyes, smiling and laughing. Waiting for my cock to harden once again so that our fun can continue.
I want you.

Contact

I have waited so long, it seems, for this moment. Our initial flirting segued into chatting, then video chat, then phone calls, each interaction becoming more and more intimate, our trust and connection growing, deepening, becoming something that neither of us ever expected. Becoming something real. I have seen into the darkest recesses of your mind, the broken parts of your psyche, the fears, the desires, the core of you. I have seen every inch of your body, watched you blush, seen you bite your lip to keep from crying out, been mesmerized by the involuntary quivering and trembling of your thighs during and after a powerful orgasm. I have loosed massive jets of my seed, pumping it desperately onto a screen filled with your spread, wet cunt, fingers brutalizing your stiff clitoris while your scream in your own ecstasy. I have dreamed of you, of taking you in every way imaginable, of having my fill of you, using you until I am utterly spent, exploring and tasting and fucking that amazing body and having you do the same to my own. I have imagined our post-coital intertwine net, legs casually draped over one another, bodies sweaty and sticky, the remnants of our lust staining the sheets and our skin. I have imagined all of this and more, time after time after time, and begged whatever power that controls the universe to grant me the opportunity to experience you, to live my fantasies with you, if only for a night.

My cock begins to harden as I spot you at the airline gate…

Thursday night

She heard the key and the release of the front lock, then the light creak that the hinges made when the door started to open. She hit the home button on her phone and slipped it quickly and silently into the night stand drawer. She heard him strolling toward their bedroom from the kitchen as she burrowed into the pillow and closed her eyes.

She felt his eyes on her on the darkness. Thank God it was after 11. She could pretend to be asleep.

“Becca?” His voice was soft, reaching for her across the blackness. She did not respond, didn’t move, kept her breathing slow and steady and deep. She felt him looking at her for several long seconds, and then he sighed. The bathroom door latched, and a moment later light pierced the cracks at the top and bottom of where it met the jamb.

She hoped that her tear-soaked pillow would dry before morning.

Wax on, wax off

I dated a woman for a while a few years ago. She appreciated the fact that I tend to my man parts, but every time she saw me shaving by balls or around the base of my cock, she said the same thing:

“You should wax. It grows back so much more slowly, so you don’t have to do it as often, and the hair actually becomes softer and lessens over time. Eventually, you won’t have to do it at all.”

I thanked her and told her that I really wasn’t interested, that I was fine with shaving, but she persisted. She was a big fan of waxing, as you can probably tell. Anyway, one day she finally said that she wanted to wax me. I gently objected, saying that if I was going to do it, I wanted to go to a professional, but she scoffed. She had all of the materials, and she was every bit as good at it as someone in a salon. Like a fool, I agreed.

She lay me down, naked, on the island in her kitchen (the light was better there than in the bedroom). She heated the wax, took the tongue depressor thing and spread it onto my balls. It felt warm, nice, sort of sexy. I felt my cock begin to harden as I imagined the insane fuck session that we would have as soon as this exercise was over. I felt a thin strip of cloth press against my scrotum, and she pressed it firmly onto the soft skin, She then pulled my ball sac tight, grabbed the end of the cloth strip, and pulled.

I have never felt anything like that pain. The cloth came partway off, and then the elasticity of my ball sac skin took over and stretched, losing the momentum of the initial, quick tug. She moved me about 4 inches with the remainder of the pull, then quickly regrouped and pulled harder, just as I was starting my scream of pain. It caught in my throat as a fresh, more extreme bolt of pain tore through my nuts.

“Oh, god, baby, please. Stop. Ow. Oh, Ow, it hurts a lot.”

“Don’t be a baby.”

Rrrrrrrrrrrip! She got it off this time, and I curled into the fetal position.She was oblivious to my agony.

“Come on, let’s do the next section. Come on, it doesn’t hurt that bad!”

For some unknown reason, I relented. I tolerated some 30 minutes of her applying and then ripping the wax off of my ball sac. I can not tell you how many times the cloth didn’t come clean off when she pulled it (that was the worst). She did only my balls and below my cock. I drew the line at the base of my dick. I was scared that she might tear it off at the roots. I’m not kidding.

When she was done, she took a long look at her work, and her brow furrowed.

“We better just put some pressure on that to stop the oozing.”

She was talking about blood. Blood oozing from literally every square inch of my scrotum. Aloe did no good. Ice did no good. Nothing did any good. The pain was unimaginable. After a few hours, the ache went away and only the sting remained. Like a brutal rug burn on my nuts.

Needless to say, we had no sex that night. The next day, my entire scrotum was covered in scab. So I walked around with a giant, painful scab under my cock for a couple of weeks.

That was my last waxing experience. Oh, She asked to try again a few months later. She said she had figured out what had gone wrong.  So had I.

I had allowed her to wax my fucking nuts.

Hike

I finally finished it. If anyone wants to read it…

Sunday Morning Over Coffee

“I want you to tie me up,” she said, “And spank me.”

The Sunday paper shuddered in his hands. He had dreamed of this moment.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I want this. I want you to.”

“We can take it easy, you know, work up to it.”

“No. I want you to dominate me. I want to be your whore. I want you to pull my hair when you fuck me, take me hard and deep. I want you to spank my ass until I cry out and come on your fingers…I want you to punish me.”

“…You do?”

“Oh, god, yes. I do.”

The paper fell to the floor. He walked to her, towering over her slender body.

“Oh, I will punish you. You can be sure of that. But first. First. Kneel down in front of me. Now.” His voice was low and strong. Commanding. She grew instantly wet.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes…sir.”

“That’s better…whore.”

She trembled with delight and anticipation of what was to come.

A note to my beloved readers

First, I so appreciate you guys reading my stuff. You have no idea how scary it can be to put something so risky out there and have people give positive feedback (not that I would want anyone to be anything but honest, mind you). In any event, thank you.

Second, and more importantly, Dinner Party is going to play out in serial form. Several blog entries. I almost started from scratch with the initial meeting with Bob-Bill-Brian at the gym, so that I could flesready the Jenny character more. I figured instead that I would do it during the course of the dinner itself, which will be the second blog entry, and possibly the third, depending on how it evolves. I truly have no idea where this story is going to take me, other than that it will wind up with Jenny and Eduardo fucking each other’s brains out. So we will get there, fine readers, te prometo. I only ask that you indulge me, let me write the story, and have a bit of patience with this one. I like Jenny an awful lot, and I want her to have something good to live in, story-wise.

Yes, this is how I view my characters. Some of them, anyway.

Thanks again. Love to you all.

Dinner Party

She sat beside her date, trying not to look as bored as she felt. How did she let herself get talked in to coming to this thing? I mean, she had absolutely nothing in common with these people, these country club dwelling middle-aged Republicans. Wives all catty and gossipy, husbands talking about golf (and, she imagined, about the pieces of tail that they had on the side when they were away from the women). At least the wine was good.

She looked at her almost-empty glass. Was that three already? Damn, she just was not a drinker. it was almost time to sit down for dinner (the hostess proclaiming that they would be seated promptly at 8:30 for the vichyssoise almost made her laugh out loud - like that cow could even spell it, let alone prepare it). Yep, that did it, she was getting drunk. She had to find something to soak up that last glass of wine before she started slurring.

She excused herself (her date hardly even acknowledged her, sucking up to the host as he was - probably his boss - what was his name again? Ben? Bill? Shit. She had met him at the gym, he seemed ok, decent body, all of his hair, but man, did he turn out to be a cardboard cutout) and went looking for some bread or something. Sustenance! Suuuustenance! She stifled a giggle and turned the corner, almost bumping into someone coming the other way.

She froze, stunned by the intense brown eyes that met her own. They were framed in a face straight out of a magazine. Well, maybe a South American magazine. But those eyes. Her knees actually felt weak when she looked into them. It was like he was seeing straight into her soul, into the deepest parts of her. He smiled, even white teeth surrounded by full lips. She felt it in a different place, then, as there was fire, lust, passion in that smile. In those eyes.

“Oh, miss, I am so sorry to have almost knocked you down. I was just going to check on the table settings. I hope that I did not scare you.” His voice was like kahlua, thick and dark and sweet, with a subtle yet incredibly sexy accent. She momentarily lost herself in it, and in his eyes. Shaking her head, she tried to play it off. “No, I’m fine, thank you. I’m just looking for someone who is handling the food preparation.”

“Why, is something wrong? Because I can-“

“No,” she replied, “Nothing like that. I’m just looking for something to nibble on before dinner. The wine isn’t sitting well.” Good one!

She met his eyes again. He smiled at her, wider this time, and she saw a spark of humor. She hadn’t fooled him.

“I can help you with that. What would you like? We have plenty of things to choose from. Are you wanting a snack, or something larger? I warn you, however, not to spoil your appetite, because the dinner will be both plentiful and quite good.”

“Oh, you’re sure of this, eh?”

“Of course. I cooked it myself.” He took her hand and led her toward the kitchen. his fingers were rough, calloused at the tips, but the skin lower was so soft, so smooth, so warm. He had amazing hands. She imagined his fingers touching her for a moment, slowly and gently…

“Here we are. What would you like, Miss…”

“Jenny. No need for the Miss. Just Jenny is fine.”

“All right, then, Jenny it is. I am Eduardo.”

“Mucho gusto, Eduardo.”

“Espanol? Que bueno!” He spoke Spanish with a slight lisp. She hazarded a guess.

“Are you from Spain?”

“Si. Granada. Ah, you caught it from my Castiliano, eh? You are clever, Jenny.” She loved the way his name sounded on his lips. His beautiful lips. He turned to grab something on the counter, and she noted his lovely little ass. Mmmm. Tight. Hard. Wow. Some hunk of man this guy was. he turned and caught her staring. His smile was full this time.

“I was getting you some bread, but if you would prefer some buns instead?”

She flushed fully, from the roots of her hair to the bottoms of her feet. Oh, my God. How mortifying. How-

She looked into his eyes and saw only amusement. And, behind that, the intensity. He strode to her and looked down into her face. “Perhaps there is some other way to satisfy your hunger, Jenny?” His voice was low, soft, almost hypnotic, his skin so fucking smooth. Not even a pore visible! Unbelievable. 

“Well, that sounds quite tempting, but I am here with someone, and dinner is about to start, and I’m sure that there are other people working in here, right? So, While your offer is more than kind, Eduardo, I-“

He kissed her. Out of the blue. His lips were so soft on hers, the pressure of his teeth light, and then her lips parted and she felt his tongue, nimble and playful, caress her own. She moaned a bit, deep in her throat, and her arms snaked around him, hands moving up his back, fingers tangling in his thick, wavy hair, pulling his mouth harder against her own. His hands pressed into the small of her back, and she let her pelvis fit against him. She felt him excited against her belly. She ground herself against him, feeling the lust flowing through him, out of him, feeling her own build, her pussy growing heavy and wet. She pulled away and looked up at him.

“Too bad we don’t have the time or the place to take this further, Eduardo. I have a feeling that you would be quite the E-ticket ride.”

Head spinning, she turned and walked down the hall, back to the dinner party and Ben. Bill. Shit. Brian. That’s it.

Sigh…

Tried to get one finished before I left the office

but I couldn’t. Apologies. I do try to make these more than just sex stories. Aside from the car story. That was just sex. A quickie, if you will. However, because I feel that I should never leave my followers without, I will write you a poem:

Lying in the sun,

Golden rays bathing soft skin

Warming her to the core.

Fingers lightly trace along

Raising puckered skin

Causing involuntary shivers

Meandering across belly, over ribs

Under lonely breasts

Circling nipples that long for attention

Drawing them out of their slumber

Into that excited, sensitive state

That seemed so long-ago forgotten.

Thighs part

Soft, wet lips make their way up taut skin

Quivering with anticipation

Of their arrival, their final meeting

With the secret part of her

Most in need of attention.

She cries out in relief

As his tongue finally covers her.