Little Liar, Guest Post by Rebekah Weatherspoon

I need routine. It grounds me, keeps me sane, keeps me from going off on the teenagers I work in my other life. So I’ll tell you about my day, how things go when I’m with Daddy.

11:07am

Hours before, Daddy pulled me out of my bed, the cedar box at the foot of her CalKing. It’s comfy and cozy, the refreshing rich wood lined with a soft mattress and linens and pillows. There are plenty of holes that let me breathe just fine. I was afraid of my bed at first, but I like it now. It gives me a place to get away. It gives me a quiet dark place to think about Daddy. She always lets me sleep in. Her day starts early and we both know how cranky I am before ten a.m., but every morning she opens my box and helps me half asleep under the soft sheets where she spends the night. Sometimes I wake up a bit, sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I remember the way Daddy touches me before she slips out the door.

Like this morning, I don’t want to wake up. I’m wrapped around my teddy bear, cozy in my bed. Daddy had me up late the night before fucking in the backyard so I went to sleep all worn out. Still when she opens the lid, it’s like my pussy isn’t done with her. Like we left some unfinished business in the grass by the pool. My body wakes up even though my mind doesn’t and I wiggle my way onto her comforter. She says something to me like “Good morning”, or “Good girl”. There’s a “good” in their somewhere as I flop against the pillow.

She touches me all over. My shoulder, my tummy, my breasts. I like it and I don’t tell her to stop. So when she rubs my pussy I might be sleeping, but I squirm a little and a little more until her fingers are inside me. Daddy has to leave. Gym, shower, juice bar, contracts, meeting, meeting, but she wants me as much I want her, so she fingers my pussy, letting me mumble away in my half sleep as I ride her hand until I come. That orgasm puts me right back to sleep. Or maybe I know Daddy is just teasing and doesn’t really want me to wake up because when I start talking that early in the morning, my mouth is smart and Daddy doesn’t have time to punish me.

But at little after 11:06 I do wake up. It’s the drone of the lawnmower, the rhythmic hum that blends into my dreams and makes me think I should do something weird like fly a helicopter. I take my time getting up, but when I do it’s into Daddy’s massive shower. Daddy takes care of my grooming so I just have to get myself nice and clean before I eat a healthy breakfast. I watch my figure, but I know how to balance waffles with fruit exercise and Daddy has the fanciest waffle maker. I have waffles and fruit and then three hours of daytime TV.

I don’t have any chores except cooking dinner, but Daddy has S, her housekeeper and the gardner, George. S stocked the fridge with everything I needed for the day including the chicken I’ll make for Daddy tonight, so I can watch all the junk TV I want while Daddy’s away.

2:00pm

I hit the pool. The hedges behind Daddy’s are high, but there’s a woman next door. She works from home and there’s this little spot where the trees part and she can see right into Daddy’s yard. When she works from home, most days she watches me. Like today she watches me as I work on my tan lines and play with my pussy. I told Daddy that the woman watches me. Daddy doesn’t mind. She might even invite her over sometime so she can get a load of me up close. We’ll both tease her, Daddy says, but it hasn’t happened. yet. I send a few texts. My friends are at work. They don’t get summers off. I get a few messages back, but soon I doze.

4:30pm

There’s chicken to bake and potatoes to prepare. I blast my music as loud as I want. S stops by for a bit after she’s spent the morning with her sick mum. She checks the mail and the gardener’s work, does some dusting, and makes Daddy’s bed. But the house is usually so clean so she doesn’t have to stay too long. She finds me as I’m dicing carrots. S checks my pussy just to make sure I’m wet. My nipples too for good measure.

She tells me to watch the chicken and not too dry it out. She tells me to turn down the music just in case Daddy calls. I need to hear the phone. And she tell me to put my toys back in my box before Daddy comes home. And I get a lecture about sunscreen. She likes my tan lines almost as much as Daddy doesn’t, but cancer isn’t cute and she doesn’t want me to get a sunburn.

S doesn’t want to play. She has her own fun with her own pets, but she’s a dirty old lady so she she checks me one more time, her hand gripping my pussy hard until my juices make a little squeaking noise as they slip between her fingers. I tell her she’s dirty and I don’t like it. I tell her to stop, but she knows I don’t mean it by the way I hold still. I like being teased this way. A slap on the ass and she’s gone.

6:30pm
I sneak a glass of wine. I hope Daddy doesn’t find out.

6:45pm

A text from Daddy. She’ll be home at her regular time. Dinner’s done and left to warm so I cover myself in this almond scented oil that Daddy loves and pull on these thigh high athletic socks with pink stripes that Daddy is obsessed with. Then I climb back in my box for a bit to wait for Daddy.

7:15pm

I’m playing games on my phone in the dark, but I hear Daddy. She doesn’t announce herself, I can hear her making her way to the bedroom. The front door shuts. Keys on the counter. I can’t hear her put down her bag, but I know she leaves in the kitchen right next to the counter. She’s checking to see if dinner is ready. Daddy likes to know before hand where or not she needs to punish me. But dinner is ready and I’ve been a good girl. Daddy opens my box. She’s adjusted the light in the bedroom so I can look at her gorgeous face without having to squint.

Still so handsome. Gray hair, almost pure white styled back away from her face. Brown eyes and full lips. Her dress shirt sleeves are already rolled up. I love her arms. I love her muscles.

“Hi,” she says.

I hide my face against my teddy before I look at her again. “Hi Daddy.”

“Were you a good girl today?”

I nod. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. Pick out a toy and let’s have dinner.” Daddy’s so strong she reaches down and helps me out of my box. We walk over to her toy chest, where we keep all our straps and dildos and paddles and whips and the gags I asked so nicely for.

I look at the dildos laid out all nice and clean. I like to get them dirty for S and tease her when she has to clean them. I joke that she licks them when I’m not looking. Daddy laughs and tell me to cut it out.

“I want you to pick, Daddy,” I say before I shove my thumb in my mouth.

“You do, do you? Let’s go with Big Blue then.” Blue is the widest toy we have. I like to choke on it, and make my pussy hurt. Daddy grabs it for me and we go to the dining room. I get on the table while Daddy makes herself a plate and gets herself a drink. I get on the table and Daddy sits down with her food between my legs. When she takes the first bite that’s when I start. I sit up on my knees and suck the big blue cock in my hands. I suck it deep, push it down my throat until I gag. I pull it out and let saliva dribble down my chin. Daddy doesn’t like it when I swallow.

I do it again, drooling all over my chest. I use the big blue tip to spread my spit around my nipples. Daddy likes that.

“Is your cunt hungry, baby?” Daddy asks.

I nod. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Then you should feed it.”

I stay on my knees, but slide Big Blue between my legs. I sit it on. Daddy likes the way I whimper. It hurts so much, but I’m so wet and it feels so good.

“Make it feel better,” I tell Daddy.

“Not while I’m eating, baby. You have to make yourself feel good.”

I bounce up and down, taking the ache, grateful the table’s so study. Daddy scoops up her wine before it spills over.

I’m close to coming, but I want to give Daddy the show she deserves. I slide to my ass and open my legs real wide. Daddy sits back and takes another sip. I’m going to be sore in the morning, but I don’t care. I fuck myself with Big Blue, harder and harder, until my cum dribbles all over the table and squirts on Daddy’s plate. I’m not done so I do it again and again. I know how Daddy likes it so I don’t make her wait too long before I crawl back to my knees and lick up the mess that I’ve made.

Daddy’s pleased, but there’s a look on her face. “Did you get into the wine?”

Daddy knows I’m a liar so I don’t tell the truth, I just keep licking at the slick table top. “No, Daddy. I don’t like wine.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, Daddy. It’s yucky.”

“You sure about that? Come here baby.”

I move off the table as Daddy pushes back her chair and then I straddle her lap. She doesn’t pack to work, but some time while she was making her play she put on a strap and cock. I slide myself along the ridges in her slacks. But Daddy shakes her head.

“No, baby. You lied to me.”

“I swear, Daddy. I didn’t.”

She tips her glass and pours a few dribbles of the cool white wine over my nipples and then she cleans me up with her mouth. I whimper and moan and grind myself along the hidden ridges between my legs. “Only good girls get Daddy’s cock,” she whispers in my ear.

I pull back and drive myself against her lap even harder as I look her in the eye. “What do bad girls get, Daddy?”

“You’ll have to wait and see.”


Featured image from Crash Pad Series Episode #176, Indigo Bleu and Viceroy.

Review: Aneros Evi G-Spot Massager

Maybe it’s silly, and it’s probably 99% an issue of marketing and what the majority of the population knows, but every time I see a product that advertises that it’s “for the g-spot,” I think, “Really? Do we really have to have this magic “spot” on bodies that is named after a male doctor who “discovered” it?”

I resent that women’s bodies have been claimed.

The “g-spot” is a word and concept that symbolizes the “discovery” of and ownership over parts of women’s bodies, and it is a big ol’ pet peeve of mine.

Of course, there’s constant debate in the scientific health communities about whether the “g-spot” really exists at all—just like how there’s sometimes “official” debate about whether or not someone with a g-spot can ejaculate. Um hello? That just seems … ignorant. Based solely on my completely unofficial poll of my however-many lovers in the last fifteen years, ejaculation can happen and clearly there is some sort of area in the g-spot region that, for some people, when stimulated, is quite pleasurable and can result in either ejaculation or orgasm or both. Of course, for others, there is no pleasure (or sometimes discomfort or pain).

What does that tell me? Well, that our bodies are different.

The New View of a Woman’s Body calls that area the “urethral sponge” and I like that better, though it’s way less of a sexy phrase. Dentifrice vs toothpaste. It’s argued that the g-spot exists somewhere within the urethral sponge, so I suppose they are somewhat different things.

Anatomy is not my specialty, though I am fascinated by our genital parts and what they do. Even more than that, perhaps, I am fascinated by the social and political decisions made surrounding bodies, particularly marginalized bodies (people of color, trans and intersex and “other” genders, women).

So now that you’re Public Service Announcement about my annoyance about the concept of the g-spot is out of the way, let’s move on: This is a review of the Aneros Evi, a somewhat new (as it came out in 2013) g-spot massager toy.

evi2The Aneros company is best known for its neat-shaped prostate toys, which I, not having a prostate, have often admired, though not had much excitement when trying. It seems not all that different than a butt plug, to my non-prostate-having butt. Still, the products are well designed, and that is always a turn-on for me.

So when the Evi was released, which is specifically for g-spot stimulation, I was eager to try it. I like toys that stimulate the g-spot, generally, and lately more and more I have wanted something inside, in that spot, while I’m getting off.

And as a bonus, Evi’s little foot (or, the engine of the starship Enterprise, if you are thinking what I’m thinking) is supposed to give the wearer some added clitoral stimulation too.

evi

The stimulation is supposed to happen purely when squeezing. The kegel exercises (hey look! Here’s another man, Arthur Kegel, who has named a (genital) place on my body after himself) combined with this toy is supposed to simply be enough for this toy to massage my g-spot.

And, does it?

Well … it doesn’t suck. I wouldn’t don’t kick Evi out of bed. But it’s not any sort of mind-blowing stimulation. I think for my particular body, the Evi isn’t quite the right shape. It’s too small, the foot is not long enough to reach my clit, it doesn’t stimulate my g-spot/urethral sponge enough, or the way I’d like it to.

Still, it’s a great toy to have at arm’s reach in my arsenal. I bet it’s going to be great for a little extra added front hole stimulation while doing some ass fucking. I hear it’s a pretty decent butt plug, and I suspect it’d also be comfortable to wear out in public. So I still have some ideas about and things to experiment with my new Evi friend.

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Aneros Evi was sent to me by Good Vibrations to review, but this review consists completely of my own opinions and ideas and is not influenced by anyone else (except maybe rife). Pick up your own Evi at goodvibes.com, & see more of my very favorite recommended sex toys at Good Vibrations here.

“Pick a hole. You know what happens next.”

Content warning: This story contains Daddy/boy play, lots of ownership/possession, force, and some humiliation. Everything depicted is between consenting adults, intentional, and previously negotiated to be well known that this is what we want to play with. The whole thing is based on an actual morning text message exchange with rife, and edited to make it more of a story.

I wake him slow in the morning. Light comes in easy through the blinds, gold on his skin and the bed. Our limbs are tangled as they often are while we sleep together. He is in small little boy briefs and nothing else, which is what I prefer he wears while he sleeps, and one of our rules is to respect my preferences and execute them to the best of his ability. (The flip side of that is that it is my responsibility to suss out my preferences, and to make them clear and known. It’s quite vulnerable, and transparent, more than I am used to being. And good practice.)

He shifts as I wake, getting out of bed to pee, drink water, and put my dick on. When I come back, he curls into my armpit and shoulder, snuggles his cute little boy butt up against me, pulls my arms around him tighter and sighs. Still drowsy and not really waking yet. He could cuddle for hours.

I let my mind wander to what I’ll do to him, getting hard. He is soft and warm against me. I slip the tip of my finger into his mouth and he suckles in his sleep. Sucking and then drifting into sleep slowly, pausing, then sucking again.

“Good morning, little boy. it’s not time to get up for school yet, but Daddy wants that ass of yours just for a little while. You’ve been wriggling against me all night.”

“Ohhh. Daddy …”

“I like the way all my soft warm skin feels. When I wrap around you all night and you writhe and press, you get me so hard. Feel that, little faggot? You get Daddy hard. Pick a hole, little one. You know what happens next.”

Like a Faggot

Warning: This story contains lots of elements of BDSM, including swearing, consensual violence, face punching, forceful cock sucking, punching, and ass fucking. The first scene (before the cut) is mostly orgasms and ass fucking, and the second scene (if you click through) is a heavy punching scene with a forceful blow job.

This scene occurred at IMsL in April 2012.

I started slowly. He was stripped and bent over the rickety—there’s no other word to describe it—massage table with metal legs and no cross-bars, as far as I could tell. I was packing my medium-sized dick and planned to plug his ass before I fucked him.

This was warm-up.

But when I got his clit nice and hard, when his hole was dripping, when I lubed up my fingers and went for his asshole, he was open and easy, eagerly swallowing down one then two then three fingers, and I knew I could actually fuck his ass, and that I wouldn’t have to start with the butt plug.

He’d never had his ass fucked. Six months of dating this little faggot and he had just revealed that little tidbit. It’s one of my favorite things anyway—that his ass was virgin was a bonus.

I growled at his ear, “Stay there,” and went for a condom. His arms were gathered under his chest almost as if hugging himself, a sweet position that made me want to plow him even more. Rubber tight rolled down and more lube and my cock head pushed open his asshole, slid inside with only a little force.

He moaned into his hand, fingers against his teeth as if I wouldn’t notice how he wanted something in his mouth. His knees buckled. Thighs quivered and tightened. I held him by the scruff of his neck, soothed in his ear, his back against my chest: “Shh, little faggot. It’ll only hurt for a minute. Relax your ass. Come on, give it to me.” He let up a little, I could feel the tension ease off my dick. “Good. Open up for me. C’mon, take it like the faggot you are, I know you like it.”

I slid in a little farther and he whimpered, gasped, sighed as I pulled out and began thrusting. I reached around for his clit and flicked my fingers over it. He came almost instantly. I didn’t back off, slid in deeper, but was met with more resistance. For a moment I was unsure if he could take this cock, unsure if I’d be able to fuck him properly, the full long strokes in and out, but as he relaxed and came—three, five, I don’t know how many times, quickly, in succession—I knew he could do it. My fingers left his clit and I gripped his hips, thrusting harder.

“That’s it,” I encouraged. He brought his arms up to grip the side of the massage table and began to push back into me, taking me deeper. “Nice. That’s good, little faggot. That’s what I wanted. Nice.” He moaned and shuddered, squirting this time, I could feel it on my legs. I pushed him back up on the table to try to keep him on his waterproof blanket.

I took him by the back of his neck again and started pumping harder. “I knew you would take it like a faggot, dirty boy. I knew you’d like it. You like it, don’t you.”

“Yes—yes,” he managed, breathing out the words hard, eyes closed as I pulled his head back, my hand reaching around for his throat.

“Say it.”

“I like it,” he barely whispered.

“What?”

“I like it.” A little louder.

“You like it, what?”

“I like it, Sir. I like it. Ohhh …”

“You like what, boy? Say it.”

“I like your cock in my ass. I like it. Please, Sir, fuck my ass. Please please please.” His pleading cries became whimpers and I groaned, my hips jerking hard against his in response.

“Good boy,” I muttered as my cock slid in and out. I wrapped my arms around him, held us together, breathing hard, and brought my hand between his legs to his clit again, thrumming it gently, sensitive now. “Mmm, fuck, you feel good. Your ass is nice and tight, feels good on my cock. I like to fill you up. Squeeze me harder, let me feel how tight you are, that’s it, yeah.” He came again, squirting, I could see it darken the blanket as his body thrust forward in contractions.

“Just a little more. Then I’m going to beat you.” I slid in and he moaned deep. He whimpered and shook, straightening his body upright until I pushed him back onto the table.

“Take it,” I growled. “Just a little more. Take it like a faggot. You can do it. Come on, dirty boy, I know you like it.” He didn’t stop shaking, barely holding himself up on his legs, and I thrust in again, and again. I rambled on as I worked up a slick sweat. I wanted to wear him out, warm him up before I started beating him. “Do it for me again, faggot. Come on, boy, come on my cock while I fuck you. Do it. Do it for me.”

He gasped and shuddered again, pitched forward, slammed his hand down into the table, and pressed his ass back against me, shaking, quivering, words pouring from his mouth, “Ohhh fuck, please please please, thank you Sir.” I held him close to me, twisted our bodies to kiss him.

Handprints on the Hotel Window

Kristen and I spent the weekend in Chicago, in part to attend a concert, and in part because tomorrow, December 13th, is our third anniversary. This story does not involve daddy/girl play specifically, but there is once when she calls me Daddy. Because that’s what she does. It does involve some rough sex. Just a warning.

While Kristen showers, I put my cock on under my boxers, leaving my tank top on. She emerges with the white hotel towel wrapped around her, hair wet and dripping onto her shoulders. When she sits onto the bed I stand between her legs and pull her towel open, then grab her hand, lifting her to stand.

“Come on.”

I pull her to the hotel’s floor-to-ceiling window that looked out onto the Chicago river, Lake Michigan, and a dozen other skyscrapers nearby to our hotel, leaving her towel on the bed. I take each of her wrists and press her hands into the cold glass, feeling the outside freezing temperature through the thin barrier.

“Leave your hands there,” I say. I press into the back of her body, kissing her neck. She shivers, a ripple up her spine, and I feel it. “I’m going to take you down. You can stop me anytime, but you’ll have to safeword out. I don’t care if you cry or fight me.” She’d been emotional all day, it is possible she’ll cry. And I’m guessing she needs the release.

So do I.

She nods. “Red?” She doesn’t have a usual safeword aside from yellow and red.

“That’s fine.” I reply. “Okay?”

She nods again. I kick her legs open, press harder into her, and drag my hands along her naked body, the curve of her ribs down to her hip, then over her ass, and I plunge two fingers between her lips, hard and right deep into her. She gasps, arches her back a little to push against me harder. I pull my fingers out and spit on them for lube, inadequate but better than nothing, and work them back in. Pushing deep. Fingering her g-spot and cervix and reaching around with the other hand to touch her clit.

The first time she comes, she drops her hands from the window, tits still pressing into it, cheek against it, her breath fogging up the glass. “Who said you could drop your hands,” I growl at her, and she raises them back up to shoulder height, moaning.

“Come for me again.” I work my fingers inside, mouth on her neck and next to her ear. “You see all those windows out there?” She opens her eyes, looking. We’d remarked the night before that we could watch the TV in the person’s apartment across the way. It wasn’t close enough for much detail, but shapes and people surely.

She swallows. “Yes.”

“Wouldn’t take much for someone to notice you here, getting fucked, getting played with. My little toy. Pretty girl, you think someone is watching you right now?” She comes again, twice more, shuddering against the window, torn between wanting to press into it to hold herself up and pulling away from its chilling temperature.

I want to get rough with her. I know it’s easier to do that—for her; she can take more—if she’s already come a few times, hence the warm up. I want it quick, urgent, and dirty.

I pull back, twist her shoulders to swivel her body around. “Down,” I said, pushing on her shoulders. She almost stumbles down onto her knees on the scratchy hotel carpet. I pull my cock out, the big one I like to fuck with, my favorite, the one that is a little too big for blow jobs, especially in her tiny mouth, even considering her skill.

But right now, I couldn’t care less.

I feed it to her, sliding it onto her tongue. “Put your hands behind your back.” She doesn’t need to be doing the work, this time. She is just a hole. She closes her lips over the head but not much deeper. “Get it all wet.” I pull out and rub it against her mouth. She swallows, works her mouth for more saliva, and opens again, and I push inside, deeper this time.

“Come on, you can do better than that. Take it. Take it down, good girl. Let’s see what you can do.”

She tries, but it isn’t enough. I grip her hair at the base of her neck and push, trapping her between the pressure from my hand and my cock. I thrust in a little deeper each time. I can see the teeth marks in the saliva on my cock. I almost tell her to stop using her teeth, but I don’t really care. I can’t feel it, anyway. If she needs to regulate that way, it’s fine.

I push too deep and she gags, closing her mouth, twisting away so I’m not lined up anymore. “Come on,” I urge again. “You’re fine. Do it again.”

She parts her lips and I shove in. Deep again, more, in and out, until she gags again. I give her a moment and touch my cock back to her lips. “You’re not done yet. Again.”

She looks up at me and swallows, hands still behind her back. “Stick your tongue out,” I say. She does, and I slap it with my cock, four, five times, then shove it in. She closes her lips and sucks, and a jolt of something goes up my spine.

“That’s good. That’s my good girl. That’s right.”

She sucks it well and I grip her head again, forcing it in deeper, holding her against my cock at the deepest point until she recoils. “Breathe,” I remind her. She gasps, regains her breath. I slap her tongue again, slap her cheek, and shove it back in.

I’m hard and thick, pulsing, in her mouth. I can smell the come on her thighs, dripping. Her cheeks hollow as she sucks and looks at me with pleading eyes.

I pull out and shove her again. “Down.” She flattened onto her belly, twists, on to the carpet. “Hands and knees,” I say, kicking at her thighs. “Crawl. Go.”

She moans and picks herself up, slowing moving the short distance from the window to the bed. I shove my heel into the flesh of her ass, knock her off balance. “Keep going.” I get a few kicks in with my bare foot, light and easy, but I feel it reverberate through her. She has been so quiet so far, dropping so quickly into that space of submission and giving over, barely talking, and I suspect this—making her crawl, kicking her—will just exacerbate that. But she is in it, feeling every touch and every inch, showing me everything with her eyes and the flushes on her skin.

“Up,” I say, and she slowly moves to stand, faces away from me, and I shove her, bend her over the bed, hand finding her hole again, spreading her lips open with my hand and positioning my cock. I spit down between her legs, into the crack of her ass, as low as I can, and make circles with the head of my cock to rub it around before pushing inside her. I pull her hips up as I thrust. “Arch your back. Give me that hole.”

She pushes back into me just as I thrust and I get that angle, that tension, that friction that I love, that shoots energy right up through my core and into my heart, throat, and up and out, back into her. I reach around for her clit while thrusting and I thrum it and she comes again, I feel her tighten around my cock but she doesn’t push me out. But the bed is not quite the right height, my knees are bent and I’m pulling her hips up to me, and I need another angle.

I pull out and pushed her legs together. “Turn.” She does, quickly. I shove her back onto the large king hotel mattress and grip her thighs, pushing them apart as I climb onto the bed between her legs and palm my cock, rubbing it against her slit again.

She moans and arches her back. Her cunt is pink and swollen. I spit again but she doesn’t need it, she’s wet and dripping with come.

I keep my cock in my hand and thrust in and out of her, shallow, a few times. She opens her mouth, hands above her head, fists reaching to grip the sheets, pushing against the headboard. I slide closer to her, in the deep V of her legs, pull out and slap her cunt with my cock, aiming the ridge of the head right at her clit. It works, and she comes quickly, come spraying as I keep slapping. I see it splash onto her breasts, onto my boxers. Good thing the hotel towel is under her. She convulses, thrashing against the bed.

“That is so good. So good baby girl, you feel so good.” She whimpers, crying out as I get harder, releasing and open but not in a big dramatic display. “That’s my girl. Come for me again, come on pretty girl—right on my cock, do it for me. Come on.” And she does, almost on cue, thrashing between me and the bed. I take her wrists into one hand, push against her, keep fucking. I’m close, working my clit against the harness strap as much as I’m working into her.

“Thank you Daddy, thank you Daddy,” she manages. Her low sweet voice sends a jolt through me.

“Open your mouth.” I release her hands, though keep my forearm on her shoulder, holding her down, and slide three fingers into her mouth. Her tongue is wet and soft. “Come on, do it. Suck me down. Take me in to all your little holes so I can fill you up. Come for me again. Come on, do it.” She does, mouth open around my fingers, body rattling, legs kicking on either side of me, gasping. My cock stays inside and I work it. “That’s not enough,” I growl into her ear. “Again. More. Come on, I know you can do it.” She comes again, bigger this time, yelling out, spine undulating. “Good, yes, that’s what I wanted, very nice. That’s my girl. That’s my little toy to play with, my little holes to fuck. Such a good girl.”

She quiets and I pull up to slap my cock against her cunt again, making her come a few more times before I’m done with her, pulling back.

I didn’t come. I am still dressed, wearing the boxers and tank top I slept in. She barely touched me. But I’m as satisfied as if I came twice (a rarity), content and buzzing as I lay down next to her and gather her into my arms.

We kiss, curl into each other. When she gets her voice back, she takes a minute to tell me what she liked—”I liked it when you kicked me, made me crawl,” “I liked being against the window,” “I liked coming over and over for you,” “I like when you tell me what to do”—which she knows I like to hear as part of my aftercare. Lessens my top guilt. I hold her close and stroke her skin.

We lay together a while as our bodies quiet and calm, then I strip and get into the shower. Later in the day, doing one last sweep over the hotel room before we leave, I notice her handprints still on the window, and a lip print where her face was pressed up against it. Usually I hate leaving the oils of my hands in prints on glass, too aware of janitorial jobs that must clean up after carelessness, but this time, it’s so pretty, I can’t bring myself to wipe them away.

Review: Comparing Two Ejaculating Cocks

I have a confession to make:

I like dirty sex. I mean, you probably already knew that. And by dirty I mean … body fluids. You already know that my girlfriend ejaculates frequently and that I like that very much. But you might not know that sometimes, what occupies my dirty talk is about my own ejaculate, coming inside.

Some of you might be going “ew” right about now, and it wasn’t that long ago that I probably would have been right there with you. But then … I don’t know what happened exactly, but I guess my sex life got a little bit dirtier. And things like that, that before I might have gone “ew” to right away, started getting me kind of hot. And then a lot hot.

I started thinking about what it would be like to have the physical evidence of that kind of coming inside, seeing something, if not me, actually squirt, actually leave a wet spot or a puddle or some moisture on skin. When I mentioned it to Kristen, she was into it. (She’s pretty dirty, too, in case you didn’t know.)

So Eden Fantasys sent us these:

Squirt the Realistic
Squirty Peter

It’s clear right away that neither of these cocks are made to be used in a harness. So that’s the big negative #1. If they’re not made for that, what are they made for? They’re not exactly dyke-marketed, so are they for straight couples? Made to be hand-held? Made for solo use for a (straight) woman? Who uses these? I figured, well, I can try them out hand-held regardless, they’d be more fun with a harness but let’s just try ’em out and see what happens.

When the first, Squirt the Realistic, showed up, as soon as I opened the package it had that plastic chemical stench that permeated the whole room. Not impressed. Usually that smell is indicative of pthalates, or of some other sort of leaking chemically plastic that I’m sure should not actually be in contact with anybody’s skin, let alone be inserted inside of an orifice.

So that is pretty much an automatic out.

Some specifications, though since it’s automatically out that doesn’t matter much: it’s 7″ x 1 7/8″, but it’s got balls and a suction cup, so it’s really only 5″ insertable. Not to be a size king or anything, but that’s a little bit small. It’s especially small if it is strapped on, because you need a bit more length to make sure you don’t pop out, but as we’ve already covered it doesn’t work in a harness, so that matters a little bit less here.

The second, Squirty Peter (really, Doc Johnson? You really use words like “dinger” and “dildo”? Bad choice), is a little better, though still not great. It’s rubber, which does not have leaky plastic materials but is still kind of sticky and annoying, especially when you have pets, because all the dust and hair sticks to it.

This one is 8 1/2″ x 1 3/4″ with 7 3/4″ insertable length. It kind of has a base on it, and I bet I could get it into a harness, but the base is less flared than it looks in the photo, plus it’s got this tube coming out of the end of it which would be a) uncomfortable and b) probably cut off the tube’s pressure and make it harder to actually do the squirting if it had a kink in it—you know, like how a garden hose stops working if the water is blocked. So it’s still not a great harness cock.

Still. I will admit, you know, privately, that I liked it. I liked being able to see the action I sometimes eroticize and fetishize.

Oh, speaking of ejaculate: Mostly I’ve just used water so far, and that’s been fine. I’ve been thinking about picking up a bottle of Liquid Silk lube, because aside from being awesome lube it is a pretty great consistency and thickness and color to mimic come. The packages for both of these cocks suggest using some sort of egg white + sugar recipe, but sugar is actually really bad for the pH of pussy (maybe these are made for gay boys?), so I won’t be doing that. Water’s fine, lube will probably be even better.

It won’t be a frequent toy in rotation, I’m sure—I received it this summer and it’s been infrequent at best—but I’ll be keeping it around. Especially for the affordable $12.99, it’s worth having around.

SPECIAL EXTRA NOTE TO COCK CREATORS & FUTURE COCK CREATORS:

Please make a better one of these. Make one for trans guys, for dykes, for dirty kinksters who actually want it to be able to be strapped on. Why don’t we have a good product like this out on the market? Tantus? Vixen Creations? Who’s gonna be first, hm?

Sex toys - EdenFantasys adult toys store

Squirt the Realistic and Squirty Peter were sent to me for review by Eden Fantasys. Get more cocks or other sex toys over at Eden. Thanks!

The Boy at Summer Camp

It started with an email with the subject line “butch at your service,” and an offer for a blow job. And I thought, hm. Well, you know, I do like those. But I’m not usually attracted to boys. So, we’ll see.

Then at Summer Camp, rife made a point to say hello. We chatted a bit, attended similar workshops. I was surprisingly affected by his energy, his tender sweetness, the way he was clear about what he wanted and owned his desires but still bashful and shy, submissive. I watched him blush and bruise and cringe, and take it, when the person he was serving for the weekend gave him some punches on the arm, and I felt the urge come from down low to see if I could make him respond to me that way.

I’m not usually attracted to boys, but I was attracted to this boy.

The next day, chatting, he said shyly, “What’s your schedule like? I would love the opportunity to play with you.” He wasn’t looking at me when he asked that, and had trouble sometimes maintaining eye contact when we spoke. When I came near him, his voice dropped, quieter, and so did his eyes. His mouth curled at the corner with the slightest little lines of dimples.

I said, “I don’t know my schedule yet, and I need to check with my girl, but I would like that.” Kristen and I had agreed that I could do things to practice skills before she came down and joined me at Summer Camp for the weekend, but that if I was going to be doing any fucking, I would wait until she arrived, and she could be there to witness.

I could tell he was experienced as I watched him get hit for fun, make dates, talk about his adventures at the dining table, and play. I kept my eye on him as I continued teaching and attending classes, and later picked up Kristen at the train station, telling her that I thought I would be interested in playing with him. “He’s really cute,” she said after they met. “I can see why. I don’t have to be involved, but it’s fine with me if you play. I’d like to be there.”

I kept seeing rife all day, but hadn’t quite figured when we could play. In the morning we circled each other and didn’t talk, but I saw him looking at me, and he saw me looking back. The quiet attention got me hard. I made a point to go up to him and grip his upper arm, and whisper in his ear, “Good morning.” Later, I found him at dinner the next night and asked about his evening plans. “See me at the Cigars & Chocolate event,” I said, “and we’ll go do something after.”

He came in after I did, with his crew of folks, and I saw him scan the room looking for me. I got my boots done by a talented bootblacker, smoked a cigar, learned about ashtrays. When the place started thinning out, he came over to me. He and Kristen and I headed up to the barn, which was empty: one big room with a concrete floor, some platform bleachers on one side, and a mat and bondage trestle of sorts in one corner. Kristen sat herself on the bleachers. rife picked up a few unlubricated condoms from the bins laid out on the safer sex table.

I took hold of his unsnapped black shirt lapels, his binder and the skin of his stomach exposed underneath. He inhaled. I pushed with my fists to move him around a little, feeling our legs move together in a dance, feeling how he followed. Immediately he fell in to my direction.

“Anything I should know?”

He didn’t look at me, keeping his chin low and shoulders in a little bit of a shrug, letting me move his body around the room. “Bruises are fine. I like barriers. I’d like to suck your cock.” We said a few more things in negotiation that I can’t quite remember. He was direct and clear, but quiet, keeping his head curled down. I think this is when we kissed. Perhaps I asked if kissing was okay first. Then he asked, “Can I call you sir?”

I grinned. “Yes.”

He shifted his weight and started backing me up, moving me. I followed. “Where are you taking me?”

He stopped at the mat and trestle. “I’m a masochist, but not for concrete floors.” I found the pole of the trestle and leaned against it, pulling him to me and opening his knees a little with mine, finding his mouth again. He shuddered, body pliable, giving in easily and smoothly. There wasn’t a lot of kissing—so intimate with someone I don’t know—but we kept our heads close, him curled into my shoulder while I kept a grip on his body.

“Will you call me a faggot?” he asked quietly into my neck. I didn’t hear, asked him to repeat it.

“That’s what you like, huh, dirty boy.”

“Yes, sir,” he breathed out.

“Unh, god you’re so sweet,” my hands went to my belt, zipper, untucking from my harness. “Are you ready to suck my cock now?”

“Yes,” he didn’t move. I didn’t ask him to do it, but if he was ready.

I fingered the back of his head, his short and soft hair. “Do it,” I growled in his ear, and he dropped to his knees, in a flash had a condom in his hand, rolled it onto the tip and pushed it down the shaft with his mouth. I felt a surge of power and pleasure roll through me, up my legs into my core, as he sucked me in. I fumbled to tighten my harness, moved my hands back to his head.

He took the length of it down easily, his tongue gentle and persistent as he sucked. I leaned into the trestle, aware that Kristen was getting a show, that she doesn’t usually get to watch me receive from afar. I fingered his neck, cupped his jaw, touched his lips with my fingers and he sucked them into his mouth.

After a moment I broke away and leaned down to kiss him, his mouth wet. “You like that, faggot? Sucking my cock?”

“Yes, yes sir,” he managed, gasping a little.

“You’re good at it. Do it again,” and I slid back onto his tongue. “Mm,” I groaned. His hair was almost shaved all around except a wide mohawk patch on top, which I grabbed hold of to work in and out of his mouth, gently. Kind of.

“That is so good,” I leaned down to kiss him again. My cock was throbbing and hard. “You got me all hard, sweet little faggot.”

He swallowed and whispered up to me, “I want you to throw me down.”

“You do huh.” He was on his knees, thrown off balance with not very far to fall when I gripped his upper arms and pushed him to the floor. No fighting at all, just letting my weight take him, grounding him down into the mat. His eyes closed, he bit his lip, curled his small sweet body as he rearranged himself, getting his legs out from under him, and I worked a knee between his thighs. I held his shoulders down and reached between his legs, a little surprised he wasn’t packing, finding the heat and feeling my own cock harden in response, jutting out from my hips.

illustration by rife

Small sounds from his mouth as he groaned and pushed against me, testing the feeling of being trapped. I gripped his sports bra and ace bandage binder in one hand over his chest and worked the other hand between his legs, over his jeans, and could feel him bucking forward, wanting more. “That feel good on your dick, huh? Getting hard for me?” I asked. He panted. I realized I didn’t have a glove.

“Stay right here,” I said next to his ear, pushing my body on top of his, my arms holding me up on the mat. “I’m going to get a glove. Put your arms over your head.” He did. “Stay like that. I’ll be right back. You alright?”

He nodded, quickly. I didn’t want to get up but wanted a hand down his pants, wanted to feel him, and trusted that staying in this position I’d ordered him in would only deepen his submission. I stood and took the ten or so steps to the supply table, picked up a glove and some lube packets. I looked at Kristen as I went across the room, but in the dark shadows it was hard to decipher her expression. Upset? Okay? Turned on? All three? I trusted she would tell me if she needed anything.

When I returned, I let myself look at rife a moment before bringing myself back down to the floor. His body quivered a little, waiting for me, arms still extended over his head, one hand in the other. “Hi,” I said as I knelt next to him, my eyes scanning over his black button down shirt open, his tight stomach, smooth skin. I ran my hand along the skin that was exposed and pushed at his body again, felt him groan and shudder in response.

I unbuckled, unzipped his jeans, fast, eager, and pulled them down on his thighs, not past his knees, left them high to give some restriction to his legs and thighs, and then pulled on his hips. “Turn,” I said, impatient. “Over.” He did, flat until I pulled his ass up to kneeling, his elbows out in front of him to catch his body weight as I pushed him down into the mat. My gloved fingers easily found his hole and slid in, one then two, then out again and along the whole length of him, feeling how smooth and supple, testing his responses. He was sensitive, back arching at the slightest change in pressure or speed. I slid my fingers back inside, turned my hand over and worked his g-spot, massaging, and he moaned.

Tearing open a lube packet for my cock, I smeared it onto the length and pressed myself behind him, sliding in awkwardly but fully. My jeans and his jeans were in the way, mine not pushed down any farther than his, our legs tangled, the angle wasn’t quite right. I couldn’t get that good drive, all the way in and out, but I wanted him to feel me behind him for a while, taking hold of his hips and pulling him back onto me. His back and neck arched, spine curled. I managed a building rhythm for four, five, six strokes, pushed my hips hard into him, held him to me, shuddering a little as I felt myself diving into him.

He kept breathing hard, mouth open and drooling on the dirty mat. I gripped his hair again, pushed his shoulders down. “That’s it, good boy,” I murmured, thrusting still, opening him up, my hips pulsing. “Fuck.”

I switched to my hand again so I could better feel his muscles, his responses. Fingered his clit and his back rippled. Thrust in hard and he smashed his cheek into the floor.

“You’re dripping wet,” I growled into his ear. I slid my arm under his chest and pulled him up to his knees. There was a puddle on the mat beneath him, another damp place where his mouth had been on the mat. We knelt next to each other, his knees apart, jeans bunched under his calves.

He nodded in response.

“What?”

“Yes sir, I’m wet, sir.”

“You didn’t tell me you do that.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“No, I like it. I just didn’t know.” The sleeve of my sweater was damp, but I couldn’t tell if it was from him or from sweating. I kissed him again, his mouth open and chest heaving, lips swollen as I ran my tongue on them. I brought my left hand up to his jaw and held him there as we kissed deeper, then slid two fingers into his mouth. He sighed and moaned, swallowed them deeper, bent his head back to open his throat, kept them deep, then slid them in and out.

“Oh, that’s good, faggot. Sweet boy, that is so good.” My own muscles shuddered in response throughout my body, thighs contracting, and for a second I thought I’d fall over. I kept my mouth next to his ear. “Touch your clit with your other hand. Come for me again. Will you?”

He nodded, eyes lidded and mostly closed, and he slowly brought his hand between his legs. I could barely see what he was doing but could feel his body respond, tightening, his stomach crunching in as his hips tightened and thrust, just a little.

“Is that good? Does that feel good?” I teased in his ear. He swallowed and I felt his throat contract around my fingers. “I like being deep in your throat like this. You suck cock really well, little fag. Does it feel good to touch down there? Are you going to come for me again?” I kept going, pushing a little with my voice and my fingers, until his body convulsed and he squirted again, falling against me. “Oh that’s nice, good boy,” I murmured, running my hands along his body as he quieted.

“Is that enough, or do you want some more?”

He straightened up and looked at me, a little sly. “I could … take a little more.”

“Oh, you could, huh.” I could hit him, I thought, but I loved how sensitive he is to touch. Loved how he curls in response, gives in, takes it. I loved watching him come. I pushed him down again, on his back this time, pushed his jeans a little further down, and slid my fingers down his cunt again, still dripping and wet everywhere. I slid two fingers in easily and held his chest down with my forearm, then gripped his binder again, pulling at it, leaning my weight into him.

He held my wrist, groaned. “More,” he managed to say, and I slid another finger in, pushed harder in and out, twisted my hand so my thumb was up on his clit and pinky finger was below his hole, and thrust in. I anchored my hand above his shoulder so I could go in harder. He twisted under me but couldn’t move away from my grip, my knees holding his thighs apart.

“Is that what you wanted? More?”

“Yes sir.”

“Say thank you.”

“Thank you, sir,” he whispered, just barely audible, in my ear.

“Louder.”

“Thank you, sir!”

“Again,” as I thrust harder inside, fingering his g-spot, felt him tightening.

“Thank you, sir! Thank you, sir thank you … ” He trailed off, coming again, pushing my fingers out, and I didn’t let up, flicked his clit as he continued shuddering, mouth open so I slid my fingers back in, working them in and out, fucking his mouth and feeling his tongue swollen on my knuckles. I cupped my hand around him for a moment, then tapped and started slapping, which got a moan from his mouth and more convulsing from his stomach and hips, so I kept going, slapping, and I felt him squirt again, wetness dripping from my hand. Probably I was saying other dirty things while I touched him, I don’t remember. This time I got to watch more directly, and that’s what I wanted. I watched his muscles ripple and settle, ran my hands up under his shirt, clamored up next to him to feel his body along mine.

“You smell like a boy,” I said, his musky scent so different than what I’m used to. He laughed, and had this smile on his face by then, a grin, ecstatic and giddy, and I wanted to kiss him, slap his face, get him back on his knees. The hunger was still palpable, I wanted more. I also figured he had other plans, didn’t want to take up his whole night, and knew I should check in with Kristen. He sat up, pulled his shirt and tangled binder off. I tugged my jeans up, took my sweater off, my button down shirt underneath totally soaked through with sweat. I gathered the condom and glove, ripped lube packets, brought them over to the other side of the room, and grabbed some wet wipes for the mat. He took them from my hand, “Let me, I made the mess,” with that shy little side smile with the lines, dimples, at the corners of his mouth, and we composed ourselves to go back out into the dark night.

He walked Kristen and I back up to our room and went off to find trouble. It’s been an interesting experiment, for Kristen and I to play with other people, and we have been talking about it openly and being interested and careful with each other about it. That’s kind of another post I have brewing, how we are dealing with our particular version of monogamish openness. And don’t worry, Kristen wasn’t left out—she had her own adventures during Summer Camp weekend.

Review: Moon Glass Plug, and How We Played With It

This, my friends and readers, is the Moon Glass Plug from Good Vibrations, and it is beautiful.

Can’t you tell already, just by looking at it? That blown glass with the gentle blue coming through it? (Maybe that’s just me. I do have a thing for blue glass. If I had it my way, all of my dishes would be blue glass.)

The other night, when Kristen and I were playing, I had her on her stomach in front of me, her chest down on the bed but her knees under her, ass up. We’d already been fucking for a while, she’d come three or four or eight times, who can keep track, and I slid my cock in from behind her while lubing up my fingers. For a while I just touched her asshole gently on the outside, I could feel her relaxing and starting to enjoy the feeling, opening up a little, pushing back against my finger and cock. I had the Moon Glass Plug out, ready to use, and touched it too against her asshole, but she wasn’t really ready for it, so I started with my fingers instead.

“Put your fingers on your clit,” I said.

She did, brought her hand down between her legs. I started sliding my finger into her asshole, just a little, really only knuckle-deep, just so she could feel it for a while. But it didn’t take long before she was getting all hot and squirming against me, bucking her hips harder, and I worked my finger a little faster in her ass, not deeper, just faster, which she liked, oh I could tell she liked it right away. I’m not sure what she did exactly, moaned maybe, or just responded physically in a way that was clear that was it, right there, perfect.

I noticed I’d kind of stopped moving my cock, so tried to get my hips going while she continued to work herself up. Now, this is a girl who can come by her own fingers in mere moments, so that it was taking much time at all was telling in that she must’ve been very worked up. I could feel her clenching hard on my cock, so hard in fact that she started to push me out, clenching her ass too, hand moving faster, gasping, as she came, hard.

So hard, in fact, that she ejaculated, gushed all over my cock and thighs. I silently thanked my Liberator Throe, and out loud, groaned. “That was so damn hot.”

I moved forward up to the pillow to hold her closer and kiss her for a while. She asked if I’d used the glass. “No,” I said, “that was my finger, just a little of it. Do you want to try it yourself?”

She took it from me and slowly worked it into her ass. For a while she said, “it’s too big, it’s too big!” but didn’t want to give up, and was certain she could do it if she moved slowly. I stayed next to her as she took the whole thing, finally, then brought her hands down to her cunt again to get off a few more times.

I told her I wanted to watch for a while, asked if she wanted my help.

“No,” she said. But then, later: “Lay on top of me?”

She likes the weight, holding her down. I spread my forearm across her breastbone and kissed her, my body slightly lifted from hers as she continued to work her hands between her legs. I like to watch the way her body gets all tense, then releasing as she comes.

I like to watch in general.

She came again, once nice and hard, then another for good measure, collapsing onto the bed. It took a little more work to get the plug out of her ass, since it’s pretty thick and spherical in the middle and has that skinny little neck before it flares to a plug. It’s only 3 1/4” long x 1 3/8” wide, but the shape makes a difference, and even makes it feel more thick than it actually is (though it is pretty thick).

And it’s gorgeous. Did I mention that it’s gorgeous? The most beautiful butt plug I own, though I don’t know if I usually describe them as “beautiful,” so perhaps that’s easy. The glass is smooth and hard, and very simple to clean. I haven’t tried it myself yet, but since it’s easily sterilizable, I will be. And I’m looking forward to seeing it in her ass again, too.

The beautiful Moon Glass Plug was sent to me for review by Good Vibrations. Get your own, or a different butt plug, or many other fabulous sex toys over at the Good Vibes website.

What’s On My Mind

You in stockings and a garter, pussy bare, black bra, your lips and eyes darkened. Heels strapped around your ankles that I take off, or maybe not. Black and red silk ropes around your thighs, under your knees, around your ankles, around your wrists. Smooth ropes on the smooth stockings and I love the texture, run my hands all over you. I slip a blindfold over your eyes and kiss you. Smear the lipstick across your cheek and lips. You get still and quiet, waiting.

Your fist in me deep. Hard. The look on your face when you’re between my legs, that awe and desperate look I know I get too. Sweating. My hand on my clit, hard, rubbing hard, getting close until I grab you by the hair and push your mouth down on it, yeah, like that, suck it, don’t slow down, fuck me, until I’m hard and bursting in your mouth and I lift you by the hair again, take my clit in my fingers again to come, hard, around your fist. I wish I could squirt as easily as you do, I would, I would come in your mouth and watch you swallow it.

Your new thigh high boots, your little black dress. I’d like you in an alley, maybe, a dirty one, street-lamp lit and bricked and you’re nervous about the dinginess but you want me, you trust me. I push you up against a wall, slam your shoulders back, bite your neck, suck your tongue. You’re wearing fencenets between your boots and the tight hem of your dress but nothing underneath; I get my fingers between the wide holes and into your tight one, and hold you there, until your knees buckle and your fencenets rip.

You coming in my mouth again. Last time your knees on either side of my head, dipping your pussy into my mouth while I licked and sucked, tongued your hole as deep as I could. “You want to do it?” “Yes.” Your fingers on your clit and I held your hips (how you like it) and watched you squirt all over my face, dripping down my chin and cheeks, into my ears, and I laughed, mouth filled.

Blindfolded, on your hands and knees, mouth stretched open, pussy, ass, holes stretched open farther than you thought they could go and you like it, you like being filled like this, you like taking me in. A gag maybe. Breathing tight around the edges. Touching your smooth skin in easy strokes and thrusting inside you, my mouth by your ear: no, don’t come yet, don’t come yet, let me do it first, don’t do it baby, just take it.

My hips are heavy this morning and I remember the weight and swing of my longest cock between my legs, the swagger of it, the thrill of filling it, the thrill of filling you, that squeeze and tightening and then the ease when we work into our rhythm and press, thrust, push against each other.

I’m biting at my lips, remembering yours, remembering the way you kissed me when I got off in bed earlier this week, we’d woken early to fuck but I hadn’t gotten off, pulled out and rolled beside you, annoyed. “What’s wrong?” “Frustrated. I want to … ” “I know.” So I did it, put my hands on me, slid my cock off and held you tight to me, wanted your body next to mine, the way you kiss me when I am not in charge of the kiss. That mouth of yours.

I am tempted to get out the little digital video camera and set it up in the corner to make a record of how we fuck. Would we be too self-conscious? Would we get into it like we usually do? Would we be loud enough to hear on the recording? I could tell you louder. Louder. Say that again. Say it louder. Say fuck me. Say fuck me, Daddy. Say I want your cock. Say fuck my little pussy. Say it. Say it. Take it. My sweet girl, my lovely little girl, my darling. What would we capture? What would we look like? Will we look back at this in ten years, wonder how we were ever that young, that in love, that passionate? Or will we look like amateurs compared to whatever we’d be doing then? I want to find out.

On Getting Girls Off

There’s something I want to clear up, especially for those folks who have only been reading Sugarbutch for the last eight or so months that Kristen and I have been dating and who have not read the archives.

Kristen gets off really easily. I mean like really easily. You already know this. She can come ten or twenty times in an evening, and then ten or twenty times the next morning. Sometimes I get tired out and she reaches her hands down between her legs, still keeps going, knows she’s got a few more in her. I’ve gotten her off in parks, in cabs, in public, with some words in her ear and my hand on the outside (or inside) of her clothes.

Uh, wait, I’m getting distracted.

Point is, this ability to come often and easily, in my experience, very rare. I know I am writing about it often, and that most of the smut stories I’ve written for the last eight months have involved Kristen, instead of the fictionalized stories I was focusing on more last year, but I am well aware that girls do not usually get off like this.

My ex of four years was pre-orgasmic, and did not come once while we were together. She had what she called “baby orgasms,” and though we had many hours of conversation about what she liked and what we could try, as far as either of us could tell she had never gotten off, ever.

Dating someone pre-orgasmic was completely bizarre to me when we were first puzzling it out. I remember going to my roommate and my best friend at the time, saying, “she has never gotten off! I mean like ever! Never!” and both my roommate AND my best friend responded with, “yeah, so? I, uh, never have either.”

Oh.

Suddenly I felt like I was the weird one, for having masturbated (to orgasm) since I was maybe 12. So I did what I do, I went to the internet, and I read some books, and I asked the folks at Babeland for sex toy ideas, and I watched some Betty Dodson DVDs – I did my research. Turns out something like 4-5% of women are pre-orgasmic or non-orgasmic.

I’m sure not much more than that, if any, get off like Kristen does, so that still leaves another 80% of us somewhere in the middle of those two, getting off sometimes but not always, or getting off with our hands on our own but not with partners, or coming from clitoral stimulation but not from some sort of something inserted inside. Some folks need very specific stimulation in very specific ways. I’ve said in the past that the first time I have sex with someone, I don’t really expect either of us to get off, since we just don’t know each other’s bodies well enough for it yet. It often takes a lot of time, and work, to get the perfect factors in place.

I think I’m a bit more bold now about just flat out asking, “what gets you off?” or asking her to put her fingers on her clit, but I fully recognize that I basically have to re-learn how to get a girl off every time I sleep with someone new. There are some similarities, sure! – thank heavens – but what one person wants might be precisely what is very painful for another.

It is awesome – in the sense that it inspires fucking awe – that Kristen gets off the way she does. I love it. In some ways it’s practically the ideal, for a butch top who wants a femme bottom lover, someone I can just play with and fuck and fill up and get off until she’s begging me to stop, and then I get her off a few more times.

But just because it is an ideal doesn’t mean there aren’t other ideals, or that she’s just had it so easy because that’s the way her body is built – she used to feel incredibly guilty for her interest in sex, her ability to get off, her ability to ejaculate, her own desires. In her words, “I used to only come by myself, but then I learned how to trust people better, and dated non-assholes, and started having the kind of sex I wanted to have.”

Part of my point here is, nobody’s journey to sexual empowerment is easy. Just because Kristen’s or mine or anybody’s appears to be “ideal” doesn’t mean it hasn’t had its problems and complications. In fact, one of the reasons I started Sugarbutch to begin with was because I was not having the kind of sex I wanted, and craved, and I didn’t know how to get it. (Can I just have a moment, a smile, at no longer having that problem? Hell yeah.) But getting the kind of sex that you want means you have to figure out a) what it is you want in the first place, b) how to ask for it, c) how to turn down sex that isn’t it, and d) how to keep it alive and growing. Those are fucking hard challenges, way harder than they sound, and they sound pretty hard.

I’m not attempting to glorify what Kristen’s body is capable of so much as I just want to write and share my sex life, because I love writing about what I did last night and I love how Kristen loves being written about and I love dialoguing with people about making their sex lives better and I love storytelling. I definitely want to be with somebody who really likes sex, but ejaculating and multiple orgasms are not a prerequisite for that.

There are many, many different ways that girls get off, and the ways Kristen does is just one person, just one example. There is nothing wrong with the way her body works, no reason for her to feel ashamed of what it does, just like there’s no reason for you to feel ashamed of what yours does, either. The challenge is to really figure out what it does, what it likes, and be okay with that.

Review: Liberator Throe, “a moisture-proof playscape for sex”

libthroeblackI’ve seen the Liberator Throe on various sex blogs in the last year or so, and it’s intriguing, but I had no idea if it would be worth the hefty $80 pricetag. I mean, it’s just a blanket, right? And what if it was all crinkly or plastic-y, that wouldn’t be comfortable to fuck on top of at all.

But thankfully, that is not at all how this “blanket” really is.

The point of this is to protect your sheets, couch, floor, car seats, or wherever, from getting covered in lube and come. If you’re thinking, huh? Why would I need to protect my furniture and sheets from things like that? Then this probably isn’t necessarily for you. But some of us have very messy, juicy sex, or have lovers who ejaculate on a regular basis. And this has meant that I no longer have to worry about the big ol’ wet spot we often leave behind. Instead, we just bundle up the blanket, pull up the covers, curl up together, and toss it in the wash the next day.

I’ve got the Liberator Throe in black microfiber. One side is soft and slightly fuzzy, the other is smooth silk. The Liberator website says this throe is “reversible,” but in my experience if you have the smooth-side-down, it will slip all over the place, which is bad for both a) keeping traction while fucking and b) keeping the various liquids from getting all over everywhere. So I’ve found it isn’t quite as reversible as it claims to be. Also, the fuzzier side doesn’t particularly absorb liquids the way the silk side does. Not sure why – it’s not that liquid goes through the fuzzy side, it doesn’t, but it doesn’t absorb and wick away the liquids the same way. It’s 100% genuine polyester with a nylon “inner moisture barrier,” which really does work.

Kristen & I have been using this when we fuck for the last few months, and I wouldn’t want to be without it, especially with a partner who ejaculates. Though I really love the way she comes and squirts, I’ll be honest, I don’t really like thinking about the ways that it is absorbing into my blankets and mattress, or couch or car seats, and having this down means that that is just not on either of our minds anymore.

Just the other day, Kristen said, “I never thought I was paranoid about ejaculating, but this has really been a relief.”

It’s worth it. In fact, we’re going to order a 2nd one to keep at Kristen’s house.

Details:
Purple, red, black, blue, tan, white tiger, or leopard
Shag or microfiber
5’ x 6’
Machine washable
100% polyester (nylon interior barrier)

Buy it on the Liberator website, or at your local feminist sex toy store.

Wait for me on your knees.

Two weeks ago:

I arrived at her place late – I was delayed, but I won’t go into that – but still in time for dinner.

I don’t remember what she wore, what I wore. I remember what she made for dinner: caramelized onion and gruyere tart with roasted broccoli, and peanut butter & chocolate pudding for dessert. (And she made scones in the morning.) I remember her lived-in kitchen, the way she looked at me with passion and want, the way her body felt under my hands again. I remember I brought wine.

She gave me the quick tour of her apartment.

“I want you in every room before the weekend is through,” I said.

“Even the bathroom?”

“… There are ways.”

I started with the kitchen, before dinner was even ready.

*

The next morning:

On her bed, after hours of fucking, in the bright light of midday because her room has no curtains. I study every inch of her.

Inside her, on top of her. Riding the waves of energy between us, sometimes strong and steady, sometimes collapsing to kiss her neck and whisper sweet nothings. Not so much “oh you’re beautiful, you feel so good” as much as “you little slut, you feel my hard cock in you like that?” – though the former is sprinkled into the mix, too.

We come down together from a peak, panting, I’m shivering from my body’s own heat and sweat in contrast to the cool air, and rest against her, still inside.

Her legs around me.

Her arms around my neck.

And she shifted, and suddenly I was coming, right then. Don’t mind the tantric-hippie moment here, but it was all energy, her pelvic bowl opening to catch me, pull me deep inside her. I can still feel how the contractions shook me, eyes rolling back, so sudden – and it started from stillness! – so sweet. Gasping in her ear and shuddering.

We lay wrapped in each other for a while after. Talking touching, fucking more, her insatiable body able to take more, more, more.

And then: “I’d like your fingers in me. Would you do that?”

She nearly froze, as to not disturb whatever was aligned for this delicate moment. “Now?”

“Please. Now.”

We shifted, I took my cock off, she got on her side next to me, hand on my thighs, between my legs. Gentle and sweet and slick.

“I know you said inside,” she whispers, mouth close to mine, “but I want to feel you.”

“Feels good. Don’t stop.” I whisper back.

Slowly: her fingers in me, pressing deep and stretching full, my hand on my clit, calling it my dick in my mind, and keeping my eyes open, watching her, as long as I can, until I come, screaming, hard and big, a release a year in the making, and pull her close against me.

*

Later:

At the dining room table in her living room. She sits on my lap, kisses me. I pull her hair and move my mouth to her neck.

“Ohh yes, yes,” she breathes.

“Mmm, I like it when you say that. Say yes again,” I demand softly, next to her ear. She hears me, and says nothing. She bites her lip and looks right at me, which tells me she’s refusing to say it. Am I pushing her too far? Does she know – she must know – that saying yes is playing with consent, that I am warming her up for saying no. Does she feel pressed? Pressured? I study her face, wait for her to say it for what seems like minutes. “Say it,” I say again, low, with a grip on her hair, desire and dominance building in me. I pull back a little to get enough distance between us so I can hit her. I wonder how fast I’ll have to do it for her to not see it coming. I want her to be surprised.

Underneath her resistance, she’s got that tiny self-satisfied smirk on her face.

She is surprised. A quick, hard smack against her cheek. Then five, six, softer, in rapid succession, warming her up. And another, stronger. Another. Her whole head turns on impact. I don’t stop. Harder. I vary the rhythm and let her have a breath, a quiet moment in between, when she straightens her body and feels the sting.

This is the hardest I’ve slapped her, but I can feel the way she can take it, now, differently. She’s not scared or wincing but open and accepting, drinking in the sensation.

I stop. Pull back a little and watch her recover.

When she can, she whispers, “yes,” hand to her stinging cheek, eyes dark and smoky and submissive, that look, that look, that strong and active giving over that makes my knees weak (and oh I’m glad I’m sitting down).

I kiss her. Smooth her cheek with my fingertips, feel the warmth with my lips. “Good,” I say between kisses. “Good girl.”

“Yes,” she says again with her breathe out, chest shuddering.

I want more.

“Get off me.” I say quickly, pulling away and pushing on her body. “Down. On your knees. Now.”

She does. Slides onto the floor and I unbuckle, unzip, pull my cock out. “That’s right, suck my cock. Oh that’s good. Yeah, that’s so good.”

And she is so good at this. Lips pursed, tongue flicking softly, eyes looking up at me, hand gripping the base of it and sucking hard into her mouth. I take hold of her hair. Pull her up by it and shove my fingers in her mouth. I like how her tongue gets wide and flat. I like the gulping noise she makes when she swallows.

“Up,” I say, and stand, pulling her to her feet. “Take these off.” I tear at her clothes and so does she, pull her shirt over her head and her jeans, socks, undies off, then embrace her briefly for kisses on her swollen mouth. I bend her at the waist, swift, over the dining room table.

I start spanking her, hard. Harder than I usually would without warm-up but she’s warm, the blood rushing through her, veins dilated already, I can see it in the flush of her skin and in the response each time my palm makes contact, landing with a satisfying smack. She’s moaning and squirming off the table, wants her pussy touched. I haven’t even felt how wet she is yet, how have I resisted this long? She’s pushing back against me so hard, her torso is nearly off the table. She lifts herself up and stands, presses back into me, reaches back for me.

“Who said you could get up,” I growl in her ear and bend her over quickly, her palms landing hard on the table to catch her. “Stay there.”

She likes direction. And oh do I like to give it to her. I like it even more when she does what I say.

She stays put. Breathes. I pause, run my hands down her back and thighs, tease her cunt only slightly with my fingers on her soft hair, then bring my arm back and down in a smack right to her cunt and she gasps, winces, sighs. I go slow with taps more than slaps and build up to a couple sweet ones, hand landing just right, her body responding, so smooth and open.

I keep my tongue unlocked throughout. I wish I could recall better now what I was saying. [Kristen, if you remember any particular good phrases, perhaps you could leave a comment, or tell me?] I know she wanted to be called names, so I began a narrative about how much she loves sex, look how wet you are, you like it when I hit you don’t you, slut. Bad girl. You like this, look how wet you are, feel that?

… And by time I got about to there in the talking I couldn’t wait, I had to have her, I was practically growling with lust.

Still unzipped and unbuckled, I pulled my cock out, only to realize: I left the condoms in the bedroom. I try to keep one in my back pocket so I have it at the ready, but I think I hadn’t replaced the one we used earlier.

Mouth next to her ear, bent over her: “I want to fuck you, but you’re going to have to wait,” I sneer a little. Then … yes. Let’s make her wait.

I pull her up from the table and cradle her close, her naked body against me, still fully clothed. Kiss her tender and run my hands along her skin.

“Now: down.” I command. “On your knees.”

She didn’t quite respond quickly enough, still looking at me heavy-lidded and getting her brain to catch up with the sensations in her body. I push on her shoulders. “Down.”

And she slides to her knees. I take a fistful of her hair. “Put your hands behind your back.” She does, eyes shining, blinking.

“Wait for me. Be right back.”

I walk the ten or so paces to her bedroom slowly, deliberately. Pick up two condoms from the nightstand. I hear her cry out softly. Can feel the desire rising between us, even from the next room. I pause a moment. Feel the dominance rushing through my body like a drug. Quickening my blood pressure, the pump of my heart. I can see her so distinctly in my mind, kneeling. I breathe, put my hand on the wall for support, to gather myself.

I have no idea what I’ll do when I get back to her. Fuck her, eventually. But I want to play first.

She’s waiting so nicely for me. Knees apart, head down. When I approach she looks up at me with such fierce submission my knees go weak: eyes heavy, smoky, dark; mouth and tongue swollen.

Cock at the ready, I press it right to her mouth. “Suck my cock, again, while you’re down there,” I say, and touch her cheek, her forehead as a sweep her hair back, palm the back of her head.

She does. Takes it deep and long with the first stroke in. I start groaning, moaning, pressing into her farther, down her throat. “That’s right, so nice, feels so good,” I’m babbling but I don’t care. I have her tipped backward and she’s left her hands behind her back, I’m throwing her off balance. My hips start thrusting – she gags a little with the depth and breathes hard with her mouth full. I don’t let up, but keep shoving my cock in, down her throat.

I nearly come. Can feel how her mouth and throat would tighten as I pulse and shoot. But I can’t, I can’t quite get there, just not quite enough, so frustrating. I pull out fast and shove my fingers in her mouth before she can notice her mouth is empty, kneel down between her legs and push her back onto the floor, lower my mouth onto and cock into her beautiful body.

I slide in easy. Easy, slick. God I love the way she takes me in. Deep, deeper, I keep her pressed open all the way, laying back, legs spread wide, hands grabbing at my shoulders until I grab her forearms and hold them above her head. Perfect leverage. And I thrust, fuck her hard, burn my knees against the hard dark wood of her living room floor.

Damn, the floor is hard. No give whatsoever. I haven’t fucked her lying on a floor ever – I’ve forgotten how it feels. She can’t squirm as much, she doesn’t slide as much, stays where I put her and the impact is harder, I do like that. But there’s less give-and-take, less sensuous connection, and goddamn my knees are going to be wrecked after this, probably it’s the sheet burn from earlier more than the floor itself, but I’ve got to change positions.

I lose myself in the hard impact of cock against cunt for as many strokes as I can muster before I lift myself up, sit back on my heels, and breathe. She’s vibrating, head lolling side to side.

“Get up,” I say. “Bedroom.”

I change cocks when we get to her bed, and pull the two lengths of rope from my bag. She sits near the pillows and reaches for me as I sit on the edge of the side, and I kiss her but don’t move.

“Look at you, all ready. You really are insatiable, aren’t you. Slut. You can’t get enough cock, can you.”

She moans, drops her head. I bring one hand between her legs and the other keeps stroking my cock. “So wet. What, you want me to fuck you? You want it? look at you, can’t think of anything but sex, but getting filled. Can you.”

I slide two fingers in and watch her face. “You want it, don’t you.”

“Yes,” comes out in a small breath.

I know she does, I can feel it. I want to hear her say it. It turns her (and me) on to hear her talk and I want her to do it more. “Tell me.”

“I want it.”

“You want what?”

“Your cock. I want your cock, please, fuck me, please.”

I lean in to kiss her and take my hand away. “No.”

She whimpers.

I pull out the rope. She hands me her wrists, I secure one, then the other, to the bed frame, fuss about the tightness and my poor knots (I really need some better techniques.) She is writhing. I could fuck through steel, I’m so hard. I can’t make either of us wait any longer and I position myself between her legs, slap her inner thighs to get her to open up. We’re both so smooth and slick and desperate for it, we can’t wait, I can’t stop myself from plunging in, hard as I can, hard as I dare, and fucking, thrusting, pounding into her, kissing her face and neck, hands in her hair, on her chest, pulling her nipples and sliding my arm underneath her to grab at her waist and shoulders.

I’m babbling again. Her name, dirty things, take my cock, slut, you’re so tight, I love to split you open like this, and she comes, twice, three times, I loose track and she doesn’t collapse yet so I keep going, reach between us and slide my fingers along her clit and she gasps, bucks under me, I feel her tighten so hard around my cock that she nearly shoves me out of her and I work to stay inside. She’s holding her breath so I keep my hand and hips steady, hard, and then she shudders, body quaking, and I feel her squirt while I’m still inside, clit quivering under my fingers as she pushes my cock all the way out and lets out the breath she’s been holding, a gasp in for desperate air, and comes hard, shaking.

I watch. Witness. Feel her body quiet, tender and open. Holy, holy. (Holy shit.) Feel her breath as I lay my body against hers, holding tight, touching everywhere.

“Hey,” I say after a minute, lifting my face to see hers.

She sighs and opens her eyes, fingers trailing along my shoulders, on the back of my head. “Hey.”

And we nap the afternoon away, sunlight streaming through the window, though it’s cold outside we’re warm in her room, satiated, spent.

the therapy session

The Saturday that Miss DD was visiting me in New York City, we attempted to go out to a queer dance that boasted swing, salsa, and tango music, but when we arrived it was near empty, awkward, unsexy, and unwelcoming. We did not stay.

The failed dance, really, is irrelevant, aside from that we had dressed up for it. We’d been to the Shanghai Mermaid the night before, which, we didn’t realize, would’ve been a perfect venue for our swing outfits: her short-short black twirly dress, small jacket with leopard-print accents, seamed stockings (there’s a word for those yes? “cuban heel”?), and she carried her red “ruby slippers” dancing heels in a bag – can’t have the soles getting all messed up – which she’d found when we’d been out shopping in the Village. I wore the outfit my stylist and I had picked out especially for this, including a black velvet jacket (which I’ve always wanted) and a fedora.

“I love that you understand costuming,” Miss DD said to me.

So we should’ve worn those fabulous swing outfits to Shanghai Mermaid, but we thought this dance was going to be great. Instead we were let down. We left the dance almost immediately, and went to Therapy.

“Therapy has the most fuckable bathrooms I’ve ever been in,” I remembered, opening the thick, heavy wooden door at the gayboy bar for DD. Fucking her in the bathroom honestly hadn’t been part of the plan – I was just desperate for a queer-ish venue where we could have some drinks, make out, possibly dance. It was the only bar around Midtown I could think of.

We found two stools at one of their huge beautiful tables and watched the gay boys, made up stories about their characters and hookups. Occupations, personal histories. Talked about literature and gender and dancing and costumes and how the fedora was fucking up my perfectly messy hair.

Eventually we made our way down to the first floor, to the back, to the bathrooms. I followed her into one of the stalls, which are more like individual rooms, real walls but the doors don’t quite go all the way to the floor. We both set our drinks down near the wall where we’d try not to kick them over.

She dropped to her knees, almost immediately. Did I kiss her first? Possibly. Possible too that she took my fingers deep into her mouth like she does, letting me feel her throat and the back of her tongue and her soft palette with my fingertips. Two, three fingers. Her tongue, her teeth grazing my knuckles.

And then on her knees. Her beautiful eyes looking up at me, cock deep in her throat, her hands on my thighs, on my ass, pulling me deeper into her. I’m moaning and gasping aw fuck and she takes my hand and puts it in her hair, I grip a fistful and hold her there, steady, as I pump my hips and fuck her face.

I was getting a little out of control here. I could feel it. That feeling looming where I can expand and explode and take. Different than orgasm, this is a topping energy that rises up and makes me want to damage, rip apart, destroy.

I started thrusting deeper and harder, taking control of the blow job, fucking her mouth rather than letting her do the work. I began tipping her backward.

Aw yeah, aw fuck yeah. Fuck.

Pulling her hair to lift her up to me, I stopped, pulled my cock out of her mouth, slammed her against the wall, hit her head against the tile. Kissed her. Hard, and again. Hand in her hair again, on her arms, shoulders, pinning her between me and the wall. I thrust my hand between her legs and found her pussy wet and ready for me, pressed my fingers inside, two then three, in and out slow, then harder and deeper, curling inside to touch her gspot and feel her opening for me, feel her swelling under my fingers.

She had one leg up, knee bent, against the wall and my arm was under her knee, but then she lifted it farther and pressed the sole of her high-heeled black leather boot against the opposite wall of the stall behind me. Opened her pelvis even deeper, gave us both better leverage.

Not to mention: so. fucking. hot.

She gasped, moaned. She bit my lips a little too hard and I pressed my hand to her cheek, pushed her face against the wall.

“Come for me, baby,” I started, whispering in her ear. “So fucken hot, you all pressed up against the bathroom wall like this. I love the way you suck my cock, you’re so good, so good. Now I want you to come for me, squirt for me, let it go, I want to feel it, I want you to splash the floor of this dirty bathroom … ”

She gasped, kissed me, mouth open, her stomach contracting and all the muscles in her body became taut, pressing hard against the edges of her so she could feel my fingers thrumming inside, and she started to gush, ejaculating in a stream I couldn’t see but could feel against my hand. Her pussy tightened and thickened and her muscles started pushing my fingers out, which means to finger her clit, so I did, brought two fingers against the hard swollen nub and pressed, worked it like a guitar string, an instrument, and she gasped and kept coming and coming, so much liquid.

“Yeah baby, oh yeah.”

Her fist gripped my hand, eyes bored into mine. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.” Her body shook. Her face opened, eyes wide and she shuddered, kept coming, I don’t know how long, a steady stream of come wetting the floor until finally her body gave out, spent, and she started laughing, whimpering and breathing hard, pulling me to her, kissing me, gasping.

We kissed. She brought her leg down from the wall with a slightly painful adjustment and stretched her hip. I adjusted myself and – of course – kicked her drink over, spilling it out from underneath the door of the stall.

Which is when we heard, “One at a time in the stalls!” and a knock on the door.

We laughed, tried to stifle it. “One minute!”  DD called.

“Oh, sorry ladies … ”

We shifted, gathered our jackets, bags, looked at the mess on the floor but could do nothing about it.

“Come on, now,” the voice called again.

We left the bathroom, trying not to laugh, embarrassed, made a bee-line right for the door of the club. Laughed and held hands and kissed in doorways all the way to the subway.

“God,” I said. “That was so hot.

The Popsicle in the Library

Sugarbutch Star honorable mention submission from Jennifer

Popsicle in the Library

“You know there’s no food allowed in the library,” I growl in her ear, pressing her stomach against the concrete stairwell wall. I’m speaking quietly but it still echoes.

“Unh,” she groans, not able to form words, mouth open.

“Not very polite of you, breaking the rules like that.” I lift her dress and shove my hands under the edge of her panties. She’s wet.

“Oh, you like this, do you? You’re enjoying this?” I flick my fingers over her cunt, then pull my hand away. She wimpers, echoing in the stairwell.

“You want something to suck on, girl, you take this,” and I let up on the pressure against her. She peels her cheek away from the concrete. I take my hand from her hair and unzip my fly, pull out my packing cock, bend it straight. “Go on, suck it.”

She drops to her knees, lips red from the cherry popsicle she’d been sucking lewdly when I walked up to her. And here I’d thought we’d had a study date. Her legs were all long in the windowsill, summery dress light and airy and when she moved her knees I could see the thin cream fabric covering her pussy, the outline of her lips, plump, thick.

She offered the sweet, bright red popsicle to me. “Want some?” Eyes all sly and sparkly, playful smile on her mouth.

I shook my head no. Crossed my arms over my chest. Raised one eybrow and nod for her to continue.

She does. Slides the whole thing into her mouth and cherry juice gets on her chin.

And now she sucks me just like she was working that sticky treat, sucking it like she could pull the juice from me too, like she could use the muscles in her cheeks to draw the cum from me and swallow it all.

Fuck. I want her to make me shoot in her mouth like that. Oh I wish I could.

I groan. “Enough.” I say and pull her to her feet. I don’t take her panties off, just lift her dress and finger the fleshy parts of her ass with my hand, then give it a good smack.

Not too hard. I cup my palm a little bit and it echoes perfectly, which makes the slight sting more impressive because it sounds so loud. I smack again. She cries out a little. Again, harder, and she yelps, I hear it floors away. My cock is still out and I shove it into her. Hard. Slide it in all the way. She whimpers, presses her hands into the concrete, the side of her face, presses her ass into me, spreads her legs.

She actually shouts, my thrusts pounding the noise out of her.

“Quiet.” I say, harsh, in her ear.

She is still wimpering. Trying to be quiet and she whispers, “I’m gonna spew if you keep fucking me like that.”

“Oh yeah? You’re a messy one, eh? Bring it on, bitch. Come on, come for me.” My mouth at her ear and my hands on her hips, head of my cock hitting her g-spot, I can feel it, and she comes hard, wet, dripping, soaking my cock, her thighs, the floor, my shoes. Her body shudders but that’s not all I can get out of her and I pull out and twist her around before she’s regained her composure, slide my fingers in, slide my hand in, reach up and inside her and I can feel the spots to press and I do.

I growl, “Do it again,” and she shakes her head no but she’s gasping, legs wide and on her tiptoes on the wet floor. She grabs for my wrist to pull me back, embarrasment in her eyes and she can feel her own cum dripping down her legs, but I don’t let up.

I take hold of her hair with my other hand and pull her head back, press my mouth to her jaw saying, “Come on, I’m gonna make you. You’re going to come just for me. Fuck yeah, do it. I’m gonna make you, fuck yeah, fuck yeah.”

And she wraps her arms around my neck and comes, and comes, and comes.