Posts Tagged ‘lovers’

what happened with Penny

July 30, 2008  |  journal entries  |  No Comments

We split up; we ended things a little more than two weeks ago.

It’s more complicated than that, but I’m not going to go into it here, for a few reasons. She could be reading, she knows I run this place, so I won’t be writing things here that I wouldn’t say – or haven’t already said – to her directly.

I respect Penny; I think she’s wonderful and there were many great things about dating her. This is probably the most sane breakup I’ve had in years, and I’m grateful to her for that – likewise, it was probably the most sane relationship (and, duh, as you know, some of the best sex, too).

I’m working through unraveling my understanding of what’s happened, my responsibility, my part in things. This ending – this whole relationship interaction – has shed some new light on my own ongoing story, pulled on old wounds, brought up some new ideas, and I am spending time exploring them, writing about them privately. I do miss having this place as a space in which to do that, because a lot of you readers have been following my relationship adventures for the last two years, and a lot of you know a whole lot about where I’ve come from, how things have been for me, what I struggle with, and my conversations with readers via comments are often very illuminating.

My understanding (so far) is that we wanted different things from each other and out of a relationship. It does feel like a loss, I’m sad about losing the things that were beautiful. But sometimes it’s just not a match, I guess.

weekend, part two: dancing

July 11, 2008  |  dirty stories  |  8 Comments

Weekend, part one: flogging

I slid my cock inside her swiftly and she took it easily. Let out a little cry, lifted her ankles around my hips. I was hungry. I could feel her opening, could feel how she could be filled.

“Get up,” I said after a while. I lifted myself off the bed and began switching to my other cock, the bigger one. “Turn over.”

She started to, up on her hands and knees, and I reached my arm around her hips and pulled her off the side of the bed, her pussy at my cock’s height perfectly. I took a palmful of lube and fucked her, hard, deep.

Moans and cries from both of us as I pounded into her. Fucks like that I swear I can feel my cock thickening, getting harder, being restricted and pulled into her cunt by her tight rings of muscles. She’s discovered that she can lift her legs off the floor and wrap them around my waist when I fuck her bent over the edge of the bed if she has the right grip on her hands (because it’s just the right height), which gets my cock ever deeper.

I moved my right hand around to her clit and she shuddered, I took a small grip on my cock to test the lube and moved back to her clit, swollen like a berry on a vine, thick, slick, sweet. I moved my other hand to her hair, pulling and holding her body so I could fuck harder. Shifting my pace, slowing excruciatingly and she was shuddering and gasping, nearly thrashing on the bed.

Faster again, slightly tilting my pelvis to aim for her gspot, fingers working her clit and lips stretched taut as she thrust back against me. I felt her thighs shudder, once, twice, as she squeezed and gasped, then came, nearly yelling into the bed.

We disentangled, breathing hard, little sighs of pleasure. She pulled herself up lengthwise on the bed and I went to her, legs scissored around hers, hand in her hair, one by her hip, head to her breast. She rested her hand on the back of my head and kept it there, weaving through the short hairs on my neck. Her fingers began to unravel me, to pull me apart, so tender, and I let go.

“You’re so sweet to me tonight,” I said, pulling myself up so our faces were next to each other on the pillow.

“You never let me be.”

[ Is that true? Maybe. Maybe I'm doing something that she interprets as keeping her at a distance, as pushing her away. I don't think that's how I intend it (is it?), and sometimes I even wish she'd touch me more. I don't wish it enough that I have asked for it (at least, not often, just once, the only time we showered together). ]

We pillow-talked for a while. “Did you like flogging me?”

“Yes. Very much.”

Let me elaborate: flogging is tangible power. Energy sparkling and crackling up and down my arms, my shoulders, all through my back. Rhythmic breathing, rhythmic swinging, and everything becomes hyper-sensual, hyper-senstive. I can detect a change in the air current, can hear a door open across the apartment building’s hallway. I feel her breathing, feel her breath, can see it visibly moving through her body. I sense the depth of the blows: that one too light, still too light, ah yes just right. Keep it there. Keep it just there. Then suddenly – too hard, and she gasps. I want to pull back but I so love the way she whimpers and squirms, just a little pain, just a little uncomfortable, then her muscles release, her voice releases when I let up, and that’s it, that’s the moment I crave, the supple giving in, the letting go, the release of what you don’t even know you’re holding on to.

Let go, let go. You don’t need it. All you need is this beautiful body, this beautiful breath.

In pillow talk, the subject shifted to dominance, to submission, to force. She knows I like it when she struggles. She’d like to play with that more, she said. I’d like her to say no, I said.

Then, I’m not sure how it started, but it did. Kissing, probably; isn’t that always how things start?

It’s a blur. Me looming over her, using the weight of my body (I must have more than 50 pounds on her) to hold her down. Force her legs apart. And she let out a string of words: “No no no no no,” whimpering, softly, turning her head side to side into the pillow as she tried to get her wrists out of my grip, “no no no no.”

“Yes,” I whispered, firmly. “Oh yes.”

She arched her back, tried to kick me and I got my calf against her knee and my hips between her thighs. Both wrists in one hand and position my cock.

“You’re going to take it. I’m going to fuck you.”

“Nooo …” Was she crying now? Gasping and her face felt wet when I took a grip on her hair and force her mouth to mine. It scared me a little, maybe I was hurting her (is she in physical pain? Are her knees okay, her shoulders?), and it scared me that I liked how much she was resisting me. How much I liked it when she won’t let me in.

I raised myself arms-length from her momentarily and paused. “You’ve got a safeword now, little girl. You remember what it is?”

She nodded a little, meeting my eyes briefly, and they were almost calm. Dancing. I felt releif.

“I’m not going to stop unless you use it. You’re gonna be mine tonight. My girl.”

And I pushed my thighs up to open hers, my knees sliding under her to force her pelvis up, her legs apart. My weight was shifted forward on my forearm, holding her arms down. She resisted my attempts to kiss her and whimpered more, moaning a little, cries inciting some sort of pulsing urge in my core, my pelvis, my hands in fists, down to my toes where I pushed against the bed firmly.

I slid inside slow and she shuddered, gasped, chest heaved and sank into the pillows and she let out a moan despite herself.

“You’re my girl tonight. Mine.” I said into her neck as I closed my teeth against her tender skin to keep her there, an animal instinct and she can’t move without ripping herself.

“You’re my girl.” I said again. “Say it.”

I felt her breath on my ear, her fingers clawing at my shoulderblades as she pulled me to her as I pumped my hips against her, thrusting, pressing, circling, and she pulsed under me.

Just a whisper: “I’m your girl.”

“That’s right. That’s right, baby. Say it again.”

“I’m yours, I’m your girl.”

I brought my mouth to hers, and we slid into the fuck, rocked together. Rocked deep.

the weekend, part one: flogging

July 8, 2008  |  dirty stories  |  3 Comments

I don’t usually post partial stories, but I am looking at an afternoon of meetings and work which means I won’t get to finish this story until tonight, and I wanted to post it today. Part two will come tomorrow.

Friday night. My roommate was gone over the holiday weekend.

Penny wanted to be flogged.

I stripped her bare and shoved her against the brick wall in my bedroom. She’s smaller than me such that I can place my thigh against the bend of her hips so she can lean against me as I hit her. Not necessarily hard or solid, but subtle, so she feels supported.

I hit her with my hand a while first, bringing the skin on her ass to a nice baby pink color. I kept the flogger draped over my shoulder and let the leather brush her skin a while before taking grip on it and beginning to swing.

She’s been letting me hit her harder lately. Less afraid and more breathing into it, ever since that night of the sex party where I shoved her up against the wall, pushed her dress up, and used my bare hand.

I choked the flogger and let it fall. Left, then right. Working up a comfortable rhythm of backhand, fronthand, like a ping-pong player against a wall and a fast ball. She squirmed. Whimpered a little. Her skin darkened red.

I particularly like flogging the back, but Penny is small, and her ass has more to take the blows.

I gave a few full swings, just a couple, letting go of the choke hold and allowing my arm to swing freely. We were alone in my apartment. She started getting louder with her moans and cries.

“Just a few more,” I’d say, whisper, into her neck when I paused to run my hands over the sensitive skin of her ass and thighs. “It hurts, doesn’t it. But you can take it, just a few more for me, baby.”

She did, she took it so well. I whispered a comforting “shhhhh” when she cried out. “You’re okay, it’s okay.” She started releasing, breathing deep, muscles loosening. A few more swings on her ass, her thighs. Harder and I started grunting with the effort.

She flattened herself against the wall after a couple particularly hard strokes.

“No no no,” I said, coming up behind her and pulling her hips squarely back. “You keep your ass out. Give it to me. Yeah, that’s it.”

She pressed her cunt against the seam of my jeans where she could feel my hard cock straining, and let her lower back curve in that gentle arc.

“Good girl.”

She kept her head turned toward my sliding closet doors which are covered in large mirrors. She told me later she was watching me hit her. I could see her ass and legs reflected as she pressed her arms above her head against the brick wall, and I caught glimpses of me too, still clothed in jeans and a black tee-shirt, arms pulsing as I brought the flogger up and down, gathering the tails then bringing it up and down again.

Her knees were getting weaker, eyes shining but half-lidded as I turned her body and she took her hands from the wall, laying them around my neck as I kissed her, they were heavy, leaden, and she could barely lift them with her muscle strength.

“Darling, you were so good.” I said softly between kisses. I reached around and slid my forearm behind her knees, lifting her in a cradled embrace and carrying her to the bed, laying her slowly on the soft throw blanket I keep on top.

She sighed and kissed me as I let my hands roam her skin, soft touches down her sides, her thighs, her breasts and nipples, my mouth on her neck, her clavicle, her shoulders. When my hand found the V where her legs met she was wet, open, and spread her thighs for me. My fingers slid in easily. My dick pulsed a little. I teased her lips a moment but could barely wait.

“Fuck me,” she whispered, arms reaching up around my neck, oh I love that. “Fuck me, fuck me, oh baby fuck me please.”

I tore at my belt, the button and fly of my jeans, pulled my cock out.

a bruise, and heels

July 7, 2008  |  miscellany  |  4 Comments

In celebration of my ticket to the Femme Conference, I thought I might dig out this photo of The Femme Top, who sent this to me after my call for birthday photographs. She lives in Chicago, now, where the conference is being held.

“They’re not strappy sandals, but my legs and my bruise (if you’re gonna play with other tops…) can make up for that.”

Protected: my issues + her issues

July 4, 2008  |  journal entries  |  Enter your password to view comments.

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

you’re going to come for me.

June 20, 2008  |  dirty stories  |  18 Comments

“Harder,” she whispered. “Fuck me harder, please, please.”

In a dingy bathroom in the downstairs of a Tibetan restaurant. Her cheek against the peeling greasy paint, legs kicked apart, stockings pulled down just to below her ass, dress shoved up around her waist, in front of the filmy bathroom mirror where she could see my arm flexing as my fingers – two, three – thrust inside her. Photos of the Dalai Lama on the wall. Penny joked about her being a bad Buddhist.

But I couldn’t resist.

An hour, more, of discussion: I’d send her a BDSM checklist about possible things to play with; we spoke about how much anger came up for her last weekend when I was hitting her; we spoke of my upcoming workshop and the BDSM techniques I’m hoping to practice with her, she was especially interested in the breast rope-binding ritual.

I imagined her, bound. Wrists behind her back, whimpering.

(Witness of that moment of giving in stirs something in me that nothing else does.)

I couldn’t get the angle right. I know well enough now to know how she likes to get fucked, to know the pressure she needs to come. Palm of my left hand holding her tailbone, working three fingers inside, right hand reaching around on her clit, pressing between the two like I’m cradling her pelvis.

She was up on her toes in her heels. Hands pressed against the wall, gasping, pressing back against me.

“Goddammit,” I swore softly into her hair, her neck, biting her shoulder, pressing into her harder, faster, “you’re going to come for me. Do it.”

She moaned. Couldn’t. It wasn’t going to happen. She needs a deeper bend in her hips, bent over or legs up. Something about how the muscles stretch and open.

But oh she was open for me last night. And I love the way she lets me shove her against walls, lets me fuck her in bathrooms in restaurants, up against trees in parks, up on my roof looking at the Manhattan skyline, Prospect Park, the South Brooklyn police precinct three doors down. Cars on the BQE whirring by, her hair dishevled against dark blue sky.

She’s even more of an exhibitionist than I am. This makes me want to test her limits, and mine. To find the places she won’t go and challenge her.

What an honor, such an honor, the ways she lets me in.

We attempted to leave the restaurant smoothly, the walk of shame past steaming plates of hot food and waiters and waitresses eyeing us suspiciously. Outside I caught her hand, laughing down the East Village streets, occasionally twirling her into my arms for a deep kiss. Supple, she gave in so easily, so eagerly, so sweetly at times my knees went weak and my throat growled with power.

She knows how to make me feel strong. Which makes me want to take her down all the more.

These mid-week dates are the tease, the warm-up. They get me going and keep me hard for days until I get to fuck her, for real, bent over something, on her back, head banging the wall or falling off the bed, arms up and grabbing for the headboard behind her, pressing against something, anything, for better leverage and pressure and power, oh the way she gives in.

Like last Friday, after mojitos and making out on the roof, she walked slowly, deliberately, into my room and bent over the edge of my bed, forearms in front of her. I think she would’ve stood up fairly quickly, really, but time slowed and the desire that swelled up in me in those few tiny moments were enough to keep me going for hours.

Swiftly I came up behind her and smacked her ass. “Bending over for me, are you? Just so eager to get fucked.”

“Yes,” she whimpered, barely audible.

I shoved her panties down – cute, a muted vintage pink and cream, lacy on the edges – fast, was ready to rip them apart, her dress up above her hips, held her cunt open while I unzipped and pulled my cock out, quickly unrolled a condom, spit on my hand, thrust inside her. Fast. Hard. Not even my fingers first.

I like the noises she makes when she’s caught off-guard. Thick moans from deep inside somewhere.

And did I mention the dress? Summery, cream-colored, halter top that tied behind her neck and behind her chest, shoulders bare, two knots, skirt below her knees. I kept hold of the ties and pressed her into the bed. Head down.

Hand pressed around her hips and onto her clit, just how she likes it, slow and soft as I fuck her hard and deep, and as soon as I started working her clit harder, faster, I could feel it swell, could feel her body shuddering, and she came, fast and hard, still working my hips to stay thick inside her, until she collapsed with her low hums of oh god ohh baby ohhh.

It’s the release I crave to hear the most. The letting go. The body stores things hidden inside joints, muscles, sinewy tendons, veins. How else to get the energy, the prana, moving again than to up the heart rate, force you into all the edges of your skin, sensation everywhere, pleasure bursting from the core of you?

What an honor, such an honor, to be received. To be allowed to go inside and touch those untouched, unlandscaped places which hold secrets, soft and dark, and dangerous raw beauty.

Protected: this place of mild panic

June 16, 2008  |  journal entries  |  Enter your password to view comments.

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

how suave I really am

June 16, 2008  |  journal entries  |  7 Comments

“You could come to my house. I have a dress you could borrow for work tomorrow.”

“Uh, I appreciate that, but, ya know, I think your clothes would be too small for me.”

“True.”

“We really need a teleporter. We could go to my place, get my clothes, go back to your place …”

“And get your cock.”

“Oh, I have that on me.” I’d been packing all night.

“You do?!” She grabbed my fly for proof.

“Yeah. You know my motto – I’d rather have a cock and not need it, than need it and not have it.

“Dammit, what were we doing? Now I feel like the whole night’s been wasted.”

“You didn’t want to talk identity politics and buddhist philosophy and BDSM theory? I knew it, you’re just using me for my socks.”

“…”

“I mean sex. Cocks! Fuck.”

Penny laughed. “I’m going to have to start writing for Sugarbutch to show how suave you really are.”

radio show aftermath

June 10, 2008  |  journal entries  |  3 Comments

Texts on my way home, before the show:

SS: I am still so hot for you. (this is ridiculous)
Penny: I was just thinking of you baby. xo
SS: Oh? something dirty I hope. I want you up against a fence, where everyone can see how you flush when you come.
Penny: Dirty boy. I want your head between my legs where it belongs.

… and that did it. God I love it when she says things like that. This is some of the dirtiest sex I’ve ever had, with Penny, and she keeps pushing me, pulls topping from me in new ways.

I had to get off before going back to Midtown for the radio show last night. I kicked off my shoes and shorts, strapped on, jacked off.

I came fast, swearing fuck and oh god with a string of dirty language in my head: that’s right. take my cock in deep. I like it when you struggle against me. Go ahead and resist, I’ll just go harder. You can take that can’t you. Can’t you. You like my cock in you. You like it when I come inside you. That’s right. … but eventually it was the memory of her clit pulsing in my mouth, my fingers tightly squeezed inside her, the way her thighs shake, that sent me over the edge.

(It occurs to me now that I’ve rarely seen her face when she comes. She likes it from behind, my fingers on her clit. Moaning into the mattress. Then there is mymouth on her, quickly becoming a surefire way to get her off. I rarely see her face. I’d like to. Like to see her eyes, her mouth open and gasping.)

So I jacked off. And – crap, lost track of time. I sped into Midtown, still strapped on* with my favorite Silky.

I got out of lateness free because my name wasn’t at the security desk out front – sometimes it’s under Smith instead of Sex, but this time it was just not there. Diana blamed security, but I knew it was because I’d spent that extra minute with my cock in my hand.

Diana looked great. Penny tuned in, and I read an excerpt from open up for me, a password-protected post from May. Diana went right to commercial, blushing, and said, “Damn, that is dirty! Dirtier than anything you’ve read on the show before … ”

And she’s right. That girl is filthy. I love it.

Plus? I was having the best hair day ever** – too bad it was radio.

Things I meant to mention on the radio last night:
* #1
** #2

Balanced On the Tip of My Tongue

June 5, 2008  |  dirty stories  |  20 Comments

Here’s a secret: I’m quite insecure about my ability to go down on a girl.

There are a few clear reasons for this.

The Ex, from the infamous LBD relationship, didn’t get off. I used to go down on her for hours, and … nothing.

Since she & I split nearly two years ago, I’ve been fucking around, and in my efforts to practice safer sex, I’ve only gone down either when we were fluid-bonded (rare), or with protection (also rare, actually).

And I hate to be “That Guy,” but going down on someone with protection just isn’t as fun. It’s hard to be detailed, hard to feel the right pressure or wetness or subtle, small ridges in the delicate tissue, which makes it all the more frustrating.

Going down on a girl, I think, is actually one of the most intimate sex acts. I will do all sorts of things before I’d go down, partially because of the fluid/safer sex issue, and partly because it takes a lot of vulnerability – for both giver and receiver – to have someone so completely focused with her face between your legs, your face between hers.

I also have a tongue piercing, and while I would like to think that it makes me more skilled at things like kissing and going down, but I don’t really have proof of that.  sometimes I am paranoid that I don’t really know how to use it, or that really it’s just getting in the way. I’d like to think it enhances what I do with my tongue, but I’m not really sure.

So because of these things, because it’s an intimate act for me, because I’ve been fucking around, because my ex couldn’t get off that way at all, I actually don’t have a lot of practice at it. No one’s ever told me I’m actually bad at it, don’t get me wrong – and once I know how to get a girl off, I can usually reproduce it in various ways: fingers, cock. It should extend to tongue, too, right?

But I’m insecure about it.

(I actually picked up Tristan Taormino’s DVD Guide to Cunnilingus at her launch party for her book Opening Up, but haven’t watched it yet. I should do that.)

So, on Sunday – after a lovely date with Penny on Saturday night where we watched the Sex and the City film, had dinner, drinks, dessert after, went to my place and kept each other up until 3am – we were lounging, satiated from a morning of breakfast and sex, talking about her plans to move to San Francisco.

Penny was lying tucked under my arm on the couch, and asked, “What’s on your mind?”

“Going down on you,” I said. I felt her body pulse in response.

We talked. Safer sex, my history, hers, why I don’t go down, that I wanted to with her. This conversation, inevitably, led to kissing, my mouth on her neck, clavicle, nipples, which was suddenly such a heightened sensation because we were both so aware of the idea of her clit in my mouth.

Pushing her into the bedroom, I stripped her bare swiftly, laid her out on the bed. She wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me to her in the sweetest gesture of vulnerability and desire; it was one of the strongest moments of the weekend.

“I want to taste you,” I murmured into the skin of her neck and cheek. “I want your clit in my mouth. I want to get you all wet, then fuck you, get my cock out and slide it in deep …”

(This was actually my backup plan in case I couldn’t get her off with my mouth. I had no idea if it would be easy or hard, if I was any good at it, if I could get her off this way at all. But at least I’m pretty good at getting her off with my fingers on her clit while fucking her, now, so that was the backup.)

Her back arched in response, pressing against me. Mouth opened, breath thick.

“You’re going to have to wait.” I said, pulling myself up and hovering over her. “Just for a minute, so I can get up and put my cock on.” She nodded, a tiny gesture, eyes wide and liquid and full, a look I see rarely on her. So sexy.

I rinsed my cock, fast, still sticky from fucking her that morning, and strapped on. She pulled me to her again, eager, kissing me open-mouthed and supple in a way that made me melt.

Softly, I slid my fingers inside her. Maneuvered down her body to touch my tongue to her clit. Light and soft with a wide tongue. I hadn’t had that close of a view of her cunt before, and she was beautiful.

She moaned. Whispered, “oh baby,” and I kept going. Looped my arm under her thigh and brought my hand to her pubic bone, pulled her cunt open with my fingers from above, leaving two fingers of my right hand inside, gently curled, light pressure and thrusting but not heavy. Just a little, just so she could feel it, just so she could feel stretched and full.

Her clit strained in my mouth, so clearly, so subtly but I could feel it, and I hardened my tongue and began moving it back and forth quicker. Pursed my lips around it to push the flesh away and let my tongue touch that one spot, that tiny spot, pulling back the hood and balancing her every nerve on the tip of my tongue.

Nude and strapped on, legs half-on and half-off the bed, I attempted not to let my hips shake and thrust involuntarily, but once she started pressing against my hand and mouth in rhythm I just couldn’t help it, my body responded accordingly. I wanted inside her, I wanted to fuck her, hard.

Of course, I didn’t move. Kept my mouth just where it was.

She tightened on my fingers and I pushed my fingers faster, a little fuller. Steady and thick with pressure against her gspot, pubic bone, the underside of her clit, I could feel it between my fingers – inside – and tongue.

And she came. Shuddering, gasping. Quickly, in fact. Sooner than I’d expected, thighs shaking, then her fingers around my wrist of the hand that was inside her and I pulled out slow. She pulled me up to her breast, pulled me to her.

I didn’t want to stop, not yet. I wanted her over and again, and again.

She laughed that little laugh that sounds like joy, the one that echoes in my mind after she’s gone. “I didn’t like that.” All sarcasm.

I laughed too. “I didn’t think so. Well good, because I didn’t like doing it.”

“I’m like a teenage boy,” she said, eyes open, skin bare, feeling exposed, referring to how fast she came. I pulled a soft throw blanket over us.

I kissed her again, soft, deep, she was so supple in that way that only a long day of sex makes you, and I could’ve done anything, for hours, could’ve done whatever she wanted, felt a superhero strength, an inexhaustive dominance that could’ve gone on and on.

Then there was my mouth back on her skin and neck and soon my hand back between her legs, the eager way she parts. Between her legs I gathered lube for my cock, but she was sore, a little hesitant when I slid inside her.

So I brought my mouth to her again instead. Slight tongueful of lube in the beginning, but I didn’t care. I caught her clit between my tongue piercing and the tip of my tongue and flicked it, kept it taut.

After a minute, I nearly panicked. What if I couldn’t get her off again? What if that first time was just a fluke, what if she was already bored? What if I actually wasn’t any good at this? What if I was being cocky thinking I would do it again, just like that?

And then I heard her moan again, baby, ohhh baby, which she rarely says, rarely calls me, and I worked my fingers inside her again, not too much but a little pressure, gently, sweet, tongue hard against the soft folds of her, eager, lapping, the ball of my tongue piercing tracing her hood, sucking her into my mouth.

So sweet.

And she came again. Pelvis and spine rolling on the bed, thrusting against me, thighs clenching around me and shaking, stomach contracting. I wished I could see her from far away, all of her, observe, watch the way her body builds and releases.

I wrapped myself around her again, kissing her, fingertips feather-light along her body, bare skin flushed and heated.

“I’m going to have to practice that some more, I think,” I said. She laughed and sighed, rolled to her side as I pressed against her back, cradling, and she pulled my arm around her, held it against her chest.