Posts Tagged ‘the benefits of living in new york city’
Kristen and I dispute how many times we’ve been to the particular play party that we attended on Halloween. I thought we’d been before at least once, but she thinks it was only one other party in the same space. Perhaps because we also attended a completely different party around the same time (where the rocking chair blow job happened) I am blurring the parties together.
Regardless, we hadn’t fucked in “public” in a long time, and Kristen had the perfect costume for the Halloween play party: this “Secretary” outfit from Liberator.
Okay, you got me: it’s more lingerie than costume. Really it’s just the cuffs and collar that cross it over that line. Not really sure why it’s a secretary outfit, either; I guess because it has pinstripes on it, it is business-y? Whatever. The lingerie is hot. It arrived in a lovely fancy black box in pink tissue paper, and since Kristen tried it on earlier in the week I’d been looking forward to fucking her in it.
This is only the second Liberator item I’ve been sent to review – the first being the Throe, the moisture-proof blanket Kristen and I use pretty much every time we have sex. Well, every time at my house, anyway; we should get a second for her place, too. I’ve been looking forward to more from their product line, particularly some silk pillowcases to see if something higher quality will do less damage to Kristen’s hair, which is inevitably a tangled mess after thrashing against the sheets for a while. (Those of you with fine, baby-thin hair out there may know this problem. So far there’s no cure except conditioner and a shower. Suggestions?)
Instead of the pillow cases, though, they sent us Kristen’s pick for lingerie, just in time for the Halloween party.
It’s kind of hard to order clothes online, especially lingerie, where it should be very form-fitting and specific to a body’s shape. Liberator lingerie comes in x-small, small, medium, large, x-large, and 2x, and the customer service folks told Kristen that it runs small, so she ordered what she thought would be the closest to her size. She seems pretty happy with the fit, but it was a bit of a gamble; we may try a slightly smaller size next time, but it’s hard to say, that one might be too small. Returns to Liberator have to be pre-approved, probably because they do sell all sorts of products for sexiness and they aren’t about to accept used sheets or used sex furniture, but if it’s because the lingerie was the wrong size I bet they would understand. Be sure to ask, though, if you’re not sure.
We dressed at my place; she slipped into it as I got my harness ready under my black slacks, tee shirt, and button-down. When I announced I was ready, she said she was too, and I thought, really? You’re going to wear that out, without anything on top of it? She zipped her jacket up over it, her very short jacket, coming only to her high waist. The garter is almost a mini-mini-skirt, if you stretch your mind a bit, and we were driving, walking only the few blocks from her apartment to the play party. Plus, it IS Halloween, which is practically Scantily Clad Day, and I’d be with her – it’d be okay. (It did make me feel a bit protective, but also hot, that she was willing to venture out into public wearing so little. And knowing I’d probably fuck her later in the same lovely outfit made it all the better.)
We arrived at the play party a bit late; it was packed and going strong. Someone recognized me upon my entrance (who were you? I could barely hear or see, I apologize) and Kristen and I made the rounds, watching the various scenes in progress already: someone holding onto the bars of the “jail cell,” two pairs of dykes giving/receiving blow jobs, someone on a leash being led around by someone very mistressy, a girl with lovely curves face down being smacked by her top in a cowboy hat. Every once in a while the music would quiet just a little and I’d hear someone screaming or yelling or moaning and go investigate – I do love that it is a safe space to come and be naked, be vulnerable, be exposed, and be hot and sexy.
We didn’t stay long, but we wanted to play at least a little. I like to show her off. I like for others to watch her and see how ridiculously sexy she is when she comes or how good she is at her particular talents, like sucking me off.
I’m not sure how it started; with a kiss, I think (isn’t that always how it starts?). I love the way she kisses, from subtle, supple energy to hard, insistent, demanding. I love how she meets me, pushes me for more, mouth and lips and tongue so sweet and open, lovely, tender. I can’t even explain it without resorting to cliche flower metaphors.
Somewhere in the winding labyrinth of little black nooks and crannies I leaned against the wall, feet apart shoulder blades pressing back, cock already tucked into my slacks when I was in the other room, not a packing cock but a fucking cock so it is straining at my zipper and pulling at my belt already. She presses against me and can feel it, rubs up against it, which makes me groan. She winds her fingers through my hair. Puts her mouth to my neck. I feel myself coming undone, coming thickly into my body and connecting to her, those invisible strings that pull us to each other becoming taut.
She wants to be somewhere more public. I want to be somewhere quieter, we were right under the speaker and I can’t hear her noises, can’t hear her breathing. I lead her into the back room, full of signs that read “BDSM and sex only – no chatting please,” where Crash Pad is playing in the background, and I find a chair. We keep kissing before I sit back into it, just enjoying reconnecting and building the sensuality between us.
To be honest, we hadn’t fucked in a while. A few days, probably. Maybe there was some morning making out in there, some quickies, but no half-day laze in bed like we are used to. We kept disconnecting, we’d traveled and had visitors and then were decompressing from a week of socializing, we weren’t arguing but I was particularly exhausted and not communicating that well or being very attentive. It was a relief to let the world fall away outside and just be with her, just feel her back and shoulders and waist, her ass all round and squeezable in that gorgeous high-waist garter.
We kissed for a long time. Standing, arms wrapped around each other, melting a bit, finding the edges of each other again. Finally I pulled back to say, “there’s a chair behind me. I’m going to get my cock out, you’re going to get on your knees. Got it?”
She nods. I kiss her again, so sweet, savoring her lips, and drop back to the chair behind me as she drops to the floor. It is doubtlessly good whenever she ventures to put her mouth on me, but this time was exquisite, the kissing still reverberating on my mouth, still feeling her tongue and pillowy lips, how is it that after nearly a year it just keeps getting better? (I ask myself this regularly.) She kisses the head of my cock, softly. I feel it jolt through my body. Her tongue running along the corona. I shiver, swelling. She pulls it into her mouth deeper with suction and my eyes roll back in my head, I nearly fall out of my chair.
I love to watch her this way. I let her go on, watching the room watching us a little bit, dykes over by the doorway biting their lips and sucking on their fingers absently, eyes fixed. Enjoying them enjoying the view of her ass, her back curved, leaning forward.
The couple in the far corner leaves and the swing is unused. I pull her mouth off my cock with my hand on her chin and kiss her. Her mouth is wet.
“Let’s go back into the corner.”
I tug on my slacks so they don’t fall down around my ankles, lead the way. I undo my button down and slip it off, set it on the bench next to the wall, by the swing and the table that is suspended by chains from the ceiling. She stands next to me as I drop down to my knees and unhook her garter belt to slide her black panties down her legs, then hook up the belt again.
“The swing?” I ask her. “Or the table?” Both are free. She looks over to the table coyly and we take a few steps over to it, maneuver her up onto it. Kind of hard to do without proper leverage. There was a couple fucking right here as we watched earlier and it’s kind of a thrill to do something similar to what they did. She lays back, grabs the chains for leverage, wraps her legs around my waist as I lube up my cock and slide it in. I work it in and out a little, softly, she’s quiet and not nearly responsive enough. I can’t reach her to kiss her from this ninety-degree angle at which we’re fucking.
I can’t hear her, either. The music is too loud, plus there’s porn playing on the TV behind us, and other people fucking nearby, so any joyful noise, so to speak, could be coming from anywhere. I can’t hear her. I can barely see her, it’s so dark in here, a windowless basement with only bare colored dim light bulbs from the ceiling and the light from the TV. It’s not enough for me to tell what’s going on with her, but I can feel it, something’s not quite right.
“You okay?” “Yeah.” She wants it to be okay. (So do I.) But we can both feel something is off.
We mess around for a little while, I hold her, hold her down, push her ankles onto my shoulders so her legs are up, touch her clit, she gets off once or twice. But her heart’s not in it, and she forces it a little, makes it happen faster than necessary. I suspect she wants to go.
I lean down to wrap around her for a moment and she responds immediately, softens and pulls up into me. “Let’s get out of here,” I say. She nods into my neck. We get up, clean up the area, put our clothes back on, I tuck my shirt in.
It was fun, thrilling to debut her lingerie in public, fun to show her off a little, thrilling to watch her go down on me in front of a room full of people. But it isn’t quite enough. We haven’t had enough connection lately. I need some cuddling and intimacy and kisses all night long, wrapping around each other and sleeping late, making breakfast and laughing and leisurely lazing around on the couch watching reruns of 30 Rock, holding hands. I need some quiet to ourselves, with the world on the outside shut off and put away. I need to catch up on the last week, decompress together, let her know what I thought of the parties and people and fun times and her cooking and all the events we’re sharing. I need things to just slow down so I could catch my breath.
I pack up my cocks, we get our jackets, venture back out into the cold, and walk the few blocks back to her place, where we whisper sweet nothings quietly before falling asleep together.