Beats sticky toffee pudding with or without dates!

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Saturday Lunch…

June 4, 2016

fries - Sneyd

bellyb

I spent the first 25 years of my life as a lesbian, knowing I was always secretly bisexual, but knowing also that my conservative family could never understand the diversity of sexuality, of people, and of lovers. I was with a long-term girlfriend, then another long-term girlfriend, so the binary label seemed easier. Straight. Gay. Leave the “in between” part for when I’m alone wanking to porn. But then I tried the dick. With a lot of curiosity and experimentation, it seemed ok enough, and if I could help match fantasy to reality, it could possibly even be decent.

But with a lot of trial and too much error, I decided men had no idea how to go down on women. Let’s face it, I’ve worked with real experts. Women know women better. It’s a fact I always accepted. It’s like taking your vintage car to the dealership vs. the local mechanic. Sure, you’re going to get up-charged, but they know your brand the best.

When men would try to go down on me, I would stop them at the thought. “No, no…it’s ok… just stick it in,” I’d tell them, unwilling to waste my time faking another orgasm to prevent a fractured ego. Ok, I was a little more polite than that, with a baby thrown in for good measure. “But I love doing it,” a lover said once. I rolled my eyes, secretly wondering if I could get away with reading the news on my phone at the same time he was drowning in his own drool.

Giving the direction “fingers inside me with clitoral stimulation” seemed to cause as much confusion as telling him to look behind something to find the milk. I half expected him to stand at the foot of the bed like I was a refrigerator with the door open and gaze at me in endless confusion at this foreign concept. This was not “walk and chew gum”, this was a another thing far more complicated. I thought, I can speak “bro”. I was a lesbian, for Christ’s sake. “Have you ever driven a stick shift?”

So I made things simpler. Fuck me. Hard. Preferably from behind. Because once you get that angle, that oh-so perfect angle just right, that thrust will set me off like the Fourth of July just had an orgy with Cupid and Santa while the Easter Bunny jerked off in the corner and the world exploded with fireworks, flowers, presents, and chocolate cream eggs all at once, then twice, oh wait…one more time…there…I’m good…pardon while I tremble. Am I crying? It’s ok, it’s the good kind.

But then I met you. You were too tall, too tall. Your strength scared me. What if you hurt me? What if you yelled at me and I got scared? Given the stories I know and things I’ve seen, this wasn’t an impossible fear. But, no. My gentle giant’s hands are used only for snuggles, and squeezes, and slipping up my skirt or down my panties. For wiping stray eyelashes or insisting on another cookie while we play video games. For that one time I tried to hide my silent laughter behind the hair hanging in my face and you softly pushed it aside and caught me.

You have facial hair. That just won’t do. My father has facial hair, and we all know how I feel about him. But…..no…your furry chin doesn’t block your soft lips and perfect kisses. It cozies right up to my neck to tickle until I giggle with goosebumps and you pull me closer against you.

I humored you that first time. “Oh great… he wants to go down on me,” I thought. “Where’s that book I was reading?” But dear God and all other deities. You’re sucking my clit while you’re sticking your big long finger in me. Holy shit, is that two? Ohgod, ohgod, g-spot while you’re lapping at my clit? I was wrong to doubt you. How are your massive arms just the right length to reach to my breast to squeeze my nipple? Harder, please. Ahhh yes…just like that. Don’t you dare stop!

I couldn’t focus, I was overwhelmed. Overcome. That must be where that word comes from. I didn’t just come. I was overcome! You had to hold down my pelvis or my careless thrusts could’ve knocked a tooth out. My legs shook, my body tensed, and I squeezed your fingers hard. I was scared of how big the orgasm would be. Almost like it was going to be too much and I didn’t want to come because I wasn’t sure if I could handle it. A string of profanity followed, but you didn’t stop. You were taking me there. One more flick of your tongue across my clit and I covered your fingers buried inside me. But you were just getting warmed up. Three more like that followed and on the fourth I told you I didn’t think I could come again. I now understand how much you love a challenge, so of course, I came once more.

Nearly two years later, our sex has only gotten better. Sometimes passionate and loving where I won’t let your lips leave mine while you’re fingering me. Sometimes I’m on top of you laughing while my hips twerk to the music as I bounce on your cock. Sometimes I text you when you’re on your way over and tell you not to be gentle, and you spank me while you take me from behind.

And that one time you came over before going out of town. I was shaking with release and you were moving me to spoon before I stopped you. “No… I want another one…” And you seemed surprised before the lightbulb came on. “You’re gone for a few weeks, I just need-” and you shook your head. “I know what you’re doing. I got this,” you said with determination. I giggled at your “serious face” until you were inside me again.

You taught me I had it all wrong. You get me. You love me. You care for me. You protect me. And your balls always smell clean when I’m going down on you. You broke every rule, every assumption, I ever had about men and I will always love you for it.

Source:

How to make me come

tiedupTuesday3

To begin: she ordered me naked before cuffing my wrists. She took great care in my positioning on the bed: face upwards, of course; ankles firmly secured to the end of the bed. Then she sat on my face and ordered me to lick her out until she came.

It was after her quivering body finally relaxed on my face, the real ordeal began. Pegs attached to nipples and balls. Cock standing respectfully to attention, leaking a little precum for which she slapped my balls…but really hard! And not just the once, either, but several times.

The pegs flew off, and I bucked with the sudden pain.

She put her face down beside my ear, spoke softly like a lover. ‘You little tart, I’ll show you what’s what…’

She started to handjob me, slowly, long teasing strokes which became more intense when she forced a small dildo into my backside. She teased and edged me for an eternity. I’ve never been so desperate to cum before…

‘You’re pathetic,’ she whispered. ‘Really pathetic…’

Rapidly, expertly her hand gripped my cock and tugged. She took me to the point of no return in seconds, literally…then released me. My cock bobbed and jerked involuntarily. Spunk dribbled down its stiff length.

My orgasm ruined, harshly, for her bloody amusement…

She laughed at me. Then grabbed my cock again, rubbing the swollen head with the fingers of her free hand. I bucked, called out. But she was merciless…

Calling me a “Wimp” and laughing, she rubbed her palm roughly, rapidly over my cock head. The intensity of this was beyond simple words. Pleasurable, yes, but heavily overlain with discomfort, bordering on intense pain. Writhing, I begged her – literally begged her – to stop.

Then, unexpectedly, my cock shot a thick load of spunk in the air, but she kept rubbing it…

What she was doing would normally be very pleasurable, but post orgasm with my glans made terribly sensitive, it was like a glimpse into hell.

She said, ‘You stay stiff, you wimp. I haven’t finished…’

Her hand was a blur on my supersensitive cock head. I felt more vulnerable, more helpless than ever before with her. The sadistic smirk fixed to her face was frightening…One hand gripping me tightly, the other rubbing like mad.

I endured sixty minutes of this non-stop stroking: a torturous overstimulation that forced me to cum for a third time, and then, semi-erect near ordeal’s end, a final, ugly spasm of raw pain and an accompanying, pathetic teaspoon of spunk splutter…

‘What a little tart you are,’ she said, wiping spunky hands over my face. ‘Next time we do it with Viagra…Keep you stiff all night long!’

More Saturday Silliness

December 19, 2015

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Reading this morning

December 14, 2015

housewivesatplay

Knowing your place

December 10, 2015

place

What happened to Saturday…?

November 29, 2015

Loversembrace

Friday night was party night. Christmas celebrations for the non-celibate. The venue: a country house, labyrinthine in its complexity, once home to the Little Sisters of Mercy. This convent house took in fallen women back in the day, girls aged between twelve and forty years old, placed in the care of the nuns by local magistrates. Here they served two years in the convent’s steamy laundry. And learnt the benefits of hard toil in the formation of character. And gave their lady-parts a well deserved rest. In the early nineteen thirties the order, greatly diminished in size by then, finally abandoned the convent and the house became the property of the affluent Tee family.

The great hall, all vaulted ceilings, clerestory windows, with this single rose window at one end, had more than its fair share of pillars, pilasters and arched doorways – medieval in appearance: mock gothic. Long tables set for the many diners, draped in white lace clothes. Eight courses of food, commencing with canapés: pear, camembert and prosciutto wraps, king prawns with sweet chilli sauce…I had the beetroot and goat’s cheese cups, and a wonderful mushroom vol-au-vent.

Strong drink flowed. Wine by the goblet, white, red and rosé. Raucous conversation, flushed faces. Like Lordes and Ladyes of some bygone era. Caroline Tee explained in her plumy voice how she once enacted her favorite fantasy in this hall – she took the part of a nun in training, a novice in pure white habit, tied down across a make-shift alter and then systematically fucked in every orifice by five young men who “slaved” away at their task for most of the day.

‘Paid them an ABSOLUTE fortune.’

‘You are soooo shocking Caro, so dissolute…’ Regina declared. She looked twenty-one-or-two years old, but was mother to five children. It was only on closer inspection you noticed the faint lines around eyes and mouth and realised she must be mid-to-late thirties. ‘It’s hard to know if we should take you seriously or not.’

Donald Tee, Caroline’s husband, is a plump homosexual. It’s possible he fathered one of Caro’s three children…the others, necessary heirs to the Tee estate one and all, were the result of Caro’s love trysts, simple and complex. Don sat beside a pretty young man who had long flowing golden locks, his latest love interest. The boy wore a snug-fitting Dolce & Gabbana shirt and tight black slacks. Full of the Christmas spirit, the pair of them. Smiles and toasting each other in prosecco.

After the food, music. Swaying bodies. Semi-transparent blouses, clinging lycra. Laughter and kisses. More and more intoxicated. A tongue in my mouth, a fall of blonde hair. A plump woman, forty-something, wearing a long black evening dress. Her lips were dry.

Another woman in a lace and mesh teddy, her dress thrown off, abandoned, waving this massive dildo as thick as a man’s arm in the air.

My fleshy Amazonian cheered her on. Up close her huge cleavage smelled of mandarin body butter. ‘Remember the promise you made me,’ she said.

Other women shed their dresses along with their inhibitions. Corsets, lacy basques. Silk stockings. Laser lights and disco music. A nubile young thing in floral lace body stocking, her boyfriend nude, erect. Both laughing.

I’m being guided away from the hall. Up two flights of stairs. A large bedroom. Night pressing on the lattice windows. She strips off the evening dress, exposes a black lace body- shaper and matching bra.

‘Your promise,’ she repeated, pushing me back on the bed. For a minute she was all hands. My trousers were unfastened, tugged down to my knees, my shirt unbuttoned. Throwing back her head, she kneeled either side of my face. Monumental white thighs. Broad backside encased in black lace.

Her fingers conjured magic between her legs: opened the gusset of her body-shaper. Thick curling hair, fleshy lips. My Amazon dreamed of being trapped by cannibals. She began a new dance, and I was smothered in musky damp flesh.

My head started to swim. My tongue was sandstone thick, lapping deeply. We had arrived at bare essentials. Drowning in pussy juice. So much ferocity in her, this big beautiful woman. This earth mother. Who ripped at my cock each time she came so profusely in my mouth.

Later, outside, I inhaled deeply cold fresh air. It had stopped raining but was very windy. Scudding cloud backlit by the moon. I’d washed my face and mouth, and brushed my teeth back in my own room. But I could still “taste” my curvy facesitter. My cannibal loving nemeses.

Another dumpy woman pulled me to her. She tossed aside her cigarette. Kissed my mouth and neck. One large tit pushed up from of the cup of her bra, hung pendulously out of her red dress. Big dark nipple fed to me roughly. In the corridor upstairs, half-undressed, I kissed breasts, belly and buttocks. She had crushed glass eyes. Big and white and lascivious. Somewhere in her centre she spontaneously combusted.

In the hall, more wine. Bodies together in spotless geometries of passion. Caroline Tee smiling in my face. Broad front teeth made her look a little horsey. ‘I’ve had nine cocks up me so far,’ she said. Dishes on the tables overflowing with condoms. The dance floor was sticky underfoot – spilled drink and spunk puddled on the boards. White hands unzipping my fly. A woman old enough to be my granny, but attractive nevertheless, led me by the cock back to her lair. I glanced over my shoulder at Caro, nude and naughty.

Kissing ribs, a nipple. A depilated cunt. When she came I thought she was having somekind of fit. I told myself repeatedly the dizziness would fade. In the hall Caro called me to her. I had no clothes, they were strewn around the house. Caro was astride a male (who?) riding his cock. ‘Put yours up my bum,’ she hissed. ‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘Not ready yet.’ I had just emptied myself in dear granny Weatherall’s greedy cunt.

She scowled at me. ‘Lick it out then. Do something. I’m almost there.’

Lowering my face, I watched her skinny arse chasing his balls. I pushed forward, breaking off to ask, ‘Okay?’

‘For Godsake, LICK it!’

Night inevitably became day. Sleepless, I found myself surrounded by cardboard ghosts. Ghost hands touching my cock, my balls. Lips brushed mine. A slender finger went into me, lubricating.

Fragmented memories survive: The terrifying softness of curvy bodies. Imprint of too tight underwear on pale naked flesh. Huge eyes. A tongue in my ear. A woman squatting above my face in the shower. The smell of her hair as I came up her.

‘Lay back,’ she said. ‘I need to pee again – ’

And then her quick shallow breathing as I licked her out afterwards…

Late Saturday afternoon my cab arrived. Clothing earlier recovered, I made my fond farewells to our hosts. My body felt bruised and battered. My shrunken cock was burning like a piece of raw fish that had been liberally dipped in thick piri-piri. I had slept not one wink.

Caro kissed me gently on the lips. I gazed from her thin neck to her warm blue eyes. ‘We’re thinking of doing it again for New Year’s Eve,’ she said.

‘Really?’

‘You up for it?’

‘I s’pose,’ I said. ‘I should have recovered by then…’