Twenty four hours of bliss and pleasure. I have your brain wrapped around my finger. I can make you do what I want, but you make it seem like it's your idea anyway and that makes my cunt so wet and my brain fry.
I have come countless, effortless times. I am sore and bruised. Your body aches. I can barely think it all out in my head. All I can see is your stomach flex, the muscles in your thighs tighten. Twitch. Choking on your cock. Drooling. You pinch my mouth so hard my jaw aches.
Your fingers roughly inside me. Telling me I'm a dirty little slut, telling me to come. Spitting on me and god do I come. Relentless streams of effluence, coating, soaking, bucking desire and satisfaction. You release on my body, inside me. Over me, in me, whichever hole you like. However and whenever you want. You're getting the hang of this. I'm getting wet just thinking about it. It's hard to write. I want to touch myself. It's hard to write.
You hold so much intention and intensity. The way you grip my neck. We kiss and I smear drool off my chin, and we kiss again and I don't care. You spit on me, you bite me, you taste me and enjoy me.
You touch and stroke me, concentration blurs and all I can feel is that red hot throb. Pulse. Turned on, turned up, give me attention, give me more, stop, no never stop. Throb. Please don't stop. It's hard to write. I want to touch myself. I'm sore.
Please can this carry on? Please keep evolving. Become perfect. Make it seem like your idea. Make it a dream. Dripping on the wave. Intense. Beautiful, fingers in your hair, yours in mine, twisting, pulling, hurting. Hurt me, fuck just hurt me. Make it perfect. Scare me. Never stop. Push your body into mine and make it blend. Hit my face and my body and over power me and keep going and don't worry. Make me perfect. Palpable and desirable. Make me yours to play with. Make it happen.
Monday, 30 December 2013
Monday, 23 December 2013
Neil - Christmas gifts
You bought me a necklace for Christmas. A pretty serpent on a length of dainty chain. Snakes represent desire, sex and evil transformations.
I lay my head in your lap, later in the evening, drinking a shot of whiskey. The woody, sweet familiar taste. You stroked your fingers down my neck and over the silver. What you must think, I have no idea. Thankfully, I always think the same thing.
We go to bed. You know what I want. Sex, sodomy, stretched pleasures and pain. You stroke me until I'm dripping and begging for your cock.
You slide into my wet slit. You're ready and eager as always, that vacant, heady, intense state. I don't even have to touch you to make you hard. That makes me powerful. I am powerful and desirable and smut and filth.
I tell you that I want you to fuck my arse. It's sometimes like some porno. Easy access. A steady panning shot as you slather your cock in lubricant and deftly slide it into me.
I feel skin and muscle stretch. We groan in unison. It always feels like this. You start to fuck me hard. Grabbing at my hips in a good rhythm. Banging away at me. Mt necklace bobs on my chest. This won't last. It feels too good. I'm right and wronged. A quick tidy up.
A mutter at you in desperation, stretched out, in need of a resolution. In my good voice I say:
"Baby please fuck my arse, with your fingers, stretch me out, make me hurt. I want to feel your hands in both my holes. I want to come. Please carry on".
The thing I like about you Neil is you never need persuading. I begin to really open up to your hands which move and twist relentlessly. I gape, get wetter, groan, moan and mumble.
"I'm gonna come. Oh yes. Oh please. Oh fuck me harder".
My body responds to the onslaught of increased intensity. Your movements are violent, punching connections. Moan, moan, a heightened pitch, desperate little mewls and yelps. My holes contract. My cunt oozes and squirts all over your hands. A grotesque pink machine. Pumping and coming and bursting away. An organic transformation, my climax, your assistance. Smutty and filthy and hot.
I lay my head in your lap, later in the evening, drinking a shot of whiskey. The woody, sweet familiar taste. You stroked your fingers down my neck and over the silver. What you must think, I have no idea. Thankfully, I always think the same thing.
We go to bed. You know what I want. Sex, sodomy, stretched pleasures and pain. You stroke me until I'm dripping and begging for your cock.
You slide into my wet slit. You're ready and eager as always, that vacant, heady, intense state. I don't even have to touch you to make you hard. That makes me powerful. I am powerful and desirable and smut and filth.
I tell you that I want you to fuck my arse. It's sometimes like some porno. Easy access. A steady panning shot as you slather your cock in lubricant and deftly slide it into me.
I feel skin and muscle stretch. We groan in unison. It always feels like this. You start to fuck me hard. Grabbing at my hips in a good rhythm. Banging away at me. Mt necklace bobs on my chest. This won't last. It feels too good. I'm right and wronged. A quick tidy up.
A mutter at you in desperation, stretched out, in need of a resolution. In my good voice I say:
"Baby please fuck my arse, with your fingers, stretch me out, make me hurt. I want to feel your hands in both my holes. I want to come. Please carry on".
The thing I like about you Neil is you never need persuading. I begin to really open up to your hands which move and twist relentlessly. I gape, get wetter, groan, moan and mumble.
"I'm gonna come. Oh yes. Oh please. Oh fuck me harder".
My body responds to the onslaught of increased intensity. Your movements are violent, punching connections. Moan, moan, a heightened pitch, desperate little mewls and yelps. My holes contract. My cunt oozes and squirts all over your hands. A grotesque pink machine. Pumping and coming and bursting away. An organic transformation, my climax, your assistance. Smutty and filthy and hot.
Wednesday, 18 December 2013
The cyclist - quickly
Make me come. Quietly, quickly, don't let anyone hear us. Bury that head between my thighs. Touch, Pinch me, stroke me, charm me. Assume positions, backs curl. Even smooth thrusts. Make me come. Make us climax, do it quietly though. Buck and rub and so close and so there and far away a quiet gasp. Mutual and shared. Quietly, quickly, make me come again. Don't let anyone here us.
Chef Michael - another evening
You run your hand up and down my body. Smoothing over the curve of my hip and the cheek of my bottom. Calloused fingers sliding underneath the lace material. I can hear them scratching like birds feet.
I ask you what you're thinking about. You respond that you're thinking about whether I like what you're doing. You pause. Correct yourself.
"I'm thinking that you are enjoying what I'm doing".
I smile sheepishly, curling my back and pushing my bottom against your open hand.
We start to kiss. Gentle. Then not so. Bitten lips, tongues sucked and twisted and entangled. You push me onto my back and your hand finds my cunt and insistently begins to rub at me through my clothes. Rough and uncaring. The thin material soon becomes sodden.
You suck and gnaw at my breasts. Your hand slips underneath the covering and you begin to stroke me. Desperate, oozing hot and wet.
You kiss my neck and I thread my hands into your hair and tug it and pull you in closer and you ask me if I want you to lick my cunt, and what sort of question is that? I moan softly into your mouth as you push your lips against mine.
Your mouth on my cunt feels so good. You taunt me by gently slipping your fingers close to some point of penetration. I stroke your cock. Hard and eager. I beg you to fuck me. Repeated in my desperation. You oblige me eventually.
I'm on my back with my legs wrapped around your waist and you push deep and easy and it feels delicious. I ask you to spit on my fingers. I rest then against my lips and you drool on then and I push them into your mouth and then into mine. You moan. The visceral, it tweaks your brain, as it does mine. I feel your cock twitch and jolt inside me.
I use my to stroke and touch myself. You sit back, wrap a hand around my throat and fuck me hard. I choke and touch and build and it feels so good. It feels really damn good. I stare at you dark and wild, the ease with which you excite me. I hold your hip with my free hand. I whisper that you'll make me come, I beg you not to stop. I plead with you to fuck me harder. You listen and oblige. I come in an epic burst of froth and foam. Pull you into me And breathlessly enquire whether you want to come in my tight, wet, cunt.
You groan and screw me harder still. Buck buck, heat and release. I contract my muscles against you. You scrunch my hair in your hands and close your eyes and your face looks at once serene and anguished. Your breath is short as is mine. That definitely felt good. The feeling is mutual.
I ask you what you're thinking about. You respond that you're thinking about whether I like what you're doing. You pause. Correct yourself.
"I'm thinking that you are enjoying what I'm doing".
I smile sheepishly, curling my back and pushing my bottom against your open hand.
We start to kiss. Gentle. Then not so. Bitten lips, tongues sucked and twisted and entangled. You push me onto my back and your hand finds my cunt and insistently begins to rub at me through my clothes. Rough and uncaring. The thin material soon becomes sodden.
You suck and gnaw at my breasts. Your hand slips underneath the covering and you begin to stroke me. Desperate, oozing hot and wet.
You kiss my neck and I thread my hands into your hair and tug it and pull you in closer and you ask me if I want you to lick my cunt, and what sort of question is that? I moan softly into your mouth as you push your lips against mine.
Your mouth on my cunt feels so good. You taunt me by gently slipping your fingers close to some point of penetration. I stroke your cock. Hard and eager. I beg you to fuck me. Repeated in my desperation. You oblige me eventually.
I'm on my back with my legs wrapped around your waist and you push deep and easy and it feels delicious. I ask you to spit on my fingers. I rest then against my lips and you drool on then and I push them into your mouth and then into mine. You moan. The visceral, it tweaks your brain, as it does mine. I feel your cock twitch and jolt inside me.
I use my to stroke and touch myself. You sit back, wrap a hand around my throat and fuck me hard. I choke and touch and build and it feels so good. It feels really damn good. I stare at you dark and wild, the ease with which you excite me. I hold your hip with my free hand. I whisper that you'll make me come, I beg you not to stop. I plead with you to fuck me harder. You listen and oblige. I come in an epic burst of froth and foam. Pull you into me And breathlessly enquire whether you want to come in my tight, wet, cunt.
You groan and screw me harder still. Buck buck, heat and release. I contract my muscles against you. You scrunch my hair in your hands and close your eyes and your face looks at once serene and anguished. Your breath is short as is mine. That definitely felt good. The feeling is mutual.
Tuesday, 17 December 2013
Sir Sunday
You tell me to sit across you. A self conscious sound. I drop my head shyly. Your response:
"Who's body is this? It's not your choice. Your body is mine and it's beautiful and I want to taste it. So get your fucking leg across my shoulder and stick that delicious cunt and arse in my face".
Well if you put it like that.
He licks and fingers my clean, tight bottom. It makes me squirt. He laughs and purrs.
"Dirty little bitch".
So wet, so excited. I beg him to fuck me and it's been so long. I choke on him, wet and drooling as he licks, pleasures and chastises my desire in a rhythm.
We come together. In the heat of the room. Unified in pleasure and inequality, in climax and intention.
He told me earlier that evening that I am the most precious thing, that he has ever owned. I think he probably means it. If he doesn't it at least sounds good.
"Who's body is this? It's not your choice. Your body is mine and it's beautiful and I want to taste it. So get your fucking leg across my shoulder and stick that delicious cunt and arse in my face".
Well if you put it like that.
He licks and fingers my clean, tight bottom. It makes me squirt. He laughs and purrs.
"Dirty little bitch".
So wet, so excited. I beg him to fuck me and it's been so long. I choke on him, wet and drooling as he licks, pleasures and chastises my desire in a rhythm.
We come together. In the heat of the room. Unified in pleasure and inequality, in climax and intention.
He told me earlier that evening that I am the most precious thing, that he has ever owned. I think he probably means it. If he doesn't it at least sounds good.
Wednesday, 11 December 2013
The Cyclist's 15 small words.
On my back, legs up. You're fucking me so deep.
I bleed for days afterwards.
I bleed for days afterwards.
Chef Michael
You lean over me, the heat of your body, lips close entwined. Hair matted up and damp, faces touching. Cheek to cheek. I run my tongue along your neck, the sinew and the pulse and the jut of your bones, and the contrast to my soft and padded flesh. Its intense. The light is soft, evocative of some cheap french movie, where desire only comes in grande tailles.
Those sort of curves that women have. You run your lips against my décolletage, and your mouth finds my breasts and the sounds I make are sweet and breathless and desired.
I can feel how hard you are against my cunt and thighs, an insistent rub. It takes every ounce of will power not to grab at you and push you into me. The heat, the skin it would be bliss.
You taste me, devour me, appear to desire my pleasure. Your fingers stretch me out and its good. The first orgasm is easy and sweet and overdue. Yours follows. I take satisfaction in being taught to make it happen, how you want it to. You pull my hair, fuck my throat, moan as I spit on to your flesh, come in a burst of release, curled toes, you grip my skull. Fuck me, fuck my mouth.
We roll around in some post coital bliss, chatting about sex, philosophising, warm and safe. You stroke my body, some electric wave. I want more. Can I have more? Give me more. No need to ask really, c'est la vie.
You wrap your hand around my neck, a tight restricting hold and you use your other calloused thick fingers to roughly fuck and stretch me out. You twist, push around inside me, releasing white streams of fluid, pleasure, discomfort, strange sensation. My eyes are wide, voice aloud and intrigued. Im enjoying myself. The pain and the pleasure and the pressure of your hand and you're telling me to come, somewhere between a command and begging desire. I ache to come. You twist, push, fuck with your hand, faster, more aggressive, tweaking strands of internal muscle, until I burst.
Fracture, white out, le son de la mer, the smell of sweet ocean. Intoxicating fluid cascading from me, into your palm and down you wrist, female, volcanic. My voice echos in pleasure and pain and release. The room blurs.
You push me until I beg you to stop touching me, the smile on your face says it all really. I clutch at your arm, spent and unmoving, eyes wide and breathing. The intensity pulsing and swelling; my chest, my heart, my cunt, my neck, beat, beat. Its a wipe out. Fuck. I grin at you, wild and fragrant and somewhere near happy. You smile at me back, bon, tres bien.
Those sort of curves that women have. You run your lips against my décolletage, and your mouth finds my breasts and the sounds I make are sweet and breathless and desired.
I can feel how hard you are against my cunt and thighs, an insistent rub. It takes every ounce of will power not to grab at you and push you into me. The heat, the skin it would be bliss.
You taste me, devour me, appear to desire my pleasure. Your fingers stretch me out and its good. The first orgasm is easy and sweet and overdue. Yours follows. I take satisfaction in being taught to make it happen, how you want it to. You pull my hair, fuck my throat, moan as I spit on to your flesh, come in a burst of release, curled toes, you grip my skull. Fuck me, fuck my mouth.
We roll around in some post coital bliss, chatting about sex, philosophising, warm and safe. You stroke my body, some electric wave. I want more. Can I have more? Give me more. No need to ask really, c'est la vie.
You wrap your hand around my neck, a tight restricting hold and you use your other calloused thick fingers to roughly fuck and stretch me out. You twist, push around inside me, releasing white streams of fluid, pleasure, discomfort, strange sensation. My eyes are wide, voice aloud and intrigued. Im enjoying myself. The pain and the pleasure and the pressure of your hand and you're telling me to come, somewhere between a command and begging desire. I ache to come. You twist, push, fuck with your hand, faster, more aggressive, tweaking strands of internal muscle, until I burst.
Fracture, white out, le son de la mer, the smell of sweet ocean. Intoxicating fluid cascading from me, into your palm and down you wrist, female, volcanic. My voice echos in pleasure and pain and release. The room blurs.
You push me until I beg you to stop touching me, the smile on your face says it all really. I clutch at your arm, spent and unmoving, eyes wide and breathing. The intensity pulsing and swelling; my chest, my heart, my cunt, my neck, beat, beat. Its a wipe out. Fuck. I grin at you, wild and fragrant and somewhere near happy. You smile at me back, bon, tres bien.
Neil (Booty Call)
Have me over? Drink with me, smoke with me, fuck with me.
Dont ever so no to me. You never say no to me. I don't know why you'd ever say no.
So have me over. Drink me, fuck me, inhale me, breath on me, taste me...
...that flavour, a smokey ecstasy. Breath it in
When I'm with you you take me in all the places I desire and crave, you do it right.
Deep, hard, uncaring. You do it right, right in every hole.
You hold me when its all over, white and tasteful, naked, tender, you stroke my hair. Almost like love, not quite. Like a lover. Affection, that smoke. A fog of satisfaction.
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