My Garret
I have a new studio. Is that the right word for it? Not really. A new space. I have a new space. It is my space alone. It is a kind-of garret. Maybe it is really just a closet, but I love the word garret. It is long and narrow and the ceiling is slanted. It is not really a useful space, so I have commandeered it, claimed it, and am making it my own. I have all my things there. My notebooks, my books, my computer, a few candles, my tarot cards, random shit of mine that I do not want to put anywhere else…things that are for me, no one else. I sit on the floor to type, computer perched atop an old bridging-shelf that now sits on the floor. Perhaps I will get a little desk and chair. Who knows. The point is that, for the first time in YEARS, I have a space that is all my own and I am hoping that it will make things possible. There is potential in this little, odd space: a sound studio, a writer’s escape, a meditation sanctuary, a place to be my most cerebrally erotic self. Hopefully, it will be a place where I produce spicy things for you to read, excellent stories for you to escape into, hot stories that will turn you on and send you slinking over to your own lover. It is good to have ‘A Room Of One’s Own’.
Publish or Perish
In academia, there is the phrase ‘publish or perish’. It means that if you want to be successful, you have to produce articles and get them published, or your career will stall or end. This is amazingly stressful and leads to a lot of unnecessary junk being produced. People will search for an idea that will get them into the latest important journal, instead of exploring something meaningful and worthwhile. Research and writing becomes a conveyor-belt to please an industry, rather than a path to creating unique, good-quality work.
With the rise of self-publishing, and access to social media sites paired with audiences’ voracious appetites and short attention spans, it seems as though this idea now exists everywhere. Produce content! Produce content! Produce content! It doesn’t matter how vacuous or full of typos and platitudes it is. Does it distract people for 10 seconds? Put it out there! That is what’s most important!
I am as guilty as the next person of sitting up at night scrolling through my various social media feeds looking for just about anything to divert my attention and help me wind down. This post is not meant to shit all over that. There is a place for it. In this post I want to talk about the stress that this puts on authors, particularly, authors who are focused on creating content larger than social media posts.
Someone I follow recently posted that she read that in order to be a successful erotica writer on Amazon, you should have a catalog of 50 books, and that until you reach that, you should publish two books a week. I also saw a post from another author who was feeling inadequate because he has ONLY published 42 books since December. Are you fucking kidding me?!
My first question here is: In this context, what is hell is their definition of a book? Seriously. According to the MasterClass wordcount guide, a solid novel should be between 80-100k words, with a minimum of 50k. A novella comes in at 10-40k. Novelettes, 7500-17k, and short stories 5-10k on average. These numbers are by no means set in stone, but they do represent the bulk of fiction length categories pretty accurately.
Let’s go with the smallest category up there, the short story. First, this is by definition NOT a book. It is a story. A short story. Big Difference! They come in at 5-10k words. Practically speaking, this means that every three days, the author has to come up with an idea, write a minimum of 5 thousand words, edit and tweak the story, then edit for quality control and spelling and grammar and such, then format the work, design the cover and finally post it to the site of their choice. Every - 3 - days. Now, up that word count and effort to slot in with the length of an actual book. Um….no.
I know that there are some authors out there who can just spew books out. (Thank you! We will eat your stuff up! It is amazing!) But, this is gonna be a tall order even for them. For the rest of us? WE ARE NOT MACHINES! We don’t have a staff of ghost writers and editors and we actually want to write good plots and engaging characters, and that makes these expectations quite simply, ridiculous.
Pushing out anything of quality at that rate is just not realistic, but that is what we are told we have to do if we are going to survive as authors. I do not accept this., and that thought of having to survive in a ‘publish or perish’ world was really stressing me out today, so I wanted to throw some opposition to the idea out into the ether. I have an idea for an awesome story. It has been brewing in my mind for a few months. I found a submissions call with a theme where it would fit. I have been working on it for a couple of weeks and you know what? It is shit. It sucks. It has good bones and may grow into something worth sharing with someone other than my most supportive beta reader, but it is not gonna make it there by deadline. It needs more time to mature. The story deserves better than a rush job. My readers deserve better than a rush job. And the editor of that anthology…she sure as hell wants better than this rush job. If I send this to her, she is gonna cringe the next time I submit something, and rightly so, and I want my reputation to be one that is associated with some thing good, not something that came off a high-speed conveyor-belt.
Stories do not emerge from their authors’ brains complete. They do not. Even the most experienced writer needs to edit. So please. Aspiring authors: do not sacrifice quality for quantity. Give your audience your best work, not just your speed. There are enough writers for all the readers out there to have something new new to read all the time, and the ones that truly love your work will wait for it and be all the more happy when you get it to them…polished and perfect!
I Want Two Lives!
Today I rail at the world. I feel like a toddler, kicking and screaming at the fact that I cannot simply sit here at this keyboard and empty all of my thoughts onto paper. There are other things that I have to do. I do not want to do them. I want to write.
The original title of this blog was ‘Fuck Work!’ But that was not accurate. I love my daily life and work. It brings me enormous satisfaction. The problem is that this, writing, is what I prefer to do. This is what feeds my soul, and there isn’t time enough for both.
Once upon a time, I was in graduate school. That was one of the most amazing times of my life. I had a little apartment all to myself. No roommates, a few friends. Stacks of research around me. Notes, ideas, books. It was me and my mind. It was amazing!
Today, I would give so much to return to that space.
On learning to meet my need to write
Writing is not my main gig. I wish it were. I’m working on that. But right now, it is not.
That means that I have to balance my incredible need to write (yes it is a need) with everything else in my life. I am sure that many of you can relate.
I have very little time to devote solely to my writing. I cannot disappear into my office for 4-8 hours a day and create beautiful words. I have other responsibilities. So, I keep a notebook in my pocket, right next to my mobile phone. I use both to make notes and write down ideas. I have slips of paper scattered all over my house, along with about 24 larger notebooks that have notes from different projects I am working on, or podcasts I am listening to, or masterclasses I am taking. My computer has folders and folders of similar collections of thoughts. I have two different office spaces that I use, depending on which sort of project I am working on. Oh yeah, and then there is my bedside bookshelf (a table is not sufficient) for everything I work on when I am lying there, not falling asleep. There are 6 million ideas in my head at any given time. Literally anything can spark an idea for an erotic scene. It is both amazingly invigorating and painful. Some days my brain feels like a firehose with a too-small nozzle.
I want those 4-8 hours a day, to be able to live inside my head and put that world down on paper.
I once said to a friend that I didn’t think I was selfish enough to be a writer.
I have spent so much of my life caring for others. I chose that path and I have loved doing it, but it has meant that this part of my life has been either ignored or tossed aside or put on hold.
I have decided that I want to be selfish.
I have things to say. I want to put them out there.
So I stay up late. I write when the world is dark and everything is quiet. This is not a bad time to do it, considering my subject matter. I also use platforms like Twitter. They have been a lifeline, keeping me producing, even if it is in 1-3 sentence bursts. They also help me to connect to other writers…and readers. The fact that anyone likes anything I write keeps me going more than anything else, because yes, I do write for me, but ultimately, I write for you. I check my calendar to mark the passing of time and get perspective (one does not build a career in a mater of months…it takes time). And, I constantly remind myself that my creativity is as important as anything else in my world.
So here we are…another week has passed and I have managed to produce something, even if it is small. My piles of notes have increased this week, but some have found discernable shape, moving me forward on my WIP. I have looked at my long-term goals and my short-term accomplishments. Do I want more? Yes! Did I learn to be selfish and insist on taking some of that this week? Also yes!
The Shape of His Dick
She could feel his dick through the smooth linen of his pants. It felt perfect and she wished that she could see it. Her hands were an excellent gauge as to what would fit her body and, as she stroked one, tentatively, over him she could feel that it would fill her grasp generously, and just enough. That was good. She didn’t like really long dicks. She needed stimulation to come and she didn’t like to use her hand while she was fucking. She liked to grind on a man. To come with his dick filling her up and her body covering his. Skin to skin. That was the best orgasm. A complete body experience.
She liked some girth, though, and she wanted to wrap her hand around his penis to see if her fingertips would touch. She didn’t think they would. That made her grin. She liked to feel full. She liked that ring of pleasure, that was the opening to her body, to be massaged as she fucked. If this guy could fill her just right, with what she already knew about how he could touch her, she would have multiples.
He was rock-solid, so she couldn’t tell if he was circumcised or not. It didn’t matter, but she wondered. It was one of those little details that she thought added to a man’s uniqueness. She was quirky like that. She would suck him either way. She loved the softness of a penis-tip. To put her mouth on it and feel it grow hard under her tongue. Yummy.
What she liked the best about what she could feel, as he stood there letting her explore him, was the curve of his dick. She wasn’t expecting that. It had an absolutely perfect, slight curve upwards. That was what got her hot for it. With a curve like that, the head would rub against her g-spot with absolute precision. The thought of it made her shiver.
“Please,” she said. “Take off your pants.”
I burn
How is it possible that I can feel you this intensely and be a void all at once?
I am sick with longing, yet my skin still burns from your touch.
I have heard of this feeling. I have scoffed at those who have said these things. I have not believed. I do now.
Our parting was necessary. I know that. But it took my breath away. I cannot breathe. I need the breath of your kiss.
We did not have enough time. Perhaps, we had too much.
My body calls to you. Reach for me.
Unfetterd: naked in the woods
The mountain air is cool. The canopy is thick and shields the forest floor from the sun. I am lucky to be alone. Everyone has gone and I can enjoy the quiet. I step out of the cabin and pause, taking in. The sounds. The smells. All of it. The wind rustles the leaves and a slice of sunshine finds it way to my face. Immediately, I feel refreshed and peaceful. I want more of that. I set off down the path, shedding clothing as I go. Sandals first. Bare feet on the soft, cool moss. Arms across my body, I pull my blouse over my head and drop it, leaving it as I continue. The freedom of being naked in the woods is intoxicating. I reach behind me and unhook my bra. As it slips from my breasts and the cool air hits my nipples, my skin erupts in goose-flesh. I look around out of habit. There is no one. I smile at my daring. I laugh at how silly that is. These are my woods. I am naked. There is everything right with this. Next shorts. Panties. I am a dryad, a nymph from a Waterhouse painting. As my clothing falls away, so do all my thoughts, worries, stresses. I am unfettered.
On writing and reading…dipping my toe, again, into this world of blogging
In order to write well, you must read.
I am tempted to say that I do not get the chance to read as often as I would like. The truth is that I don’t prioritize reading the way that I believe I should. This is a truth that I wrestle with every day. I have a huge stack of unread books next to my bed. I always have. I am currently reading 7 print books, 7 ebooks, and listening to 2 audiobooks. My list of holds from the library is long and detailed. Some of these books I have been working on for years. Some of them I will never finish, but I love them all and I am learning from them all. They teach me style, voice, and grammar. They give me self-confidence and courage. They provide me with an escape as well as joy.
Erotica is my passion, so most of the books I read are related to it in some way, but I do read a little of everything. I will pick up just about anything if it is by someone who is a master of the craft of writing. Reading well-crafted sentences, paragraphs and chapters can only serve to expand my world and make me a better writer, and I am grateful to live in a time and place where I have access to so much.
I also LOVE audiobooks. I believe that they are just as valuable as print books. I started listening to audiobooks when I was in graduate school and had a really long commute. I used the drive as a chance to expose myself to books that I knew I would never pick up in print. Books such as Exodus or Shogun, books that were long and heavy, but held a place in the cannon of literature. I was hooked immediately and now, if you see me with headphones on, that is what I am pumping into my ears. Stories and stories and more stories!
I used to have a subscription to the Audible Escape catalog. I went into a depression when they got rid of it. It was my lifeline to discovering good erotica. There is a LOT to sort through! Erotica, even moreso than other genres, is subjective. You have to find that one author that lights you up. But through that catalog, I was able to swim through the sea of erotic works and find the stuff that turned me on. It was a creative and invigorating lifeline.
What else…I don’t know. I needed to write today, to put something down on paper that was not a WIP or important or particularly creative or part of my Twitter persona; something that was a little more me, a little more personally Hedone. Thanks for reading.
Welcome…
Welcome to my website and my blog. I am so glad you have come to visit me here. This is my sensual space, where my erotic imagination runs free, and I hope you will enjoy it that way, too.
As you scroll through the pages, most of the posts you will find right now are from several years ago when I first began to delve into my identity as an erotic writer. I still love all of these stories, so I am keeping them here for you to read. Going forward I hope to share more of my thoughts and fantasies with you, both as stories and more informally as musings like this one.
Feel free to make contact. I love interacting with my fascinating readers. I hope to learn from you, be inspired by you and to grow as a writer because of you.
Kisses
H
Pinocchio
Never underestimate the sexiness of a good sense of humor
“Did you bring a toy with you?” He asks.
“No. I didn’t need to. I have one right here.”
“I’m not a toy. I’m a real boy!”
This makes me laugh out loud.
“See, I’m telling lies. Right now.”
My giggles continue to spill forth as I feel him filling me. I encourage him: “Lie to me!”
And he did for a little while. That climax, however, was anything but.
About fucking time.
“It’s about fucking time!” The words were primal grunts under his breath as he drove into her. They had been circling each other for weeks and finally, tonight, they had come together. The response she gave him was not much more verbal. It was simply a higher pitched combination of grunts mixed with sighs and moans. Her fingernails told him a lot, too. She had already scratched him and now she was digging her fingers into his hair and pulling his face down to hers like she hadn’t tasted man in years. It was raw and he loved it. He gave as good as he got, answering every violent tug on his body with a stiff pump. His ass and his abs were gonna hurt tomorrow. Sweetest workout he had had in forever. Shit! He felt amazing. His skin was smooth and the muscles were hard underneath it. She hadn’t even realized until she started to touch him. What did he do to get a body like this? Fuck it! She didn’t care right now. That body was between her legs and she was on fire. It had been a while, but no so long that it should light her up like this. There were serious chemical reactions going on under her skin. This experiment was definitely working. The encounter moved quickly. Not a lot of foreplay. None was needed. They had been flirting and turning each other on from across the room for long enough. As the sex ramped up, he felt how easily he could come, and realized he didn’t want it to be over that quickly. “Let’s slow it down a little, ok.” He was panting, fighting to get the words out and calm his body at the same time. “Yeah,” she managed to answer. Her lips were right by his ear and he felt her head nod up and down in agreement. He slowed his movements and she relaxed into the gentler rhythm. Now that things were calming, she had a chance to look at him, to assess this figure undulating over and inside of her. He was strong, but it was natural. This was not the body of a gym resident. He came to his physique honestly. That made him all the more tasty. She raised her face to his torso and kissed it. She kissed it everywhere she could reach. His shoulders, his arms, his neck, his pecs. Oh, her mouth felt good. Her lips were soft and hungry. She did this thing where she flicked her tongue over his skin as she kissed it. It made him groan. Her mouth was sweet and she used it well. He slowed even more, immersing himself in the feel. The small noises he was making in response to her kisses were so satisfying. Telling her he was loving this as much as she was. It wasn’t just about his dick. He was into the whole coupling thing. She took a break and lay back. Stretching underneath him, she raised her arms and looked down through her breasts, between their two bodies, watching his hips roll and feeling it at the same time. Damn, it was sexy. He couldn’t help it. The way she was watching him fuck her was awesome. He broke out in a big grin as he thought about it, which she noticed! Her reaction was to bite her lip and smile back, and her reward for that was a particularly deep thrust, then a super slow retreat, which got him exactly what he had hoped for. She arched up with the pleasure of his last thrust, closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. Oh, he could move. Before she could open her eyes again, she felt his mouth on her. Tit for tat. Or simply, tit, because that’s where his mouth was. Full mouth. Lips, tongue, sucking, feeding on her. Her tits were beautiful and when her torso bowed up like that, they were in the perfect position to reach them. He wasn’t trying to tease them or play with them. He was past that. His immersion in her body was complete. He covered them with his mouth and then worked his way up her collar bone to her neck and face. He kissed her deeply, lowering his weight onto her as he did. He wanted to get close. He wanted all of his skin touching all of hers. She responded to the kiss, meeting its depth and wrapping herself around him. Her arms encircled his neck and her legs came up to wrap around his hips. Connected like this, she paused and reveled in the feel of his pumping into her. Deep. Slow. Intense. Then, “my turn,” she thought. She dropped a leg and tilted her hips sideways. He read her cue. Wrapping his arms around her; one at her back, the other on her ass, he rolled and brought her up on top of him. That was hot. He couldn’t help but chuckle with both pride and total physical enjoyment as she got her balance on top of him. Her face was covered by her hair and her tits jiggled. He steadied her as she found her balance and slid all the way down his cock. Her hands were on his chest and she was breathing hard. Was he laughing at her? No. He was into this. “Ok, then,” she thought, “here we go.” She flipped her hair and gave him a challenging look. She playfully dug her nails into his chest, making him flinch, and began to move. She understood as well as he did how to roll her hips, and the smirk soon left his face in exchange for a look of tense pleasure. This wasn’t going to last much longer, but that was cool. She was ready to come and she really wanted to see what he looked like when he did. On top, she rode him as well as he had been riding her. Her thighs were tight around his hips. Her ass rubbed softly against his thighs and he got to fondle those lovely tits. It was a winning combination and he knew he was gonna come soon. He could see she wasn’t far behind. Now that she was in control, she could move exactly the way she needed to and that aroused him almost as much as the actual friction between them. He tensed his ass to counter her rolls and soon felt her begin to clench around his shaft. Oh, that was good! When she began to moan, it triggered him. He gripped her thighs and thrust up into her, driving hard, with the need they had both felt at the beginning of their encounter. Together, they came. It was hard and loud. She dug her fingers into his chest. He dug his into her thighs and they both held on as their bodies took over, convulsing and washing them in cascades of pleasure.When their orgasms at last subsided, she leaned back against his bent legs and pushed her sweaty hair out of her face. “It’s about fucking time.”
Confirmation
This was not a kiss of permission. It was a kiss of confirmation. They had gotten this far. He was between her legs. She was sitting on the counter. Their clothes were still on but that was a barrier easily surmounted. She was leaning just slightly back, balancing herself on her hands. His hands were on the counter next to her hips. Their bodies were touching, but they were not actively touching each other. They were close. The air was close. He knew she wanted him, but the real question was, would she actually go through with it. Would she bolt, or would she have him. It was up to her. He didn’t want to back off, but he would if he had to. He studied her face, her eyes, reading her expression. Everything about her said she wanted a little push, wanted him to help her make this decision. He leaned in closer, past the point where he could focus on her whole face. So focused on her eyes. They darted back and forth between his. Anticipatory tension showed, not fear. Keeping that eye contact, he opened his mouth and took hers. As his mouth covered hers, those eyes closed. Her lips and tongue worked his as eagerly as he had hoped. His sigh contained both relief and hunger. Her arms went around his neck and his fingers went into her panties.
10 Seconds
Romance needs food. If a romance is not fed, its fire fades and fades until it finally burns out. I have learned this over time, and it has caused me much heartache and sadness. I have a lover who also knows this. Because of this hard-earned knowledge, we have developed a secret weapon of sorts. A match, some tinder to keep our passionate fire burning. It is our 10 seconds.10 seconds. Whenever we have been apart and we meet again, we have 10 seconds. Whenever we have been sleeping and we wake, we have 10 seconds. It is amazing what you can do with 10 seconds. The ways to fill that span of time are endless, and the possibilities fuel our creativity. The one rule is: the 10 seconds are filled with him and me and touch. There is no outside world. There are no discussions. Just him. Just me. Just touching. It started with kisses. We would meet at the end of the day and the first thing we would do would be to kiss. We would share a 10 second kiss. At first it was strange, even comical. It made us feel awkward. To stand and kiss for 10 seconds. We had to think about it. We had to think about relaxing into it. We had to count in our heads. It was difficult, but quickly, we discovered its magic. We stopped counting and just started kissing. The seconds passed more quickly. 10 seconds became 20. A simple kiss led to a deeper, more probing one. A touch of lips developed into gentle caresses. Caresses would often be followed by embraces. Then, the world was forgotten. Whatever might have seemed more important, needing to be taken care of immediately, serving as a reason for us to delay our 10 seconds, was quickly wiped away because, well, 10 seconds wasn’t that long. It was just enough time to forget. Forget everything except each other. Fire was kindled. Fires began to build. Fires were sustained. Now I find myself thinking about our 10 seconds. I find myself looking forward to our 10 seconds. I want what those 10 seconds will lead to. Now, I think of different ways to spend those 10 seconds. Now, I look forward to where those 10 seconds will go. How many ways we fill them? A 10 second kiss, yes, but what else? A 10 second kiss with a hand on a bottom, kneading flesh, pulling a body closer. That is a difficult 10 seconds to walk away from. But the walking away is part of the fun. A 10 second kiss with a hand on a breast, feeling its weight, squeezing its nipple. That is a 10 seconds that begs for more. A 10 second kiss with fingers between legs, searching out hidden flesh and warm dark places. That is a 10 seconds that cries out to be released. And it is. Not immediately. But it is. That is the best part. 10 seconds turns into more. 10 seconds lasts all day. Not in reality, but in my mind. In his mind. In our minds. In our bodies. My body cannot forget the 10 seconds of contact. The 10 seconds of caresses. The 10 seconds of foreplay. My body quietly smolders all day. Sometimes the 10 seconds happen in our home. Sometimes the 10 seconds are secret trysts, hidden behind doors in public places. That is the other rule. The 10 seconds happen every time we reunite. This makes us creative. Sometimes we can be passionate, sometimes we have to be reserved. Do we find a hiding place and express our passion, or do we pretend we are chaste and proper? It is a game that only we are party to. That is also part of the fun.10 seconds. When we do come together, in the privacy of our own bed, the 10 seconds explode. Then we no longer have to think. We can simply be. We can be hands and mouths and bodies. We can be fire. The smolder quickly ignites and the release and relief are heaven, created from 10 seconds.
A Wondering Embrace
We hug all the time. We are friends. It is part of our daily interaction. We have never been lovers and we never will be. It is simply not an option between us, nor do I want it to be. We are only friends and will always be only friends. However…I will not deny to myself that you intrigue me. I will not deny that every time we touch there is a pleasurable connection. You feel good, and I like it. I like the way you feel. I look forward to our embraces. I enjoy the way your arms feel, firm around me, pulling me close to your body. I enjoy the sound of your breath as you exhale and deliver yourself to that embrace. I love that you do not immediately pull away. Your embraces are ones of true affection and you are generous with them. And, in that moment when we hug, I get to enjoy a whole new set of encounters with you. My imagination runs. For a little while. Just for fun. What would your body feel like in another context? What would your skin feel like? I have never felt it. What would your breath sound like in my ear? Not simply as a breath, but as an expression of passion? The thought is pleasing, enticing, and makes me smile. It is pleasing. To think of that. Those parts of you are reserved for others, but my mind belongs to me and so, I can think about it. I have never seen any part of you naked. You are always fully clothed in my presence. I know what your body feels like, pressed to mine, but what does it look like? In this moment, I can think about touching it. I have felt your hands touch me, but not touch me. What would those hands feel like if they touched bare skin….bare skin that matters? Not my hands. Your lips have never touched me. They have been close to me, but have never touched me. They are a delicious mystery. A fantasy. How would your voice sound uttering different words? I fill in the blanks. You are a person of passion. I am attracted to that. I see beauty and joy and adventure in that. You give your passion to others, as I do. But…that does not mean I cannot imagine…what you would feel like…were you to give it to me.
The shower was huge, more like a walk in closet than a space for bathing. It had tiles from floor to ceiling and a little ridge around the edge so that the water would collect just slightly on the floor, making a warm puddle. The water cascaded down from the ceiling like rain. It felt more like standing outside in a warm storm, rather than taking a shower.He lay me down on the tiles of the floor and positioned himself over me, masking my face from the rain with his, one hand supporting his weight, the other caressing the side of my face. He looked, smiling, into my eyes.One of his knees was between my thighs, high between them, keeping them apart, almost touching my sex, but not quite. As the water ran down the length of his thigh, it dripped tantalizingly on to the tip of my clitoris, a teasing drip, drip, drip, that was sweet torture. I moaned, closing my eyes and licking my lips.He smiled quizzically.“I’m not even touching you.”“Look at your knee.”He lifted one eyebrow and moved his gaze down.“Oh.” He said, when he realized what he had inadvertently been doing. “Hmmm.” He wondered out loud.Then he bent down and, purposefully, covered my sex with his mouth. With a long, smooth, sensual suck, he drank all the moisture from my skin. I gasped with pleasure and arched up from the floor. He laughed, enjoy the effect of his actions.I laughed too, then closed my eyes. His arms were wrapped around my hips, his hands on my stomach, his fingers holding on to me and drawing my body against his mouth. His lips were on me, licking and sucking, making a slow, sensuous feast of my sex.His mouth was talented and purposeful; its movements executed in well-practiced patterns. He circled me with his tongue, exploring every fold of my sex. He covered me with firm, languorous licks. He penetrated me with his tongue, retreating from my body with slow, strong sucks of my clit. He flicked his tongue with skill, delivering quick, sharp jolts of pleasure to my body. He took his time and his own pleasure in doing it. He was attentive and calculating, bringing me just to the brink of orgasm, then slowing down, waiting for my peak to subside. Then he would begin again. The experience was breathtaking and slow, maddening and perfect.As I yielded to his carnal ministrations, all my senses awoke and my body became receptive to the greater, all-encompassing physical situation enveloping me: The warmth of the water raining down over me. The constant drip, drip of the drops assaulting my skin. The slickness of the wet. The heaviness of my soaked hair around my face. The hard, slick of the tiles under my back. And the man between my thighs. I stretched my arms above my head, lengthening my body, making more room for the waves of sensation to wash over me. And then…oh…he was ready for me to come. He was going to make this happen, now. He sucked harder, flicked more quickly, and with a smooth movement, brought his fingers to my sex and slid them into me. I gasped and curled upward, coiling my fingers into his hair. His mouth attended to that mass of nerves outside of me as his fingers massaged its opposite inside of me and I exploded in an all-encompassing climax that traveled over me, rippling up and down my body.
It is late. Really late. I want to go to him. He is not far away, just in the next room.I hesitate for a moment. He certainly won’t reject me, but will he be what I want him to be, tonight? Will he understand my need?I need to feel controlled. Not in a negative, domineering way. I feel out of control and I need someone outside of me, him, to curb that feeling.I want to go to him, but I want him to lead the way. I want to crawl into the bed next to him, slide in under the covers and leave the rest up to him. I want to submit to him. I want him to make me feel as though I have no responsibilities. I want his body to think for both of us.I want him, in that haze of sleep, to follow his most basic instincts. I want him to roll over, reach out his arm and pull me toward him. No talking, just bodies. I want his hand to find its way from my waist down to my ass. I want him to pull my hips toward his. I want to feel his kiss and I want to feel his hands explore my skin, finding their way to wakefulness and arousal. I want to feel his erection grow against my belly and I want him to follow its lead. I have brought my body to give to him. I want him to take it. I want him to roll on top of me and nestle in between my legs. I want him to kiss my mouth and neck and breasts. I want him to run his hands down my body. I want to feel his hands. I want my skin to be caressed by his strong, purposeful hands. I want to feel his fingers running over my thighs, then between my legs and up to my waiting cleft. I want to feel them tantalize me and make me ready. I want to feel them penetrate my body as his tongue penetrates my mouth. I want to feel my body arch against him as his pushes down onto mine. I want to feel his body. I want to feel how much larger and stronger than me he is. I want him to be in control. I want to feel the tip of his cock press against my slick opening. I want to feel his thickness, his warmth and his stiffness as he slides into me. I want him to fill me. I want to feel his muscles work as he thrusts into me. I want to wrap my legs and arms around him as he takes pleasure in me and I want to ride that submission into my own ecstasy.I want to go to him.
Sometimes, the touch of a lover’s body is sweet enough.He brought me to orgasm, using his hand and his mouth, and it was blissful. Now, my body is relaxed and languid. My muscles have eased and are warm and pliant.It is his turn.I lie on my back. My sex is wet. Lovely and slick.My body has sunk deep into the blanket. My legs are open. He comes over me. His hands are gentle and purposeful and loving. His mouth is warm and wet. His kisses tell me how pleased he is with himself.He should be.I am.He kisses my breasts. My neck. My mouth.His body is comfortably heavy on mine. Our skins feel wonderful together.He settles between my legs and reaches down for one more feel, smiling at his work before he guides his cock inside me.It is his turn.I wrap my arms and legs around him as he begins to move. His breathing intensifies and he kisses my mouth, taking my breath as well. I curl my fingers into his hair and hold his head, kissing him back, exploring his mouth with my tongue in the way I know he loves.He moves. His hips rock up and down. Back and forth.He is taking his pleasure of my body, and my body finds pleasure in that.The sounds of his intensified breathing and his slight moans make my body respond, wanting to envelop him even more fully. I bury my face in his neck, kissing the skin there, and let my hands explore his arms and back and buttocks….wherever they can reach. His mouth is next to my ear and I can hear all of his pleasure as clearly as I can feel it.He groans but he takes his time, slowing down to make it last longer. He pulls almost all the way out of me and pauses, breathing purposefully, controlling his body. Then, he pushes in to me again. Long, slow, thrusts. In. Out. Smooth. Steady. Stimulating. So stimulating! My hips respond, rolling up and down to meet his thrusts. The sensations of skin on skin and sweat-slick friction cover me.It is his turn, and it feels wonderful.His body stiffens and his movements increase in speed as he finds his way, building towards climax. He takes his weight onto his arms and lifts up his chest. Shorter, harder strokes now. He grunts with his own effort and his face makes that expression that is so him. I can read his pleasure. I can see exactly what he is feeling and I love it. Holding my hips up at that perfect angle for his entry, I finish his strokes with firm pushes of my own.This is right. This is good. Our bodies know each other. It is his turn and I am happy for him to have it.He cries out as he reaches orgasm and I can feel him pulsing, deep and hard, spilling his pleasure inside me.Then, those last few shuddering strokes, those last few groans as his pleasure subsides and his body releases the tension of his orgasm.He breathes out and settles onto me, kissing my neck. I stroke his arm. His weight on me is heavy and perfect.
Here is a fantasy. Put yourself into it. Become the subject, the "I". See if you like it: My sex. In the open and open. The sky is warm. The air is warm. There is just a hint of a breeze.A hand. Two fingers. One on each side of my lips. They press down firmly and squeeze gently. Just enough that my lips plump up and flush slightly. I pulse. Moisture comes.Another finger. This ones dips just slightly into the warm fluid appearing at the opening to my body. A lovely lubricant. Wet, now, the finger gently spreads the moisture over my plump lips, sliding deliciously, teasing sensations to life. My clitoris responds, hardening under the slick touch.Then, a tongue. Teasing. Flicking gently. Tasting.A mouth. Two different sorts of lips join the fun. They cover my clitoris with their warmth and suck. Gently at first, then more purposefully. My sex erupts in a wave of tingling sensations. The circumference of my sexual entrance awakens and pulses.Noticing, the tongue accepts the invitation and slides inside me. Discovering the depths within. My buttocks tighten and my hips move to get more of that lovely feeling. The tongue inside me. Moving soft and warm and slick and pliable. Those lips, continuing to suck.The sensations build.Then, the fingers reappear. The tongue has work to do on the outside. Tasting, licking, flicking, tickling, caressing. They take its place inside of me. First one, then two. Moving in and out. Pressing against my contracting muscles. Searching for that knot of nerves that brings so much pleasure.The combination of sensations converge to bring me to beautiful orgasm and release. The waves of pleasure wash over me and I breathe.My own hand, then, moves to that warm place between my legs where the pulsing is subsiding, and I smile. Satiated.
Sensations under the sun
It is sunny. I am lying outside, my body naked under the lovely warmth. The world around me is open and my most intimate parts are too. My legs are comfortably spread and everything is exposed to everything. I can feel the hint of a breeze. My nipples contract and my skin comes alive. The sensation travels down, waking my body. My sex responds to the tickling of the wind in my pubic hair. It is freeing to be lying here like this, naked under the naked sky, natural and simple as nature made me. I can hear the sounds of the surrounding world around me. Not human sounds. The trees, the grass, the leaves, the birds. Simple, easy sounds. Relaxing sounds. I concentrate on of the feel of my skin. It takes a moment for me to relax into the situation. I am naked. There are no walls around me. I am aroused by the thought. A pulse. A warming. A moistening. I have to move and readjust myself. I lick my lips, draw my knees up a little more and reach down to open the folds hiding the entrance to my body. I like the feel of the air. Just there, on that skin that it rarely touches. I run my hand over those sweet-feeling places, just enough to remember how alive they are and how much they like attention of many kinds. I let my knees fall all the way to the ground and reach my arms above my head, arching my back and stretching my muscles, eyes closed, loving the feel of my naked body. My hands go to my breasts, caressing them, lifting them, fondling them. I play with my nipples, running them through the spaces in between my fingers, rubbing them gently against the palms of my hands. They respond and the response makes me smile. I slowly roll over and let the sky caress the back of my body. I shake my head, enjoying the feel of my long hair, warm from the sunlight, moved every now and then by the air, tracing my form. I breathe out to let my weight rest heavily upon the ground and soak up the cool of the earth underneath me. It is a new and awakening feeling. The tickle of the grass on my breasts. The humid ground kissing my nipples, my belly, my thighs. As I let the sun warm my back, I lift up my hips, enjoying the feel of it and the kiss of the air on my buttocks and the backs of my thighs, too. As I do, I can feel that air on my sex again. This time it is different, as my legs are pressed together. My folds are squeezed now, pressing out from underneath my buttocks and between my legs, like a pair of lips looking for a kiss. The hint of wind obliges. Feeling my body respond more strongly to the wind’s kiss, and not wanting to waste such affection, I reach down and begin my own caress.
Tasting Sugar
He asked her to let him eat food off her body and she laughed. The sheer cliché of it made her giggle and start to refuse, but he persisted. Wanting to please her lover, and figuring some foreplay was better than none, she acquiesced. New games were always fun. He got the shaker of powdered sugar from the pantry, took her hand, and led her to the living room. Standing there, he lifted her arm and, looking her in the eye, sprinkled a light dusting of sugar on her wrist. Then, he tasted it. The sensation surprised her. Startled, she looked up at him. He met her gaze and the corner of his mouth moved just slightly. He let go of her wrist.
He undressed her with mischievous efficiency and tossed her clothes into the corner. Smiling a quirky and enticingly knowing smile, he kissed and guided her to the floor. When she was lying down, he retrieved the shaker and knelt beside her. While keeping eye-contact, he bent to lick her breast, taking his time, thoroughly wetting it with his tongue. Satisfied with his prep work, he dusted it completely with the powder.
Whatever his intention had been, it was working. She felt the moisture rush between her legs as she watched him. When he put his mouth over her nipple and began to taste the sugar away, she gasped. It was like no sensation she had ever experienced and nothing like she had expected. This was not licking. It was not kissing. It was eating. Not in a chewing sort of way, but in a full-mouthed, hungry and gently devouring way. He had kissed her body before, but this was different. There was something about the action of his mouth tasting and consuming real food upon her skin. The presence of the sugar made it different, and feeling that on her body took her totally by surprise. His lips covering the decorated area. His tongue, attracted to the sweetness it found there. The combination of all that with his mouth’s natural production of saliva and the action of him swallowing something pleasant could not be faked. He was enjoying this as much as she was. He was consuming the sugar on her skin, as well as the natural taste of her.
He sprinkled more. This time on her stomach, working his way down her body. As his mouth left one area, his hands found it, continuing the work of arousing her. When he came to the fork in her body where her legs met her sex, he parted them and sprinkled the soft white powder on her inner thighs. Having him eat the sugar from that sensitive area, having his lips and tongue work teasingly on her skin, there, was its own level of sweet. He used his tongue to explore the creases in her flesh, his lips pressing into them, making sure there was no powder left.
He positioned himself in between her thighs, in line with her body, and looked up at her again. Her face flushed with the pleasure evoked from his ministrations. His displayed the pleasure that comes from pleasing a lover. He did not sugar her sex. That needed no sweetness. He simply bent to his feast and began…