Linger

i wait for him to finish his shower, steam escaping into our bedroom like tropical mist, reminding me how cold it is. i am calm and breathing deeply. i feel self conscious in my jammie pants and sweat shirt, maybe i should change into lingerie. the water stops and large droplets fall from the faucet, announcing the end of his shower. several steps and he is there. using the towel to ruffle dry his short chop of hair, he dresses, even though i plan to undress him several minutes later.

throwing the heavy comforter aside, he cozies in beside me. kiss of lips, kisses on neck, sucking of breath, escaped sighs, touches of tongue; the dance has begun. clothes disappear and damp flesh presses to flesh. from foreplay to hard and fast. loving long, greedy and hard. i cry out and melt. he collapses. we linger.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/03/17/daily-prompt-linger/

Sex Positive!

i’m not here to tell you what to do with your saucyparts or your goods, but we all need to finally realize that being SEXY and SEXUAL is for everyone- no matter what body type, shape, gender, sexual preference or part of the rainbow! boy parts, girl parts, dirtybits, trans, no-no spots, special purposes, whatever!

because we all need a little boost now and again- here are some AMAZING sex positive tumblrs!
i guarantee you’ll find something to make you smile! (among other things.) ENJOY!

oh- and these are SERIOUSLY nsfw- so wait until you get home where you can (ahem) view these with more privacy *coughs*… because you will!

http://fuckyeahsexpositivity.tumblr.com/
http://queersexpositive.tumblr.com/
http://sex-positive.tumblr.com/
http://sex-positive-bitches.tumblr.com/

love your body! love yourself! be sexy! be pervy!
ADMIT THAT YOU LOVE SEX! ADMIT THAT YOU ARE SEXY! LOVE YOUR BODY! CHERISH WHO YOU ARE WITH! BE SAFE! and LIVE LIFE TO IT’S FULLEST!
(didnt i just say i wasnt going to tell you what to do? but these are good things- and you should do them!)

HAPPY WEDNESDAY!
HAPPY SPRING!
HAPPY MAY DAY!
HAPPY BELTAIN!
HAPPY SEX ALL!

Contemplation

by ComaWytch

The wind hit my face harshly as I sat on the white sand, on the beach, on my island. I had been here for two months now, alone, taking my hermitage and spiritual retreat, preparing my mind and heart for my Love, for my Husband. I had been fasting on the island, meditating, spending nights awake staring out at the sea from the clifftop, sleeping in the white sand on the beach. The island was so small, barely more than two acres, and my husband lived on a much larger island nearby. We had traveled in canoes to get to this spot, and he had dropped me off with enough food to last me a month, and me being there for two months, this naturally meant a fast. This was a ritual I had done once a year for the last five years of our marriage together, and I would break the isolation and fast with him every year the same way: with sex in the white sand, in the moonlight, the salty spray of the deep green ocean surrounding us on all sides. The air was warm and moist, the wind fresh and fierce all around.

Tonight was his arrival, and he rowed a few miles to reach me, bringing luxury food and wine for the both of us. When he arrived, pulled his canoe in after setting the paddle down on the side catch, placed it under a palm tree, and took out the vodka and grape fruits he had brought, as well as the delicious lobster tails, scallops, potato wedges topped with a delicious honey mustard sauce he had hand prepared, and buttered soft shelled crabs, all of which he had sauteed at our home for us on the main island. My husband learned how to cook these things from me, and he had prepared them very well I noticed. We now sat under a giant palm tree near the shoreline a ways away from the canoe, sipping the semi-frozen mixture of the best vodka he could get his hands on, mixed with freshly squeezed grapefruits, and a fine sugar having been added to this. We ate for some time like this, pausing in between bites and sips from our glasses, to kiss intimately. I nosed him affectionately quite a lot while we were eating, stopping from time to time, in between bites of seafood and the vodka grapefruit drink, to gently and softly nose him on the neck. He would stop from time to time, the hair bristling like so much fur on his chest, his back upright, to lean in ever so conservatively to give me a french kiss, locking mouths and tongues, as he would suck on my tongue repeatedly this way, and then kiss me on the bridge of my nose.

Time went on into the night as we ate and drank, and eventually time came for dessert. He pulled out a delicious strawberry cheesecake that was still partially frozen, and we lay there in the darkness, the moonlight providing a strong but dim grey light for us, partially in the shade under the palm tree, the roar of the ocean in the background and the strong wind tearing at my waist length hair which I had restrained in the back with a simple scrunchie. The wind massaged our faces so much so that, after awhile he became very relaxed like me, by the wind on his face. He had prepared a mixture of blackstrap molasses and Irish cream liquor, which we drank with the strawberry cheesecake. He stopped every now and then while eating, as I leaned on his chest, resting my plate there, to play with my vagina using his very large but lovingly dexterous hands.

My husband was a brain surgeon, and very skilled with his hands in many ways. After a time of eating the cheesecake and drinking the delicious molasses concoction, both of which I trained him well to prepare, my husband and I began to lie down in the sand and lazily kiss, the heavy wind massaging our faces. I had spent all of those two months clothed in a large one piece dress, wearing a veil that covered everything but my face, bathing in the ocean as I needed to. After a time he pulled the dress up and over my head, and took the scrunchie off of my hair, and we began to make love more and more as the night went on, the clear starry sky in the backdrop, a full and gorgeous milky way in clear view, with no light clouding the view.

He started by continually playing with my pussy using a combination of his index finger going in and out while the thumb massaged my clitoral area, similar but more involved to the motions he would use while we had been eating. After a time of him doing this and passionately french kissing me, sucking on my tongue, passing his lips on the tips of my earlobes and suckling them with his tongue, I began to become a good deal aroused. He had done these things to me for almost an hour while I stared at the sky, my hair obscuring the view from time to time, as I lay there and he worked on me, when I began to hum a soft tune. As I hummed this tune he recognized, very sweetly and softly, he lay down next to me very obediently, awaiting the seductive things this tune hypnotically signaled to him. He became very relaxed very quickly, and I sat up slowly, as he lay there, propping my body on top of his, and I placed my arms and legs on top of his, and lay on his chest, and I told him a story….

“We are in the garden my love, the trimmed hedges all around us, we are in the center of the maze, by the fountain, sitting there, and you imagine yourself bathing me with the seashell clam half in the fountain’s water, palm trees reaching over the acre of hedged maze in the backgrounds, as you bathe me in water. As you pour the water, you can visualize everything so clearly, like sparkle of the sun on the drops of the water, and you will grow more erect as you imagine these sparkles glinting off the water you are bathing me in”

As I said this he became incredibly hard within a span of ten or so seconds, and I whispered “Ah haaa, what do we have here” while I took his penis and gently stroked it in my dainty and delicate, but long fingers, smiling gently, the wind wisping in my hair, my husband’s eye’s closed as he lay there, in a trance.

After some time of gently and softly massaging his penis, I hummed another soft tune, this one much shorter, and he regained control of his left arm, the arm opposite from where I was. He could move nothing else, anchored as he was in place, under the spell of my loving and gentle enchantment. For some time while I stroked him gently in my fingers, he would reach across to stroke my arm and cup my breast softly, his eyes still closed, the rest of his body immovable. I had done this for some time when I hummed another tune and his arm gently but firmly became immobile again, at his side. He was completely aware of everything, as he had been all along, peacefully but excitedly aware, and it was now that I began to suck him, taking his fully erect penis into my mouth, sucking and pausing to kiss his penis every now and then. After doing this for about half an hour he came in my mouth, and it was so delicious I swallowed it whole, pausing then to drink the last of my molasses Irish cream drink, to wash it down. I hummed another tune after giving my husband this oral gift, and he became mobile again. He smiled at me widely, and kissed me silently, as we continued to accept the profound silence between us, embracing each other and the salty ocean spray, the fierce wind all around us. A time went by of us kissing casually, and he became aroused sufficiently that I asked him to enter me from behind and I lay there face and chest up in the white sand. I watched the night sky over his shoulders, the stark and clear milky way galaxy in full view, as he went in and out for what seemed like ages, until I was brought into a state of strong orgasmic waves enveloping me, panting softly as he went in and out, in and out, firmly but gently, at a steady but not too slow pace. I came so much and smiled at him then, and he brought me up to his face, and we kissed, as I wrapped my legs around his back, him holding me there as we kissed.

After this was done, we went back to our home on the island, my retreat having been complete, a journey into myself, to reflect on myself and my husband, and what we had together. It had been a journey inside myself that I took every year, and the sex that sprang forth from it each year on the beach, and in our home on the larger island, was very profound and incredible. A meditation it was, I thought, as my husband rowed the 15 miles back to our home, his strong sinewy arms and hands rowing as I lay in the back of the canoe on my back, staring up at the night sky again, marveling at the majesty of the galaxy spread before me

My name is Alice, I am a poet and a writer, and I am from North Shore, MA.  I am a currently single woman (transwoman) in my early 30’s, I am a wytch, an atheist, and I like to output my sexual spirituality by writing for others so that my love can warm, heal, revitalize and uplift other humans.

http://sweetlovingvampryss.blogspot.com/2013/04/contemplation-erotic-story.html

Wanted and Worthy.

by Dean McManus

It’s wrong.
It’s forbidden, it’s a sin, it’s taboo and *dangerous.*
It’s *right* and *beautiful* and *addicting.*
They’re not supposed to.
They are anyway.
They’re young, they’d be told everything they already know. Wrong, dangerous, filthy. They’d be sent elsewhere, beaten until the devil was out of them. It’s a weird age, where the roads are still dirt, they’re barely old enough to be allowed in the Saloon, and James is due to find his brother and go hunting for that night’s meal.
Thomas probably should have been home hours ago, and there’s no doubt that Jack is out and looking. They’d had to get more creative with their hiding places recently, the bathrooms and the sheds too well known by both of their brothers, and though they are willing to cover for them, it only lasts so long.
It’s quick and dirty, the flat of James’ palm pressed tight against an open mouth to stifle the sounds, and only his will stopping his own. Each breath is too short and burns his lungs, the hand trapped between the leather of his trousers and his own skin working him quickly, and James’ doing much the same in the way of returning the favor. Their shirts had already been rucked up, so used to this that they know the tricks and ways to make it a quick and easy clean up.
When they finish, it’s with stuttering movements and James biting down on Thomas’ shoulder through his clothes, and Thomas’ muffled curses in god knows how many languages painting his skin. When they let go, the draw to each other is still intense, almost dramatic even though they know their time is so limited. The kiss is lazy and unhurried, his words written with the trace of his tongue.
“James-” It’s barely heard, reluctance in the form of his name. Said man stalls the words that would come next with another kiss, kept chaste, yet lingering. “I know.” They’re still a little out of breath, but by the time they’ll be out of there it’ll be back to normal. They’ve got it down to an art. It’s a thought that when he’s alone, brings his mood down to the point of whiskey and bruising his knuckles. The truth can’t be changed, at least not yet.
Their clothes are fixed and hair patted back into place, mess contained. As per usual, Thomas leaves first.
It’s barely thirty seconds before he hears the familiar lilt of Jack’s voice, more exasperated than anything, telling his brother to hurry on home before they get whipped. Again. Because though they’re of age to be legal, you’re never too old for a lashing.
By the time James leaves, Sam’s given up searching. But when he gets home, he gets an earful. James needs to be careful, to stop, to quit before he’s hung in towns square.
Halfway through the act of brushing through his horse, Sam’s finally had enough and asks the question they’ve both been waiting for.
Is he really worth it?”
When James stops, all movement ceasing and his shoulders a tense line, Sam swallows rough and dry. He knows the answer before it comes.
“Yeah, Sammy. He is. Now drop it.”

I

About the author- “I’m twenty-three and I live in a small town in Texas. I started writing erotica at a young age, mostly through online roleplaying until I could gather my footing and confidence to do it on my own. I was an English Major during my time in college and hope to be going back to that soon. I have a family of my own, including a four year old stepson that keeps me busy.
I love to write in my free time, and I just hope everyone enjoys it as much as I do.”

sixty-nine.

sixty-nine.

by *Miss Theresa*

Yes. I am going to talk about it. I’m going to talk about the infamous “69”.  I don’t remember when I first heard about 69- it was probably in middle school, but I do remember whoever was telling me, took great pains to explain that the “6” was one person and the “9” was another. That was all fine and good, people being numbers and all, but I didn’t understand why people were giggling about it. I wasn’t very good in math, and failed Algebra once and dropped Geometry, so what the hell did I know? X=Y after all.

Time passed, and I was now in high school, and by then I had lost my virginity.  Sex became a little more than just “doing it” and sort of actually almost started to feel good (and the women out there know what I mean.)  High school sex is more about the guy getting off and the girl just being in dreamylove with this boy they are letting poke at them for 10 minutes.  My (loser) boyfriend at the time was talking about 69 and I remember KNOWING that the “6” and “9” were people.  I felt IN on this dirty little secret!  The numbers are PEOPLE!!!! I yelled to myself in a sexually SOYLENT GREEN type of way.  But, what these peoplenumbers were actually doing was still very much a mystery. Eventually my boyfriend finally let me in on it, and before I could really figure things out, he initiated it.  Welp.   He demonstrated in the “best” way possible (for an inexperienced teen for had NEVER actually done anything but missionary, of course) – and we awkwardly began the dance that is 69.

I remember thinking that the commencement of the aforementioned position was beyond awkward, unceremoniously crawling up on each other, and bony knees jabbing ribs and feeling stupid.  I felt weird and claustrophobic, and of course, only being a new young slut at that time was still self conscious about, well, you know, letting a boy *whispers* (put his mouth down there) and then, to add nasty insult to filthy injury- he actually put his “stuff” near my mouth, and then, EXPECTED me to you know, give him, you know! I mean, REALLY!  Ghastly!

And this was what the fuss was about? All of this awkward discomfort? I remember it was about three minutes before I decided it was the dumbest thing ever, so, he more than likely shot his load someplace I didn’t want, and that was the end of 69 for awhile.  INTO the “NOT-MY- THING” CABINET WITH YOU, SIXTY-NINE!

69 was whispered about and giggled over all through my college years.  Occasionally I was lured into participating in it again, assuming that since my lovers were getting more skilled, that 69 would finally be what everyone was raving about… because… you know, “yer getting head while yer giving it- what could be better?”  Welp, I’ll tell you what’s better than some idiot making you “soixante-neuf.”  Anything.  Anything is better.  Gardening, going to the library, embroidery, clogging.  ANYTHING is better than the ol’ 69, especially with a boy that until that moment had only seen it in HUSTLER or heard other fakers bragging about it being the END ALL of SEXUAL EXPERIENCE.  It was all so scandalous, and SO taboo, it HAD to be great. I mean, “dude! She’s blowin’ you while you got yer mouth on her. It’s aweeeesome.”

Well, it wasn’t.

More time passed, and my disillusion grew.  I still heard so much fuss over 69 and finally figured that maybe I was the weird one; that clearly I found, dated and screwed every single lousy lover in the city of Pittsburgh.  I started to resent 69, as if it was some rare pearl that I would never obtain.  People talked tough about the ol’ “dinner-beneath-the-bridge” and I just felt unwelcome at that party, so it just became one more thing I never understood, like chess, cars or computers.

I hit my sexual peak, and incidentally found myself divorced and on the market.  This lead to a whole lot of interesting-ness, and my old foe- the “double header” was back in my playin’ field.  I had heard endless giggling, and so much big talk from my female friends, that I KNEW, I was missing out.  Again, giving AND getting?  Shut the front door!  You know it’s good girl!

Now, I had come a long way (no pun intended) from that stupid little wannabe slut messing around with stupid inexperienced boys in basements and cars, and one of my first established SEX RULES was that “I NEVER PLAY EVEN-STEVENS”- which translates to- just because I’m doing you, doesn’t necessarily mean you need to do me, and vice versa.  Sometimes it’s fun to focus on one partner, other times it’s all in (no pun.)  Because of my “TIT-ISN’T-NECESSARY-FOR-TAT” rule, I felt that 69 was not aiding to my cause of sexual independence.  I could be a woman and get mine, without giving, and that was pretty empowering.  This pretty much left 69 in the darkest corner of my closet along with the KAMA SUTRA book which I never understood and that horrible rabbit vibrator thing- that hurt a lot more than it pleasured.

In my thirties sex was pretty much in EVERY CONVERSATION EVERYWHERE and was totally unavoidable, so I had to define myself pretty quickly, picking and choosing from the sexual buffet BEFORE it came up.  My turn on’s and off’s, my do’s and don’t’s, condom preference, gender preference, past partner resume, what have you.

Again, lots of talk from lots of ladies- and I even fell prey to the whole, “oh yeah, I totally get off blowin’ a guy thing”– which, when honest, really means, “I really just want him to like me.”  Eventually I admitted this to myself, and although I like giving head to guys, honestly, it’s not within my TOP FIVE on my ol’ sex menu. *shrug*

More and more time went by and I finally got to the point where I am now- which is “I’m almost 40 and I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks about me” (which, between you and me and everyone over there, is a REALLY nice place to be) and do you know what I’ve found?  I am NOT alone in the “I just don’t get the whole 69 thing” category.  In fact, I have YET to meet someone who honestly and I mean HONESTLY enjoys the whole “flip flop double marriage” thing.  Now, I know what you are going to say, “But *Miss Theresa* I LURRRVE 69!” of course you do, honey. We all do in the sense that it’s sex.  But I’d bet with the right partner, you’d enjoy fucking in mud too, BUT you actually love a bunch of other positions more.

After all of the hype, I finally found someone that I enjoyed 69 with.  I did.  And they didn’t kneel on my hair, or make me feel like I was suffocating, or make me do anything with their ass, or bruise my lungs or kick me in the face, or say “I’m too heavy” or stop every 30 seconds saying “are you ok?”  but the reason it was different, was because I would do anything for this person, and so “loop de loop” was as good as anything that I could have done or have gotten done at that time.  When it happened it wasn’t as if I shattered the SEX CEILING or unlocked the mysteries of pleasure or anything like that.  It was what it was, our mouths on each other, giving and getting at the same time.  It was nice.  And it was good.  But it wasn’t a fistbump at the gym or a check mark on my POSITIONS I HAVE TO TRY card.  And it certainly wasn’t worth decades of secret snickering, giggling or pedestal-sitting either.  Now PEDASTAL SITTING… there’s a position.

So I’ve blown the lid off yet another taboo.  And I know, I know, that’s what she said, however, I spent a long time worried that I wasn’t in on the secret, and I find out 30 years later, I wasn’t really missing out.  Mystery Solved.  Now, I’m expecting a few angry emails from women still claiming to LOVEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE giving blowjobs.  No worries, ladies.  Your secret is still safe with me.

night out.

by *Miss Theresa*lips

“pure evil,” she said. “pure evil. i dont even know what i am going to do with you.”

she had me pinned up against the wall, so i had some ideas. i had one hand in her hair, guiding her, helping her in any way that i could, and the other on the bookshelf next to me. it was like some demented version of Twister- only instead of “Right foot- red, ” it was “Right hand-wall. Left hand- lover’s head.”

she had her mouth on my pussy and was hellbent on making me cum. obviously, this wasnt a problem. i just wasnt sure how this little mid-dinner fuck happened. the evening started off innocently. a little dinner, a little schmoozing, a lot of wine, you know, apretty standard friday night in pittsburgh. and then she walked in. the air was smoky but soon became electrified. now, i’m not talking romance novel-electric. or cheesy porn- wannabe-electric. i mean, ELECTRIC-ELECTRIC. all smoldering and hot in my pants- electric.

was it her? was it the wine? was it my constantly overreacting libido? who knew? it didnt much matter, because i wanted her. and i wanted her badly. more than that- i wanted her mouth on my pussy. not a bad way to start a night, right?

and then another SHE walked in.
and my night got even more interesting….

indescribable.

by *Miss Theresa*

i wanted it, so badly, but was still not aggressive enough to just take her. i have to hint around here and there; touching and teasing, being stupid and unnecessarily shy. i finally saw my chance to get in there for a kiss. *sigh* those kisses planted on superbly soft lips. thin, perfect, almost absent lips… smooth as the lips of her pussy…. perfectly sensual, gentle. Sigh

i love to kiss her. usually it’s a struggle between wanting to receive and give. we get into rhythms and just kiss and kiss and kiss until i cant breathe, until i don’t want to breathe anything but her. breathe everything into her. so we kissed and she kisses and i licked and i bit. she put her mouth to my neck and she sucked my skin. i breathed her kisses and her words and she swallowed my sighs and we loved and melted into each other.

there is a power struggle, but we give over easy, knowing the prize is full climax and explosion of sensation, and no one really loses. she starts to lick my aching nipples, nipples desperate to be held in her teeth. her mouth moves along my body, to places that need to be explored…. and bit, and marked and bruised by her mouth and lovingly violated with her teeth. her hands rest in places that set my cunt to fire. her teeth do things that make me melt into puddles. her sighs make me want to cum the moment the sound escapes those delicious lips. my own sighs seem detached and far away….

her sensuality makes my body writhe with an exquisiteness that makes me feel foreign and strange. she uses no force but once her arm comes up and around my thigh to lock me in place, her mouth can go directly to where we both want it to be.

an instant of white hot liquid lights up my clit, and radiates to all parts. my body shook, causing my hand to grasp her shortshort hair and rock her mouth further into my cunt and her mouth was waiting waiting waiting to put her tongue back to my cunt, but instead her whole mouth enveloped my clit and warmth spreads through my vulva like a hot coals crackling under a blanket, fighting to catch and burst into flame. gods…. fantastic.