Friday, April 27, 2007

Fleshbot and Music Television

This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot climbs into bed with the husbands and wives who cat, swing and bang on the side. Some do it together, others do it on the sly. Either way, these couples aren’t like the folks next door . . . or are they?

Those of you who enjoy stalking me will never guess who stopped by to watch Cody and me fuck. Holy smokes, it was—your boss!

Speaking of next door, take a peek to the left and scroll down, down, down, past all those naked people. (Take your time if you want. That’s why the naked people are there.)

See those scrolls of tiny pictures with funny headers? The new layout of One Life, Take Two has a nifty feature that allows me to organize sets of videos. I might have put together anything, I suppose, but for now, I’ve put up music.

For now, I opted to showcase tunes from different times in my life. These are organized by the format in which I encountered them. (Okay, so I fudged the first two. I’m long in the tooth, but not so long that I recall 78s.) Most of the selections were off the top of my head, and the actual selections are randomly chosen by the search engine. This allows for serendipity.

Imagine how surprised I was to see Patti Smith singing “You Light Up My Life” to children.

Almost as surprised as when a Rites of Spring concert taped in nineteen eighty nevermind included my long-haired self in the crowd.

Take a look and have fun. I’ll keep this in place for a bit. Once you click an image, scroll back to the top of the page to watch the video.

But before you go, take a peek at this video sent by an anonymous reader. It takes a turn that may surprise, and might even titillate.


Daniel Zueras "Yo No Quiero Enamorarme"

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Abby Winters

Pool Girls

I’ve lately been perusing the catalog of Abby Winters, as you may have noticed from all the pictures recently popping up here. Winters is a photographer based in Australia who—along with other photographers in her network—focuses on young amateur models, with an emphasis on capturing real people in casual environments.

Now, I’ve got nothing against professional models—they need loving too, you know—but there’s something to Winters’s approach with amateurs that I find enormously appealing. She’s not after a perfect type. Hair is mussed and freckles are not retouched. Awkward poses abound. You can imagine the models cringing at times, asserting, “You can’t use that one! I look ridiculous when I laugh.”

Rather, Winters goes for moments when people are people—as in the photo above, which just happens to feature my girlfriend Marla Jo in the center. Hi, Marla!

This gives her photography a certain intimacy, as when she captures two women together.

Fallon and Naomi E.

Each model is described with biographies, including handwritten autobiographies, which flesh out the person whose flesh you are oogling. They are often presented in relaxed “as you are” situations, as in this image of Axelle.


Axelle is certainly cute in her panties and piercings. But more, there’s something so endearing about the fact that she really needs to vacuum her room—or is that just me? (Axelle, please write. You need me to take care of you, honey.)

For those who care about such things, Winters takes care not to exploit her models. If for any reason a model decides that being naked for the world was not the right decision, she is removed from the catalogue and people who have posted her image (people like me, for example) are contacted and asked to do likewise.

For this reason and others, Winters is very selective about where her photographs are permitted to be displayed. I’m glad she allows me to post them here for you.

Take her tour and get to know her work. Set aside some time, as there's so much on her site. And remember, if you subscribe through the links provided here, you support One Life, Take Two.


Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Abby Winters

Lily F.


“Hello, may I speak to Jonathan, please? This is Jefferson calling.”

“This is Jonathan. Good afternoon, Jefferson.”

“Good afternoon. Is this a good time to talk?”

“Sure, now is very good. I’m glad to hear from you.”

“Good, good.” I adjusted myself in my chair, taking care to crush her face with my bare feet. A sigh was muffled by the ball of my right foot.

I stroked her hair with my toes.

“Jonathan, as you know, I’ve been asked to help in the hiring of an assistant on this project. The hiring decision will not be made by myself alone, but it was felt that since this assistant will be working most closely with me, I should have a say in selecting the candidate.”

“Yes, of course.”

I stuffed her mouth with toes. I kicked her knees apart so that I could grind a heel into the flesh of her abdomen.

“Good. Now, I see that your undergraduate degree is from Amherst. They have a fine department there, don’t they? I actually know your adviser fairly well; she’s really top notch. Can you tell me a little about how your studies there led you to choose your current graduate program?”

Jonathan began to relate his academic career. I listened, absentmindedly flexing and relaxing my toes to clutch her labia.

I looked under my desk. Her eyes were closed as she contentedly licked my big toe.

She’s a good girl, I thought.

I kicked her in the tits. I ignored her grunt. “Great, Jonathan. That does seem to be the right program for you. Now, can you say a little about why you applied for this particular placement?”

Eden’s path to the space under my desk had begun with an email a few weeks before.

I’m sure you get this a lot, and I suppose this is kinda coming out of left field, but you only life once, right? I came across your blog a couple of months ago, and I noticed a trend: You have hot sex. And I would like to have hot sex, for once. I’m in the city on an almost daily basis, so if you are interested, drop me a line.

Take care,

She sent a photograph showing a smiling, fresh-faced young woman with long blonde hair.

I was interested.

I was interested, but it would be a while before I could see her. I proposed that we correspond, and asked that with each reply, she provide more photographs.

“Sure,” she wrote. “What do you want to see?”

I thanked her for offering to take instruction. I created a file for Eden. It filled with images of her modeling panties, of her wet body, of her tangled in bedclothes, of her laughing, of her masturbating. She was comfortable with her nudity, and so my eyes became familiar with every part of her body.

She was also comfortable in opening up her life. She told me about her past experiences with sex and kink. She described herself as bisexual, though she had never been with a woman. She had been with four men, three of whom were forgettable, one of whom she described as “the bad ex.”

(She would later amend this number upwards—she had been with five men. One had been so forgettable that she had actually forgotten him.)

Eden added that she had been experimenting with BDSM for two years. She considered herself a masochist.

Now, that was interesting. She said nothing about being submissive. She was all about the pain.

I set ground rules for meeting her. I don’t dom anyone I’m not fucking, I explained, so sex would be a given. I expected to have full, continuous access to her body. She was not to wear clothes in my home unless specifically instructed. I would look to her to tell me how much pain she could endure, and to tell me how she wanted it. As she was not in a relationship, I would not hesitate to leave marks.

I omitted my preference of receiving bourbon as a tribute. At twenty, she was too young to satisfy that requirement. That could wait.

She readily accepted my ground rules.

I invited her to my place. “Not so much kink on a first date,” I informed her. “I want to get my dick in you to see what you’re made of.”

She arrived precisely on time. She was neither one minute early nor one minute late.

Her eyes were lowered when I opened the door. She looked up when I greeted her. Her mouth was small and firmly set.

I closed the door behind her.

I drew her into a kiss. She gave her mouth easily. She had seemed so demure a moment before. Now she was aroused and passionate.

“Take off your clothes,” I commanded.

She stripped. I stood very close, constricting her movements to a small space. She handed me each article of clothing in turn. I dropped them each to the floor, one by one.

When she was nude, she stood erect, her eyes on mine. I kissed her again, taking her body in my hands. She was firm, with soft skin textured by fine invisible hairs raised to electric attention.

She was also very wet.

“Suck my dick,” I instructed.

She dropped her to her knees. I took out my cock. She examined me. “Are you clean?” she asked.

“Smart girl,” I said, petting her hair. “Yes, I am.”

She took my cock in her mouth.

It wasn’t an audition, but she appreciated that first impressions matter. She used her tongue liberally. She breathed quietly, as if to avoid using too much of my air. She took me deep into her throat.

I wanted more of that. I pulled out, tucked my cock away, and zipped up.

“Come with me,” I ordered, taking her hair in my fist. She complied, dropping her hands to crawl at my side to my bedroom.

I lead her to my chair. “Kneel.”

She knelt, waiting as I undressed.

I sat in the chair, offering her my cock. “Right. Now suck it.”

She blew me with no special urgency or ardor. This suited me well. I intended to take my time enjoying her mouth. She had skill. I wanted to see if she had stamina.

Twenty minutes later, I told her to stop.

She sat back on her haunches, erect.

“Get on the bed. I want to lick your pussy.”

She lay back on the pillows, spreading her legs for me.

“I never cum from this,” she warned.

“Doesn’t concern me,” I lied, shrugging. “I just want your taste.”

She soon came in shudders.

“That puts you in a very small club,” she laughed afterwards.

“I’m pleased to join such select company,” I smiled, reaching for a condom.

I looked into her eyes as I entered her. “Eden, you have a remarkably tight pussy.”

She nodded. “So I’ve been told.”

“Well, that’s very nice,” I said, taking her hair in my fist. I twisted her head to one side. She grunted as she followed my direction.

I leaned forward to kiss her neck as we fucked.

Here again, her stamina was impressive. It was clear that she was content to fuck for as long as I wanted—which can be a very long time.

At one point, I held her chin steady and slapped her.

She grunted, turning her head violently from side to side. She began to thrash her body.

“Eden, no!” I ordered. She calmed down.

I fucked her gently, kissing the offended cheek.

I slapped her again. She grunted and thrashed.

“Eden, no!” I repeated. “You are not to move like that. You could get hurt.”

She calmed herself.

The next time I slapped her, she did not move. She did not grunt. Her nostrils flared, her eyes shot darts, but she behaved.

“Good girl,” I commended. I kissed her ear. “You’re a bit of a brat, aren’t you, Eden?”

“So I’ve been told,” she said through gritted teeth.

I pulled up to look at her. I pushed the hair from her face. “Shh, shh,” I consoled her. “No more slaps for now. Let’s just fuck.”

That evening, she went home with cane marks, bruised tits and an invitation to return soon.

I processed what I had learned about Eden on our first date. I wrote to ask that she tell me more about her desires and fantasies, instructing her to leave nothing out.

I also asked for daily photographs of her breasts, so I could monitor the progress of her bruises.

At our subsequent meetings, she started to understand that I had asked about her desires in order to guide our interactions. I wanted to be on target in giving her the pain she craved. I also wanted to allow her to submit, if that felt natural. We could take her time in realizing her fantasies, taking care to make a natural progression to each in turn.

She soon revealed her fondness for men’s feet.

In preparation for this date, I swept under my desk. I showered, scrubbing my feet and clipping my toenails. I put a blanket near my desk. I had reserved several hours for her.

She arrived precisely on time.

She undressed at the door, presenting herself to me fully nude. I pulled her to the couch to kiss.

“Eden, you are doing everything just right,” I commended, fingering her clit. “I’m very pleased with how things are going with us.”

“Me too,” she grinned.

“So today, I have a special treat. I have to work for a few hours. I’m going to allow you to spend that time under my desk.” I kissed her cheek. “Today, you’re my foot stool.”

She turned to look at the space under my desk.

“Okay,” she replied. Her voice had lost its affect.

“I am also allowing you this blanket,” I said, pointing to the carefully folded bundle. “Make yourself a little bed under there while I get a few things together.”

“Okay,” she replied. Her voice lifted slightly. “Hey, can I listen to my iPod? Or is that against instruction?”

I kissed her cheek. “Always ask questions if you don’t know. Of course, you may listen to music, pretty girl.”

When I returned, Eden was reclining on comfortable bedding under my desk. Her knees were bent so that her feet were propped against the desk’s side.

The basketball that usually resides under my desk was pushed to one side.

“Oh no, Eden, the basketball must also stay under the desk,” I said, kicking it her way as I sat in my chair. “You are joining the basketball, not replacing it.”

“Oh, my bad,” she said, tucking it under her knees. “Why do you keep it here, anyway?”

“Because I do not always have so pretty a foot stool,” I smiled, covering her face with my feet. I rubbed them gently, squeezing her cheeks together.

“Mmmmph,” she muttered.

“Are you happy?” I asked.

“Mmmmph mmm,” she nodded.

“Good girl. Now be quiet while I make a few phone calls.”

I took my time interviewing Jonathan. He was an impressive candidate for the position as my assistant.

I learned that if I wedged a knee against the underside of my desk, I gained leverage to press hard into Eden’s belly.

I called another candidate, again impressed with the quality of applications.

Eden began to masturbate. I kicked her hand away. I pushed a toe against her asshole, pressing in and out.

I began to type notes from my interviews.

Eden wriggled with arousal, sucking intently on my feet. I willed myself to ignore her.

I immersed myself in copy editing another text. I cut a few paragraphs, making it more concise. I read it over a few times and found I had cut too much, so that one key point was lost. I reinstated a few sentences, trimming the excess.

I noticed the time. I had been working for a little over two hours.

I sat back and looked under the desk. Eden was napping, a toe dangling from her lower lip. She looked very peaceful with her ear buds in place, her hair tucked behind her ears. She was turned on her side, her arms nestled against her chest. I rubbed a foot gently along the curve of her hip.

I smiled at the scene. She looked so sweet and innocent.

I kicked her leg, hard.

“Eden? Pretty Eden?” I prodded her stomach.

She twitched and woke with a start. Her eyes opened, confused.

“Eden?” I held out a hand. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you fucked.”

She looked around, remembering where she was. “Okay,” she nodded, taking my hand.

Saturday, April 21, 2007

Sex and Submission

Mindy Main


Avah looked up instinctively as she crawled around the corner.

I tugged down on her jaw, gripping it firmly, my thumb on her chin, two fingers under her tongue.

Her eyes dropped. Her nude ass rose. Good.

We had first met just a few minutes earlier, yet already, we each knew how to respond to the other.

We had prepared the way.

Our first correspondence had been friendly and flirtatious. I was glad to see photographs of the pretty young woman who had contacted me. She read my blog, and so she had some insights into my life. I asked about hers.

I asked about her past experiences, and what had drawn her to me. She revealed a rather jagged and fast-paced sexual history.

She was nineteen when she wrote to me, on the cusp of her twentieth birthday. She had lost her virginity at the age of seventeen. In the intervening two-to-three years, she had lost track of the number of men she had fucked.

“How can that be?” I asked. “Did you run out of fingers and toes to count?”

“No,” she replied. “I was an escort for a while when I was eighteen—at least, until my mom found out and made me stop.”

Avah had joined an agency that knew how to make good use of a fresh-faced teenager. She would book a New Jersey motel room and spend a day seeing a succession of clients, primarily men she would never see again. At the end of a working day, she would tuck a few hundreds into her purse. The agency would put much more into their accounts.

It was a sweet deal—for the agency.

Since her forced retirement from whoring, Avah had been involved with a few boyfriends, including one who would occasionally tie her with ropes. Avah writhed under the restraints and came to see herself as submissive, although she wasn’t sure how to pursue this with her boyfriend.

She considered herself bisexual, although she had little experience with women.

She had never had an orgasm with a partner.

I released her jaw from my fist. “Get on the bed,” I directed.

Avah nodded and lifted her arms to the bed. Slowly, with the deference of a chastened dog, she crawled onto it.

“On your back.”

She rolled off her knees, settling back into the duvet.

I kept her eyes in mine as I removed my shirt. I watched her eyes lower as I removed my jeans. For the first time, she saw the cock she had already had in her mouth and throat.

I lay next to her. I took her face in hand and lowered my lips to hers.

Her mouth opened. A sigh was trapped in her chest.

My fingers moved lightly across her flesh as I kissed her firmly. My mind was searching for her responses, adding tactile sensations to the information it had gathered on Avah.

I took my time. We made out like the kid she still was.

“Are you ready for rope?” I asked.

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Good.” I reached over a corner of the bed to retrieve a line. I wrapped it around her wrist, knotting it loosely.

“Slip knots on a first date,” I whispered, reaching for the opposite corner of the bed.

“I know,” she nodded. She had read that somewhere in my blog. I tied another knot.

I sat back on my knees, looking over her pale skin. I settled on the girlish pink of her nipples. I pinched one, watching it turn white when I released my hold.

“May we try clothespins?” I asked. She nodded, watching my hand reach for a drawer.

I gathered a fold of nipple and flesh from a breast much smaller than my palm.

She sucked in her breath as I attached the first clothespin. “Shhhh,” my voice soothed as the second snapped into place.

Avah drew deep breaths as the sensations rushed to her head. Her hands balled into fists. I watched as her toes curled, waiting for them to relax.

I leaned forward to kiss her neck. I traced a tongue to her clavicle, kissing again as I made my way to her breast. I kissed and licked as the clothespin bobbed, providing the axis around which I traveled.

I took the underside of her breast lightly in my teeth and held it. Her breathing accelerated as my incisors gradually dug deeper. I increased the pressure until she writhed. I held it longer and then suddenly released her.

Ahhh-unhh!” she moaned, twisting. The sharp pain of the bite competed with the sustained pinch of the clothespins.

I watched her face, my hands rubbing her belly. Her brow furrowed and then relaxed as she calmed her contortions, willing herself into composure.

She knew what to do. She knew what to anticipate.

My teeth sank into the soft underside of another breast.

My mouth’s tour of her body left the oval of my teeth’s imprint repeated across her torso. In some places, small bites nestled inside larger ones, creating pink flowers that would blossom into purple bouquets in the following hours. My garden was somewhat formal in its symmetry.

In time, my mouth arrived at the conclusion of it meandering, unhurried path. My destination was damp in expectation.

I leisurely lapped at Avah’s clit. She breathed out in relief that I had finally arrived.

I suckled and tongued, giving her head in different modes, trying on rhythms and patterns for this pussy new to my mouth, and so misused by other men.

I found sensations that resonated with Avah’s body, filing them away and moving to others. I wasn’t pursuing her elusive orgasm—not yet, anyway. This was more of a fact-finding mission to collect data preliminary to later use.

Two fingers curved into her.

Avah’s legs spread as I filled her cunt for the first time. Her back arched as now, for the first time, she felt a pressure her own fingers had been unable to produce—and no other lover had bothered to try.

My fingers pushed gently. Firmly. Pressing. Rhythmically. Screwing. Pulsing. I watched her face, rubbing her thighs and torso, learning.

I pulled out. She collapsed slightly, sighing.

I opened a nightstand drawer. “I’m going to fuck you now,” I informed her.

She opened her eyes. “Okay.” I smiled, kissing her cheek. We both knew, in that moment, that she would have refused me nothing, just as I was prepared to give her something she needed.

We both knew that we wanted that trust.

I watched as, for the first time, my cock vanished into her shaved folds. I thought of the uncounted men who had used Avah’s body, trading small folds of cash for this moment of feeling her tight teenage cunt close in on them.

All that effort, I thought, lowering my body to hers, and no one had bothered to take care of her. Stupid, really, that men pay for so little, when there is so much more to be had—if one learns to appreciate what is given.

I fucked her slowly, kissing her cheeks and mouth, nestling my face in her hair. I bit into her arm as she flinched, unable to move away from my mouth.

I sat back, pushing her thighs forward. I fucked harder. She squirmed and moaned.

“Is this hitting that same place as my fingers?” I asked.

She opened her eyes and nodded.

“Good,” I smiled. I pounded hard, fucking her with a measured ferocity.

She zoned out. I caressed her hair.

My phone rang. Avah opened her eyes.

“This is very rude of me,” I shrugged. “But I do need to take that.”

Avah nodded, panting.

I reached for the nightstand. “Hello? Yeah, how’s it going?” I pushed deep into Avah, then back lightly. “Good. Yeah, it’s going very well. I like her.” I smiled at Avah. She smiled back. I fucked her a little faster. “Yeah, I think she likes me too. So where are you? . . . Uh huh . . . No, no it’s cool. Come on over. The door is open.” I fucked slower. “Her? No, no worries. This one does what I tell her. See you soon.”

I returned the phone to its receiver.

“Friend of mine,” I said, pinning Avah’s legs back. I reached for the rope, lashing her calves to her wrists as we fucked.

I offered no further explanation of the phone call. She knew better than to ask.

I fucked her through different rhythms, finding the ones that worked. A few times, she seemed close to orgasm, but never made the leap.

I lowered myself to her.

“Okay, now, I want to try something,” I said, looking into her eyes. “Are you with me?”

She nodded.

“All right. Now, I’m going to fuck up into you, just like this.” I pushed in and up, back and forth, in a regular pattern. “Now, you push down onto me.” Her pussy clenched on my cock. “Good! You are so swollen and tight now. And that sense, that ‘pushing down’ is what your body has been doing when you are about to cum. I’m going to keep fucking you, just like this.” I pushed in and out, repeating an unwavering beat. “You push down and focus.” I kissed her. “I’m not stopping. I’m not cumming. We’ll take all the time we need.”

“Okay,” she said, smiling a little nervously.

“No pressure,” I said, kissing her lips. “Just try this.”


I took her shoulders in my arms. Together, we chased her orgasm.

Soon, she panted and pushed and moaned. She fell limp.

“Ugh,” she complained. “No good.”

“You were close?” I said, slowing.

“So close,” she said. “What’s wrong with me?”

I slapped her. “Nothing is wrong with you.” I resumed our rhythm. “Again.”

Her eyes flashed as her cheek grew red. I felt her pussy clench on me.

“Good girl.” I smiled. “Let’s try again.”

We were pulsing in our motion. I loomed over her, dripping sweat from my brow. I held her throat in my hand as she gasped, flush and intent.

My front door opened.

Avah’s eyes widened.

“Ignore it,” I commanded. “Keep fucking.”

Avah nodded and closed her eyes.

My front door closed.

I spit on two fingers and circled Avah’s clit. She gasped. We were getting close to the combination. I could feel the tumblers falling into place.

Focus, girl, I thought.

“Harder . . .” she whispered.

“The fucking or the fingers?” I said forcibly.

“The fingers . . .”

I quickly untied a leg and arm. I brought her hand to her pussy.

“Rub your own God damned clit.” I barked. “I’m fucking.”

Avah’s back grew rigid. Her pussy was swollen and full after so much fucking. Her clit was twitching. In the next room sat someone she didn’t know, someone who heard every sound we made.

She gasped.

“Give it.” I ordered. “Give me what I want and I swear to God, I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

She sucked a breath. “Oh my God, oh my God . . .”

“That’s it,” I urged, pressing in, refusing to be expelled by the coming earthquake.

Avah convulsed. Her cunt pushed and pulled. Soon enough, she shuddered and cried out.

“Mother fuck, my God, oh my God!”

“Yeah, yeah!” I laughed. I fucked her even harder now.

Three years of sex with countless men, and finally, Avah got her orgasm.

We kissed.

I untied her and we relaxed in one another’s arms.

“Honey,” I panted. “You done good.”

Avah looked at me. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she laughed.

“You’re sweet,” I smiled. I kissed her forehead then turned to face the door. “Hey, Meg!

“Yeah?” a voice called back.

“Come here. I’m going to beat up this girl. You want to watch?”

“Yeah!” she called back. “Just a sec.”

I turned to Avah. “You don’t mind if I cane you in front of my friend, do you?”

Avah laughed nervously. “I guess not . . . ”

“Good girl.” I squeezed her hand. “Just keeping doing what I say, and you’ll be fine.”

Meg joined us. I introduced Avah, and suggested Meg settle into a comfortable chair at the side of the bed.

I retrieved my cane.

“On your knees, all fours,” I commanded. Avah did as instructed, her face in the pillows.

“No, no,” I reprimanded. “Stupid girl.” I tapped the bed with my cane. “Look at Meg. See where she is sitting? Meg wants a good show. Face your ass to Meg.”

Avah looked up. She crabwalked into a more suitable position.

“Good.” I leaned next to Meg, sizing up her view. “Now, spread your knees, Avah. Meg wants to see more pussy.”

Avah complied.

“All set, Meg?” I asked.

“Oh yes, this is a great view,” she nodded.

“Any requests?”

Shouldn’t she get a birthday spanking?” Meg suggested. “And count off each one?”

“Splendid idea,” I smiled. I kissed Meg. “And one to grow on.”

“Of course,” Meg nodded.

“Oh, God,” Avah whimpered.

“Now, now, none of that. Ready?”

Avah wriggled her hips. She drew a deep breath. “Ready.”

Avah cursed as she counted the stripes that would keep her standing for the next two weeks. She called me a monster when I delivered two blows for her seventeenth year, marking her deeply for the loss of her virginity.

She hated me as she waited anxiously for the twenty-first blow.

It came down hard and diagonal, bringing all the other blows to vivid, exquisite agony.

I put down the cane and took Avah in my arms.

We talked in low voices, kissing as she came around. In time she was laughing and trading jokes with Meg.

“I’m glad we met,” I said, petting her hair. “I hope you enjoyed your birthday?”

“Oh yeah, this was the best birthday ever!” she laughed.

“Good.” I kissed her lightly. “Now, get dressed and get the hell out of my apartment. I have company.”

“Oh!” Avah sat up. “Sure, of course . . .”

Meg and I chatted as Avah retrieved her clothes and returned to the bedroom. She began to put on her panties.

Unh unh,” I said, holding out a hand. “Those are mine.”

“You’re taking my panties?” she asked.

“First date.” I said, nodding.

“He’s got quite a collection,” Meg agreed.

Avah handed over the panties. “That’s my nicest pair, too,” she winced. “Black lace and everything.”

“Of course they are your nicest,” I said, taking them to my nose. “It was a first date, after all.”

Avah shouted as the denim of her tight jeans touched the fresh welts on her ass. Meg cooed in sympathy.

I showed Avah to the door, kissing her goodbye.

“Did you have a good time?” she asked.

“Honey, we’re just getting started.” I smiled.

I locked the door behind her. I returned to the bedroom and flopped over my bed.

“She’s cute,” Meg observed.

“Oh, she’s a keeper all right,” I nodded. I reached over to touch Meg’s calf. “So, you want to fuck?”



Friday, April 20, 2007

Abby Winters

Alex T. and Portia

Fleshbot and Dates

This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot finds us the third wheel as sex bloggers head out on dates. Things being what they are, you know they are scoring in ways we hadn’t quite anticipated.

Those of you who enjoy stalking me will find me losing track of Marcus at a sex conference. Swear to God, the next time we’re at the same orgy, I’m slapping a GPS on that whore.

Speaking of dates, I have one tonight with my beloved progeny. Stay tuned for more.

Saturday, April 14, 2007



I've added this to my wish list at JT's Stockroom.

No, not the model. The flogger.

I've been asked to add more "thuds" to my arsenal of "whacks," and a flogger is just the ticket. When used well (as by the illustrious Boymeat and Lolita of the be-still-my-beating-heart), the results are intense and soothing. As one friend described it, "It's like a deep massage, only, you know, hot."

Use the link above, and you can give it to me. If you do so, I would be glad to give you something in exchange: perhaps photos of it in use, or a story written just for you.

If you are in my area, heck, I might even beat you with it.

I Shot Myself

Robin Blushious

Ron Harris


Friday, April 13, 2007


Audrey Bitoni

Fleshbot and Taskmaster

This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot heads south to meditate on the body. Turns out a lot of sex bloggers are using their brains to think about their skin.

Those of you who enjoy stalking me will find Anna and I at a loss for how to say goodbye, although our efforts went down well with chasers of vanilla. Also awkward with departures, Cody ponders the etiquette of farewells after a bukkake party.

Lily thanks her lucky stars that I introduced her to my man Mmmark.

Speaking of bodies, mine is aching in the places where it used to play.

Two weekends. Two journeys to dungeons.

Five nights. Five orgies.

That Jefferson is a tough taskmaster.

For a little over a week, being “Jefferson” was a full time job. I traveled to Baltimore one weekend for a dungeon play party—my first as a participant. The following weekend, I headed to DC to a sex conference at which I taught about sex . . . and, come to think of it, had sex with teachers.

In the intervening week, I prepared for my sessions, wrote some posts, and compiled sex blogs for Fleshbot. I managed to keep up a schedule of sex at least once or twice a day.

In between, I made money and raised children. I also fried chicken. Jefferson didn’t give me much time off, so I had to make good use of every moment.

I’m still getting accustomed to being “Jefferson” in public, and it was an adventure to spend a week or so walking around in his skin. Tell you what, that boy gets some action.

Among the observations I gleaned from that week are the following:

If you fuck women in clusters of two or three, the line will move much faster.

If you want people to fuck in the dungeon, you should fuck in the dungeon.

The best way to attract women is to announce that you suck cock.

Along the way I picked up other more nuanced lessons. Like, for example, if faced with the question of whom to fuck first—a gay porn star or a Dutch submissive—start with the gay porn star. This will draw an audience to your treatment of the Dutch submissive.

This is a good rule of thumb, though it may be rather specialized information. For now, please focus on the three main lessons above.

If you fuck women in clusters of two or three, the line will move much faster.

For a while now, I’ve known that straight boys will do almost anything to be in a room with a naked girl. This can be exploited to good advantage. In fact, by this point, I’m pretty well convinced that I could spend my days and nights exclusively tending to straight boys who would never suck cock or get fucked unless a girl was watching. Otherwise, you know, it would be gay.

As it happens, most of the women I know enjoy a good man-on-man sex show. It’s a winning combination.

I can’t tell you how many toasters I’ve accumulated with all this cherry popping.

But it’s important to recall that the reverse is also true. Not every bi-curious gal has had her curiosity slaked, and even the straight girls want to see what all the fuss is about. And obviously, it’s better if a man is present. Otherwise, you know, it would be lesbian.

I’m glad to oblige.

As for the bisexual women, heck, they just seem to love a good old-fashioned threesome in which they get it all. So while I would hate to cut back on my mainstay of male-male-female threesomes, I do see a growing place for female-female-male threesomes in my life . . . and if we toss another woman in the pile, everyone is the happier.

As for the lesbians who like to get their hands on dick now and again, well Lordy, I could write a book.

If you want people to fuck in the dungeon, you should fuck in the dungeon.

Nowadays, I’m meeting more and more people who spend their time whupping on one another. Partly, this is because I have taken a shining to administering a shining, which attracts people who like their bottoms pinks and their minds fucked. Partly, it’s because I’ve taken a shining to Lolita, who has taken a shining to making things happen for me. And partly, it’s because I’m attending Dark Odyssey events, which blend queer, swinger and BDSM communities in a shining example of what can happen when we eschew boundaries and labels.

Naturally, I wander from the orgy to the dungeon to pick up tips. I watch impressed as single tails fly, razors cut and school girls humiliate, taking notes and adding arrows to my quiver.

The cross-pollination leads some dungeonistas my way as well. “No one fucks in the dungeons,” they grouse. “I would really, really like to get some dick in me when I’m strung up, but that can’t happen at clubs and doesn’t happen often enough at private parties.”

To hear tell, there's more sex in the champagne room.

Since the eighties, intercourse in BDSM clubs has been illegal, and its depiction in porn has been curtailed, as there can be no suggestion of coercion. Naturally, these restrictions influence what people do privately. There are many people on the scene putting sex back into BDSM, as Bridgett Harrington does in her writing, workshops and porn, or as the folks at Sex and Submission do in their smut.

So as I pick up my cat o’ nine tails and swing my cane, I remember that taking up BDSM doesn’t mean I need to put away my cock. If you want fucking in the dungeon, then by God, step up and fuck in the dungeon.

The best way to attract women is to announce that you suck cock.

I pass Howard Stern on the street once a week, like clockwork. I nod. He doesn’t acknowledge me. Fair enough. He doesn’t see me. I don’t listen to him.

But if I were on his show, I can imagine what he would say. “You’re a good looking guy, Jefferson, but nothing special. Still, you get with all these hot chicks. How do you do that?”

“Easy,” I would say. “I suck dick.”

My advice to all the straight boys who idolize Howard Stern would be simple. Take your buddy to Hooters (or wherever it is that straight people go), pick the cutest girl at the bar and ask her if she would like to watch the two of you blow each other. She will say yes. She will even buy you each a beer as you talk her through it. Chances are good that she will get so turned on, she’ll want to get naked too.

Guaranteed to work. Your money back if not satisfied.

Why would a woman want to watch two men go at it? The obvious answer is—well, duh, it’s hot. The less obvious answer is that it’s different. Girl-on-girl action is pervasive in popular culture. It sells beer, music, sports, television shows, movies . . . in fact, having no interest in girl-on-girl action would be like having no interest in celebrity gossip—too bad for you, pal, because it’s ubiquitous.

Whereas boy-on-boy action is all but invisible for the average woman. For the girl at the bar at Hooters, it’s a transgressive fantasy come to life.

Even for the woman at the orgy, it’s no less invisible or transgressive. Swinger clubs and parties routinely assume that women will be bisexual—even if they are not—yet male bisexuality is restricted within that culture. Most clubs go so far as to prohibit men from sexual contact with other men.

So that, Howard Stern, is why the hot chicks your listeners want are out chasing the bisexual boys. We are their lovers and gay best friends, all rolled into one package.

Near as I can tell, straight folks best wake up and smell the sex.

Straight boys who want to know more should sign up for my upcoming class, “Impress Chicks by Sucking Dicks.”

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Monday, April 09, 2007

Fleshbot and Travels

This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot takes the show on the road with sex on the go, as our sex bloggers get it on in cars or motel rooms, making the most of their vacations.

Those of you who enjoy stalking me will find me waxing Meg as I did my part to crush her six-month abstinence.

Speaking of travels, I am just back from Spring Fire—the citified edition of Dark Odyssey, aka Sex Camp—where a few of us sex bloggers were among the presenters. I’ll tell you all about it eventually, but right now, I need to put something on these bruises and do something about this hangover.

I also need to prepare for tonight’s orgy. No rest for the wicked.

Thanks to everyone at Spring Fire who came up to shake my hand. And a special thanks to those of you who took the time to suck my dick. I knew my readers were hot. Who knew so many of you are such gifted cocksuckers?

Friday, April 06, 2007


Rachel Kramer Bussel had a novel idea to promote the release of her two new collections of erotica about domination and submission. (She’s on Top deals with female domination of male submissives; He’s on Top deals with male domination of female submissives.) The clever editrix is taking her books on a virtual book tour across the blogosphere. Each day this month, a different sex blogger will feature a tale of domination and/or submission.

Today, it’s my turn.

When my date was assigned, I noticed a happy convergence with two other events worth celebrating. One year ago this weekend, Avah entered her twenties. She entered my life on the same day.

Happy anniversary and happy birthday, Avah mine.

The door clicked shut.

Avah looked up. She grumbled and pulled her down comforter tight. She was dreaming, she was dreaming . . . she opened her eyes suddenly and looked at the clock. It was just after nine.

She sat up and reached for her glasses. Blinking the world into focus, she picked up her laptop and clicked it on.

She read over the instant messages from the night before.

The door clicked open. Avah looked up.

“Are you up?” a voice whispered.

“Yeah, I’m up,” Avah answered.

The door pushed open. “Surprise!” Avah’s roommate rushed in, holding a bouquet of mylar balloons. “Surprise, surprise! Happy birthday, happy birthday!”

Avah clapped. “Oh my God, you are too sweet!”

Tanya sat on Avah’s bed, laughing. “It’s a big birthday! You’re twenty! You’re not a teenager any more.” Tanya pulled the balloons overhead. “I was hoping to get these back before you woke up. They don’t have much of a selection here, but at least there was one that said ‘happy birthday.’ Oh, and this cute one with the bear.”

Avah giggled. “It’s really too sweet. You are just too much.”

Tanya handed over the balloons with an exaggerated flourish. Avah put down her laptop and took the bundle of ribbons.

A screen on the laptop was open.

Tomorrow you are mine, finally.

At ten thirty, Avah’s phone rang. She looked at the receiver and smiled.

“Hi, Mom!”

“Good morning, baby. I hope I didn’t wake you up?”

“Mom, I’ve been up for over an hour.” Avah pulled on the ribbon of a balloon, making the bear dance.

“Oh, good. I know you like to sleep in on the weekends, so . . . well, anyway, happy birthday, baby! I can’t believe how big you are!”

Avah laughed. “Thanks, Mom. So twenty years ago, that was a big day for you, huh?”

“Oh, I’ll say it was!” her mother laughed. “Did I ever tell you how long it took us to get to the hospital that day? God, the traffic was torture.”

“Only every year, Mom,” Avah smiled.

A little before noon, Avah put on her jacket and walked to the campus parking lot. She unlocked her car door, turned the ignition, and popped in a CD. For the first time, she drove into the city alone.

The traffic at the tunnel was torture.

She parked near the park where she played lacrosse most weekends. She walked to an unfamiliar apartment building. At the entrance, she reached into her pink bag and pulled out a slip of paper. She lifted the receiver on an intercom, looked at her paper, and dialed a code.

A man’s voice answered.

“Good girl. Come in, take the elevator, knock on the door.”

The intercom went dead.

The door buzzed. Avah walked into the building lobby.

She took the elevator. She arrived at the door. She looked down at her slip of paper, then up at the door. She drew a breath, straightened her hair, and knocked.

I opened the door, smiling.

“I can’t believe we finally meet,” I said. “It’s been weeks of torture. Come in, come in.”

Avah stepped into my apartment. I closed the door and stood close in front of her. I kissed her cheek, and then her lips.

I kissed her deeply.

“Avah,” I whispered. “Take off your coat.”

Avah stooped to put down her bag. She removed her coat and handed it to me. “Thank you,” I said. I dropped the coat on the floor.

“Avah,” I whispered. “Take off your clothes.”

Avah began to unbutton her shirt. She looked down as she worked the buttons, her cheeks flushing red.

I stood back, watching.

Her hands were steady as she handed me the shirt. “Thank you,” I said. I dropped the shirt on the floor.

She looked up at me. I kept my eyes on hers, waiting. She had very pretty eyes, I noted.

Avah looked down, and began to unfasten her jeans. Her blush deepened as she unzipped. She wriggled her hips as she worked the tight jeans down her thighs.

She stepped from one leg, and then the other. She handed her jeans to me. “Thank you,” I said. I dropped the jeans to the floor.

Avah stood before me, stripped to her underwear. Her pale flesh looked vulnerable and exposed, still marked by the pink striations from the folds in her clothes. I stepped forward, lightly touching her thighs. They were still cold from the outdoors.

“Close your eyes,” I whispered. “Let me look at you.”

Lids lowered over Avah’s pretty eyes.

“Hands to your side, please.”

Avah’s arms dropped to her hips. I gripped her wrists in place, reassuring her that she was doing very well. I kissed her cheek, and released her wrists.

I stood back a few steps. I would take my time to admire the body Avah had delivered to me. She was pale, but her paleness differed from my own. My pale is blue and paper-thin; you can see right through to the veins and bones inside. Avah’s pale was pink and rosy, her flesh soft and full of life; even now, covered in goosebumps, her body exuded warmth and fecundity.

I stepped forward, touching the cheek of a child’s face. My hand dropped to touch the belly of a woman’s body.

I slowly walked around her body. I reached around her back to her belly, moving up to cup her small breasts. As I gripped her breasts, my erection pressed against my jeans.

I unfastened her bra, allowing it to fall to the floor.

Avah twitched slightly.

I returned to view the front of her body. Her breasts were such morsels, such a contrast to her full hips and ass.

I took her panties in hand and pulled them down. Avah flinched, but held her position.

I crossed the room and sat. I looked to her, recording her in my mind’s eye.

I have an excellent visual memory. I would retain this moment for later recall.

For now, I would take the time to savor the reality I would later revisit.

In my time, I called her name. “Avah. Drop to your knees.”

Avah lowered herself hesitantly, using her hand to guide her blind eyes. Her knees felt the cold of an unfamiliar wooden floor.

I stood. “Spread your legs.”

Avah spread her knees.

“Hands on the floor, palm down.”

Avah leaned forward, splaying her hands on the floor.

“No,” I corrected. “Head up.”

Avah arched her back, raising her head.

I took her chin in my hand. “Good,” I commended, my voice low. “Now, keep your eyes closed. I’m giving you my cock. Your introduction to this cock will not be visual. First, you will feel it in you . . .” I unzipped my jeans. “ . . . smelling it, tasting it . . .” I took her jaw in my hands and squeezed, forcing her mouth open. “ . . . learning it.”

I pushed my cock slowly into her mouth. Slowly, fraction by fraction, I slid myself beyond her lips, over her tongue, into her throat.

Avah gagged, but only slightly.

I pulled back and slapped her face. “No gagging.”

Avah furrowed her brow. She breathed deeply and exhaled.

“Good.” I began to ease back into her, beyond her lips, over her tongue, into her throat.

I held myself in her.

“Good, good . . .” I commended, petting her hair.

I kept myself in her, petting her. She couldn’t breath, yet she didn’t complain.

I can use her, I thought.

I pulled back slightly, clearing her throat, but keeping myself deep in her mouth. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled. She exhaled rapidly, then drew another breath.

Even as she struggled for oxygen, her tongue never ceased to swivel under my cock.

Good. I like perseverance.

I pulled out and tucked my cock back into my jeans. I zipped up.

I leaned forward. “Avah,” I whispered into her ear. “You are doing very well.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. I realized that I had barely registered her voice in our first moments together.

Good. I like quiet moments.

I put my fingers in her mouth. Her lips closed tight on my knuckles.

“All fours,” I commanded. “Eyes closed. Follow me.”

I walked backwards, using Avah's jaw as a handle as I guided her to my bedroom.

Monday, April 02, 2007




Her skin was milky, I thought, just as Tess had said.

As Gina sat talking, I reflected on Tess’s description of her new girlfriend: “God, her skin—so pale and translucent, so milky!”

I sipped my bourbon, listening.

Gina sat very erect as we talked about books. She had browsed my bookcases and asked what I was reading. I pointed to my copy of Saul Bellow’s Adventures of Augie March. She reads my blog, so she knew that it had been recommended to me.

Gina told me she had just picked up a new book of erotica.

“Oh, right, of course you read erotica,” I smiled.

“That’s how I met you,” she nodded. “And Tess.”

“Tess is lovely,” I said. “She giggles if you look at her crooked, which is hot.”

Gina laughed. “She’s a good writer, too. So, what else do you read? Do you read science fiction at all?” she asked.

“No,” I said, hoping my eyelids didn’t flutter. “I mean, I used to love comics, but somehow, I never caught on with science fiction.” I searched my mind. “Ray Bradbury, you know, when I was a kid.” She nodded. I nodded in response and went on. “I liked that one about the time machine, you know, with the path and the squashed butterfly.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she smiled.

I smiled. “Yeah, that blew my seventh-grade mind,” I grinned. I sipped my bourbon, glad that I had connected on a subject rather alien to me. As the bourbon stung my tongue, I suddenly regretted the comment about seventh grade.


“No.” I needed to take care here; we were each readers, which is a connection, but not the same type of readers, which might prove awkward.

“No, not really. I mean, some Dashiell Hammett, some Raymond Chandler . . . but no, not really.” I looked into my hand. I swirled the bourbon. The ice tinkled against glass. “No P. D. James.” I looked up into her eyes. “I’ve never read Anne Rice.” I raised the glass to my lips and paused. I lowered it and looked back. I confessed my shame. “I’ve . . . I’ve never read Stephen King.”

She smiled. She looked over her shoulder. “You have a lot of books, though . . . ” she noted.

“I’ve read Harry Potter!” I interrupted. “You know, the first two books. I read them to my son when he was younger. But then . . . you know . . .” I sipped my bourbon and swallowed hard. I shrugged and came out with it. “Well, then he began to read them on his own, and well . . . I was bored with Harry Potter, so . . .”

She laughed. I put down my glass.

“God, I’m sorry, but that stuff reads like it was a checklist dictated into a tape recorder. ‘And here we have the talking paintings—check! And here are the giant chess pieces—check!’”

“Don’t forget the brooms,” she laughed. “Check!”

“And the capes,” I added. “Whatever, it was worth a few billion for someone who needed the money.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “And you know, they were actually good books.”

“Sorry,” I grimaced. I reached for my drink. “I’m not really a snob. I just don’t read enough fiction, so I miss a few genres now and then.” I took a sip. “I should read erotica, eventually.”

She folded her hands and smiled. “Yeah, think about that—once you stop living it, maybe. So anyway, this book I’m reading . . .”

“Yes,” I nodded. “Tell me about it.”

I listened, taking her in. Her long red hair hung behind her, its ends resting on the couch behind her hips. Smart glasses framed her caramel eyes. Her tight jeans and blousy shirt revealed a lean figure; she had been trained as a dancer, she mentioned.

Her lips were pale and lovely. Tess had told me how youthful she seemed—she was twenty-seven, but could’ve passed for someone a decade younger.

As she talked, she mentioned her husband in passing.

“Oh yeah, that,” she said, recalling something. “I should tell you about him. See, we’re separated, recently . . .”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I clucked.

“Yeah, well, me too, but it’s okay,” She nodded. “It wasn’t my idea, but, you know . . .”

“That’s hard,” I commiserated.

“Yeah.” She caught my eye. “You want to hear the worst part?”

“If you want to tell me.”

“He told me he wanted a divorce while I was still pregnant with the baby.”

“Ouch!” I grimaced. “Yeah, that’s pretty low.”

“Yeah, right? But see, it’s not like that. He’s not a bad person. He just . . .” She looked up, thinking of the right words. “He just knows that he wants to be in love with someone else.”

“Oh, wow. So . . . there’s someone else . . .”

“No.” She shook her head. “There’s no one else. He just wants there to be.”

“He wants . . .” I repeated, not getting it.

“See, he realizes that while he loves me, and our two girls, very much, he doesn’t think this is the relationship he is meant to have. So he wants to be free to look for that relationship.”

“Oh, I guess that kind of makes sense.”

“Right? I mean, I said, ‘Why don’t we have an open relationship, then? You can date other women, and if you met someone, then . . . well, that’s what happened.’ But he’s not like that. He can’t date someone else while he’s with me. So, he has to be free to look.”

“Well, it sounds tough.” I said. “But kind of honorable, in a way.”

“Yeah, he’s very upright like that. And he’s so great with our girls.”

“You have two girls, you said?”

“Yes, four and eighteen months.”

“He’s with them tonight, while you’re here, right? Does he know that you’re seeing me, and . . .”

“Oh yes, he knows. He likes your blog, actually.”

I picked up my glass. “He reads my blog and he knows you’re here. Well . . . cheers.” I took a sip.

“I know, it’s unusual, but . . . well, it’s life.” She paused. “And man, the sex is so much better.”

I nodded and smiled. “Well, yeah, I hear that. I can’t say I miss being tied to my wife’s libido.”

“Right. Well, I meant that, yes, I like having new lovers. But I meant with him.”

“Oh, you still have sex?”

“Well, we live together,” she shrugged. “Different rooms, but . . . yeah. Only now, it’s different. We’re getting into kinkier stuff, dom/sub, and it’s really hot.”


She nodded, flashing her eyes. “Really hot.”

I grinned. I reached to touch her hair. She leaned slightly to my touch.

Talking about her husband and children led her to speak about renovations they were doing to the house in light of the recent change in their relationship. She focused on the kitchen, speaking in some detail about additions. She was talking at length as I listened, allowing the familiarity of her own voice to still her nerves. She was, after all, meeting a new person for sex.

“ . . . and a new coffee pot,” she went on. “Weirdest thing, lately, I’ve developed a lactose intolerance, which is sad, really, because I always like milk in my coffee, and the substitutes are just . . . not good. Bleh.”

She paused and looked at me.

“I like half and half,” I offered.

“I am so sorry,” she said. “I’m just going on and on.”

“It’s fine, really. You’re nervous. May I make a suggestion?”

“Please,” she said, her body slumping.

I stood and held out my hand. “Come on. Let’s go have some really hot sex.”

“That’s a good suggestion,” she laughed. “Whew. Yes. Let’s do that.”

She looked around my bedroom. “So, this is where it all goes down?”

I stood next to her. “Yes.” I took her face in my hands. “It goes down here.” I touched my lips to hers. Her mouth parted for mine.

I rested a hand on the small of her back, under her hair, pressing lightly to feel her muscle tone. I pulled back and smiled. I took her glasses and placed them on a nightstand. “Clothes off, Gina,” I said softly.

Gina’s eyes dropped. She raised the shirt over her breasts and shoulders. I touched her belly.

She handed me the shirt. I tossed it aside.

She reached behind her back. Her bra fell forward. I took it, throwing it to land near her shirt.

I caressed her left breast, admiring its pale areola and its nipples like pencil erasers.

“Pretty,” I said, leaning to kiss her neck. My mouth grazed her clavicle, her chest, a nipple. My lips returned to hers, barely touching. Her eyes closed in expectation.

I fell back abruptly, landing on the bed. She laughed.

“The pants, the pants!” I motioned impatiently. “Let’s see all of you—now, now!”

“Okay, okay,” she said. She stood on her toes and turned in place, giggling slightly. She stood still to unfasten her jeans. “You can undress too, you know.”

“Pshhh,” I said, waving a hand dismissively.

She was wearing pink panties, probably “date panties.” I stood to remove them.

“Now,” I said, kneeling before her. “Now, I can touch you.” I traced fingers up the back of her dancer’s legs, lightly nuzzling her bare pudendum with my nose. I inhaled deeply, carrying her fragrance with me as my face traveled over her navel to her hips, up to her breasts and finally, to rest with her face.

We kissed.

I took her hand and lay her back on the bed. She watched as I slowly undressed by the lamp’s light.

She suddenly looked around. “Wait, what time is it? I need to call my kids to tuck them in at eight.”

“We have about an hour before bedtime,” I said, crawling over her. “You let me mind the hour.” I kissed her eyelids. “You just relax.”

My lips moved around her face and back down her body. I paid attention, savoring these first moments together.

My lips moved around her breast. She sighed as her nipple grew hard in my mouth. I caressed her breast in slow, deep circles, sucking with steady rhythm.

I was rewarded as her milk streamed into me.

I moaned in appreciation. She ran her fingers though my hair, quietly, as her back arched.

I licked her inside my mouth, tasting her warm sweetness. My hands massaged as she let down into me. I’m here, I thought. Give yourself to me.

I drank her slowly, licking and nibbling, making my suckling erotic and arousing. My fingers confirmed the wetness between her legs. I found her clit and massaged as I sucked.

She sighed deeply. I licked again. Just cum, I thought. Cum as I drink you.

I moved to nurse from her other breast. A finger entered her. Another followed.

I drank more intently, more selfishly, slurping and gulping noisily.

I swallowed a draught and edged up her neck. I kissed her deeply.

“So sweet,” I smiled. Her gentle face was beatific in lamplight, her long red hair splayed across the pillows. I leaned into her neck. “I’m going to fuck you now,” I whispered.

She nodded.

After so much talk, she was now so quiet.

I entered her easily, holding her close under me. I fucked her fully, getting to know her responses as filled her, rocked back, and filled her again.

We fucked quietly, intently.

“Nicole was right,” she whispered, breaking the silence.

“Nicole?” I asked. “You mean Tess?”

“Well, yeah, Tess was right, too.” She put her hands on my shoulders. “I meant Nicole, the teenager . . .”

“Oh, Nicole,” I kissed her neck.

Gina pulled me close. “She was right to see you.”

I put my lips to her ear. “I’ll be sure to tell her you think so,” I whispered. “When next I kiss her.” I brought my mouth to hers.

I sat back, keeping my cock inside her as I pulled her legs up to rest on my chest and shoulders. I lowered myself again, bringing her legs down as my face moved to hers.

I kissed her as her calves framed her face.

“Impressive,” I said.

“Dancer,” she smiled.

“Yeah, well, my dancer,” I smiled in response. “The fact that you can do this allows me to do this.” I pivoted back on my hips and thrust upwards.

“Unh,” she gasped. “God.”

I fucked into her forcefully, pressing up just inside her body.

Her face glowed. Her eyes were inward, leaving me.

I kept a deep, steady rhythm. I noticed the time. Ten minutes.

I fucked her closer.

Five minutes.

I fell close to kiss her. “Gina?”


“Call your babies, mama.”

She snapped alert. “Is it eight?”

I nodded to the clock. “Yeah. Make your call. We have things to do.”

I pulled out and kissed her forehead. She reached for her phone. I went to the bathroom to wash up as she made her call.

She shut her phone as I returned to the room. I set a glass of water on the nightstand. “Babies all tucked?” I sipped from a second water glass.

“No,” she put down the phone, exacerbated. “There’s no answer. Maybe he has them out or something.”

“Do you need to keep calling, or . . .”

“No, it’s fine. I just hate to miss talking to them at bedtime.”

“I know the feeling,” I said. “So, if you’re done with the call, it’s time for me to fuck you up the ass.”

“You’re so direct!” she laughed.

I opened a cabinet and took down a bottle of lube. “I find it works best to be direct.” I opened the bottle and poured lube into my palm. I closed my hand to warm the liquid before applying it to her hole.

“I guess that’s best if you want to get your way.”

“It’s best for me to give you what you want,” I replied, massaging her hole. “Besides, I’m increasingly convinced that anal sex should be a part of any first date. Just sorta gets it out of the way, you know?”

I slid a finger into her.

“Unh.” She closed her eyes. “Hmm, well, it’s going to be a tight fit. It’s been a long time.”

“I don’t mind a tight fit.” I reached for a condom. “Anyway, stick with me, and it won’t be a long time anymore.”

“Hmm, nice. So, do you want me on my knees or on my back, like this?”

“On your back. You’re pretty so I want to look at you.” I raised her thighs, bringing her ass up. “Now, if you were homely, I’d have to flip you over.”

She laughed ass I entered her cunt.

“Hmmmm,” she nodded. “That’s not my ass, you know.”

“I know. It’s just so hard to tear myself away from your pussy.”

“I don’t mind at all . . .” She fell back into the silence that envelops her as she’s fucked.

Wordlessly, I took my cock from her and gave it back to another hole.

Her head turned as she moaned lightly.

“Shhh,” I said, caressing the legs on my shoulders. “I’ve got you,” I whispered. “I’ve got you.”

She reached to touch my forearm.

I let my cock rest I her body, moving slowly to take in the contrast of between the lushness of her pussy and the tight grip of her sphincter.

As she faded again, I fucked into her harder.

I pounded and pounded, wiping the sweat that dripped from my brow.

I reached down to take a breast in hand. I squeezed firmly. A long arc of milk shot up.

“Hot damn,” I admired as the fountain splashed on her flesh.

She opened her eyes and grinned. “Not every girl you fuck can do that trick.”

“No, they can’t,” I said, taking both breasts in hand. “You are a girl with many unusual attributes.” I turned the stream to face me, never giving up my pace on her ass. I opened my mouth as milk splashed on my face and waiting tongue.

She laughed out loud.

“Oh, fuck you’re hot,” I exclaimed. I pulled out and licked her from my lips. “Bend the hell over, mama. I’m spanking your ass.”

She kept laughing as she turned over.

The next day, I wrote to thank Tess for inviting me to Gina. “Thanks for sharing your bitch, girlfriend,” I wrote. “She’s a solid-gold keeper.”

I also said as much to Gina, letting her know that I very much looked forward to second date.

“Me too!” she replied. “That was incredible. Thanks." She told her bottom still smarted, which she enjoyed.

“I told my husband how hot it was," she went on. "He wants to know if he can watch next time.”