tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82347176686531267952024-03-12T18:57:33.276-07:00Jenny SwallowsA collection of red hot erotic encounters, XXX verse and more.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger634125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-52902246365442080642016-01-25T05:55:00.000-08:002016-01-25T06:05:19.453-08:00The Social History of Fellatio<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4ekxkRdekjc/VqYo76OK_4I/AAAAAAAAIkQ/ypyQOSTcJPg/s1600/Metal_deep_black.jpg_2%2Bcopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4ekxkRdekjc/VqYo76OK_4I/AAAAAAAAIkQ/ypyQOSTcJPg/s320/Metal_deep_black.jpg_2%2Bcopy.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: white;">PUBLISHED JANUARY 2016</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">370 pages. Illustrated throughout.</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;"><strong>THE SOCIAL HISTORY OF FELLATIO – AN A-Z OF FAQs by Chrissie Bentley</strong> ( ISBN 978-1523313235)</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">AVAILABLE NOW – <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Social-History-Fellatio--Z-FAQs/dp/1523313234/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1453729156&sr=8-1&keywords=chrissie+bentley+fellatio" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">AMAZON US</a>, <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Social-History-Fellatio--Z-FAQs/dp/1523313234/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1453729421&sr=8-1&keywords=CHRISSIE+BENTLEY+FELLATIO" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">AMAZON UK</a></span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">TABLE OF CONTENTS</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Introduction—Great Expectations</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">1. A is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">A Timeline</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">A Conundrum… Is Oral Sex?</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Auparishtaka</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">2. B is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Beginner’s Pluck</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Blowing (And How Hard Should You Blow?)</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Boys Blow Too</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">3. C is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Cock. Of Course</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Capnolagia</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Celebrity Sex Tapes</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">The Casting Couch</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Chemicals</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Cum In My Mouth</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">4. D is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Living Dangerously</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Deep Throat</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">5. E is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Empousa</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Erectile Dysfunction</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">6. F is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Frenular Delta</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Flavoring</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">7. G is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Glory Hole</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">8. H is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Home Movies</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">9. I is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Internet Fantasies (I)</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Internet Fantasies (II)</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">10. J is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Journaling</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">The Joy Of Sex</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">11. K is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Κλεοπάτρα</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Keeping Things Interesting</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">12. L is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">The Law</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Language</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">13. M is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Magic and Ritual</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Monicagate</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Mouth Music And Tongue TV</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">14. N is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Name Calling</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">15. O is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Ouch</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Oral</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">One Night Stands</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">16. P is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Pre-Cum</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Premature Ejaculation</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Porn</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Pearl Necklaces</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">17. Q is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Questions</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">18. R is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Rainbow Parties</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Road Head (I)</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Road Head (II)</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">19. S is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Some Girls Won’t</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Smegma</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">She-Males</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Snowballing</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Swallowing</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">20. T is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Taste</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Toys</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">21. U is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Uncut</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">22. V is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">(Further) Viewing</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">23. W is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Writing Erotica</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">24. X is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">X: The Unknown</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">25. Y is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Yellow, Curiously</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Yuk</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">26. Z is For…</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">ZUMFITMWC</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: white;">Appendices</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: white;">1. Saying It With Style—A Brief Lexicon of Slang</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">2. In Other Tongues—Blowjobs around the World</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Bibliography</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">About The Author</span></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Index</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-68552542266824277992015-12-23T07:33:00.001-08:002015-12-23T08:01:49.907-08:00Just Thinking....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyYXWAZlLGY1RUyFJoVUHgPbgYwPc-D61lN3fggRvT4naPd-b_OKFY8rMOUgnkB9-nkTpcvOPRW0Ti0yjb7Bw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It takes a lot to leave me speechless, I think. I usually have some kind of comeback ready to fling, on those occasions when such things are required, and they’ve got me out of some tight spots as well.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This time, though. Nothing. Still nothing. It’s a week later and I <i><i>still</i></i> haven’t come up with the zinger I’d hope to have stung him with.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So this is what I’m doing to do....</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I’m sorry, let me back up a little. My friend Judy had asked to borrow a book, so I told her I’d drop it round her apartment on my way to work the next day. She’d already have left, but we have one another’s keys and are always doing things like this. So, no big deal. I park, I climb the stairs, I unlock the front door, I walk into the living room...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">...and Barry, her boyfriend, is sprawled with his pants down on the couch, masturbating. Looks up as I walk in, his hand still a blur, and says “oh, hi Chrissie. I was just thinking about you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then he pulls up his pants and goes into the kitchen, asking if I want a coffee. And I’m standing there, my mouth probably still wide open, searching desperately for whatever response is appropriate in a situation like this.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He was just thinking about me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">With his hard cock in his hand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“No thanks, I need to get to work.” I declined the coffee, ran down the stairs, then pedal to the metal (as much as that’s possible in a late nineties Volvo) <i>and I will not spend the rest of the day thinking about it. I will not spend the rest of the day thinking about it. I will not...</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I spent the rest of the day thinking about it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Friends’ boyfriends are funny. You only know them through your friend... yet you know things <i>about</i>them that even they may not be aware of. Does he know, for example, that - at least according to Judy - he pulls “the cutest face” when he cums? Does he know that his cock’s not the longest she’d had, but it’s certainly in the top three fattest? Does he know... umm, this isn’t helping, is it? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Of course he’s completely out of bounds. That’s the other thing about friends’ boyfriends. You can look, you can listen, but you cannot touch.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">I was just thinking about you.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In what context? In a “here I am, pounding you into the boxspring” kind of way? Which was my first thought. In a “here I am pounding you <i>both</i> into the boxspring” fashion? Which is a surprisingly pleasant image that I may have to investigate further at some point. When I know I’m alone. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Or in a “shit, I’d better hurry, she’ll be here in a moment” kind of way which, if I’m actually level-headed and calm about this, is the most likely. He obviously stayed over last night, and she’d have told him I’d be in fairly early. But she didn’t tell him exactly how early, so he was trying to hurry and....</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was wishing I’d walked in a few minutes later. Just to see how cute that “cutest face” is.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I got through the day, and the weekend too. We went out as a threesome... no, not <i>that</i> sort... Tuesday night, drinks and burgers to unwind after work, and if the other morning crossed his mind even once, he didn’t show it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I figured it had to, right? I mean... let’s say you’re a guy. Unless, of course, you <i>are</i> one, in which case, yes; you’re a guy. Sitting in your girlfriend’s apartment, happily beating your meat - which, to be honest, really didn’t seem to lack much in the length department, despite what Judy says. In walks one of her closest friends, and gets a metaphorical eyeful... it doesn’t matter how calm you are in the moment, that sort of thing has to stick in your mind, doesn’t it? Even if you’re simply embarrassed, or wondering if she’s told anyone else. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But no, not a word, not a gesture, not a furtive glance. Just the same old Barry being the same old Barry, chatting away with an arm around Judy, and we parted with the usual pecks on the cheek. And now it’s been a week, and it’s driving me nuts.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">I was just thinking about you.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He looks cute when he cums, she said. He looks cute before he cums. Someone once said that if a guy put half as much effort into having sex with his girlfriend as he does when he’s doing it alone, the world would be a much happier place. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don’t agree with that. My feeling is, if he put half as much effort into telling her what he wants her to do, as he does into doing it for himself… a question for the girls here, but do you know even a fraction of the things that go through your man’s mind when he’s beating his meat on his own? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">All those memorable moments from past encounters that he’s filed away for future reference; all those online video clips that he’s watched and remembered… good sex is good whoever you’re with. But the best is like a jigsaw puzzle, comprising snapshots of ecstasy with a myriad former lovers; the one who did <i>this</i> and the one who did <i>that</i> and let’s not forget the night you got drunk and you found yourself doing….</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">I was just thinking about you.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It’s enough to drive a person crazy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It’s also Thursday. Judy’s yoga night, which translates as Barry’s night out with his buddies. Which, in turn, translates into poor Chrissie having another of those major computer malfunctions that only an IT geek can fix. And who is my go-to IT geek on occasions like this?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I reached for my cell.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Hey Barry?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Hey Chrissie. That’s so funny, I was just thinking about you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">What? WHAT? “You seem to be doing a lot of that just lately.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He was silent for a moment, then an abrupt change of subject. “So, what can I do for you?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I’m sorry, did I say a change of subject? “I updated my Mac… and the word processing thing has gone mad.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“That would be Pages?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Yeah. I can’t…” I reeled off the list of “improvements” to the program that I’d pulled off the forums earlier, all the features that past versions had apparently done, but which Apple, in their wisdom, have removed. “I can’t even…” - quick! Find something I might conceivably need to do at some point… “search for invisibles, or do an alphabetical sort any more!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Okay… do you want me to come look at it now?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I put on my best little lost girl voice. “Please…” and then, “I’ve got beer!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“I’m there.” He hung up and, true to his word, I had only just finished creating the documents that I was supposedly having such problems with when the doorbell chimed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“So what about me were you thinking about?” I teased as I collected our beers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Oh, you know,” he teased back, fully aware that I didn’t have a clue, and the next thirty minutes were spent with him standing behind me as I stared at the laptop, and tried to follow the instructions that he was offering me. App store this, download that, type this, hyphenate that… and every time he brushed against me, or leaned close to look at what I was doing; every time his hand nudged mine out of the way so he could use the trackpad; every time I felt his breath in my hair….</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The empty bottles were piling up - I had no idea computers were such thirsty work. And he’d stopped brushing against me, too. Now he was leaning into me, as he crouched beside me watching the screen, and the arm that rested on my knee told its own story too. Or maybe it was me who was trembling, not him.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: large;"><i>I was just thinking about you.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“How’s Judy?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Judy’s Judy.” He smiled, and shifted his weight a little. The arm on my knee shifted up a little. I leaned forward a shade, sandwiching it between my leg and my abdomen, and felt his eyes flicker down. “And how are you?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I shrugged, sat back, and he turned a little, looking up at me. I suppressed an urge to just lean forward and kiss him. “Well, there is one thing I was wondering…”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Deep breath. <i>I was just thinking about you.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Deeper breath. “What is it about me that you keep thinking about?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“You mean today?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Maybe.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“You mean last week.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I nodded.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Thanks for not saying anything to Judy.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Hardly!” I laughed. “Like you said, Judy’s Judy. I tell her what I saw and neither of us would ever hear the end of it.” Judy’s sweet, but if jealousy and possessiveness were rated on a scale, zero to armageddon, I know exactly where she’d land.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Yeah, it’s hard,” he said quietly, and I couldn’t resist the pun. “It wouldn’t be if she knew what happened. I doubt it’d ever be hard again.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">His head was resting against my arm. “I doubt she’d complain too much.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Really?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“I… should I even be telling you this?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“If you want,” I said. “But let me grab us another drink first. And maybe move into the other room?” My home office is scarcely the most comfortable in the house, and I’m still paying off the La-Z Boy. I should at least make it earn its keep.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The old story, the familiar story. They met and fucked like adventurous rabbits, and for three months everything was mostly perfect. Mostly? We’ll get to that later. But then things settled down, perhaps as they settled into their relationship, and… “I kinda wonder why she asks me to sleep over, if all we’re going to do is sleep?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Which explains…</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Which is why I was … well, when you came over.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Which is why you were - what?” I asked. “Doing what you were doing? Or thinking what you were thinking?” And I should add that now it was my head resting against Barry’s arm, my hand that was ever so lightly lying on his leg, and my heart ever so slightly pounding in my throat. The picture of innocence, in other words.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“A bit of both, I guess,” he answered, and then, “I probably shouldn’t say any more. She’s your friend too.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I eyed my beer, my fourth. I was glad I’d picked up a twelve-pack, and my finger traced down his six-pack. “And so are you.” In for a penny, in for a pound. “Okay, I know what you were doing. Now tell me what you were thinking.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He sighed. “I don’t know. Just… things.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“About me?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Yeah.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“So tell me, what things?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Things.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Come on, spit it out.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He looked at me and smirked. “Why? You didn’t.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I sat bolt up right, mock indignation colliding with the urge to howl with laughter. “Barry Gordon. I cannot believe you just said that!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Chrissie Bentley, I couldn’t believe you did it!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Really?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Judy wouldn’t.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Never?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“She says the thought of it makes her sick.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“You should surprise her one day. Just to see if she changes her mind.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“God, no… I don’t mean the thought of <i>that</i> makes her sick. The thought of even doing it.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was silent, processing what he said, squeezing past his embarrassment to the words he didn’t say. “She won’t go down on you?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Never.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Not even…” and this is what I was saying earlier, when I said things were “mostly” perfect. “Mostly” meaning, so long as he didn’t try and move above her waist. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Okay, so there’s two things that could happen now. One, I’d bend and show him what he’s missing. Which is probably what you’re expecting. Or two, I’d remember that Judy is my friend, and find a way of extricating myself from this conversation. Which is probably what I’m expecting.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Or three; Barry could slip to the floor, between my legs, and plant a series of very soft kisses on my thighs. Because… oh I don’t know whether Judy lets him do that or not. But this is Barry’s wank-fantasy that is playing out on my sofa, not mine. Or yours. And I was not going to do or say a single thing to derail it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Or to speed it up. A lot of guys, they get one whiff of a pussy and their face is buried inside it. Not Barry. I wasn’t timing him, believe me. But I don’t think any man has ever spent so long on my thighs, in my groin, or raising my leg to nuzzle behind the knee, and reduce me to a giggling heap. He didn’t even remove my panties, although he’d certainly bunched my skirt up high. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Occasionally his face would brush my pussy; once or twice I’d feel his lips against it, kissing the dampness that was soaking through the fabric. Once, I’d swear, his tongue traced the outline of my slit. But whatever he was doing, whatever he was planning, it was almost as if his own urges had taken a distant back seat, and this was all about me… all about taking me so far and so high that I couldn’t even focus any more; just stretch myself back as far as I could, my legs spread wide as far as they’d go, while he rained fresh sensations on every nerve end i turn.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So that when he did finally pull my dripping panties down, and his tongue slipped inside for me the very first time, I’d already stopped counting how many times I had cum. And the best one, the biggest one, was still barreling down on us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I wonder if Judy squirts? I wonder if Judy knows what it’s like to feel something building so deep, so far down within you, then the rush as the sensations come closer and closer, and suddenly a sense of release so massive it’s like you’ve given birth to a monster, a streaming, screaming, soaking monster that would have soared across the room if Barry’s face, and mouth, were not directly in its path.</span></div>
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<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Somehow I doubted it. Not if his reaction was anything to go by, anyway. A cry of “my God,” a breathless “You did it,” and a greedy, glorious plunge back into my pink, as if searching for the secret of what he just made happen. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I kissed him and tasted myself… my deepest, most secret self… on his mouth, on his face, and I thought for a moment of offering him something, a towel or whatever, to wipe off with. But no. He could ask if he wanted, and I didn’t want. I loved the scent, I loved the flavor. I kissed him again and his tongue embraced mine, pulling us together as a deep whole which didn’t break even as his arms slipped from around me and I sensed his hands tugging at his belt.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">MIne dropped to join them, our tongues still locked as our fingers fidgeted, and I touched hard flesh, hot flesh… <i>my</i> flesh. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My pussy cried out for it; I wriggled and shifted, pulling myself onto his lap and slowly sinking down on a shaft that filled me forever. You read stories where the lovers fuck, and that’s all it ever says. “He fucked me….” Hardly anyone ever writes about what that really means, what it really feels like, heat even hotter than your own body feels, strength even harder than you have ever imagined, splitting you in two in the most amazing way; every nerve end in the flesh between your pussy lips and cervix scrambling to gets its own bead on the intruder, and that’s before you start to move, rising up for that feeling of sudden, odd emptiness, then down again to stuff yourself full of magic meat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Up… down. Hollow… whole. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Time stops. Time ends. There is only this.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He moves against you, faster and harder. You know what he’ll say, even before he forms the words. “I’m gonna cum…”</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“You’re not. Not yet.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">And you raise yourself and hear that angry plop as your pussy releases its prize, and now you’re on your knees as he rises above you, and his cunt-soaking cock is at your lips, stretching them wider than he’d stretched you before, and you can taste his joy as it builds in his balls. You try to suck but he’s too thick, too firm, and so you milk him instead, jerking his shaft, jacking him off into your warm, loving mouth…</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">His hands were in my hair, caressing my scalp, and exerting just enough pressure that I knew he wanted my lips to slip lower, to take him deeper into my mouth. I did so, feeling a tingling in my belly as his flavors swirled on my tongue, and my jaw opened wider to accommodate him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">His breathing remained gentle, belying the strength of his cock as it strained against my mouth. I shifted my weight a little, tightening my lips around him as I raised him up, alternating smooth bobs of my head with the sucking motion that I knew drove him crazy. My fingers were on his balls, swirling in time to my tongue, and drifting closer and closer to his arsehole. And then that familiar twitch, that unmistakable tensing of every muscle in his body… my finger jammed hard into his anus…</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I knew he was coming long before he said anything. I could feel it building in the balls that tightened in my hand, in the sudden tensing of his cock as it strained against my jaw, and in the barely perceptible sensation that he’d grown an extra half-an-inch, as though preparing to leap down my throat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My fingers clenched around his buttocks, holding him tighter, drawing him closer and, as he called, first my name, and then a sharp word of warning, my throat opened up to accept the coming flood. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">… and when he came, it was like a dam had burst, and all those months of waiting, wanting and dreaming suddenly gushed from that tiny slit in the tip to fill me so full that I couldn’t help but swallow, and I couldn’t help but want to either. And as he slowly softened, and my jaw starts to relax, that’s when I sucked him, draining him dry, squeezing balls that were already loosening inside their sack, and coming up only when I needed a deep breath. And he flopped down besideme, his eyes full of wonder, as though all of his fantasies had just merged into one…</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">…like he’d completed the jigsaw puzzle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">So I laughed as he held me close to his body, and waited till I felt I was able to speak.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Is that what you were thinking about?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Yeah,” he said slowly, and I punched his arm. “That’s all you have to say for yourself?” and I was just about to push him for more when my phone rang. I crossed the room, wiping the last drops of cum from my face, and glanced at the caller ID. “It’s Judy.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Behind me, Barry swore. “Shit, I said I’d see her when she got home. I’d better run, Chrissie.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I nodded and picked up the phone. “Hey sweetie.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“I need to talk to you.” She sounded giggly, but shocked as well. Not shocked. Shy. Bashful. As if… “Chrissie, I met someone tonight. A guy.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I watched as Barry threw his clothes on, then stepped forward to kiss me on the cheek. I gestured for him to wash his face, to remove the most obvious traces of our lovemaking, and his face as he realized was a picture. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I returned my attention to Judy. “Okay….”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“He’s one of the instructors. He usually takes one of the other classes, but…” She was about to launch into one of her endless explanations, and I hurried her along. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Background later, details now. You met a guy…”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Barry had re-emerged. I flapped my hand at him, ushering him out, and blew a kiss as he turned at the door. Judy was still talking.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“He walked me out to the car after class, and we were talking so I had him come in and sit….”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“And?”</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“And we were talking and the parking lot was emptying out, and suddenly we were the only people still there. And I parked in the back corner, you know beside the antique store… so it was dark and there was no-one around…”</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Again. “And?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Chrissie. I sucked him off. We were talking, and then we were kissing, and I was like… I wanted to do something, and you know there’s no room in the car and the studio would have been locked. So I did that.”</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I was silent. Shocked silent. Speechless silent. Again. And I guess she took it as a sign of disapproval because she started talking again. “I’ve never… not even with Barry. But it just felt….”</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Right?” I had to say something.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Oh God yes. It was so right. The thing is, I don’t know what I’m going to say to Barry.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Judy, you are not going to say anything to Barry. What you are going to do is, next time he stays over…”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Tonight. He’s coming over tonight.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Well, when he comes over tonight, you’re going to do the same thing to him that you did to…”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Jan. He’s Dutch.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“The same thing you did to Jan.” And then, because I had to ask, “so did you swallow?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She made a little noise in the back of her throat. “No. I had him cum on his stomach.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Well, you’re going to let Barry cum in your mouth. Okay?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I could hear her brain processing my words; hear her head and her heart wrestling with them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“I’ll try.” And then, “okay, gotta run. He’s here.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Call me tomorrow. Let me know how it goes.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Thanks. Goodnight…” and then, “so you don’t think I’m the worst girlfriend ever?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“It doesn’t matter what I think. What’s done is done. But you do that for him, and so far as he’s concerned, you’ll be the best.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She giggled. “I can live with that. Goodnight.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Goodnight.” I hung up and walked to the bathroom, set the shower running on hot. Poor Barry. Or lucky Barry. I just hoped he had a few drops left. Judy deserved them.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-47239226165080989092015-08-20T07:50:00.000-07:002015-12-23T08:02:02.804-08:00If You Love Me...<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">
“So yeah, we were making out, and it was getting steamy - Brad’s hand was between my legs, you know, and I don’t think either of us had thought about breathing in about an hour; his tongue was down my throat, and he’d got my top half off as well…</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“… then suddenly his hand’s on the back of my head, like he’s pushing my head down, and he goes ‘if you love me, you’ll….’”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Mark sighed and looked embarrassed. I mean <i>really</i> embarrassed. Like<i>”I wish I was one hundred miles from here, listening to anyone talk about anything”</i> embarrassed. But I didn’t care. This was my story, my outrage. Plus, he was the one who asked what happened to make me so upset. So I told him. “I just lost it. It’s like, ‘if <i>I</i> love <i>you</i>, I’ll suck your cock?’ How about, if <i>you</i> love <i>me</i>, you’d wait till I wanted to?’”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Then what?” He could barely get the words out. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Of course he got all sulky… I got dressed, he started the car and practically threw me out when we got back to my place. And I’ve not heard from him since.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Would you want to?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“I dunno. I texted him yesterday just to say hello, but he didn’t respond. I like him well enough and maybe at some point…” I felt my voice trail off, only to be strengthened by a fresh wave of indignation. “Why did he have to be such an ass?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Mark laughed. “Because he’s a teenaged boy. I don’t care what Brad’s majoring in, or where’s he’s got an internship, the fact is, he’s still a teenager, which means no matter whatever else is going on in his head, ninety percent of his waking thoughts are devoted to getting you into bed. Or thereabouts.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now it was my turn to sigh, as he continued talking. “The important thing is, as you have just discovered, if you can’t match that ninety with one hundred percent of your own, then it ain’t going to happen. Or, if it does, it’ll just lead to more problems down the road.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I like to imagine that my eyes flashed mischievously “So were you like that?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“What a teen? Or permanently horny?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Either.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Well, I was a teen. Once. And while I like to think I was a model of patience and politeness, I probably had my moments of ninety percent-ish-ness. Which isn’t a proper word, by the way.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Damn. I was going to use it in my next essay,” I smirked, then leaned into him as we sat there on the couch together, mugs of coffee steaming in our hands. “Thanks.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">————</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">If I’d known that things were going to happen the way they eventually did… I’d have made sure they started a long time before. And if I’d known it would be so easy, ditto. Mark had been my professor through my freshman year, and he <i>must</i> have noticed that I’d always find a reason to hang around after class, to discuss the finer points of this-and-that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yeah, he was old, but it didn’t show. Did he look his age? Maybe. Probably. But he looked good, too, like an old time Hollywood movie star, sharply rewrapped in more contemporary clothing, with a permanent twinkle in his gray eyes and a laugh that the entire class loved to hear.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So when he left the faculty to take up a consultancy post with one of the big academic publishers, we’d kept in touch because I wouldn’t let him walk out on his last day without leaving me with his phone number. Which, a few conversations later, I supplemented with his address, Which, a few afternoon visits on from there, we both acknowledged had become a friendship that neither of us was likely to tire of.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I knew, even as I sometimes hoped otherwise, that it wasn’t going to go any further. His wife Stella was a friend, too, and because she also worked from home, there were never occasions when she wasn’t around. Even the night I got into an auto accident, and he was the only person I could think of to call for help, she was in the car alongside him when he came to pick me up from the emergency room, and she took me up to my dorm room as well, and made sure I was okay.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">So where was she today? Visiting family in Arkansas for a few days, leaving Mark at home only because there were a couple of meetings that he couldn’t get out of. And the fact that Brad chose those same few days to act like an absolute ass-wipe was nothing to do with either of us. I’d called Mark that night and we talked a little, except I realized that I didn’t feel like elaborating. We spoke again the next day, and I’d calmed down a little, but still wasn’t into pouring my heart out down the phone. So he asked me over - not suspecting, I don’t believe, the full extent of my hurt and confusion.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Or, as we sat, and his body against mine just felt so right, that my mind would suddenly start whirling in other directions and dimensions altogether.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">We weren’t in completely unknown territory. A few times when I’d visited, and he and I hugged goodbye - more than a few times, in fact - we’d been so close to a kiss that I wondered how Stella didn’t notice. Or maybe she had and didn’t care. They’d been together a long time; over fifteen years, he told me once. And I wondered, in all that time, if he’d ever….</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He shifted awkwardly - not so much that he moved away, but enough, I think, to reassure himself that I was the one leaning into him, and not the other way round. So I shifted with him and when he turned his head slightly to look at me, I raised my face just a little, and we did kiss. A long kiss, warm, gentle. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He backed away. “No wonder Brad got so hot and bothered,” he joked, and all I could do was deliver a partial echo, “no wonder…,” as I took his hand and held it in mine. I wondered if I needed to say anything more, but my mouth was dry. Too dry to form a cohesive sentence. I kissed him again, and this time there was no resistance; this time, he kissed me as though we were lovers, as though we were teenagers, as though….</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Later, he told me that mine were the first strange lips he’d kissed since he and Stella first dated, and simply tasting my youth, my enthusiasm, my longing, was an experience he’d never forget.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Told me that mine was the first strange hand that had touched his cock, since he and Stella first ran through the bases, in his studio apartment off campus in Wisconsin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">That mine was the first breath he had felt on his flesh, as I slipped from my seat and knelt on the carpet, unfastening his pants as his eyes closed above me, and his last words… “I’m not sure we should be doing this”… still reeled before the passion with which I replied. “I am.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">See, Brad blew it, in the way that teenage boys often blow it. Too impatient, too demanding. Forgetting that sex isn’t simply about what he wants her to do, it’s also about what she wants to do. And until he opened his mouth and all that stupidity came pouring out… well, let’s just say that if he’d kept his mouth shut, then I’d have been opening mine. Wide. And the only thing that would have come pouring out of mine would have been his cum.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I <i>wanted</i> to suck him. I’d dreamed of sucking him. And tonight was going to be the night. Until he delivered his ultimatum and my need (because yes, it <i>was</i> a need) switched off just like that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And now it had switched on again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Mark knew every pore in his wife’s body, he told me. No matter what they did, or where they did it (and they did still do it, although not quite as often), he knew what to expect. They both did. Which wasn’t a complaint, because she did everything right. But still he knew, mapping out their lovemaking in his mind as easily as he could map out her flesh.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was a mystery. I was unexplored. And I was running my tongue across the head of his cock, lapping his precum, tasting his flesh, feeling the incredible hardness of a man who might not have the testosterone driven impatience of a boy my age… but had something else, some indefinable strength, and I would never use a word like “gratitude,” because that just sounds so wrong. But as I licked his prick I could feel the years just flowing away from his body and, if I closed my eyes… I could have been Stella in nineteen-ninety-something, on her knees for the first time for her handsome, gorgeous man, and wondering - as I now wondered….</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I hope it fits in my mouth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It’s one thing to dream, as I’d so often done, of the things I could do if a man just relaxed, and let events take their natural course… like they would have two nights before, if Brad had not been such an impatient, crude, brat. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It’s another thing entirely to suddenly find that the natural course has floated you further than you ever dreamed it could. And a cock in the hand is <i>always</i> smaller than a cock just a few inches away from your face. Smaller, and somehow more manageable.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But not even half as beautiful.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Brad’s cock… You know what? I never even saw it. It was never more than an impatient presence inside his pants, that I’d rub and squeeze through the fabric until the damp patch appeared. The other night in the car, I would have gone further because I wanted to see it. To feel it. And yeah. To suck it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">To find out how it really felt to have a man moving inside my mouth, and not just watch the occasional cellphone clip of someone else moving inside one of my friends’. Then we’d all laugh together and critique her style, while making disparaging remarks about the lucky boy’s cock… “are they really meant to bend like that? Is that color even natural? Wow, you deep throated a toothpick”… things like that. As though all of us did it all of the time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I was going to do it now.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">My lips folded over the head of Mark’s cock, shocked at the sheer intensity of flavor, but thrilling too to the soul-devouring intimacy of it. Heart racing to the moan he gave as I sank down, feeling him sinking between my jaws… careful not to let him push too far, too quickly, but curious as to how it would feel if he was just to grab my head, pull my hair, and fuck my face like he fucked his wife’s cunt. A thought which pushed me deeper still, until suddenly it felt as though I’d taken all I ever could, and my nose was brushing the fingers I clenched round his root… and I came up for air, but I didn’t let him fall, because that single image was cemented to my mind now, and - I knew he wouldn’t do it, because he was far too much of a gentleman.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But what if I did it for him?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I started slowly, finding my rhythm and then picking it up; finding my limits (gag reflex… hello!) and staying just within them. And he was moving too, thrusting into my mouth as my head bobbed back, slipping up that miraculous shaft that could not bear to lose a fraction of the warmth, the wet, and wonderful darkness in which I was bathing it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I wondered if I should be tugging him, using my hand to hasten his orgasm. I’d seen that on the cellphones, too. But you know what? That always seemed so wrong, though; as if my mouth was simply an impassive hole, something to jerk him off into. No. I wanted to make him cum <i>with</i> my mouth, and I pulled my hand away… surprised, for a moment, at the sheer strength and weight of his now unsupported dick in my mouth, but thrilling at that as well.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Plus, now I could take even more of him inside.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">His moans were groans, his thrusts almost melodic. My hands were on his hips, my fingers clenching his flesh. I wondered if they might leave bruises… I hoped they would fade before Stella came home, and reclaimed her territory with a blowjob of her own. And again, that thought - Mark fucking his wife, being sucked by his wife - were those images that should even begin turning me on? Let alone send me careening towards an orgasm <i>when I wasn’t even touching myself!</i> Fuck! This is the best feeling <i>ever</i>!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He froze. He cock tautened, and it was as though it grew even bigger. A momentary sensation, a mere flash in my mind, but Mark was crying “Chrissie, I’m coming…” and I filed away that fleeting awareness for future reference… so <i>that’s</i> how you know! Then I pulled away just as the first jet sprayed out, lashing my face, splashing down on his flesh, and I wasn’t even thinking when I dipped my head and licked at it… liked the flavor, and went in search for more. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Suckled him as that incredible erection subsided to softness in my mouth, and it was only when I let him go, and kissed his mouth with my cum-soaked tongue that I realized that I’d just gone further than even my wettest dreams ever let me. In my fantasies, I never dealt with the issue of his orgasm… would I swallow, would I spit, would I aim it back up his chest?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now I knew, and it felt as natural as everything else we’d done.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then his phone rang and we disentangled ourselves, while he exchanged a few pleasantries with Stella … laughed. “She sends her love, and says I need to hug you for her”; then, turning his attention back to the phone, “that’s exactly what I was doing when you called.” He laughed, I stared, and I saw his cock twitch on the first step back to full strength. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“She wants all the details when she gets back,” he said, then they said soft goodbyes, and he was hard again. Hard enough to fuck me like I’d never been fucked before (which wasn’t that difficult - that night was my first time. But I think you know what I mean); and hard enough for me to fuck him, like he said <i>he’d</i> never been ridden before, that “reverse cowgirl” stance that I saw on the Internet, and thought looked amazing from whichever angle you chose. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I think he enjoyed the view, as well.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">As for giving Stella “all the details”… I don’t know if he did. Or what details she wanted. But I had a feeling I was going to be finding out soon. There was a message on my cell when I switched it back on between classes, a day or two after Stella arrived home. Did I want to stop by for coffee later? Stella had brought back gifts from her trip, and she wanted to give me mine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I bathed, and then sat down to try and paint my nails. In the end, though, I had to give up. My hands were shaking too much….</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-6773508271005679042015-05-05T07:54:00.000-07:002015-12-23T08:00:22.814-08:00The Violet Vixen<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bT80AgmG7x8/VnrFBxJeYVI/AAAAAAAAIkA/e-g4Mg8O-tg/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-03-20%2Bat%2B2.56.21%2BPM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bT80AgmG7x8/VnrFBxJeYVI/AAAAAAAAIkA/e-g4Mg8O-tg/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2015-03-20%2Bat%2B2.56.21%2BPM.png" width="240" /></a></div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;">After masturbating one night with a radioactive dildo, twenty-one year-old Shirley Henderson discovers that she suddenly has the sex drive of seventeen nymphomaniacs. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">The once-mild court room stenographer dedicates her newfound superpower to cleaning up the violent vice in Got'em City’s Red Light District. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Soon pimps and pushers, psychos and sickos, and all who prey on the vulnerable and helpless, will TREMBLE at the name of the <b>Violet Vixen</b>.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Scene:</b> a tenement apartment overlooking Got'em City’s notorious Penny Park. Scene of six savage murders in the last month. But safe again for the girls who gather there. For half a dozen of the City’s Finest are now poised with service revolvers drawn, all pointed at the man lying on the bed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The exhausted, naked, barely-conscious man.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Commissioner Markham speaks the words that every officer is thinking. “Poor sap. He’s been fucked half to death.” His steely gray eyes sweep the men ranged around him, as if daring them to splutter the cliche that once, every one of them would have uttered. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Every man thinks that’s a great way to go,” his deputy murmurs. “But not when you see what it really means.” He steps aside as the medics arrive, and one look at the man’s raw, livid flesh leaves those strong-stomached public servants shaking their heads in disbelief. “Is there even any skin left on it?” one asks as he gingerly lifts the man’s penis with a pencil. An agonized howl is the only answer he receives.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“And look at the state of his balls. It’s like they’ve been sucked dry.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Unconsciously, every man in the room allows his eyes to drift to the symbol drawn on the wall in scarlet lipstick. The letter “V” repeated, circled and then scarred with an X. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It is the sign of the Violet Vixen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">++++++</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Shirley looked up from the newspaper. “Really? They can really print this stuff in a family newspaper?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“I don’t think the <i>Daily Hate-Mail </i>has been considered a family newspaper in a long time,” her mother said sadly. “And their website is even worse.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Shirley raised an eyebrow. “Mom? You don’t even have a computer. How would you know what their website’s like?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Leticia Henderson crossed the room and chose a glossy color flyer from the day’s recycling pile. “I always remove the supplement before your father gets home. You know what his blood pressure is like.” She passed it over to Shirley, four pages of lurid nudity interspersed with four more of gore, and a helping heap of pop star photos to lure readers in even deeper. <i>The Hate-Mail Online!</i> screamed a banner headline. “Log on now to see what you’re missing.” Followed by a host of headlines that, both grammatically and contents-wise, brought garish new meaning to the phrase “scrape the barrel.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Shirley folded the supplement, handed it back to her mother, then did the same with the newspaper. “Well, it still isn’t decent.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The paper had printed the very same words that the city cops no longer used, and in the absence of photographs of the victim himself, ran a series of pictures of well-used vaginas, each captioned as though it might be the weapon deployed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The tone of the article was even worse. Nothing but sympathy for the man; nothing but scorn for the woman who caught him; and nothing but disgust for the original murder victims. The writer all but came out and said it. “If they hadn’t been whoring themselves in the park, the killer would never have had to harm them.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Yes. Throughout the history of this nation, men and women have sacrificed their very lives to ensure that we will always have a free press. And this is how the press thanks them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But what can you do? Shirley asked herself that as she got ready for work, and was still pondering the question as she took her seat in the court room, stenography machine at the ready, and the first of the day’s cases got underway. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She recognized the pimp, and wondered if she looked even vaguely familiar to him? She’d taken him down four months before, rounding him up with a few dozen others in the first mad rush of accomplishment that followed…</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">…well, she still couldn’t explain it. Yes, she’d been a part of the party that day at the nuclear plant when <i>something</i> went amiss. Something <i>else</i>, she corrected herself. The court had adjourned to visit the scene of a case of industrial espionage that the defendant insisted was nothing of the sort… that the plant itself had been negligent, and what its owners claimed was sabotage was in fact sheer institutionalized incompetence. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The plant owners’ lawyer knew his precedents, though, and by the time he’d finished his cross-examination, even the defendant was halfway to calling himself a liar. But then somebody got too sure of themselves, and arranged for judge and jury to view the plant for themselves. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">They arrived just in time to witness a storage tank filled with radioactive waste rupture. And somehow, some of it must have come into contact with the contents of Shirley’s bag. With one particular content inside Shirley’s bag. And, before you ask what she was doing, bringing a dildo into work with her, then clearly you have never worked as a court stenographer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The pimp didn’t recognize her. Of course he didn’t. Shirley remembered the first time she ever caught a glimpse of her transformed self in a mirror. For a start, her skin was violet - at least in a certain light. And secondly, she was foxy. In a 1940s <i>film noir</i> way … <i>not</i> in an urban-wildlife-with-a bushy-tail way. Even for a radiation-induced transformation into a costumed crime fighting superheroine, that would have been silly, and probably self-defeating, too. It’s hard to clear up crime from inside an SPCA shelter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She blinked. She’d been drifting, but that was one thing that she loved about her job. Her mind could float as far away as it liked, but her fingers kept pace with the action in the court room. She glanced down at her laptop to see where things were, and smiled. The pimp’s lawyer was trying to explain to a predominantly all-male jury how his client’s capture had violated his civil rights. “Because he had no way of knowing that the woman he had invited to fellate him in an alleyway was, in fact, the feared vigilante The Violet Vixen.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Objection, your Honor.” The prosecuting counsel was on his feet. “If you’ll pardon my language, the guy just wanted to have his cock sucked. He wouldn’t have cared if it had been a Purple Porcupine.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Sustained.” The judge clearly agreed, and a few grins from the jury suggested that they did, as well.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Shirley watched her fingers for a moment, skimming over the keys. How tiny they looked compared with… she was still growing accustomed to regarding her “other self” <i>as</i> herself. But she appreciated her, regardless. Breasts that her ex once compared to a pair of Cadbury’s Eggs (and then looked offended when she didn’t thank him profusely) suddenly swelled to ostrich-inconveniencing proportions. Skinny legs that she habitually hid beneath skirts that swept the floor were suddenly shapely, muscular… they could crack a neck with a single flex, and had done so on more than one occasion. Once by accident. That made for an entertaining night at the ER. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Short dark hair became long, scarlet tresses. A figure that verged on MFC realigned itself to OMG. (“Mildly Fat Chick”… “Oh My God.” For the acronymically-challenged amongst us.) And a dress sense that worshipped at the shrine of Laura Ashley was now more akin to <i>the Rocky Horror Show</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">But the biggest change, the most startling change, was the one that even she had not noticed until the first time it occurred. Not counting her dildo… who probably knew her best of all… she’d had precisely two lovers in all her years on Earth, and she’d always been perfectly happy with that. But now; now, she didn’t even bother counting any more. Does Spider-Man count all the bad guys he’s punched? Does Batman keep a tally of all the KER-POWS he’s administered? She called herself the Violet Vixen, but really it was her pussy that did all the work, with her other holes watching its back. They were the true crime fighting force. The rest of her was just the giftwrap.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Yeah, sister. You and every other woman,” a voice in the back of her mind struck up, and she hushed it because she knew it was true. It doesn’t matter what else a woman brings to the party, there’s only one present most guys want to open.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">That was what set her out on her mission, in a way. Well, that and the knowledge that it’s hard to sustain a normal relationship if even the best-intentioned lover is going to pass out with exhaustion before you’ve even worked up your first drop of sweat. So, if she couldn’t use this new ability for fun, with guys she might actually want to meet up with again, what could she use it for?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Guys who she wanted to get off the streets as quickly as was remotely possible.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She’d thought she ought to start slow. It didn’t take much to kickstart the transformation, and she couldn’t quite explain what the trigger even was. But she’d learned how to control it, one night reading porno on eroticstories dot com, and she knew how to use it without even having to think. You’ve heard of those people who ooze sex appeal? The Violet Vixen virtually surfed on the stuff. Half the time, she didn’t even need to go looking for the bad guys. They came to her, like moths to a flame. All she had to do was burn them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The jury retired, and was back in ten minutes. A unanimous guilty, and the pimp disappeared, remanded in custody for sentencing next week. Shirley wouldn’t be present for that stage of the proceedings, but as she closed her laptop and nodded to the judge, she knew he wasn’t someone who believed in minimum sentences. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Neither was she.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She thought back to the superheroes who sped her brother through his comic-reading teens. They always made it look like such hard work. Here, a death-defying chase. There, a fist fight against a superior armory. Just one endless slog after another. One scene had always stuck in her mind. It was the Mighty Thor, maybe. Or was it Iron Man? Or even the blind guy, the one with the horns. No matter. Up against some ferocious adversary, trading jaw-breaking punch after eye-blacking thump, just slugging one another for page after page, and then a speech bubble popping out of nowhere, “Dammit, will you never go down?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">That’s all every guy the Violet Vixen ever met wanted to do. Go down. And of course she’d let them, because… well, because she let them. And when they finally started to flag, because even the most agile tongue has to tire sometime, she’d move the leg that she rested on his shoulder… just a little, barely more than a twitch, and it’s astonishing how quickly an opponent will drop when you just cut off the blood flow for a moment or two. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then a call to Commissioner Markham to let him know what awaited, and off with just a handful of slashes of her trademark red lipstick… the first tube had been a gift from a workmate in a shade that Shirley wouldn’t have worn if you’d paid her; now she found herself practically buying the same color in bulk.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">A rustling sound above her. She turned, glancing up through the frames of the comic book, out at the guy looking down at the page. To one side, she saw his fingers preparing to turn the page. His other hand was nowhere in sight, but she had an idea where it probably was. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">That, she growled to herself, is the only problem with being a female crime fighter whose artist is <i>red hot</i> at drawing simmering sex scenes. Half the guys who read her comic book just buy it to jerk off over. Sometimes, literally. She didn’t know how much <i>The Violet Vixen</i> #1 sold for, although she’d heard the variant cover was already topping $100. And why? Because most of the copies out there have their pages gunged up with cum. <i>Jesus, what do you think tissues are for?</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Enough background information already,” breathed a weary voice. “Get on with the good stuff.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Shirley sighed. A buck ninety-five, and these people think they own you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">++++++++</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The newspaper offices were dark, but scarcely quiet. A dozen desk lamps glowed behind the cheap plastic petitions that were so popular in the eighties, but which were now so holed by past users’ thumb tacks that it was amazing they still stood. The cold blue of so many laptops and handhelds lent an eerie sheen to the very air, and the Violet Vixen waited motionless as her mind untangled the sounds of keyboards tapping, to determine the desk she was looking for.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Years back, she’d read a detective story in which the sleuth could determine what somebody was writing, simply from the scratch of a quill against parchment. Every stroke, and every combination of strokes, spelled out another letter in his mind. At the time, she thought it was absolute nonsense. Until she realized, sometime after the “accident,” that she could do the same with computers; that every key on the keyboard had its own highly distinctive sound, and she only needed to put them all together. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It was harder in a crowded room, where so many machines were being operated at once. But all that meant was that she needed to concentrate harder. And though she found herself feeling either disgusted or offended by most of what she discerned, as tomorrow’s <i>Hate-Mail</i> was slimed into shape, it didn’t take her long to pinpoint the writer she was looking for. Ryan Bradshaw, Crime Beat Reporter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Who calls it the crime beat these days?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He saw her reflection in his screen as she approached him… exactly as she’d intended him to do… and she both timed and admired his reaction. There were eight, maybe nine seconds of uncertainty; then he spun with his mini-recorder already on “record” and fired his first question. “Some people say you’re little more than a prostitute, exacting payment in the form of prison sentences. What do you have to say to that?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She’d expected something along those lines… his article in this morning’s paper had all but asked the same question. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Can someone turn on the lights, please?” she asked. “I’d hate for your videos to come out too dark. Bad for the porn-tube public.” The fluorescent tubes that lined the ceiling flickered into life, and the Violet Vixen fixed Bradshaw with her stare, deep green eyes that promised so much… and threatened even more. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Yes, some people do say that,” she answered musingly. “But they also say - and I quote from your story this morning - that I am an oversexed harpy, an over-made-up tart, and in need of a real man to put me in my place.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">He blanched.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“So, I’m assuming that you are that man?” she continued.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Giver him points, he regained his composure quickly. “Sorry, darling, you’re not my type.” And then, “besides. I’m married.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“No you’re not,” one of his workmates murmured.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“As good as,” Bradshaw - suddenly shaken by the dissent - replied, but another voice laughed, “no, she dumped you six months ago.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Others joined in the commentary. “Go on Ryan. Show her what you’ve got,” and the Violet Vixen smiled and extended a hand. “Your public has spoken.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Again Bradshaw reassembled his composure. “Not here. I’m not doing it with that pack of animals braying around us.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“Fine. The bathroom, then.” The Violet Vixen turned, smiling as the crowd of watching writers parted around her. She held open the door as Bradshaw followed slowly behind her. “That’s the ladies room,” he protested mildly, but she patted his ass gently. “I think they’ll know to knock before they come in.” Then, as the door closed behind them, “okay. Put me in my place.”</span></div>
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<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Despite himself, he had an erection. Not an especially impressive one, admittedly, but it was enough. She dropped to her knees. “I am yours to command.”</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He was staring at her, still suspicious, but other emotions, other sensations, were pushing those fears away. What, he was thinking, could she really do to him? A quickie in the ladies, then back to work. He was composing his headline already. “How I Conquered the Violet Vixen…</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“She knelt before me, the eyes that had transfixed so many criminal masterminds gazing up at me with nothing more than pathetic lust and degradation. This is no crime fighting superhero. Just a silly, frightened girl surrendering her virtue for a moment of meaningless companionship.”</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He dropped his pants. “In your mouth.”</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She leaned forward, accepted him between her lips - and he climaxed immediately. They always did. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She swallowed, then smiled. “Awwww. You were just nervous. Let’s try again.”</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Of all the super powers she had acquired, there were many that she had long ago given up trying to understand. This was one of them; how, just by jamming one finger up a man’s back passage, she could instantly resurrect the most exhausted penis, again and again and again. Until even the horniest guy started trembling, begging her to allow him to rest. “But you want to do it properly, don’t you?” she’d coo. “Come on, just once more for me?” Or, “oh baby, can’t we try again? You’re so very good at it, you know.”</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Christ, men can be so gullible, sometimes.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">And besides, she enjoyed it. She enjoyed fucking strangers, no matter what their crimes were. She enjoyed being on her knees on a dirty bathroom floor; on her back in an alleyway with the local homeless for an audience; on all fours in a penthouse, telling Mr Big he was aptly named. Because she knew how it would end. She knew that she’d still be raring to go, long after he’d collapsed into a pathetic puddle of exhausted soreness. And when he did…</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She rose, prodding Bradshaw’s prone body with her elegantly booted toe, then walked out of the bathroom. As she’d expected, the crowd was at the door, listening, laughing, and then peering in to where Bradshaw was lying, moaning softly, while his hands clutched what was left of his manhood. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">A round of applause began softly, then built to follow her as she walked out of the office. There’d be no need to bother the Commissioner for this one, and she’d not even had to use any lipstick. Bradshaw would know what to write in his column and, as she ramped down her energy and changed back into mild, mousey Shirley, she suddenly knew how Peter Parker must have felt, when Spider-Man out-witted Jonah Jameson once again, and the <i>Bugle</i> was forced to retract another lie.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The next day</span></b></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The early edition awaited her when she got up for breakfast. She scanned the pages, but Bradshaw’s by-line was absent. In its place, a different name and a different photo too, a young woman she recognized from the office last night. Now <i>she</i> was being billed as the Crime Beat Reporter, and her headline was succinct and to the point.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“The Violet Vixen. You Bet She’s The Real Thing, Baby.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Last night, the enigmatic crime fighter known as the Violet Vixen paid an unscheduled visit to the <i>Hate-Mail</i> offices, and proved once and for all why she is feared and respected in every corner of Got’em City. And why, no matter how some citizens might disapprove of the methods she employs to keep our streets safe, we should nevertheless be thankful that she chose our metropolis as the scene of her exploits.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“They say a man’s greatest strength is his sex drive. It is a thing of love and beauty, it fires artists and authors and ambition and more. But it also motivates greed, it justifies violence, it prompts the most diminutive shadow to commit the most appalling crimes. Which means it is also man’s greatest weakness. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“So hear this and be warned, thou Sinners of the City. The Violet Vixen knows your names, she knows your lusts and she knows your crimes. And she also knows your address.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“The next time you see a helpless female, and think you will add her to the notches on your bedpost… think also on this. She may not be so helpless after all.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">“She may be the Violet Vixen.”</span><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-55439360970805326462014-01-02T18:58:00.001-08:002014-01-02T18:58:35.644-08:00My New Website is Up and Running!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YnIrkgqPgFE/UsYnS9NNf0I/AAAAAAAAIeg/clk1Yas04WE/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YnIrkgqPgFE/UsYnS9NNf0I/AAAAAAAAIeg/clk1Yas04WE/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div>
I did it! It's only January 2 (well, almost the 3rd) and I actually fulfilled one of my New Year's Resolutions!<br />
<br />
True, it was a four year old New Year's Resolution, but that's not the point.<br />
<br />
My new website is up and running.<br />
<br />
Most of you will know that I write and publish a lot of stories. Well, now you can read all about them, and more besides.<br />
<br />
Just head on over to <a href="http://chrissiebentley.wordpress.com/">Constantly Chrissie</a>, and there I'll be.<br />
<br />
Looking forward to seeing you there!<br />
<br />
xx<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-81238522158233370392013-10-27T06:37:00.000-07:002013-10-27T06:37:49.054-07:00Confessions<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FEv8a4g1ZOI/Um0W6uFEqMI/AAAAAAAAIdM/vCQxceFqFQk/s1600/smoking_blowjob_cumshot-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FEv8a4g1ZOI/Um0W6uFEqMI/AAAAAAAAIdM/vCQxceFqFQk/s1600/smoking_blowjob_cumshot-4.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
http://xconfessions.com/soft-hard/Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-42122275971304996342013-06-09T18:59:00.001-07:002013-06-09T18:59:27.840-07:00It's true!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yQcdnKs84PM/UbUy6TzOLkI/AAAAAAAAIbU/2X_3Ck6WLiI/s1600/library-badge-21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yQcdnKs84PM/UbUy6TzOLkI/AAAAAAAAIbU/2X_3Ck6WLiI/s320/library-badge-21.jpg" width="311" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
(thanks to kitty!)</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-16504037883675839552013-06-07T12:26:00.002-07:002013-06-07T12:26:24.107-07:00Two of the Best!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">An update to a post a few days ago... I now have the top TWO stories at <a href="http://eroticstories.com/">eroticstories.com</a>.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">THANK YOU!!!!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O31cKM621Ng/UbIz2hjXoNI/AAAAAAAAIbE/RmQXjwwz9zw/s1600/Screen+shot+2013-06-07+at+3.24.19+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O31cKM621Ng/UbIz2hjXoNI/AAAAAAAAIbE/RmQXjwwz9zw/s320/Screen+shot+2013-06-07+at+3.24.19+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-20216204113769244082013-06-06T19:35:00.002-07:002013-06-06T19:39:45.989-07:00NEW FROM CHRISSIE BENTLEY - TONIGHT AT 8<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Tonight-at-8-ebook/dp/B00D63LH6Y/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1370572268&sr=8-1"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uZVyUdm8z60/UbFGY-MGVGI/AAAAAAAAIa0/DcuWHCeLTv0/s1600/41xH1bSYwnL._BO2,204,203,200_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-click,TopRight,35,-76_AA300_SH20_OU01_.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
AVAILABLE NOW - <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Tonight-Behind-Scenes-Industry-1967-1969/dp/1490334459/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1370572268&sr=8-1&keywords=CHRISSIE+BENTLEY%2C+TONIGHT+AT+8">PRINT EDITION</a>... CURRENTLY ON SALE AT AMAZON<br />
<br />
AVAILABLE NOW - <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Tonight-at-8-ebook/dp/B00D63LH6Y/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1370572268&sr=8-1">KINDLE EDITION</a><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">In London in the 1960s, pornography was a man’s world.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">It was viewed by men, written by men, directed by men and filmed by men. If they hadn’t needed actresses to play a part on camera, it would probably have been made by men as well.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">And then a woman came along, and changed that world completely.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">This is her story.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">The mid-1960s were the golden age of truly underground erotic film making, the last grand flowering of the trade before the progressive liberalization of the arts, the advent of new forms of technology (beginning with the VHS tape), and the mercurial success of the movie Deep Throat transformed a once deeply secretive and self-involved industry into… indeed, a mainstream industry.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Tonight at 8 returns us to those halcyon days; to a gray and overcast landscape of dirty raincoats and secretive doormen, of darkened club rooms and menacing mobsters; and a square mile of seedy businessmen for whom sex films were made for fun as much as finance – at least by the people on either side of the camera.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">It is the semi-fictional, but wholly truthful autobiography of one of the era’s most prolific film-makers – a XXX novella that could double as a confessional text book, but which pulls no punches in either direction.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>EXCERPT</b></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 36px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Girls... want to know the details before they’ll take the leap.</span></span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">You begin by telling them who the films are being made for. Men. Then you tell them what men are like when it comes to sex. Stupid. You explain how there’s a certain sequence of acts that they all expect to see. They want to see you kiss. They want to see him sucking your titties. They want to see him licking your fanny. They want to see you sucking his cock, and they want to see you fuck. Then, at the end, they want to see him pull out of your body and spunk up somewhere else.</span></span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Where?”</span></span></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“On your titties if you’d prefer. On your face if you’ll let him. In your mouth if you want him to. And that’s the important thing. It’s what you want that matters. Not him, not the actor. Once the camera starts rolling, unless I call out something else, you’re in total command. And even if I do call out, it’ll be something that you and I have already talked about.”</span></span></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Which do you prefer?”</span></span></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“As a film maker? Definitely on the face, preferably in the mouth.” I told her my thoughts on the grace and beauty; how even the most gorgeous woman in the world becomes even lovelier with a cock in her mouth, and how the moment of his orgasm, if she handles it without screaming or spluttering, is quite possibly the loveliest, sexiest, sight on earth.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Who would I do it with, Kevin or Nick?”</span></span></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">“Okay, this is where you can say no if you want. It’d be Kevin <i>and</i> Nick. And, as it’s your first time, I’ll pay you seventy five.”</span></span></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Now you know why Tina came to work with me the next day. She wasn’t going to let me out of her sight.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Kevin and Nick were bang on time, and they didn’t look at all surprised to see Tina waiting with me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I explained the set up I’d devised, which was basically exactly what had happened last night when they met her. We’d go to the park, there’d be a long shot of Tina walking down the bridle path alone, then she’d sit on the bench with her face in her hands. Kevin and Nick would approach from the other direction, stop and talk with her for a moment, ask if they can help, and bring her to the flat. Kevin would produce an A-Z (I’d bought one myself on my lunch break), Nick would make some tea. Then, while Tina leafed through the pages, Kevin would stand behind her, reading over her shoulder, and…</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I hadn’t told Tina this part, because I needed her to seem genuinely surprised, which is a lot harder on silent film than you might think. Of course she was expecting <i>something</i>, but I think… because that is how I explained things to her… I <i>think</i> she was expecting Kevin to at least caress her shoulders, maybe bend down to kiss her. Something like that, anyway.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Instead, standing behind her while she studied the map, he unbuttoned his trousers and pulled out his cock, and while Nick tried his best to stifle a giggle, pretended to be fucking her ear. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Tina saw the movement, turned around – and her reaction was better than I even dreamed. With a shriek of laughter, she fell back on the bed, the book for a moment laid across her face. Then she sat back up and with only a quick sideways glance towards me, she took hold of his prick and her mouth closed around it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I hadn’t really asked her about her past sexual experiences, partly because it was up to her if she wanted to tell me, but also because I don’t necessarily believe that they’re relevant to our work. Obviously you don’t want an actor to completely fall apart when confronted with something they’ve not done before, but at the same time, the emotional and physical responses that you call on when you’re having sex with, shall we say a partner, a lover, a friend, are very different to those you call upon if you’re using your body to make a film.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Not everybody understands that, of course, which is why not everybody could be a blue movie star, and why most men should not even consider it. And I don’t agree, either, with those women who can casually shrug and say they’re <i>not</i> having sex when they’ve still got the spunk leaking out of their fanny. But somewhere in between the two extremes – over-involvement and over-detachment, there is a Happy Land where blue films can be made.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Tina was in that Happy Land. I closed in and her eyes met the lens for a moment, gleaming with pleasure as Kevin’s dick slid in and out. I moved the camera away from my face and mimed gnashing my teeth together; she took Kevin’s cock gently out of her mouth, then closed her teeth on the shaft, gnawing up and down as though it were an ear of corn.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Nick leaned in and said something; I didn’t hear it, but Tina laughed around her mouthful and feigned an elbow to his ribs. It was wonderful to watch them; Nick and Kevin had a chemistry that I knew I could rely upon, but Tina slipped in to their world of private fun and games as though she’d known them all her life.</span></span></div>
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<li style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0em; margin-right: 0em; margin-top: 0.5em;"><b>Paperback:</b> 224 pages</li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0em; margin-right: 0em; margin-top: 0.5em;"><b>Publisher:</b> CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform (June 2, 2013)</li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0em; margin-right: 0em; margin-top: 0.5em;"><b>Language:</b> English</li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0em; margin-right: 0em; margin-top: 0.5em;"><b>ISBN-10:</b> 1490334459</li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0em; margin-right: 0em; margin-top: 0.5em;"><b>ISBN-13:</b> 978-1490334455</li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0em; margin-right: 0em; margin-top: 0.5em;"><b>Product Dimensions: </b>9 x 6 x 0.6 inches</li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: 0em; margin-right: 0em; margin-top: 0.5em;"><b>Shipping Weight:</b> 14.1 ounces</li>
</ul>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-38534429877763948682013-05-29T17:49:00.000-07:002013-06-06T19:30:32.878-07:00<br />
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COMING SOON!</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><b>"TONIGHT AT 8: Behind the scenes of the London blue movie industry, 1967-1969" by Chrissie Bentley. E-book and print, and starring this little lovely!</b></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LqspjkHBDUg/Uaah0toe7TI/AAAAAAAAIaU/f35yV_QL_-0/s1600/Lost_girl_123_617lo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="246" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LqspjkHBDUg/Uaah0toe7TI/AAAAAAAAIaU/f35yV_QL_-0/s320/Lost_girl_123_617lo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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In London in the 1960s, pornography was a man’s world.</div>
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Stag movies and blue films were viewed by men, written by men, directed by men and filmed by men. If they hadn’t needed actresses to play a part on camera, they would probably have been made by men as well.</div>
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And then a woman came along, and changed that world completely.</div>
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This is her story.</div>
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The mid-1960s were the golden age of truly underground erotic film making, the last grand flowering of the trade before the progressive liberalization of the arts, the advent of new forms of technology (beginning with the VHS tape), and the mercurial success of the movie <span style="font-style: italic;">Deep Throat</span> transformed a once deeply secretive and self-involved industry into… indeed, a mainstream industry.</div>
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Soho By Spotlight</span> returns us to those halcyon days; to a gray and overcast landscape of dirty raincoats and secretive doormen, of darkened club rooms and menacing mobsters; stag films and blue movies; and a square mile of seedy businessmen for whom sex films were made for fun as much as finance – at least by the people on either side of the camera.</div>
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It is the semi-fictional, but wholly truthful autobiography of one of the era’s most prolific film-makers – a XXX novella that could double as a confessional text book, but which pulls no punches in either direction.</div>
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A gripping adventure littered with powerful sex; a fearless expose shot through with honesty and emotion, then draped by a sheen of fragile, furtive eroticism, <span style="font-style: italic;">Soho By Spotlight</span> tells the story of Elizabeth Clark… the eye behind the lens of some of the best-loved British porn films of the era.</div>
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Rarely more than ten minutes in length, resolutely black and white, and determinedly dirty, movies like <span style="font-style: italic;">Little Girl Lost</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">Tonight At Eight</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">Satan's Children</span> come to life in these pages. So does the world in which they were made, a world – once again - of dirty raincoats and secretive doormen, of darkened club rooms and menacing mobsters. And sex so hot that it melts the celluloid.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-28193159561786971982013-05-28T19:49:00.001-07:002013-05-28T19:49:10.093-07:00Thanks Everyone... My First "Top Story"Thanks to all my friends and readers at <a href="http://eroticstories.com/">Erotic Stories.com</a> for voting "Riding The Ghost Train" the top story of the week-so-far!<br />
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AND for placing me in your Top Five authors as well!<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jCqGsF2jl20/UaVskqbbWzI/AAAAAAAAIaE/5luR7c_Q7UQ/s1600/Screen+shot+2013-05-28+at+10.48.03+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jCqGsF2jl20/UaVskqbbWzI/AAAAAAAAIaE/5luR7c_Q7UQ/s400/Screen+shot+2013-05-28+at+10.48.03+PM.png" width="391" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-77411894337081566852013-05-10T17:02:00.000-07:002013-05-10T17:02:03.390-07:00For No Reason At All, Five Super Hot Actresses!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-idX1QWkP-Jw/UY2J_88vIXI/AAAAAAAAIYw/uX17mFZ9BEM/s1600/600full-deborah-revy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-idX1QWkP-Jw/UY2J_88vIXI/AAAAAAAAIYw/uX17mFZ9BEM/s320/600full-deborah-revy.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
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Deborah Revy</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aJdWQE3BdwY/UY2KB2xcdzI/AAAAAAAAIY4/Kb1VK8d454E/s1600/361858_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aJdWQE3BdwY/UY2KB2xcdzI/AAAAAAAAIY4/Kb1VK8d454E/s1600/361858_1.jpg" /></a></div>
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Jenna-Louise Colman</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4PjJQn-tGyU/UY2KDqlGjZI/AAAAAAAAIZA/9kxeUq9arOU/s1600/jessicaraine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4PjJQn-tGyU/UY2KDqlGjZI/AAAAAAAAIZA/9kxeUq9arOU/s1600/jessicaraine.jpg" /></a></div>
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Jessica Raine</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gu2Lf7MpXFk/UY2KFV4LwFI/AAAAAAAAIZI/fwZNsAJA4PE/s1600/Lara+Pulver+png.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gu2Lf7MpXFk/UY2KFV4LwFI/AAAAAAAAIZI/fwZNsAJA4PE/s320/Lara+Pulver+png.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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Lara Pulver</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2iKRMMK-jYE/UY2KH6U7XmI/AAAAAAAAIZQ/72gzD4SmFHE/s1600/Screen+shot+2013-05-10+at+7.52.53+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2iKRMMK-jYE/UY2KH6U7XmI/AAAAAAAAIZQ/72gzD4SmFHE/s320/Screen+shot+2013-05-10+at+7.52.53+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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Lisa Diveny</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-1226927213456531112013-05-06T16:49:00.002-07:002015-12-23T08:11:12.853-08:00Move Over Big Brother, Here Comes Big Business<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d8Eruyr-DtE/UYhBYsTR1QI/AAAAAAAAIYI/NeZrN2dVuhc/s1600/censored+stamp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d8Eruyr-DtE/UYhBYsTR1QI/AAAAAAAAIYI/NeZrN2dVuhc/s1600/censored+stamp.jpg" /></a></div>
<span class="entry-summary" itemprop="description" style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 1.7em; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">One of the largest internet credit card processors in the world has recently announced a policy of zero tolerance regarding the use of certain words on sites it represents. How long will it be before all the others follow?</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; line-height: 15px;"></span><div class="entry-content" id="entryContent" itemprop="articleBody" style="border: 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
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“Gazing out over the verdant fields of rape, my soul abducted by the strains of scat jazz as they drifted hypnotically through the evening air, I could not help but feel....”<br /><br />CENSORED.<br /><br />There is a war taking place on the internet, and I bet you haven’t even noticed.<br /><br />It’s not a conflict that will affect many of you. Yet. You know how things work these days, though; you give someone an inch, be they lawmakers, politicians, or just big business mavens, and soon they’ll be taking a mile. There’s not a thing any of us can do to stop them, either.<br /><br />As regular readers will be aware, I write erotica. Nothing too harsh, nothing too extreme; just good old fashioned girl-meets-boy-and-fucks-him smut. No rape, no incest, no toilet games... nothing nasty at all. In fact, the sentence that opens this article could easily have been drawn from one of my tales. However, if I were to publish it on any one of several erotically themed websites, this is how it would be forcibly rendered:<br /><br />“Gazing out over the verdant fields of <span class="strong" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">censored</span>, my soul <span class="strong" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">censored</span> by the strains of <span class="strong" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">censored</span>jazz as they drifted <span class="strong" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">censored</span> through the evening air, I could not help but feel....”<br /><br />Who is it making this decision? Well, it’s not the webmaster, and it’s not the law. It’s also not the government. It’s not even some shadowy campaign for the removal of filth from the internet, because I am (for now) still permitted to use words like fuck, shit, cock, cunt, and “oh my god, there’s a seventeen inch fluorescent dildo pumping gallons of jizz up my asshole.” It’s a private business that's making the decision. <br /><br />Credit card processors (IPSPs, or Internet Payment Service Providers) are the lifeblood of the internet. It is they who collect your money when you make a purchase; they who facilitate your subscriptions to pay sites. They're the ones who ensure your financial security whenever you make a payment of any kind.<br /><br />They are now in such a position of power that they are arbitrarily censoring the content of the websites that rely upon them to sustain the business in the first place.<br /><br />With minimal editing, this is an e-mail I received today from the webmaster of one of the sites I contribute to:<br /><br /><em class="em" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">“Dear Jenny<br /><br />This concerns your story called "Welcome To Spain"<br /><br />Unfortunately, I have been forced by the credit card processor to censor certain subjects. Even simply the use of certain words is now strictly forbidden by the credit card processor <span class="strong" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">censored</span>.<br /><br />I'm afraid your story is affected by this.<br /><br />In the actual text of your story: Found 1 occurrence(s) of the word hypnotic<br /><br />To prevent trouble with <span class="strong" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">censored</span>, your story has been adapted. This means the offending words have been replaced with the text [censored]. I am very sorry about this, but I'm afraid I have no reasonable alternative but to comply with the credit card processor's demands.”</em><br /><br />Like I said, this probably doesn’t affect you. Or, if it does, maybe you will shrug and say “okay, I’ll just use another word.” However, that’s not really what it’s about, is it? The four words highlighted in my sentence (and the one that proved so offensive in my story) are words that, in the context used, could not offend anybody. “Rape” and “scat” have negative connotations if you wish to see them in that light. However, what if you represent an agricultural organization or cookery website, and wish to highlight your use of rape seed oil? Or what if your site represents a women’s shelter, or even a news site? What if you’re a jazz critic discussing a very specific style of singing? What if you are musician Scatman John, or actor Scatman Crothers? What if you are a psychiatrist offering hypnosis therapy, or a UFO buff discussing alien abduction?<br /><br />I’ll tell you what -- you’re screwed.<br /><br />A decade or so ago, when word filtering was still a new toy for internet providers to play with, America Online made major headlines around the world when they outlawed the use of the word “cunt” (among many others). This was great until the local government in the English town of Scunthorpe found their e-mails being routinely blocked by the filters. Filters, presumably, became smarter thereafter, or at least somebody found a way to prevent similar errors from being perpetuated. Common sense spoke out.<br /><br />Right now, we have to hope that similar lightning will strike again, and that common sense will prevail once more.<br /><br />Because it’s not the language that is under assault; it’s not erotica, it’s not one person’s right to write smut and call it art. It is free speech. It is creativity. It is the First Amendment, for heaven’s sake. The Supreme Court could not dislodge an author’s right to write, neither could the government, the FBI, or any other legal body in the land. A lot of people fought, were imprisoned and even died to preserve the right of free expression. Perhaps we were naive, but a lot of us thought they had won the war.<br /><br />Think again. A private company, one of the largest IPSPs on the entire internet, with offices and representation throughout the United States and Europe, has stepped in where politics, religion, and all the other forces of censorship could not, and snatched away that right regardless.<br /><br />I do not use the IPSP I’m referring to here. So, for the moment, we can continue writing about mesmeric jazz vocalists who steal our souls. We can discuss our favorite 1994 episode of <em class="em" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Dr Quinn, Medicine Woman</em>, and our favorite song from Fleetwood Mac’s <em class="em" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Mystery To Me</em> CD. We can even post photographs of those beautiful fields of bright yellow that adorn the French countryside between Paris and the Loire.<br /><br />However, a lot of websites cannot, because someone, somewhere, has declared that the use of certain words to be prohibited. These words are not, incidentally, posted on the company’s website, so you can’t even watch what you say ahead of time. Verboten. "Interdite." Or, as George Orwell would have put it in <em class="em" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">1984</em>, they are now "unwords." <span style="font-style: inherit;">Forget about Big Brother; it looks like Big Business is who we really need to watch out for.</span></div>
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POSTSCRIPT<br />
Since writing the original article, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 18px;">I've received a more complete list of "banned" words. Again, you will notice that no actual vulgarities are included, but there's a lot of very innocent terms whose sexual connotations, while conceivably negative, are almost extraordinarily minimal. Okay, deep breath (you'll need it)... </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 18px;"><br />rape (and variations... raped, raping etc)<br />scat / skat (and variations... scatology, scatalogical etc)<br />be[a]stiality<br />incest/incestuous<br />abduct (and variations)<br />kidnap (and variations - so there goes any attempt to dicuss Robert Louis Stevenson's second best-loved novel)<br />Lolita (ditto Vladimir Nabokov's best-loved book)<br />hypnotic, hypnosis, hypnotize, hypnotherapy... in fact, any word beginning with hypno-...,<br />drugs<br />celebrities (and variations/abbreviations thereof)<br /><br />other terms... necrophilia, pedophilia (and associations - underage, pre-teen etc), zoophilia... fall into illegal territory, so their presence on the list could be considered understandable. At the same time as they brightly highlight another iniquity of this regime, the absolute absence of any human agency in actually checking the context of these words' usage. If you are going to police the Internet, then police it properly.<br /><br />Right now, the companies employing this system are essentially practicing the linguistic equivalent of racial profiling... the assumption that all uses of a given word are illegal, just because a small handful of them might be.<br /><br />And it's only going to get worse.</span><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-57662319409678057152013-05-06T05:33:00.000-07:002013-05-06T05:33:53.529-07:00And The Cable Guy Makes Three<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UmZlarPhM4Y/UYejICR7ilI/AAAAAAAAIX0/bo58pa1d9FA/s1600/t8214243xbf4947.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UmZlarPhM4Y/UYejICR7ilI/AAAAAAAAIX0/bo58pa1d9FA/s1600/t8214243xbf4947.jpg" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">This is part three... read parts one and two <a href="http://jennyswallows.blogspot.com/2013/04/or-if-your-husbands-joining-in.html">here</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I knelt on the soft carpet of our living room, my bare knees spread wide, my wet pussy lips dripping onto the shag. To my left stood Greg, his erect cock handsome and hungry. To my right... did I even catch the kid’s name? Maybe... maybe not. I had been so astonished when the now familiar cable truck pulled up in our driveway, and two men, not one, climbed out of the cab, that everything that had happened since then seemed hazy, almost a dream.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Greg clutched the work order. This was... what, his fifth visit now; so many that I was sure the people at his head office must be wondering why I kept placing service calls, and so many that I was beginning to suspect that Mark, my husband, was in on the joke as well. First he needed the DVR looked at. Then there was a problem with an outside connection. Then something else, then something else, and each time he told me to call Greg direct, as though he was the only engineer at the entire cable company who understood the precise needs of our household.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Which, I thought as I ran my tongue slowly up that beautiful shaft, he might have been.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Normally, Greg came alone. And then we would cum together. Today, though, he was accompanied by a younger man, a trainee; he explained, new to the business, new to the world of installation and set-up. And new to the world of sex, I would guess. I don’t even remember how we crossed that border between an engineer doing what engineers do, and Greg and I preparing to do what we usually did, but the boy was with us every step of way, and the only difference between the two men now was, Greg was hard. His colleague was soft.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Very soft. So soft that when I opened my mouth to suckle the tip of his dick as it curled down around his balls, I found I could take almost the whole thing inside. And what a treat that was for me, filling my mouth with that gentle warmth, feeling it stir uncertainly but never leaping to the rigid attention of a more experienced man. The boy was shy, he was nervous, he was scared. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I would cure him of that.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He looked vaguely familiar, said a quiet voice in the back of my mind, but I stilled it. I’ve lived in this city my entire life; maybe I’d passed him in a store, maybe we used the same gym, maybe he’d worked the registers at 7-11. He didn’t seem to recognize me, anyway, but I knew I could make him remember me now.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I released him from my jaws and let my tongue tease his balls instead. “You like that?” I breathed as he let out a gentle moan. He nodded. “Yes ma’am,” and I giggled at his formality, then turned and sucked on Greg for a moment. “And did you like that?” I asked, and Greg hissed his approval as his cock twitched in my hand. It was a feeling I never tired of. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Back and forth I went, softly sucking at one, gently devouring the other. Some girls love shoes, some girls love purses. I love cock. Always have. I can’t even remember how old I was, the first night I woke up from a dream so vivid that I could still taste the meat that I’d been sucking in my sleep, but from the first time a casual remark by a girlfriend at school filled me in on fellatio, no other sexual act had even registered in my mind. I was a born cock sucker, and I was good at it as well. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Taking Greg deep into my throat, the boy’s cock still lay at comparative rest, swelling a little but still not at ease. I could feel his eyes on me, though; feel him watching as I sucked on his workmate, and my hand gently stroked him, approving as finally his softness began to uncurl and grow firmer. I turned my head and slowly closed my lips over his helmet, thrilling as I realized that, if he got much fatter and harder than this, I would barely be able to fit him into my mouth. His cock head was huge, growing larger every moment, and my jaw was already aching as the strength flowed into his shaft.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I released him and shuffled back a bit. Remember the movie <i>Reality Bites</i>? Remember the bit where two boastful guys claim they had a swordfight with their cocks inside a girl’s mouth? I was still a virgin when I first saw that movie, but that image has clung to my fantasies ever since. I grasped each cock and tugged it, pulling its owner closer. Then angled them both to my wide-open mouth and invited them both to push in.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Have you ever seen two cocks side by side, close-up? Two meaty firm helmets pressing together, pushing one another, thrilling to the touch of one another without their owners even realizing it? And have you ever then stretched out a questing tongue and coated them both in warm, hungry saliva, greasing paths already slick with precum, while they push at your lips and stretch your mouth wide... I knew I would never fit both of them in; knew that the boy alone would fill my head with his heat. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But I was going to give it a good go regardless, and the feel of them fighting to slip themselves in... the moans and sighs the two men were making as their erections slid closer to orgasm... I cried out as I came with the sheer excitement and anticipation of it all, and as my mouth widened, the boy jammed himself in - and flooded me! Around my smothered gurgles, around my screaming jaw, his hot cum filled my mouth, and his hands were holding my head still as he fucked the last pumping spurts into me. Before abruptly pulling out as Greg plunged in too, and instead of fighting to swallow just one mouthful of cum, now I was choking on two.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">It was amazing how different they tasted; one sharply sweet, one tongue-teasingly bitter; one thick and heavy, the other light and juicy, then combining on my tongue and in my throat; a flavor, I knew, of which I’d never tire, but one that filled my mouth so much that I could never swallow it all.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I could feel it seeping from my mouth, down Greg’s shaft; dripping onto my breasts, my knees, the carpet. I was drowning in cum and it was flooding my home, and even as the two men pulled their pants up and prepared to leave, I remained on the carpet, their cum drying on my face, gasping with shock and delight</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">They left and the phone rang. I stood unsteadily and walked to the kitchen, where it was charging on the table. It was Mark. Calling to ask “has the cable guy come yet?”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I summoned up whatever strength I had left, praying that my voice would not betray me. “Yes, he came. Everything’s good.”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“That’s great,” Mark answered. “You can show me when I get home.” Then he hung up and my eyes fell automatically onto the wet patch of carpet where my pussy had dripped and two cocks had spilled their goodness. “Yes I can,” I thought. “But show you what?”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Okay. You’re probably thinking, as I sometimes do, that Mark knows exactly what I do when he’s working. Knows and approves. His insistence on my always calling Greg to the house... his insistence on there always being one more reason to do so. The way he knows the precise moment to call, and knows the precise things to say as well.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The first time it happened, I put it down to coincidence. The second time it happened, I went searching for a camera, or at least a hidden microphone. I’ve seen the commercials on TV, how you can set up your home security system to send live video feeds to your phone while you’re out, but I also knew that the only security we have is a burglar alarm which goes off when the wind blows, a dog who only barks at birds, and what may or may not be a working antique shotgun that Mark inherited from his grandfather. Besides, if there was a camera, I’d have found it when I’m cleaning; and, like I said, I’ve looked.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Which left just one possibility. That Greg was in on it too, calling my husband as he left after each visit and telling him what we’d done. An idea which is simultaneously so damned hot, and so damned paranoid, that I put it out of my mind right away. It had to be coincidence. The same coincidence, I decided, that prompted Mark to walk straight to the stain on the carpet when he got home, kneel down and run his fingers over it, then ask if the dog had had an accident.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">No, but your slut wife did, I wanted to reply, because that way we’d get the whole thing out in the open, and I could stop wondering what was really happening. But of course I didn’t; I just got a damp cloth and did what I should have done when it happened. And hadn’t, for reasons I don’t want to think about. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">A week passed. I hadn’t seen Greg, because Mark seemed happy with the way his home theater set-up was operating, and he’d not brought over his friends since that night when Monday Night Football became a four on one romp, with me providing the fuck holes. To be honest, I think Mark was still feeling a little weird after one of the gang, Frank, gave his cock a little nibble after he’d finished fucking me. He didn’t say anything, but when I tried to bring up the subject again, and let him know how hot I thought it looked, he laughed and told me I had cock sucking on the brain... and then asked me to suck his cock. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Today, though, he surprised me. “I want you to wear something kinky this evening.”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I eyed him cautiously, my heart already beginning to pound.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Kinky as in... leather? Lace? A gas mask?” I once dreamed that I was sucking cock with a gas mask on and woke up to one of the most amazing orgasms I have ever had. I don’t even know if it would actually be possible to do it, and somehow I doubt that it would (at least while wearing any of the models I’ve looked at since). But a girl can hope....</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“I’ll leave that to your imagination,” he smiled, but I already had my answer. Browsing the mall a few days before, dropping by the novelty gifts store that had been a fixture there since I was teenaged, I’d spotted rolls of yellow “crime scene” tape for sale. The same tape you see on television cop shows; the same tape, coincidentally enough, that bedecked the girl whom a guy at the gym had tattooed across his abdomen. It looked amazing on his flesh. It was going to look even better on mine.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I bought the tape, drove home. A couple of hours with a needle and thread, a few tentative fittings as I made some adjustments; by the time I was finished, I not only had a new bikini with the words “crime scene’ emblazoned across my cunt, ass and tits, I’d also fashioned a matching harness that I could clip to any piece of furniture in the house. I didn’t know what Mark had planned for tonight, but he could never say I wasn’t prepared.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He arrived home alone and I didn’t tell him how I’d spent my day. He didn’t ask, either, and we ate our dinner around the TV news as usual, loaded the dishwasher, cleaned up the kitchen, all those little domestic duties that married couples always seem to do together. Then he looked at his watch and smiled. “We’ll have company in about fifteen minutes. Do you want to get yourself ready?”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I nodded and walked upstairs. He still hadn’t told me who we were expecting. But I kind of guessed that it wouldn’t be his boss. Or his mother.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I changed and came back to the living room. He looked up at me and I saw approval etch itself over his face. Especially when he saw the harness. Even more when he saw the blindfold. “Tonight,” he told me, “I just want you to relax. I don’t want you to wait on our guests, I don’t want you up and down fetching drinks and snacks. I just want you sitting down, relaxed and enjoying yourself. And to make sure of that....” </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He rose and, figuring out my harness in a flash, lashed my body to the recliner I had just settled down upon. My arms were free, but my legs were spread wide, tied to the legs of the broad, heavy antique coffee table he’d inherited from his gran (I wondered what she’d think if she knew). And he’d arranged me so the first thing anyone would see when they walked through the door was - me, spread-eagled across the La-z-boy, bedecked in crime tape and... blind. Mark had found the blindfold.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The doorbell rang just minutes later and I felt my heart leap into my throat. Mark opened the door and I strained to hear the low voices that murmured greetings to one another. There were two. One was Mark’s friend Brad... I smiled to myself. Twice in the past I’d had Brad in my mouth, once on my wedding night, once the other week. And I have to admit, he had the kind of cock that could make a girl go weak at the knees. Not too big, not too small, not too short, not too long... just right in every dimension. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The other voice? I wasn’t sure. It wasn’t Frank, it wasn’t Tommy. My mind rifled through the other friends Mark spent most of his time with, but came up blank, and that excited me even more. Someone I had never met, who was now going to meet me in the most intimate manner imaginable. My mind flashed back to Greg and his buddy this morning. It was my day for sucking off strangers! Something I’d not done since before I was married, hanging out at nightclubs with a gang of my own friends, sizing up guys for one night stands, then taking them outside, or home, or wherever, and showing them tricks that they had only ever dreamed of. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">It always astonished me how, when I sucked them, they’d want to pull out of my mouth as they came. How they’d almost explode when I pulled them back in. How they’d look at me in absolute awe as I swallowed their cum and then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, before licking that clean as well. “Nobody’s ever done that for me before,” they would say. “Nobody’s ever swallowed my cum.” And I’d look at them and smile, while my mind wrestled with the mystery. Why not? It’s the best bit! Well, apart from the rest of it....</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">A hand on my breast, fingertips trailing over my flesh then tracing the edges of the crime tape. Another on my face... that was Mark, I recognized his touch. Two on my thighs, one on each, caressing the soft skin at the tops of my legs. I writhed and moaned gently and a finger brushed my pussy through the tape. I held my breath then exhaled as a mouth moved to join it, licking on either side of the plastic, patient as I moistened and the crime scene grew slick. Exquisite teasing.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I reached out blindly, brushed bodies that were still fully clothed; fumbled for a belt buckle, found one and tugged. Hands joined mine, loosening the buckle, undoing the buttons. My hand touched flesh, then was guided to cock. Brad. I smiled and squeezed and felt him shifting, raising a leg to straddle my chest, then lowering his prick between my breasts, beneath the crime tape, binding himself to my body. His hands crushed my tits together, squeezing his cock between them, and slowly he started to fuck them. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I tilted my head, extended my tongue. My nostrils had caught the sweet odor of his cock and my mouth was already watering to taste it. I felt a sudden electric shock as my tongue tapped his cock head for the first time, a thousand flavors and sensations that I wanted to choke on, and then another jolt as hands elsewhere tore the tape away from my hips.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Two cocks at my pussy, stroking my labia, taking slow turns to soak their tips in my hole. I raised my hips, my cunt sucking at whichever prick was closest, my body begging it to slam inside me, and I felt a maddening thrill as the other dipped to my asshole, smearing pussy juice and precum around the tight darkness.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Mark read my mind. Or my movements. “I think we need to untie her,” he said, and suddenly my bonds were free. There was a jolt as someone jerked the handle on the La-z-boy, transforming it from a chair to a flat surface, then a body... Mark’s... lay down beside me, squirmed itself beneath me... and that moment of exquisite pain and pressure that suddenly transforms itself into unspeakable pleasure as his erection pushed itself into my slick ass. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">A second cock, the stranger’s, rammed into my pussy, tearing me apart with its unfamiliar girth - oh my god, I don’t know who this man is, but his meat is a monster. And a third, Brad, escaping my tits and plunging into my throat, deep enough that I almost choked, hard enough that my head tilted back and I lay, contorted, impaled by three pricks, motionless as their owners fucked me to paradise.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Relax,” Mark had told me. “Don’t move,” he had said. “Just lay back and enjoy yourself.” What choice did I have? Like voluptuous meat in a hot man sandwich, I could barely have moved if I’d wanted to. But my hips responded to the cocks in my asshole and pussy, my head moved to the rhythm of the one in my mouth. And my arms flailed, reaching out to caress each of my lovers. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">A hand grasped Brad’s balls, squeezing them, stroking them; his hands clutched my breasts, twisting the nipples hard and sharp. Teeth bit my shoulder, nails scraped my abdomen. I was high, I was flying, I was soaring, and when I felt my first orgasm approaching, it was as if I’d been raised so far above the ground that nothing on earth could make me return. My eyes were closed tight behind the sticky tight blindfold, my mind was whirling wildly. And I couldn’t even cry out as the first great wave hit me, because that was the moment when Brad’s cock erupted and I was drinking him down as the cocks down below hammered me harder and harder.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Bam! Bam! A hot shot of Mark blasting into my gut, a wild wave of ... whoever he was... slamming into my pussy. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Four people, four orgasms, in less than forty seconds. That must be some kind of record. It must be some kind of magic. Brad withdrew and at last I could howl, a moan of such utter contentment and joy. Mark moved away and my ass yawned in protest, wanting him back, wanting him hard. A plop as the other guy lipped out of my cunt, and I lay there in utter contentment and joy, feeling three men’s bodies as they bustled around me, and three men’s cum as it sloshed around my body. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I didn’t even worry about the La-z-boy, which would certainly need good cleaning in the morning. I just lay there as Brad said he was going to grab some beers from the kitchen; lay there as Mark kissed me softly on the mouth and then gently slipped off the blindfold; lay there as my eyes adjusted to the sudden light and the faces around me swam back into focus. Brad, still grinning as he handed me a bottle. Mark, still smiling as he gazed down on his cum soaked wife. And the boy, the guy from the cable company, the one who had been here with Greg, but not so shy now, and not so unsure, watching me with laughing eyes as Mark made the introductions. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">No wonder I thought I knew him this morning. He’d been at our wedding reception, Tommy’s brother Lee. Fresh out of college and looking for work. “He’s just started at the cable company,” Mark said and I pushed away all the questions that flew to my lips as he spoke. Instead I just smiled. “You like that?”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Lee’s eyes met mine, and I swear his cock twitched again. “Yes ma’am.” He paused and now he was holding his dick, massaging it slowly as his gaze shifted to my lips. “I’ve still got a lot to learn, but the guy they’ve teamed me up with has already shown me some really cool stuff.”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I couldn’t believe it. He was already hard again. I stood, stepped towards him, then knelt at his feet. For the second time today, my lips stretched greedily to greet his fat, ripe cock. “I don’t doubt that for a moment,” I said in answer to his last remark. “but I bet you’re a very fast learner.”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Then, as Mark placed his hands on either side of my head, holding it firmly as I angled Lee’s shaft, I engulfed him in my mouth.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“She’s such a fucking cock-hungry slut,” Mark laughed. “But I guess that’s why I love her.”</span><br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-814471479091193532013-05-04T17:01:00.000-07:002013-05-04T17:01:00.274-07:00Luis Royo - The Blue Prince<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sOCVYMBIylM/UYBbGhMAk8I/AAAAAAAAITE/DcY7F8jtJVs/s1600/The+Blue+Prince+13.med.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sOCVYMBIylM/UYBbGhMAk8I/AAAAAAAAITE/DcY7F8jtJVs/s320/The+Blue+Prince+13.med.jpg" width="232" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Much as I admire most of Luis Royo's work, some paintings just blow me away. This is one of them.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-35272621787642282752013-05-03T14:49:00.000-07:002015-12-23T08:18:51.577-08:00Making A Meal Of It<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cABHkXHshMw/UX7rv-VSiqI/AAAAAAAAISs/LXVLEUoSOJs/s1600/asstraffic_bj_blonde_blowjob_DDF_Erica_Erica+Fontes_pornstar-sluts_12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cABHkXHshMw/UX7rv-VSiqI/AAAAAAAAISs/LXVLEUoSOJs/s320/asstraffic_bj_blonde_blowjob_DDF_Erica_Erica+Fontes_pornstar-sluts_12.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<span style="color: white;"><span class="entry-summary" itemprop="description" style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 1.7em; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">How safe, or otherwise, is the average man's ejaculate?</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; line-height: 15px;"></span></span><br />
<div class="entry-content" id="entryContent" itemprop="articleBody" style="border: 0px; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; line-height: 15px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
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<h3 class="chapter-title" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 1.6em; font-style: inherit; margin: 18px 0px 8px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
</h3>
<div class="p" style="border: 0px; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 1.4em; line-height: 1.428em; margin: 0px 0px 18px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="color: white;">I’m usually very fussy about what I put in my mouth. Shopping for groceries takes forever as I check the label of every single product, on the look out for the additives that I do not want to touch. Artificial sweeteners. MSG. “Natural flavors” (which, as I wrote <a class="url" href="http://www.edenfantasys.com/sexis/sex-health/erectile-dysfunction/" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">once before</a> are actually the last two under an assumed name). Chemical flavoring. High Fructose Corn Syrup.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">You can’t avoid them all because they’re probably in the drinking water, too, along with all those prescription medicines with the “benefits” the enter the system when you pee. However, the lower your intake of the ones that you can avoid, the lower your chances of becoming another guinea pig for the laboratory of life to experiment on. Which, if I can be paranoid for a moment, is essentially how the major food and pharmaceutical companies tends to regard the general public. As test subjects.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">So yes, I am fussy, fussy, fussy. However, it wasn’t until fairly recently that I ever looked, <em class="em" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">really</em> looked, at the composition of cum. Which, considering how much of it the average heterosexual woman winds up ingesting, whether deliberately or otherwise, was something of an oversight. Maybe I just didn’t want to spoil a good thing by knowing too much. Several friends, and a comment left on one of my <a class="url" href="http://www.edenfantasys.com/sexis/sex-and-relationships/forget-taste-and/" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">past articles</a> here, have revealed that a little biological knowledge goes a long way, and if the FDC did insist that penises were labelled with their ingredients, it would look something like this:</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">The average male ejaculation... let’s call it a recommended serving size... is between five and ten milliliters of fluid, which is between one and two teaspoons’ worth. Which, if we lean towards the latter, breaks down as follows: Calcium (2.76mg); Chloride (14.2mg); Citrate (52.8mg); Fructose (2.76mg); Glucose (10.2mg); Lactic Acid (6.2mg); Magnesium (1.1mg); Potassium (10.9mg); Protein (.594mg); Sodium (30mg); Urea (4.5mg); Zinc (1.65mg).</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">Quantities which, when compared to the average woman’s daily recommended dietary requirements, are scarcely worth considering. Between the ages of nineteen and fifty, the Food and Nutrition Board recommends 1,000mg of calcium., or four hundred mouthfuls of cum. A day.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">Chloride - we are recommended to take 2.3 grams a day. Sodium - 1.5 grams. Potassium - 4.7 grams. Zinc - 8mg. As for protein, and the age-old insistence that cum is a wonderful source of the stuff... if you are a reasonably healthy, reasonably active adult female, multiply your weight in pounds by six. That is how many grams of protein you require a day. If you weigh 120lbs, you need 720g. My math goes a little hazy here, but I’m estimating that’s the equivalent of around 1,500 blowjobs a day, which is a lot. Such a lot, in fact, that I think we have established that a couple of mouthfuls from your man every week, or every a day, is not going to tip your intake of anything out of balance, and it isn’t really going to help you maintain the recommended levels.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">Which is good, right? A nice neutral snack that won’t ruin your appetite.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">Where things can get interesting is what else can make its way in there. The foods and chemicals that he ingest will be in the cum. If he eats garlic, you’ll know about it. To much alcohol... yes. Pineapple... yum. And so on. A healthy regimen of Vitamin C can transform the entire experience into a smorgasbord of delight, and whenever you read an article about how a guy can make his cum taste good, those are the things you will learn.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">However, how much other stuff... bad stuff... can also be lurking in his love juice? That is what we’re concerned with here.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">There are a few things to think about, though. This article is concerned only with the quality of the sperm, as opposed to the manifold chemicals that can diminish its fertility. However, you can bet that if the bisphenol-A (BPA), which coats cash register receipts and canned food packaging, has been <a class="url" href="http://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2011/03/08/7-surprising-sperm-killers-that-could-leave-men-shooting-blanks.aspx" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">proven</a> to reduce sperm count, then it’s also going to be rattling around in the fluid itself.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">If aspartame and other artificial sweeteners can contribute to erectile dysfunction, they can influence the make-up of his cum, too.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">We avoid phthalates in the manufacturing of our sex toys, and hopefully in our hygiene products, too. However, they could also be in <em class="em" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">his</em> shampoo, his soaps, and in vinyl shower curtains. This means that they wash down every time he bathes, entering his system, and entering you.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">This means that no matter how religiously you check the labels of your food, furniture and household items, you need to be checking his items as well.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">Of course, if the quantities of what <em class="em" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">ought</em> to be in his sperm are so minute as to make very little difference to your dietary requirements, the amounts of what you want to avoid are going to be even tinier. If you’re allergic to peanuts, you will not go into anaphylactic shock because he ate a handful at the bar. Well, not unless you’re trying to draw your entire daily calcium intake out of him at the time. My allergy to aspartame will also not be triggered, no matter how much seltzer he keeps on drinking.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">It is true that trace amounts are only trace amounts until they’ve built up in your system. It's true, too, that even the world’s healthiest appetite for sperm, however it enters your body (because vaginal sex absorbs it efficiently, and anal is like a direct shot to the gut), has never been scientifically linked to either allergic reactions or any other dietary health risk. (Unless, of course, you’re allergic to the sperm itself, which does happen.)</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">Even the heaviest tobacco user is not going to pass on secondhand smoke through his sperm, no matter how much it tastes like it. You cannot get drunk on a drinker’s cum, and you can’t get high from a junkie’s jizz.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">What you can do, though, is remember that all the harmful little additives and effects that you try to rule out of your own diet are ones that your partner should be avoiding as well. Not because you want him to taste better, but because you want him to live better. So yes, I remain very fussy about what I put in my mouth; and I’m pleased to report that, disease and poor hygiene notwithstanding, cum is one of the safest of them all.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">Let’s make sure it stays that way.</span></div>
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</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-13922304974878635832013-04-29T09:03:00.000-07:002015-12-23T08:23:44.128-08:00The Rise of Modern Sextremism<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-19yz38ExEKY/UXVfUA7aRII/AAAAAAAAINQ/TVZi4RVAwC4/s1600/6832.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: red;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-19yz38ExEKY/UXVfUA7aRII/AAAAAAAAINQ/TVZi4RVAwC4/s320/6832.jpg" width="177" /></span></a></div>
<span style="color: red;">Although it has minimal presence in the US and the UK, FEMEN is one of the fastest growing feminist activist groups in the world. One whose activities, although even many feminists disagree with them, have raised the international movement’s profile to staggering new heights.</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">My Body, My Rules</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">You have probably seen the photos on the news. Small groups and large crowds of topless and genuinely beautiful women, marching in support of a range of causes, with their own flesh deployed as placards. A peaceful protest rendered visceral and violent not through actions, but through words. Phrases such as “My Body My Rules,” “Fuck Your Morals” and “Breasts Rule The World” may seem no more than coarse platitudes on paper. But painted on human flesh and thrust in the faces of those people - Presidents and police, religious leaders and bigots of all persuasion - who need to hear them the loudest, then they become more than mere manifesto. They become rallying calls that are heard across the planet. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">FEMEN started life in the Ukraine in 2008 (it celebrated its birthday a little over a week ago, on April 10), founded in response to the growing, and seemingly unstoppable international trade in Ukrainian women... the so-called Russian Brides, so beloved by male/mail order perverts everywhere. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">Since that time, sister organizations have sprung up in countries around the world and have earned a small forest’s worth of headlines too. Their support of the jailed members of the Pussy Riot group probably brought them the most attention in the west, after FEMEN activist Inna Schevchenko brought down the thirteen foot cross in Kiev’s Freedom Square with a chainsaw. In the outcry that followed, which included both intimidation and death threats, Schevchenko was forced to flee the country; she headed for Paris, where she established FEMEN’s French office. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">It is their propensity for direct action that establishes FEMEN as a very different and new face of feminist activism. Believing (and it sometimes feels hard to disagree) that the time for passive protest long ago ended, FEMEN are more akin to the Suffragette movements that brought votes and rights to women in this country, back during our great-grandmother’s day. In fact, I like to think my own great-grandmother, herself a staunch supporter during those heroic days, would approve of FEMEN’s methods - if not necessarily their choice of costuming. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">FEMEN stand loudly and vociferously against any institutionalized movement that acts against women’s rights. They have a lot of targets: Elements of Islam and Sharia law, and the patriarchal practices that still shape many western religions; The anti-abortion and anti-gay movements; The sex trade and certain aspects of the sex industry itself; The hideous torture of female circumcision. All beneath the banner of “unit[ing] young women on the principles of social awareness and activism, intellectual and cultural development," and the worldwide recognition of "the European values of freedom, equality and comprehensive development of a person irrespective of the gender." </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">All of which is, in the eyes of many, controversial enough. But FEMEN had another trick up its sleeve - one which, with its membership largely comprising young women, was guaranteed to get the cameras flashing. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">Early FEMEN protests saw the activists clad in lingerie and make-up; a rally at the Turkish Embassy in Kiev in 2008 found them wearing nurses uniforms and pink high heels. They dubbed themselves “sextremists” and saw their caricature of elemental male fantasies as one means of drawing attention to themselves. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">It worked, too. But not as well as Oksana Shachko’s decision to go topless when FEMEN appeared at Kiev’s independence day celebrations in 2009. Since that time, toplessness has become firmly established as FEMEN’s weapon of choice, with slogans daubed and painted across the torso. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">Not everybody gets the point, of course. Visitors to FEMEN’s heavily illustrated Facebook page, for example, and viewers of other media coverage, will see any glimpse of nipple safely covered up - indeed, Facebook resisted allowing FEMEN to even establish a presence on the network for fear that its politics were simply a cover for some kind of strange new pornography. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">FEMEN activists operating within the virtual world of Second Life (the source of the photo at the head of this piece) are likewise warned to ensure that bare breasts are not visible in any area not registered as Adult’s Only. Failure to comply can result in being banned from that area, or even the suspension of your SL account. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">Thankfully, however, the censorship has not spread to FEMEN’s message - those slogans, frequently strongly worded and geared towards grabbing the most attention, often appear in English because that is the language, like it or not, that so much of the free world’s media understands. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">Indeed, much as we might be repulsed by the censorship, still there is a glorious irony in the fact that, though we are not permitted to see female nipples, neither are we prohibited from reading such sentiments as “Fuck Patriarchs” and “Fuck Your Morals” - again expressions that many women, even those who acknowledge that sexism remains a problem in modern society, may not necessarily agree with. But which speak loudly to those of us who do feel that direct action and sextremism has its place in our world. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">And to those who are repulsed by the methods by which foreign governments have cracked down upon women’s attempts to gain equal rights - or even to establish any rights whatsoever. In December 2011, following a FEMEN action outside the former KGB headquarters in Minsk, Belarus, where their hats and fake mustaches parodied the Belarusian president, three of the women were snatched by local security forces, driven to a forest, shaved, stripped and doused in flammable liquid. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">The attackers did not follow through on their threats to then ignite the girls’ bodies. Rather, they drove away, leaving the three young, naked, women alone in the midwinter snows of a midnight forest, miles from anywhere. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">FEMEN remain unbowed. Their methods have not changed, and their insistence that “this is the only way to be heard” is difficult to argue with. True, some women’s organizations have spoken out against FEMEN’s in-your-face approach, arguing that toplessness only contributes to the objectification of women; and it is true, if the organization was staffed only by overweight seniors with saggy breasts and toothless faces, a lot of the editors who currently plaster FEMEN’s photographs across the media would probably not look twice at them. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">But that, surely, is the point. Our bodies are our own; we all agree (I hope!) with that sentiment. And they are ours to employ as we wish, whether we choose to use them to make a point or make a living. A beautiful girl standing topless on the front page of the newspaper will naturally attract the attention of men. But so might the words that are written on her chest and if just a fraction of the viewing public is moved to find out more, then the gesture can only be considered a success. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">Those traditional symbols of protest, placards, chants and marches are all very well, and may once have served a purpose. But, as the Occupy movement (to name but one) has sadly discovered in recent years, more often than not they are not enough. In a society where law enforcement demands that the most vociferous protestors must first acquire licenses and permits before they can set foot on the street, the very act of protest has been diminished. FEMEN believe that it is only by abandoning such self-castrating niceties that any real point can be made. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">“If we staged simple protests with banners,” they say, “then our claims would not have been noticed." Or, to put it bluntly, people rarely stop to look at banners. They do stop to look at bare breasts, and although it is unspoken, surely another major element in FEMEN’s struggle is precisely that. When is society going to stop regarding a woman’s breasts as so inherently pornographic that we have to cover them up to avoid corrupting every poor soul who is forced to look at them? My own boobs aren’t big, but I think they’re kinda pretty. I’m sure you feel the same way about yours’. How many hapless strangers have your nipples condemned to the slippery slopes of hellish degradation? </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">The approach is working, too. Yes, the sex trade is alive and well, despite sundry well-meaning attempts to rein it in. Yes, women’s rights are regarded as absolutely wrong in far more countries than actually support them. Yes, religion continues to keep women down, and so do politics, culture and bullies. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">But when Amina Tyler disappeared... a Tunisian activisit who appeared on FEMEN’s website with the words "I own my body; it's not the source of anyone's honor" written in Arabic across her bare chest... it was not her country’s media who informed the world of her disappearance. It was not Tunisian law enforcement who moved heaven and earth to discover her whereabouts; nor, following her escape from imprisonment by her own family just last week, was it the Tunisian government who hustled her into safe keeping, a refuge in which she could no longer be beaten, drugged and lectured about morality. It was FEMEN. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">As Inna Shevchenko said following Tyler’s escape from captivity, "Amina has became a symbol of liberation of women in the Arab world.” Again, that is a role that we in the west cannot help but admire, even if we do not fully understand all that it entails. The phrase "Topless Jihad" has now entered our language, and it will remain there until it is no longer required. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">FEMEN’s other most recent coup, of course, was the sequence of photographs taken on April 8 in Hanover, Germany, when five activists ambushed Russian President Putin and German Chancellor Angela Merkel, their bodies daubed (in English and Cyrillic) with sentiments that included the very pointed “Fuck Dictator.” No matter how much of the ensuing news coverage seemed more interested in the expression on Putin’s face... which, in the face of five pairs of nubile breasts, really did look as though all of his Christmases had come at once. The message was put across regardless. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">FEMEN is not to every woman’s tastes, and it is certainly not a movement that either governmental or law enforcement agencies are likely ever to tolerate. Regardless of whether or not we agree with the laws and practices against which FEMEN fights, particularly those that would have no place in our own society, the fact remains that much of FEMEN’s activism is illegal, and there are those among us who would argue that no law should ever be broken, no matter how repressive, irrelevant or just plain stupid it may be. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">All of which is true. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">But as our own Suffragettes proved a hundred years ago, and the abolitionists before them, laws and customs that need to be changed should be changed. Particularly if, by changing them, you will improve the lives of countless people. And if the only way to make certain they are changed is by breaking a handful of others, then they all should be shattered into a million pieces.</span><br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-19588676362275423262013-04-28T09:01:00.000-07:002015-12-23T08:24:50.477-08:00Making Friends With A Fleshlight<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6g5GppkwI3k/UXVe3lh0ITI/AAAAAAAAINI/rCPE0hOHt7A/s1600/300x225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: red;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6g5GppkwI3k/UXVe3lh0ITI/AAAAAAAAINI/rCPE0hOHt7A/s1600/300x225.jpg" /></span></a></div>
<span style="color: red;">Many guys enjoy watching their partner playing with her favorite toys. One woman reports on watching her partner playing with his.</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">I have to confess, when my boyfriend announced he’d just mail-ordered a Fleshlight, my initial thought was “why? When you have the real thing right here? But I kept it to myself, of course, because anything I said might well lead to a discussion of my own substantial toy collection... and how do you tell the man you love that sometimes, a girl just needs to be stretchhhhhhhhed? </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">I didn’t mention my other concern either; memories of the boyfriend who confided that once, as a horny teen with no lover to go to, he bought a loaf of unsliced bread, cut a hole in it and... </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">You don’t need the details, do you? I certainly didn’t, although I got them. What I’m saying is, if my man is going to stick his dick into a soft, dark hole, then it needs to be one that is intimately connected to me. Loaves of bread, blow-up dollies, tin cans... no. No, no, no. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">I went online and found a few other things to worry about. Would he just pick up a “regular” one? Or go the whole hog and put out for one sculpted from the pussy of a porn star? Would he give it a name, and why would he choose whichever one he decided upon? I’m not a jealous person, or so I’ve always believed. But suddenly, irrationally, I found myself positively hating the package-in-the-post, and I hadn’t even met her yet! </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">Her! Oh my god, even I’m doing it! </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">She arrived and he didn’t say a word. The advantage of not living with your boyfriend is, you don’t have to put up with his less savory habits. The disadvantage is, you don’t always know everything that’s going on in his life. I wasn’t going to ask, either. I didn’t want to know. (Yes I did, yes I did. Desperately. But I wasn’t going to admit it, even to myself.) </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">There’s another reason why I don’t like these things. Because some sights are too good to hide, and I love to watch a man stroking himself. Maybe I’m helping with kisses and nibbles, maybe I’m not. Maybe he’s going to jerk off on my tits. Maybe he’s going to spray his cum elsewhere. Or maybe he’s just doing it, because I asked him to. Whatever; I like to watch. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">But I want to watch his hand around his cock. Not around a tube. I haven’t met her and I hope I never do. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">She was in his bedroom when I went round one night. Sitting on his bedside table, large as life and luscious as you please. She was slimmer than I expected... skinny bitch! Now I hate her even more. Her flesh was an even, soft, sexy pink. Her lips were slightly parted in voluptuous invitation.... She looked like a can of beer. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">Typical. Beer and booty, the boy’s best buddies. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">And she was still dressed! He’d opened the box and doubtless inspected its contents. But she was still in her packaging, and the packaging was unopened. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">“I was wondering whether you’d like to help me inaugurate it?” he asked with the shit-eating grin that he normally reserved for some of my baser suggestions. At the same time sounding like a small town Mayor, inviting his deputy along to open a new library. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">She was still in my hand and I was tugging at the packaging. “May I?” </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">He nodded and I was the one who peeled off her plastic. I was the one who gripped her first. I was the one who squeezed in the drop of lubricant that the instructions recommended. And I was the one who slipped him into what the packaging very unappealingly calls “the penis sleeve” - digression, and I’m sorry. But a girlfriend once knitted a sweater, pink with darker flared cuffs. That, the friends who saw it declared, was a penis sleeve. This was more like a penis pocket. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">But he slipped in and I watched his face for any tell-tale sign of the “the best feeling on earth.” There was a faint petroleum-y smell in the air, which I guess was expelled from the pocket when he entered it, but neither of us mentioned it. Then he took the can in one hand and began.... </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">After a while, I raised a hand to help, and his dropped away and I worked it alone. Not the most sexually arousing sensation I have ever had... for a moment, I wondered if this is how milkmaids used to feel, tugging the teats of an overfull udder. It dawned on me that if a guy’s in the mood, you can jerk him off with anything. (Hey babe, I just picked up a new pack of sandpaper.) And he’ll love it. (Ooooh, scratchhhhhyyyyyy!) </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">The Fleshlight was working its magic though, and when my pace flagged, he took over. His eyes were on mine as his fist began to blur, and again you don’t need to know the details. But once it was over and he handed it back to me, I’ll admit I couldn’t resist slipping a finger into the pocket, feeling his moisture and heat as it clung to the sides, and the sticky warmth that was pooling there as well. I withdrew my finger, sniffed and tasted. The petroleum smell was still there, of course, but the smell of man overpowered it; and, while my own curiosity was now firmly assuaged, it struck me that there’s a whole bunch of possible cum games here that some people might have a great time playing. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">He named her Felicity... Felicity Fleshlight, of course. A good neutral, flippant name that it was difficult for me to object to. He washed her and put her lid back on, and debated letting her live in the fridge, in the hope of shocking those beer buddies, who drain his beer stash every time they come round for the football and basketball. I wondered whether that... the fridge, not the shocked beer buddies... might add to the sensations that Felicity could convey, an icy shiver from top to toe. Well, he likes it when I break out the ice cubes, and likes them even more when I have one in my mouth. We talked about trying that out some other time. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">We haven’t yet, though, and I’m beginning to wonder whether the old girl is even still in his life. I’ve not seen her around for a while, and he’s not mentioned her either. It’s almost like this whole episode never happened. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">Except for one thing. He’s become a lot more interested in my toy collection. How they work, what they do, how they feel... and you remember what I said at the beginning of this piece, how sometimes a girl just needs to be stretchhhhhhhhed? </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">Sometimes, a guy likes to watch her stretchhhhhhhhing, and now it’s me browsing Fleshlights on EdenFantasys, looking for one that isn’t too wide, isn’t too hard; that tapers nicely, that might fit just there. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">It may not work, it might even hurt. But I’m curious to give it a go....</span><br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-23515972301153913032013-04-24T08:57:00.002-07:002013-04-24T08:57:55.305-07:00...Or If Your Husband's Joining In?<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">This is part two... read part one <a href="http://jennyswallows.blogspot.com/2013/04/does-it-count-as-cheating-if-its-still.html">here</a></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The guys, Tommy and Brad and Frank, were coming over this evening. Mark, my husband, had not said another word since that evening when he let on that he may not have slept all the way through our wedding night, and I’d been so busy getting our new home together that I’d scarcely had time to think about it, either.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But now, with the clock defiantly clicking down the last six or seven hours before the threesome arrived for some Monday Night Football, I was definitely getting nervous. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">That night, our wedding night, had been a one-off. I was horny, they were there, Mark was unconscious. End of story. At the same time, though... my girlfriends and I don’t have many secrets from each other, and not one of them has ever mentioned fucking and sucking three guys at once. So I also felt kinda proud of myself, and so long as Mark, if he knew, didn’t get weird about it, well no harm, no foul.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">A van pulled up outside and I stood up from the couch where I’d been polishing some silverware. Mark had invested in a wide screen TV ... and I mean wide! It devoured half the wall in our living room... and the cable company was here to set it up. I had a list of questions I was supposed to ask, and another sheet of paper to write the answers down on. I opened the front door, waited while the engineer collected his tools and paperwork, then stood aside to let him in.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">We chatted cheerfully. One thing about cable guys that I’ve always noticed. They’re friendly. Some of the people you invite into your home in order to get something fixed or serviced can be utter miseries, dragging a black cloud of their own job dissatisfaction around, and making you wish you had the time to learn plumbing, electrical work and furnace maintenance yourself, just so you never had to see their sad little faces. But cable guys, they come bouncing in, all excited about whatever equipment they’re installing, full of geek talk delight at things they’ve never seen before, and this one... “hi, I’m Terry”... was no different.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I led him into the living room; then, because it felt a little rude to just plop back onto the sofa, I settled myself on the floor to watch him work and continue with my polishing. And it was only after I’d caught him glance curiously over two or three times that I realized... oh my god.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Mark, my husband, likes having his cock sucked. Of course he does, he’s a guy. But he especially likes it if I kneel on the floor, my legs parted wide enough for him to slip a foot between them, while I look up into his face and angle his cock down.... Well, that’s how I was positioned now. Without the cock, of course. But the open legs, the upturned face, wide-eyed and waiting... I think I flushed crimson, and I drew my legs closed, then buried myself in my silverware. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">My questions were answered, the responses noted down, the screen was installed. Terry handed me the remote control and standing beside me... for some reason, I remained on my knees... guided me through its operation. His hands were firm but gentle when they brushed against mine as he pointed out the buttons, but I don’t think he noticed as I turned to say something and my cheek brushed the warmth of his pants. Or maybe he did, because suddenly we were frozen, Terry standing, me still kneeling, legs slightly parted, face turned up towards him....</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Twenty, thirty seconds passed. Neither of us spoke, neither of us moved. And the longer it lasted, the more I knew. Both of us were thinking exactly the same thing. And both of us were too damned chicken shit to speak. Finally I broke the spell, stood, and thanked him for everything. He gave me a few sheets of paperwork to sign, gathered his things and left.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Get a grip, woman.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I finished the silverware and dragged out the vacuum, and was just bending over to plug it in when the phone rang.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Sorry to disturb you ma’am, this is Terry... I was at your house a while ago...”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Yes, I remember.” I laughed. “Is there a problem?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“I think I may have left a tool behind.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Not a screwdriver, not a wrench, a tool. Which meant either he just naturally assumed that I wouldn’t know the actual names of individual tools (which is generally true) or....</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">My god, you’ve got cocks on the mind today.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“I don’t see it,” I answered, keeping my voice very level. “Could you tell me what it looks like?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Well...” there was a pause and then the description tumbled out. “It’s about eight inches long. Maybe a shade under. It’s fairly thick....” </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And I expect it’s pink, hard, and very good for greasing tight, dark holes. “I’m not seeing it,” I replied innocently. “But if you want to swing by again, we can look for it together.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“See you in five.” He made it in three.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">There are three types of cock in this world. There’s the ones that are so fat you can’t get your mouth round them. There’s the ones that are so thin you can suck them like a popsicle. And there’s the ones in the middle which, as Goldilocks would say, are just right. Terry’s, which I had in my hand almost before he’d closed the front door behind him, was somewhere between “just right” and “too fat,” but it wasn’t the size of the thing that impressed me. It was the river of pre-cum that was almost dripping from the tip, which had greased his helmet and soaked his briefs. He looked a little comical, leaning against the dark wood front door, his pants in a bundle round his still-booted feet, and his blue and white spotted briefs dark and damp around his balls. But I assumed “the position,” as Mark and I called it, and ran an inquiring tongue up from his balls to the tip.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Some women, I know, are a little freaked by pre-cum. I love it. I love the way it feels on my tongue, thick and sticky, warm. I love the way it tastes, and always smile sympathetically at the people who say it doesn’t taste or smell of anything. Because it does. It tastes of sex. It tastes of man. It tastes of the delights that are just a few moments away, when you engulf the tip of his cock for the first time, your jaw has that moment where it adjusts to his size, and then you start to weave your magic.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Fat cocks, the best you can do is bob your head, letting your lips fuck his shaft. Thinner ones, you can suck while your tongue does little dances against the flesh on the underside of the shaft. Like I said, Terry fell somewhere between the two, so my actions had no choice but to follow suit. But the more I relaxed, the more I could take, and when I closed my teeth on his shaft, just an inch from the root, he cried out with so much delight that I knew that the end was just moments away.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">You know right before a guy cums... the sperm is probably already rushing up his shaft, the first jolts of pleasure are already rocking his world... right then, there’s a moment when his entire body freezes, goes as rigid and stiff as his cock. His cock itself swells, you feel it growing in your mouth. It’s nature’s way of warning you that your mouth is about to be filled with cum. It is also the greatest moment on earth. I love it and, at that precise moment, I loved Terry’s cock as well because a flash that is normally done in mere seconds seemed to last forever.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He was poised on the edge of cumming, I was poised on the edge of a mouthful... and we froze like that. I didn’t time it, I can’t say he broke records. Maybe time just slowed down, or even came to a halt. But we hung on the edge of everything we wanted for so long that when he did finally cum, both of us cried out in relief, Terry loud and open-mouthed, me with a roar that started and ended in my fast-filling throat, and I was swallowing and laughing at the same time, as he stumbled back and his cock plopped free, still spraying cum over my face, for me to try and catch in my smiling, open mouth....</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Then I pulled up his trousers, kissed his cock one more time, and looked towards the living room. “I guess we’d better look for your tool. Or did it turn up again?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He laughed. “I think I’m okay.” He stooped to kiss me. “Better get on. I have five more calls before I finish for the day.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Hope they go as well as this one,” I said, and he was off.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">#####</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The house was tidy, the TV was on. I’d showered and changed, there was beer in the fridge, and the dining table groaned beneath the finger food and snacks I’d laid out. Mark was home, as promised, about half an hour early, which gave him a chance to shower and unwind before the place filled up with his buddies. Oh, and check out the TV as well, delightedly running through every channel, marveling loudly at the clarity and color, wishing we’d invested in HD before, and wondering aloud what porn would look like. “Disgusting,” I told him. “Every zit, scratch and razor burn lit up by studio lights, little crumbs of knob cheese all taking their bow... yuk. I’d rather watch the real thing.” And the look he flashed when I said that brought my nerves all tumbling back into focus. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">This would be the first time I’d seen the guys since our wedding night. The first time I’d spoken to them since my mouth and pussy were full of their cum. I wondered if what happened would make a difference in the way we behaved around one another. I had a feeling that Mark had seen it all. Did they suspect that as well? Maybe they’d even talked about it. Maybe... and for the hundredth time today and the millionth since this evening was first planned, I remembered the only thing that Mark had said that made me think this night might not be a normal one.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Suck my cock like the filthy little slut you are,” he’d whispered. “Suck it and swallow my red hot cum. And if I don’t hear you choking on every drop, then maybe I’ll call the guys over, and we’ll drown you with all the cum we have.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The guys. Tommy, Brad and Frank.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Who would be arriving....</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Knock knock.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Now.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I have always prided myself on being the perfect hostess. Even as a little girl, when my parents had friends to visit, I loved nothing so much as running back and forth, refreshing drinks and fetching ashtrays, circulating with a plate of snacks to hand around, and tonight I was no different. I could hear an empty beer can being placed on a carpet from the other room, and I was always ready to replace it with a freshly cracked full one, straight out of the fridge. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I emptied the ashtrays when they started to fill, I had a constant stream of chips and nachos flowing from plate to mouth, and even when the guys were so locked inside the excitement of the game, I didn’t flag for a moment. And when it was over, and Mark suggested pizza, I already had a pen and paper, ready to take their orders, and a menu from the take-out joint in case anyone needed some prompting.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But Mark laughed. “Actually, I thought we would make our own,” he said, and my mind started flashing through the contents of the larder. Pizza dough - yes. Mozarella - yes. Sauce - yes. There was about a dozen choices of toppings that I was sure I could rustle up... and then Mark spoke again, looking into my eyes with a smile, and then barking, “assume the position.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">His head nodded to the space between the TV and the couch where he and Brad were sprawled. To my right, Frank was in one armchair, to my left, Tommy was in the other. Mark took up the remote control and dialed up a PPV porno channel; I couldn’t see the screen, but the surround sound left me in no doubt about what it was.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I was dressed, but Mark was alongside me now, unbuttoning my blouse, taking down my hair. Suddenly I was topless, and his hands were on my knees, pulling them further apart. His fingers slipped between them and I gasped. “Good girl,” he whispered; just before the game started, he’d asked me to slip to the bathroom and remove my panties., and I was glad I had. My pussy started flooding the moment he told me to kneel. They’d have been soaked through (again! I suddenly remembered my romp with Terry) already.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I had the distinct impression that they’d played this game before.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Back when I was in college, there’d been rumors that some of the boys (not Mark - he attended a different school in a different town) used to play it as well. The kneeling girl, the gang of guys... these days, we call it bukake and people pay big money to watch or even participate. There are world records to be broken and prizes to be won. Back then it was called pizza, and the girl was the crust. Who would be covered in cum, as a nice cheesy topping, then decorated with anything else that came to hand... and then invited to lick herself clean.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I’d never played it, I’m not sure I’d ever believed it. But here it was. Here I was.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">This is going to be fun.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I was expecting the guys to start jerking themselves off. They didn’t. Mark was already deep in my mouth, holding my head with gentle hands while his prick slipped in and out of my lips. Brad to my left wrapped my fist around his meat, Tommy to my right did the same. I glanced up at Frank, the only one of the three who I couldn’t feel. His cock was still soft and my heart went out to him... I pushed Mark away for a moment, then raised myself off the ground. “Come here.” I tugged off my skirt.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Frank stepped over, lay down. I knelt again, my dripping cunt over his face and gasped as I felt his mouth close over it. I love to have my pussy licked, but I especially love it when I’m swimming in juice. I could hear him swallowing.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Holding Mark at bay, I bent forward, took Frank’s still soft penis in my hand and licked it. It twitched and I licked it again, then opened my mouth and popped him in. I once read somewhere, or maybe someone told me, that a lot of time when you see a girl deep throating in a porn vid, she’s actually just sucking on a very soft cock. It looks the same from the outside, and apparently feels pretty good for the guy.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">It did for Frank. I could feel him unfolding in the depths of my mouth, heating up and growing hard. Already he was growing too big to hold onto, and I wished we’d set up a mirror someplace, so I could watch that lovely cock as it pulled its thickness <i>out</i> of my jaws. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Mark was rubbing cock on my face, and I raised my head, leaving Frank’s for a moment, and gave it a loving suckle. Then turned to the others and sucked them as well. It was amazing just how different each cock felt, each cock tasted. Amazing and irresistible. Frank was sucking my cunt like there was no tomorrow, and I shifted my position slightly, raised my ass to fuck his face back. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Mark moved. Brad was in my mouth now, moaning as I slobbered over his fat purple cock tip, and then I choked as he pushed himself in as deep as he could, at the same time as I felt Mark bend down behind me and jam his prick into my pussy, doggy style.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I heard Frank gasp, and wondered what he would do. Then his tongue was back on my labia, but it wasn’t just me he was licking. Mark’s prick was slipping in and out of me and, in my mind, I imagined Frank licking that cock just as avidly as he was licking my cunt, maybe even taking my husband’s balls into his mouth... and that was the image that blasted my first orgasm through me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I don’t even know who I was sucking on when it happened, just that I cried out with glory as the waves blasted through me, and the cock in my mouth responded in kind, blasting its cum in thick waves down my throat, then pulling out to splatter my face and tits with more.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I looked up. Brad. Then turned as Tommy let his own spunk fly, wet and sharp against my skin as I reached to pull him into my mouth and slurp the rest out as he emptied his balls. Mark was still fucking me, harder and harder, slapping my raised ass. I could feel Frank’s tongue and mouth still working, sucking at me, sucking at Mark. How amazing did it feel for him, his mouth at the closest quarters to a fuck that felt like it had lasted forever... but not for much longer. I dipped my head and took Frank in my mouth, feeling the other men’s cum dripping off my face and tits to splash slow and sticky on Frank’s bare skin. I released his cock for a moment and licked him clean. Then jammed Frank back into my mouth, a second sense telling me what was about to happen.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Mark came, cried out loud, ramming me as his jizz slammed my guts. Frank came at the same time, filling my throat so I was stuffed at both ends. I couldn’t keep my balance, I tumbled and landed on my side beside him, in time to see his hand reach up, grasp Mark’s cock and pull it into his mouth. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Mark didn’t care, he just fucked his buddy’s face, draining out his last drops of cum. Frank’s cock was spasming, his cum still flying. Brad and Tommy were watching in amazement and I just lay there, glorying in the moment, my body dripping four men’s cum, my pussy still pouring, my legs wide open. I barely even registered the movement beside me as Tommy knelt and put his face between my thighs, sucking at my cum soaked cunt. But I came again, with my legs wrapped tight around his neck, and when Brad stepped over I grasped his softness and squeezed out a final few drops of cum onto Tommy’s ass from where I licked them off.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">We lay, we laughed, we dressed, they left. And Mark was sitting silent, watching me with a smile.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“You’re such a fucking slut,” he said.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“You’re not much better yourself,” I replied.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Then we both burst out laughing. “And as for Frank,” I said between gasps, “he’s the biggest fucking slut of us all.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Mark chuckled. “He’s not a bad cock sucker, either. Next time, we should let Brad and Tommy have a go.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">We stood up. It was time for bed, time for sleep. But I knew I wouldn’t get much rest. Yes, I was exhausted; yes, my body ached. But Mark had said “next time,” which meant there’d be a repeat. And he’d also noticed that the DVR wasn’t working as it should, and asked me to call the cable guy back.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I’d do it first thing in the morning.</span></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-77488674367283231622013-04-23T10:35:00.000-07:002013-04-23T10:51:46.649-07:00Pumping Iron, Pumping Cum<br />
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’ll tell you the truth, but I never thought of myself as a slut wife until I started reading some of the adventures on the <a href="http://eroticstories.com/">Erotic Stories</a> website. To be honest, it’s not even a word I like - well, not unless it’s my husband calling me that, which is something he really doesn’t do too often. Except when I deserve it, of course.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Like last week. I was sucking on his fat, delicious cock and he was taking way too long to cum. So I stopped sucking and just started jerking him in one hand, while my mouth went down to his asshole, and started licking and sucking him there. I could tell he was really into it, too, so my tongue started probing as deep as it could go, then I stopped and told him in my hungriest voice, “I don’t care if you shit, piss or cum. But I want something out of you now.” And he came so hard and fast I almost broke his dick off angling it to my mouth, and I almost choked on everything he was pumping out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Yeah, he called me a slut after that, and I kissed him and told him that’s why he loved me. But I’d never thought of myself as a slut. Not till I started reading those stories, and recognizing myself in way more than I expected.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I like cock. Actually, I love cock. Always have, ever since I first heard about them back at school, and more every time I learned something new about them. By the time I met my husband, I don’t know how many dicks I’d sucked, or how much cum I’d swallowed. But hey, I was young and enjoying myself. And who keeps score of that?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My husband does his best, and I love that man to bits. But even he gets tired every so often, and one night while we were lying in bed, he... okay, he didn’t actually come out and say that if I wanted to have some fun elsewhere, it was fine. But he didn’t <i>not</i> say it either. Just so long as I was careful, just so long as I was subtle. He didn’t want to hear about everything I did, he said, although occasionally in the months that followed, he’d ask me what I’d done that day, usually after coming home before I’d cleaned my teeth, and catching a whiff of cum breath when I turned to say hello.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So I’d tell him, usually while I enjoyed an encore performance with his dick between my lips, holding it like a microphone and rapping my adventures to a rapt and rapturous audience. And before you say white chicks can’t rap, don’t be too sure of that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Anyway, I was the gym last Thursday when Spike walked in. It’s not his real name; I don’t know what that is, and I don’t know if he’s aware that that’s what people call him. It’s his hair, you see. Up in a punky mohican, sprayed livid purple to match the amethyst piercings in his ears. He’s hot and he’s fit... nineteen or twenty years old, which drops him to almost exactly half of my thirty-nine, and when he strips down to his shorts and tee, he doesn’t leave much to the imagination.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He’s buff, he’s broad, he’s bronzed, he’s beautiful. And I’ve caught him watching me when I’m on the machines, pausing in his own exertions to catch a glimpse of long-legged milf. I started dressing for him too, switching out my usual work-out clothes for a tighter top with a lower cut, and bikini briefs that were even briefer than that. Admiring myself in the mirror when I bought them, I spotted a suggestion of camel toe, but it’s only other women who ever make remarks about that. Guys see your pussy lips sucking at the fabric and the only thing going through their mind is - lucky fabric.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’d been working out for almost forty-five minutes when Spike walked in today, which meant the sweat stains were soaking through all the right places, and my whole body was glistening with the sheen of honest exertion. He nodded to me as he walked past my machine, and paused for a moment to watch. Or maybe to show himself off.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He’d obviously been shopping for new work-out clothes, too. A vest that almost made me look modest, and a pair of shorts that could have been a thong for all they covered up. My eyes met his then traveled down his bod, knowing he was following them as they inched down towards his groin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Looking good,” I murmured, then looked back to his face. It was a standard greeting at the gym, just something we all said to the people we knew when we clocked the work they’d put in on their bods. But he knew what I meant regardless of that, and his hands moved down to the waistline of his briefs, hooking thumbs between elastic and the smooth flesh of his abdomen, and tugging them down just a fraction of an inch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I must have licked my lips because he was smiling wide now, pulling the briefs away from his body and glancing down into the gap. I couldn’t see a thing, of course, but I have a good imagination and I felt my pussy lurch a little as the imagery flooded into my mind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’m not one of those women who subscribes to the widespread belief that a guy is past his sexual prime once he leaves his early twenties. I’ve known too many older men who turn that into a joke... Sven, who came to fix a household appliance, and wound up fucking me over the dryer. MIke, up from Louisiana and up my ass faster than I could correctly spell “Mississippi.” A trucker whose name I don’t think I ever caught, but who will always be the Road King when I think of long distance blowjobs. Greg... Lee... Willy... and D, who introduced himself as Mr Deviant one day, and never deviated from that description all evening.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">None of whom I’d describe as being the young studs of some women’s dreams. But what they lacked in youth, they made up for with meat. So Spike was... not unknown territory to me. But I’d never really worried about catching them young. Right now, I was beginning to reconsider.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He’d released his briefs and his arms were by his sides. But he’d shunted them down a little more when he let go, and I could see his cock stirring through the deep red of the cloth. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Looking good yourself,” he said, and an accent I’d never noticed, southern with just a hint of prep school WASPyness made my heart pound harder. He peeled off his vest and I saw his tattoo... I know he had one because I’d caught a glimpse one day while he was lifting weights, and his shirt rose up an inch or two. Now the whole thing was bared to me, a pretty brunette standing from his waistline to his breast bone, her body bound in police incident tape, her head tilted back, her lips sightly parted, and her eyes closed what looked to me like the first stirrings of an orgasm.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Nice tat.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Thanks.” He stepped away, over to the bench where the weights were already waiting in place. Maybe ten feet away, and raised just enough that as he lay back I could see his chest muscles ripple.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I could also see his cock, rising thick beneath the briefs, fat against the flat of the rest of his lower body.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He started work, raising the weights, first with one arm, then the other, and then with both together. I kept my own pace up as well, and though I knew from his angle that he couldn’t see me, I made sure he could hear me, exhaling loudly as I pounded my machine, allowing my voice to catch in each exhalation, a gasp, an “aaah,” a moan, a cry. Normally I hate it when you hear a woman working out, like if it’s that painful, sister, you’re doing it wrong. But the gym was empty apart from us two, and I knew it was likely to stay that way. A skeleton staff would be at the front desk, and no-one else came at this time of day. No-one, that is, apart from Spike.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">His cock was hardening. I could see it moving behind the cloth, shifting, raising, as he worked out. Growing. My cunt was so wet it was almost screaming out to him, and I glanced at the stop clock on the dashboard of the machine. Another three minutes and I’d move to the next one. Another two minutes thirty. Another two. Ninety seconds. Sixty. Thirty.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I stepped off and looked around. Nobody here and the blinds to the street were still drawn against the morning sun. I walked over to where Spike was holding a pose, two weights poised above his head, his muscles taut, his sweat a hot aroma that clung to my nostrils. I crouched beside him and his head turned towards me, his eyes deep and serious but his lips creased in a smile.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Hi.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Hi.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Are you done for the day?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I didn’t reply for a moment or two. “It depends.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“On what?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I ran a fingertip down the length of his tattoo. “A friend of yours?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Could be.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“She looks hot.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“She is.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’d thrown a double-meaning at him, and he threw it right back at me. A smart guy. She did look hot, drenched in sweat, while the muscles that she was inked upon lay taut and tight beneath her. His body felt like an oven and, shifting my weight as I crouched there, I blew gently onto his stomach.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Maybe we should cool her down a little,” I said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Maybe we should,” he shot back and I saw his briefs start to tent as his cock reached full strength.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I touched the tattooed area again, then traced my fingertip downwards, poising just above where his briefs were stretching so beautifully airborne. He was still pumping iron but his eyes did not leave mine. Daring me to hit back with a comment of my own? Daring my finger to descend a little further? Daring me to do anything that would break the silent frieze in which I’d suddenly taken a role.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I took the dare.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I took the waistband of his briefs, and began to tug down.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">His cock rose to meet me. Longer than I’d expected, thicker than my husband’s. Full blooded and straight, with a vein that throbbed visibly as I gazed down upon it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I didn’t touch, and he didn’t speak. So I leaned forward and let my tongue trace his tummy, tasting the sweet stickiness of his sweat. I heard him exhale and maybe he wavered, lowering the weights just a little as my tongue began to circle, short dashes at first, but widening their arc, till my face brushed so close to the raised tip of his prick that I could feel its burning heat on my cheek.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’ll say this for Spike. He was good. He was patient.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And he was mine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">One hand freed his cock and balls from his briefs, the other one held his prick firm and upright. And then my mouth closed over his helmet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">For a moment, I froze. I’ve only ever met a couple of guys whose cocks were too big to fit in my mouth, and though I brought them both off with lips, teeth and tongue, I remembered the frustration at not being able to take them deep in my throat. Was Spike going to be another one of those?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Yes... yes... no. My jaw relaxed around his thickness, and I realized I’d been holding my entire body taut since the moment I crouched down beside him. As I let out the tension, so the tension let me go, and the thick meaty head was tart in my mouth, tangy with perspiration and wet with pre-cum too. I closed my teeth just below the head and sucked, feeling my cheeks fold in to my mouth, and feeling Spike’s body grow tighter beneath me.</span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p0kCWP75ymc/UXbGCDaluII/AAAAAAAAIOw/KuJTwJ72Jj4/s1600/set133_bl_blowjob_gym_p_07_0012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p0kCWP75ymc/UXbGCDaluII/AAAAAAAAIOw/KuJTwJ72Jj4/s1600/set133_bl_blowjob_gym_p_07_0012.jpg" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I wondered if he was still holding the weights up, then a hand in my hair let me know that he wasn’t. Not with both arms, anyway. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I bobbed, taking as much of his length as I could. The throb of his cock was loud in my head... or was that the sound of my own blood as well, pumping ecstatically as I tasted the boy, my whole body folding up on itself as though every nerve end wanted to meet in my mouth, to share in the glory of that beautiful cock. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He lay still and I started to face fuck him, my mouth like a pussy as it slipped and slid the length of his prick, and his hand in my hair twisting knots of sweet pain. I caressed his balls and felt them tighten in my grip, then staggered back a little because now he was starting to move, starting to rise, shifting determinedly onto his knees and my mouth grip was broken as he took his cock away from me, then told me to lie on the floor.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I obeyed and, still kneeling, he crouched over my chest, holding his hard cock just inches from my face. He was jerking himself now, but dipping his shaft so my greedy lips and tongue could reach out to catch his flavor, suckle his flesh. And then he was cumming, arcing hot spunk, splashing my face and drenching my breasts, harder and heavier than I’d seen a guy cum since... okay, maybe there is something to be said for younger men. They know how to put on a show with their flow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I was drenched. My top was soaked, my face was dripping. I licked what I could off my lips, then ran a hand through the pools that hit my cheeks and chin, and cleaned them off with my tongue as well.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He jerked until his cock had stopped spurting and I pulled him back into my mouth to suck, loving the feeling of the softness returning, relishing the very last drops of cum he fed me. Then as I released him and he moved away, he spoke for the first time since I started to suck.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“You’re married, aren’t you.” It was a statement, not a question.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I nodded.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Does your husband know what a slut you are?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I nodded again. Spike’s cum was drying on my t-shirt. I’d need to get it in to soak soon, if I didn’t want it to stain. And it was as if he read my mind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Wear that shirt when he comes home tonight. Wear it while you’re sucking his cock. And when he comes, make sure he comes all over it as well. Will you do that for me?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I didn’t even need to think. “Yes,” I said softly. Then louder, “fuck, yes.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Do it and I’ll let you suck me off again sometime,” he told me. “And if you’re a really good slut, I might even let you meet with some of the guys I work out with in the evenings.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I swear, I could feel my eyes shining as my face broke out in the wildest smile.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“Oh, I’m already a really good slut. But I’m always glad to find out how to be even better.”</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-13432457392474181382013-04-23T10:12:00.000-07:002015-12-23T08:29:37.358-08:00Don't Just Lie Back...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Eo7cDnPbSRA/UXApuOaBwWI/AAAAAAAAILs/W1i0rWJxMGs/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: red;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Eo7cDnPbSRA/UXApuOaBwWI/AAAAAAAAILs/W1i0rWJxMGs/s1600/images.jpg" /></span></a></div>
<span style="color: red;">You want your man to learn how to eat pussy? First, you should learn how to be eaten.</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">The first time a boyfriend went down on me, it was...okay. The novelty was more of a thrill than the sensations, the experience more exciting than the actuality. I felt his tongue (and his nose, and his lips) and there was a little finger. At one point he bumped my clit. And he made enough happy noises while he nibbled that it didn’t really seem to matter that I did not feel the need to make any sounds myself. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">Yeah, it was okay. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">The second time, too. The third as well. But it was probably around the thirtieth time that I started to wonder, really, is that it? </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">Books and movies insisted it wasn’t. In books, the guy barely needs to breathe on her pussy for her to be orgasming wildly. In the movies...well, in the movies, they’ll explode in ecstasy at the drop of a hat, but the girls still seemed to be having a sense-soaring, mind-blowing, abso-fucking-fan-lutely-tas-tic-lick-me-till-my-tits-fall-off time. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">So why wasn’t I? </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">A lot of girls, I read in learned forums and articles, don’t like cunnilingus because (deep breath) of poor body image...fear that they smell bad...unable to relax...it just feels weird. And others because it’s never done right, which is the cue for a long list of all the Dos and Don’ts of giving your girl the licking of her life. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">All of which are very true. There’s a world of TV commercials and magazine articles that suggest freshness and cleanliness are almost insurmountable issues down there unless we regularly use insert product name here. We might think we’re too fat and tummy rolls are ugly. Or contrarily, too thin, and the ribcage is off-putting. It could be all of these things and a few more besides and, on top of all that, if he’s really trying to start your engine, why is he messing around with the back axle? </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">I put away the magazines and asked some friends instead. They also thought it was “okay.” Apart from a couple who said he’d never done it, and others who said they’d never let him try. One girl waxed rhapsodic on the subject, and we talked about the things that her man did different. I picked up a few tips and broached them the next time the occasion seemed right. He was a fast learner. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">It was okay. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">A few things about me that you may already know if you’ve read anything else I’ve written. I’m not shy of oral sex. I don’t think I have any body image issues. I’m not shy and I know how to relax. Oh, and the first time a guy went down on me after we’d fucked, and sucked his own cum out of me, I came as hard as I ever have. But only the first time. After that...well, it was better than okay, but it still didn’t move mountains. It was the surprise, not the sensations that set me off, I decided, but that’s no way to go through life. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">Then a thought occurred to me. It’s all very well having a guy who knows exactly what he’s doing. But did I know what I was doing? That was the question. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">Back to the books and articles. I’m paraphrasing from memory, so don’t ask me for sources. But “I wrapped my legs around his head and his mouth sent me to heaven.” Yuk. I hate flowery erotica. Hold on, though. If your legs are wrapped around his head (visualize that for a moment), how is he meant to move? Surely his face would just be pressed into you, and you’re frozen like a pair of XXX statues? </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">“His face was streaked with my juices.” Wonderful visual, but once again - how? I thought back to the movies. She lies on her back, he kneels between her legs. The camera closes in on a long probing tongue, and there she goes, howling like a pack of whacked out wolves, though he’s nowhere near her clitoris. Okay, either you can only get a job in porn if you’re super-super sensitive. Or... </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">Or, porn is primarily a visual art (there’s emotional and psychological components too, but we won’t worry about them today) which means the camera loves the acts that offer the most exposure to the eye. It’s why blowjobs are so popular, because there’s nothing more viscerally graphic. It’s also why a lot of other acts are done in ways that you may not think are especially comfortable or even enjoyable. Because it’s the only way the camera can close in upon the action; and just because something looks good on camera, does that mean it has to feel good in reality? </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">Again, fellatio works because all he has to do is lie there, and there’s a lot of cock to work with. Cunnilingus, on the other hand, offers less room to maneuver. It’s delicate work, precision work. And if he’s missing the spot, or the spot’s missing him, then maybe it’s your job to make the introductions? </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">I do not remember the precise sequence of events. I just know that it worked. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">First, a position that was comfortable for us both. My legs hanging over the edge of a chair or the bed, while he knelt on the floor before me. No cricked necks, no bad angles. Just lots of lovely room in which to wriggle. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">A finger that joins his tongue at work...not to guide him, because he knew what he was doing. Just to help things along. Don’t feel embarrassed when you do it, either. Seriously, he won’t be offended or put off. Guys like to watch girls playing with themselves. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">Two fingers stretching your labia wider. It’s amazing how far those little puppies will go, and amazing how great it feels when they do. A lot of guys will part them gently for fear of hurting you or doing you a mischief. But you know when enough is enough and, again, he will thank you for showing him. We know from the mirror just how beautiful a fully spread pussy looks. Now he does as well, and there’s more to eat, too! </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red;">And finally...don’t just lie back and let him do the work. The leg wrapped around his head makes sense, because while he’s doing his thing, you’re doing yours, riding with his movements, bucking your hips. Feeling those fingers jamming you hard. Fucking his face while his mouth fucks you back. Until you reach that point where legs and hands both clamp him close, he’s sucking your clitoris into his mouth, and...and...wow. That was a lot more than okay. That was amazing. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">It doesn’t all happen at once. For a woman who isn’t at all accustomed to moving much during sex, actually pushing your sex into your man’s face is not something that’s going to come easily. Self-imposed barriers need to be broken down first. Decorum needs to be dented. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">There may also be issues of male ego to contend with; no matter how much a man enjoys eating pussy, the most common assumption is that he is pleasing you. We aren’t the only ones who think we only need to lie back and enjoy it. Guys think like that as well, and the idea of his once placid platter suddenly rising up to bang him back could leave him wondering what he’s doing wrong. It’s up to you to let him know that you couldn’t do this without him; that everything he does is spot-on perfect; that this just adds to your fun. And, hopefully, his. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">So yes. There’s a lot of things a guy can do to make receiving oral a magical moment. But there’s a few things that you can be doing as well, and I’ll tell you something else. He won’t be asking in an uncertain voice, “how was that for you?” He will know the answer already.</span><br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-88158757753245419742013-04-22T16:58:00.003-07:002013-04-22T16:58:34.855-07:00Does It Count As Cheating If It's Still Your Wedding Night?<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So, this is married life? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">A cock in my mouth, a cock in my cunt and a third one so close I can feel it dripping on my cheek. Hell, I really could get used to this. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">If only my husband would quit his drunken snoring.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">They said it would be the happiest day of my life. Mark and I had been dating for nine months before he finally popped the question, in a damp motel room on a side road somewhere between Albuquerque and Colorado Springs. We were both coming down from one of those vacations where everything is perfect, where the sex is as hot as the weather, nobody gets a dodgy tummy from the food, and the only harsh words that either of you utters are the ones that a spot of peyote-primed role playing transform into something that you really need to hear.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Of course I said yes; any guy who could make me feel that good, for that long, was obviously a keeper. We bought a ring the size of a small house brick the next morning, saw the Justice of the Peace the same day we got home, and we had the wedding invitations in the mail by the weekend.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Mrs Rebecca J Williams, welcome to the world.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Vacation vapors notwithstanding, I knew exactly what I was getting into. Mark had a good job, and he made good money. He was smart, my folks loved him, and he treated me like a Queen. Except when he treated me like a whore, but that was just as important to me because that was when all the daily life bullshit went flying out the window, and we could just be ourselves with no care for the world.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">We fucked like our lives depended on it, and when we weren’t in bed, we laughed, we played, we talked. And we stayed true to one another.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Except once.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The wedding day dawned sunny despite a winter chill, and so what if it was a quick civil ceremony, devoid of any of the trappings my parents had hoped I’d demand? It was our day, and they were happy for us. No page boys, no choir, no four figure sum splashed on an unnecessarily white dress that I’d never wear again. When I woke up that morning, squeezing myself out from beneath my fiance in the heart pounding aftermath of our final fuck as unmarried singles, I had just three things on my mind. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">One: get the ring on my finger. Two: get his ass up to the honeymoon suite. And three: get his cock back inside me. The rest, the blushing bridesmaids and the floral bouquets, the electric toasters and the K-cup percolators (why do people always give you toasters and percolators for wedding presents?), even the $1,000 a night bridal suite itself, they were simply the icing on the cake. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But from the moment Mark started drinking, which was the moment we arrived at the wedding reception in the hotel ballroom, I knew that the only icing I’d be getting on my cake tonight would be whatever the baker had put on it. By the time the best man got up to toast the happy couple, Mark was already so far gone that he didn’t even recognize his own brother and, by the time the party started breaking up, he wasn’t even conscious. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I looked around the fast-emptying room helplessly. My parents were long gone, and his family had slipped away as well. Probably because they knew what would happen. Jerry, Mark’s speech-giving brother, was still here, but he looked in the same shape as his sibling. Finally, my increasingly desperate gaze settled on the handful of guys who <i>were</i> still standing, three old college friends of Mark’s who I’d never met before, but who certainly seemed familiar with his present predicament. I caught a sympathetic grin from one of them, and walked over to where they stood in a knot by the now-empty dance floor.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Hey, sorry to bother you but…” I touched him on the arm. Damn it, why can I never remember people’s names, even when I was only introduced to them that same morning?</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He laughed, a broad smile creasing his not-bad-looking features. “Hi Beccy. So Mark’s out for the count already?” His friends, I noticed, were laughing alongside him.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Yeah, it looks like it. I was wondering if you could help me get him up to our room.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“No problem.” He turned, put his beer down on a nearby table, and gestured for his two companions to follow. Mark wasn’t the lightest guy in the world when he was upright and mobile. In his present insensitive state, he was 250lbs of dead weight.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Into the elevator we staggered, with Mark’s arms draped across two sets of shoulders, while the third guy carried his legs. I punched the button for the 24th floor and slumped against the wall, still clutching the flowers that someone thrust into my hand as we left.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Not much of a wedding night for you, eh?” the guy with Mark’s legs laughed loudly.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“You can say that again.” He was right, it wasn’t. The lift stopped and I led the way down the brightly lit corridor to the waiting suite. Through the window, the city spread out beneath us, a sea of lights that led down to the sea. Roses rouged the furniture, and our wedding gifts had thoughtfully been piled on a table that could barely take the weight. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I waited while my gallant aides arranged Mark in a heap in one of the armchairs, and I eyed the complimentary magnum of champagne. “Anyone fancy a drink after all that lifting?” </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I poured the two glasses that sat on the table, hunted around in the minibar till I found a couple more, and then flopped myself down on the edge of the bed. The broad kingsized bed in which I would begin my married days. To my left, Mark began snoring, and all four of us laughed at the sound.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Is he always like this when he gets drunk?” I asked. It suddenly dawned on me that I’d never seen him more than tipsy, except once when I’d probably got even more hammered than him.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Oh yeah,” nodded one. Brad. I remembered now, his name was Brad. “In fact, you could have an earthquake and he wouldn’t wake up. Do you remember that time…” He turned to his friends, then his voice trailed off. “Or maybe not.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“No come on, tell me,” I prompted. “If I don’t know his deepest secrets, then what sort of wife would I be?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Well, I’m not sure…” Brad looked at his friends for support, but they shrugged. “If you don’t tell her, she’s only going to imagine, and it’ll probably be even worse in her mind than it was in reality,” one said, then paused and looked at me carefully “You’re not the jealous sort, are you, Beccy?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Frank. You’re Frank. I smiled congratulations to my slowly-returning memory, and then shook my head. “No. What’s done is done, what’s past is past,” I said. Besides, Heaven knows, there were enough things in my past that I could have torn myself up about but didn’t, things I’d done with guys I’d met. Whose names I didn’t remember, if I ever even knew them to begin with. More than sometimes. I eyed my three new friends, and if there was a little voice in the back of my mind to remind me that those days were firmly behind me, the champagne had obviously muffled it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Brad told his story. A football game, a college party, a pretty blonde who latched onto Mark. Yeah, he told me that one. He passed out and left her sitting there, and when he came round, she was long gone.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Brad laughed. “So he brought this girl back to the dorm room, he was already drunk as a skunk when they got there and he had a couple more brews while they were just sitting around. She was getting really pissed off with him, she wanted fucking and all he could do was get fucked up. So she started coming onto Tommy over there…” he indicated the third friend, the cute blonde one… “and to cut a long story short….” </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">To cut a long story short, Tommy ended up fucking her right there on Mark’s bed, while Mark lay dead to the world alongside them.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I laughed and felt a familiar pulse in my pussy, one that echoed the sudden lurch of daring that my heart had flipped. “Serves him right,” I said. “I’d have done exactly the same thing.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Really?” The storyteller looked at me curiously. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Really.” </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I thought of telling a tale of my own, of the night I went clubbing with a girlfriend and her boyfriend, and spent a good forty minutes jerking him off with my stockinged feet beneath the table, without anyone ever noticing. He came all over my toes, and I could still feel the squelching as I slipped my shoes on afterwards, and walked to the ladies to clean up a little.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Or the time I gave road head to half the college track team on the way to a sports meet. I’d have got the other half too, I reckon, if the coach hadn’t asked why they all were at the back of the bus. I eyed - what was this? My third glass of champagne? - and I giggled reprovingly in to the bubbles. It’s your wedding night, remember? Time to look into the future, not back at the past. Then Mark gave an especially loud grunt and I felt a lurch of absolute mortification.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">What the fuck had I done?</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">My entire life so far had been lived on my terms, running free and single with my circle of friends, clubbing at weekends, sleeping with strangers, enjoying myself while I was still young enough to do so. And I’d given it all up for – what? Yeah, Mark was a good fuck... no, scratch that. He was a <i>really</i> good fuck, and a lot of other things as well. But only when he was sober enough to stay awake, and I didn’t care that I’d never seen him this pissed before. His buddies had. Again I eyed my smiling companions, Brad, Frank and Tommy. The old Beccy wouldn’t have kicked any one of them out of bed. A little voice at the back of my mind was suddenly wondering whether the new one would?</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I took a breath. “I wonder if he’d notice tonight?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Frank laughed. “I told you, he could sleep through an earthquake. Watch!” He stood and walked over to where Mark lay unconscious, leaned down and shook him violently. All Mark did was snore even louder.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Laughing, Tommy and Brad joined him and suddenly the three of them were pushing and pulling the chair back and forth, rocking it back on two legs and then letting it thud down onto the carpeted floor. Mark slumbered on. “See, you could do anything and he’d sleep right through it.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Anything?</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Anything.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I lay back on the bed. Still prim in the dress I’d been married in, my brain filled with bubbles but not so much that they bothered me, I surveyed the scene. Well, it wasn’t quite how I pictured tonight unfolding, but I wasn’t the one sawing logs in an armchair. I shifted a little, reached out one arm and snagged Tommy’s belt; I pulled him towards me and noticed that he did not even pretend to resist. Still with one hand, I began unfastening his pants.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Okay, let’s see,” I murmured. My heart was already pounding; it leaped loudly as my hand touched warm cock through the shield of Tommy’s flimsy cotton briefs. I was going to do it. And even better, he was going to let me.</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v9Jq7oAbFMg/UXXOUHWItFI/AAAAAAAAIOQ/d9mQ4gJM6w8/s1600/776171636.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v9Jq7oAbFMg/UXXOUHWItFI/AAAAAAAAIOQ/d9mQ4gJM6w8/s320/776171636.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The room was silent around me, three pairs of eyes fastened onto me as I sat up and pressed my face to what I could only describe as a fabulous bulge. It stirred, like a bear stretching out in its cave, and I licked its hardening length, tasting hot man through the fabric, spicy, sharp and tongue-dancingly delightful. They’ve always amazed me, the mechanics of a cock, how otter-coat softness can become tempered steel with no more than a touch, a word or a gesture, how the flesh just unfolds, straightens and stretches, and as Tommy started to step out of the pants that I’d hoisted down to his knees, his briefs just as suddenly tented towards my face.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">My teeth seized the waistband of his briefs, nipping skin and a few hairs as well, and I jerked them down as well as I could, stretching them wider as they snagged on his erection, then releasing them with a sharp twang against his thighs. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He gasped and his cock sprang to attention before me, bobbing before my eyes, the head a firm mushroom on a stalk that didn’t quit. My fist felt tiny as it circled his shaft, and angled him towards me as I leaned in and licked, my tongue tracing the length of the thickest of the veins till it tapped at his helmet and I drew him into my mouth. Tommy groaned and, behind me, I’d heard the sound of his buddies stripping their own clothes off, as hands began wrestling with the buttons down the back of my dress.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Gently my shoulders were bared and a mouth pressed against my neck. I shivered but did not relinquish my prize, but my free hand reached back to caress a smooth face. My breasts were free now, firm fingers were pulling and thumbing at my nipples as I carried on sucking on Tommy’s prick, taking him as deep down inside as I possibly could, and then backing off slowly, relishing his flavor and feeling every pore of his flesh as he slipped back and forth across my stretched, sensitive lips. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Rough hands pulled my legs open. I swiveled my body a little, raised and bent one leg and yes! A thick finger thrust itself into my pussy. Damn, I was soaking wet already – it’s amazing what a good length of cock down my throat can do to me. I pushed back against the intruder, forcing it deeper and wishing it thicker, and then I felt a tongue there, lapping at my lips as fresh fingers spread me wide, and a hungry mouth slurped and sucked at my pink. God, I wanted this.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I broke my grip on Tommy, released him from my mouth with a satisfying plop. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Fuck me. Somebody fuck me. But not you…” I looked up at Tommy. “I want you to stay here.” </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I threw back on the bed as Tommy stripped off the shirt and tie that he was still, absurdly, wearing, kicked away his fallen pants and briefs, and then brusquely straddled my chest, his knees pinning my arms to the mattress. I resisted for a moment, then gave up. He could have his moment of power if he wanted it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">His cock nestled between my breasts and he crushed the orbs together, sandwiching himself between them as he slowly fucked my cleavage. I watched entranced as his hardness slipped back and forth, then raised my head and stretched out my tongue, licking his tip as it swept into reach. A glob of pre-cum hung thick and I caught it, stretching it out between his prick and my lips; more was pooling in my cleavage, lubricating our flesh as we moved together. Then, as he slipped his full length back into my mouth, I felt another length slam into my pussy, stretching me wide and penetrating me deep, two heavyweight balls slapping against my ass as a fat, heavy cock end drove towards my womb. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">My clit was on fire, but that was only the start of it. My entire pussy was crying out in ecstasy, to be answered by the gurgles that escaped my crammed full throat.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Fuck me. Spear me. Impale me. Do me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Oh my God, this was paradise. I’d had threesomes before, but I was younger and my partners were younger. Too much indecision, too much laughter, and too many distractions as nervousness danced a tango with desire. This was the real thing, this was serious business, and this was bigger. Fuck a threesome, I wanted all four! Straining, I pulled an arm out from beneath the knee that had imprisoned it, raised the hand that had done nothing but make tight fists in the bedclothes, and gripped a third cock, longer than Tommy’s, thicker than… thicker than whoever was pounding my pussy. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I disengaged my mouth for a moment. “Come here,” I whispered, and its owner knelt closer to me, the tip of his dick almost touching Tommy’s as they both hovered at my lips. I knew without even trying that I’d never fit them both in my mouth. But I was going to have a go anyway, my head swishing swiftly from side to side as I sucked on one and then the other, sometimes delivering a greedy quick gulp, other times offering long, loving caresses that started in the back of my throat and engulfed the entire length.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">My cunt was screaming with joy. I don’t know they taught at the college they’d all been to, but whoever was fucking me… Frank or Brad, Brad or Frank. It didn’t matter… was just as good as Mark, with the added bonus of at least an extra inch. One miniature orgasm after another burst like pulsars through my body, each one layering on top of the last and all building up to the big one that I knew would leave me screaming the hotel down, no matter how many cocks I had in my mouth. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And talking of orgasms… Tommy had lasted as long as he could, but clearly not any more. He cried out and his whole body twitched sharply, then roughly he thrust himself deep between my jaws as his cum poured out, thick and warm and gooey, straight down the back of my throat. For a moment, I gagged, choking on the flood, then somehow collected my senses again. I spluttered a little, I swallowed the lot, and I just kept on sucking as he softened on my tongue. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Tommy pulled out and his pal slipped straight in, so thick that I felt like my jaw would tear, so long that, even as he banged against my throat, I was struggling to take more meat inside me. I’d never felt a cock so huge, never tasted one so hot, and never ever felt somebody fuck my mouth so hard, banging into my face as frenetically as his friend was fucking my cunt. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">They slipped into the same rhythm, and that was amazing as well, the ultimate carnival ride, the waltzer and the twister and the teacups all in one, and I was spinning and twisting and flying, listening to the headboard as it crashed against the wall as the boys picked up their pace even harder, and even Mark’s snoring seemed to slip into gear, a ballet of sound and choreographed crashes to match the mad music of three bodies in concert.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And <i>FUCK!!!!!!</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">You know what it feels like when you and your partner cum together? That moment where your bodies and minds just melt together and every sensation that the other is experiencing comes pouring from their pores into yours, and you soar higher and faster than you’ve ever flown before?</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Multiply that by a thousand and then add some more, because that’s what it feels like when you and <i>two</i> partners cum together, one of them thrusting as deep as he can up inside your pussy, scalding your cervix with all he can shoot; the other stuffing himself way down your throat, and then both of them crying and letting fly at the precise same moment. And where the two floods met somewhere in the region of the bottom of my ribcage, that’s where my own orgasm was gathering pace, a crashing, splashing, sense-mashing explosion that filled my entire body with absolute, unbeatable and undiluted pleasure. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I was shivering, the lights were shimmering and, for a moment, we three hung their motionless. Neither of my lovers was in a hurry to pull out, and that was exactly how I wanted them to stay. I wanted to suck them and suckle them and squeeze them with my flesh until there was nothing left to wring from their balls; to hold them inside me until the end of time. And when they did finally, unwillingly, slip from my grasp, I raised myself and sucked on all three guys again, and everyone of them melted in my mouth, drained of even the ability to speak.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">But not to act. A mouth closed on mine, a thick tongue deep inside, sucking out the cum that was smeared thick on my gums. Another was at my pussy, licking me clean, cleaning me out. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The thought crossed my mind, absurd but irresistible. It was as if, having borrowed the bride of their best college buddy, they were now determined to return her to him in the same condition they’d found her, kissed exquisitely pure of all trace of the night, the whore become Queen before she slipped off to sleep. And I closed my eyes, relaxing to their magical ministrations as I felt another orgasm building deep down inside me. And this time I did cry out, all the pleasure and joy that had filled me tonight flying free with a gasping, sobbing, ecstatic scream that sounded like no word I had ever uttered before, but which was filled with more meaning than any I’d ever heard. I was in heaven and I wanted the whole world to know it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Beside us, Mark snored inexorably on.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">They dressed, I undressed, they left the room, I went to bed. My mind was a jumble of sensations and thoughts; I had loved harder and orgasmed more dramatically than ever before in my life, and if I felt even the tiniest twinge of regret or embarrassment, even a hint of horror at how readily I had betrayed my husband of less than twelve hours, then the memory of that final orgasm pushed it away. Besides, in the morning (assuming he’d actually sobered up by then, and wasn’t just a sackful of unshaven hangover), I’d more than make up for it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Which, I’m thrilled to say, I did. And only once since that wonderful wedding night have I ever had cause to wonder just how deeply asleep my husband had been, how oblivious to my opportunism he really was. It was a couple of days later, still in the first bloom of marital bliss, as I sucked on his cock while our breakfast went cold, and I heard him tell me… I <i>though</i>t I heard him tell me…to suck it like the filthy slut I was.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I froze, and the low voice continued, a barely audible whisper that demanded I swallow his mess like I’d swallowed his friends’, and if <i>he</i> didn’t hear me choking on his burning white hot spunk, then maybe he’d invite a few of the guys over, Tommy and Brad and Frank, he said, and the whole darn lot of them would drown me with their cocks.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I raised my head and looked him in the eye. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“I’d like that,” I told him. “I’d like that a lot.”</span></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-55114073109911581272013-04-21T04:29:00.000-07:002015-12-23T08:31:34.374-08:00These Feet Were Made For Jerking<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UxkyauuYrkU/UW_ZBdXa7bI/AAAAAAAAIKM/SCbiVdgj3OQ/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: red;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UxkyauuYrkU/UW_ZBdXa7bI/AAAAAAAAIKM/SCbiVdgj3OQ/s1600/images.jpg" /></span></a></div>
<span style="color: red;">You've used your hands, your breasts, your mouth, and he keeps on coming back for more. Now it's time to let your feet do the talking.</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but people can be really weird about feet. Squeamish weird, I mean. I have a couple of friends who can be grossed out so easily by the mere mention of, say, rubbing a bare foot down their leg, and others who would rather die than contemplate becoming a podiatrist. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">If you are one of those people, please look away now. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Most women, and I’d imagine men as well, discover footjobs by accident. You’re messing around somewhere or other... maybe lying on the bed, or perhaps he’s on the floor while you’re sitting on the sofa, and you’re tracing a foot around his body before letting it nestle between his legs. Then, you're wriggling your toes. Or maybe you’re both in a restaurant, and a foot beneath the table is sliding up his thigh. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Sounds fun. Let’s go further. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Testicles and feet are not always a happy combination. Neither are testicles and knees, although any couple that has danced so close that one of her legs slides between his, then is gently raised until it touches him there will know that it’s simply a matter of trust. Let’s be honest here - if he’ll stick his cock in a hole that’s filled with sharp teeth, a few toes around his todger should be nothing to fear whatsoever. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">It feels strange, at first. Probably for him, but definitely for her. We think we know every inch of our partner’s body, because we’ve explored it often enough. However, our feet and toes have a sensitivity that our hands, mouths, or whatever else you use, do not. It’s why they’re so ticklish. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">More or less, every nerve end in your entire lower body is located down there, and while that is equally true of your hands (with the upper body, of course), our hands are accustomed to the manifold sensations that a normal day can offer them. Your feet, generally, aren’t. You walk on them, true, but you coat them in socks and shoes, as well. You know when you’re walking barefoot, because every sensation feels so much more alive. And, you know when you’re touching your partner with them, because he feels so much more alive as well. At the same time as this, your own brain is struggling to process the sheer unfamiliarity of the sensation. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">There’s a joke among men that if they masturbate with their other hand, the one that normally holds the tissue, it feels like somebody else is doing it. True or false? I don’t know. However, using your foot to masturbate your partner also feels like someone else is involved. This is because you know what he’s meant to feel like, and you know all the signs that he gives out when you handle him. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Where have they gone? </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Your feet cannot grip like your hands, so his penis immediately feels somehow different. Your toes are nowhere near as dexterous as your fingers. When you squeeze him in your fist, you can gauge how much pressure you’re using, and you know when you hit the point he likes best. When you squeeze him between two feet... not so much. With your hands, you can gently score with your nails. With your feet... and so on. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">I found a video on a tube site a while back, a long legged woman giving her man a footjob, then bending her torso forward until she could take his cock in her mouth as well. I tried. It didn’t work. I don’t know if you need to be double-jointed to do that, but you certainly need to be more flexible than I am. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">She could also raise her foot to her mouth, to lick off his cum when he finished. That, I probably could do... but I’m not sure I especially want to. I don’t consider myself at all averse to feet, but for the same reason I wouldn’t want to bite my own toe nails, I don’t particularly need to be licking my instep. Unless, of course, he asked nicely. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">However, even without those particular extras, there is definitely something exciting about giving your man a footjob - a thrill of the new that doesn’t really get old. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">So, what exactly does it involve? </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Well, you could just watch that episode of Desperate Housewives where Gabrielle gives one to hunky gardener John. (Who now plays Christopher Ewing in Dallas. Cute and stinking rich. I’d show him my shoe closet anytime.) However, you really don’t get to see very much. Meaning anything at all. So, let’s get down to details. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Somewhat inevitably, aficionados of the footjob have broken it down into various categories, each dependent upon the method employed. There is the toe job, where both sets of toes grip each side of his shaft; there is the sole job, where the bottoms of the feet, ball and arches, take the strain; and there is stepping, in which one foot holds the penis steady and the other presses down on it, exactly as if you were taking a step. Or, if you believe Wikipedia more than you believe me, there is another form of stepping in which you literally step on his cock, first one foot, then the other. Wearing heels. Ouch. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Alternately, you can just do everything at once, varying the pressure, varying the stroke, and training yourself to use your feet as imaginatively as you would ordinarily use your hands. Fingers, palms, the fleshy bit beneath your thumbs, you don’t even really think about which part of your hand you are using, you just make sure that everything feels like it should. Which is exactly what you should do with your feet. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Use one foot to press his penis to his body, and massage his shaft with your forefoot, while your other foot rummages around with his balls. Use your toenails to scratch gently (or otherwise, if he wishes!) around all the places you might use your fingernails. Rub the top of his helmet with different parts of your soles. The skin on your feet has a very different texture to that of any other part of your body, which means a world of new sensations await him, as well as you. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Improvise! The first time you held a cock in your hand, chances are that you didn’t really know what to do, and were reliant upon his responses to guide you. Apart from that, you just did whatever you thought of. The first time you hold a cock between your feet, same thing. Let him guide you, and if he doesn’t complain, the chances are that you’re doing it right. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Just make certain that, whatever you’re doing and however you choose to do it, you are seated comfortably on something stable; that there’s no risk of leg cramps and, most important of all, there’s no danger at all of you toppling over. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">The other thing to remember about feet is they are on the ends of your legs, and we’ve all seen how legs behave if they think you are falling. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">They kick out. Hard. Without a thought for whatever they might connect with. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red;">Oh damn. Have I just put your partner off playing?</span><br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-57010875078356929052013-04-18T17:17:00.000-07:002013-04-18T17:17:00.692-07:00I Love This Sign!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8234717668653126795.post-59826560128887590242013-04-18T04:26:00.001-07:002013-04-18T10:18:34.464-07:00Things To Do In New York When It's Ninety<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Crouching over Debbie’s expectant face, I parted the lips of my pussy and watched the great glob of cum hang suspended for a moment, before falling heavily into her open mouth.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">She closed her lips, and moaned delightedly. “Oh Chrissie!” She sounded like she’d just discovered a whole new flavor of cheesecake. And maybe she had. “You have to try this!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I bent to kiss her mouth, as she made an offering on the tip of her tongue. She was right; it was certainly different – and then I felt myself hurtling forward, as she grabbed my ass and pulled my still-dripping cunt towards her mouth. I glanced at Martin, propped up on one arm alongside us, watching as he recovered from the fucking he’d just given me. Poor boy – he might as well go home now. We had no further use for him.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">How sick are you of hearing about the heatwave? It’s August on the East Coast, folks. Buy yourself an icepack. At least, that’s what I said yesterday at work, when the inevitable round of whining kicked up (“oh, when are we going to get some relief from this awful weather?”). I felt a little different this morning, when I woke up just in time to hear the dreadful clunk of the electricity going down, and the last despairing groan of the air conditioning. And when I called the building’s super just before I left work, and he told me that the power was still out – well, as Debbie put it when I walked past her desk, “bet you don’t feel quite so smug now, do you?”<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">We chatted for a moment… well, she chatted. I whined. “So why don’t you come over to my place?” she suggested. She’d already checked with a neighbor – their power was still up and running and, even if it did go out, she had bedrooms and a family room in the basement. “And it’s always plenty cool down there.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I nodded my thanks, as she rose and called out to the rest of the office – “anyone else need some place to hang out?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">A couple of people looked tempted, but Martin was the only one who said yes, which suited me fine. He and I had a one-night stand a while back, while he was working at our warehouse on the other side of town. He was transferred to the main office about six months ago, when someone (I honestly take no credit!) pointed out to the bosses that he was way too smart to be lugging boxes of books round all day. We’d never repeated our night together, but he had become one of my closest friends in the building. Oh, and he had the hots for Debbie… him, and every other guy in the office.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Debbie, on the other hand, never seemed to get the hots for anyone. We’d often gone out for a drink after work and, I swear, the girl wasn’t simply married to her job, she was having an affair with it as well. I wondered what her house looked like… I knew she’d inherited it from her parents, and had always visualized it as one of those 1950s ranches that dominate the suburbs. And, give or take a couple of floors, the odd Gothic tower and a yard that made the Munsters look house-proud, I was right.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">She ushered us in, apologized for the mess, and ran to the refrigerator. “Pizza good for you both? Beer… wine… soda? Great. Half an hour till we eat.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">She handed round our drinks and led us into the living room, swept a few papers (I recognized the letterhead – it was all work stuff) off the sofa, and then glanced apologetically at the TV. “Sorry, I never bothered getting cable. Hardly ever have time to watch the thing, anyway.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Oh shit, does that mean we have to talk to one another?” Martin pantomimed. He raised his wine glass. “I hope you’ve got plenty of this stuff on hand.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Debbie laughed. “Don’t worry, I stocked up at the weekend.” The thought crossed my mind – is this what she does every night, sit around doing overtime, and glugging her way through a few bottles of wine? No wonder she always looked so cheerful.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">She read my mind. “It’s okay, I’m strictly a one glass a night girl. But you never know when people are going to drop by” – and she said it as though <i>that</i> was how she really spent her time, throwing open her doors to a phone-book full of friends… I guess she really enjoys talking to people!</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">She was right, though; she certainly had stocked up. We’d sunk three bottles before we’d even finished eating, and whenever one looked even two-thirds empty, she’d be up to grab another one. Conversation, on the other hand, was… I think “odd” is the word for it. The more Martin drank, the more tongue-tied he seemed to become, but that was understandable. He’d been desperate to get into Debbie’s pants for so long that simply sharing the sofa with her must have made him feel like he was halfway there. And Debbie had something on her mind as well, but we’d switched from white wine to red before she let on what it was.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“So, you two at the last but one Christmas party.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I laughed aloud. “Were we that obvious?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“When do you mean?” she asked. “Before you disappeared into the ladies room for 10 minutes, or after?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“That was never 10 minutes,” Martin shot back. “It was at least half an hour.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Debbie raised her eyebrows playfully. “Really? Half an hour. Chrissie – what do you say?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I was still trying to remember if it had even been ten… from what I recall, the cubicle was so small that we gave up trying after 30 seconds, and went back to his place instead. “I don’t know. Maybe not half an hour in there. But I think we made up for that later.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Go on then, tell….” </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I looked over at Martin. His eyes were wide and he was shaking his head vigorously, in that strangely over-exaggerated way people do, when they think that nobody else is watching them. Debbie, however, had eyes like a hawk. “Come on Martin, it wasn’t that bad, was it?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Now it was my turn to feel oddly defensive. “Yes, go on Martin. Was it?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Why do women always gang up on guys?” He took a long drink. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here tonight; as soon as I said yes, I knew that the two of you would wind up ganging up on me.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Ah, poor Martin.” Debbie draped an arm around his shoulder. “Tell mommy all about it.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">She glanced towards me, her expression clearly asking my permission to continue. I smiled reassuringly. One night, 18 months ago – it was scarcely a binding contract, was it? Martin, meanwhile, had turned so alarmingly crimson that it was worth watching Debbie paw at him, simply to see if his head would explode. Or his balls.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Debbie clearly had the same idea, running a fingertip down his chest, teasing around the buttons of his shirt. I wondered just how drunk she was – and then realized, probably no more than me, and certainly a lot less than Martin. He’d practically polished that last bottle off on his own.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Hey, Chrissie, what do you say. Should Martin volunteer to tell me all the sordid details? Or should the two of us tickle them out of him?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Martin squirmed out of her grasp. “Hang on, this isn’t fair. If you want to know what happened…” he looked around wildly, as though he’d forgotten where I was sitting. “Ask Chrissie. She was there as well.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Okay, I will. Chrissie – marks out of ten for Martin.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“No!” he howled. “No marks out of ten…. I mean,” he spluttered as we both burst out laughing. “I mean, you can’t give marks out of ten for something like that….”<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“I bet you do,” Debbie hit back. “I bet you and your little friends get together and compare notes. Girls do it all the time. So come on Chrissie, if ‘ten’ is an orgasm that lasts all night, and ‘one’ is a sticky hand and a box of Kleenex, where does Martin fit?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Oh, I liked this girl; she reminded me of me. But I liked Martin as well, and I know how fragile men’s egos can be. “I’d give him an eight,” I only half-lied. Seven for performance, and an extra one for size.” There, that should please him.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Ooh, an eight, and a big one?” Debbie was almost cackling now. “Okay, marks out of ten again. ‘One’ is for dental floss, ‘ten’ is for tripod. And don’t just invent something up to try and make him feel better. I can very easily check, you know.” And her hand fell onto his lap.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Have you ever seen the expression on a rabbit’s face, just before a python swallows it? No, neither have I. But when I glanced at Martin, I had a good idea what it would look like.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Come on, Chrissie, I’m getting impatient!” Debbie’s hand was on his belt buckle now, slowly unthreading the strap. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“I dunno. A seven? Seven and a half, maybe?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“That’s your final word?” She had the belt undone now, and was fiddling with the buttons on his waistband. I smiled at Martin, who still sat frozen to the spot. “I’m sorry, kid, I did my best. But it looks like she’s going to check, anyway.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Damn right I am,” Debbie said softly. But then she withdrew her hand. “Not right now, though… if that’s okay with you, Martin?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He nodded – not too willingly, I thought, but you couldn’t mistake the gratitude in his eyes. “She gave you an eight. What would you give her?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Oh… er, definitely an eight,” he stammered. “Maybe even a nine.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Oh dear. I could see where this was going, and I had a horrible feeling that it would be me beneath the microscope next. The only saving grace was, not knowing how far Debbie would be willing to take it with another girl. Or <i>was</i> that a saving grace? Maybe it just added to my predicament.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">She swung off the sofa, and perched herself on the arm of my chair. “A nine. I don’t think I’ve ever had a nine. Or an eight, come to that. So Martin, what does a nine actually do? What makes a nine a nine, and not a seven-with-honors?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“I dunno. She just was.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Okay, be specific. Does she scream and swear a lot?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He shook his head, and she looked down at me. “No I don’t,” I whispered. Now <i>I</i> was getting bashful!</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Does she prefer to be on top or underneath?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Both… either….I mean…” </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">…<i>.Please, Martin, don’t say it.</i> </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“We did everything, you know.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He said it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Everything!” Debbie sounded triumphant. “Absolutely everything! You fucked her tits? You fucked her ass? Did you suck her ass?” She wheeled back to me. “Chrissie, spit or swallow?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Okay, that’s enough. I was weak from embarrassment, but even weaker from laughter. I stood up shakily, and looped my arms around Debbie’s neck, pressing her face to my chest. I wondered if she could feel my nipples through the flimsy bra and not-much-better blouse I’d thrown on that morning. She should – they felt like bullets to me. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“That’s a good question, Debbie. But I’ll tell you what, why don’t we find out?” I looked behind me. “Martin, over here.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He rose and, very uncertainly, made his way over. “Now, how about if I tell her everything we did… and maybe a few things we didn’t do, but we could have, and while I’m telling, she can be doing. How does that sound?”<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Martin nodded nervously; I released Debbie’s head from my tit-grip, and her broad smile was all the answer I needed.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Okay, so we’re back at Martin’s apartment. I unbuckled his pants… well, you’ve already done that, so you’re ahead of me already. And then I knelt down in front of him.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Debbie slid to the floor, crouching on the backs of her knees, so that her head was more or less level with his knees. “A little higher,” I suggested. “Now finish undoing his pants.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">She obeyed, then pulled them down around his feet. His underpants traveled with them, and his cock hung bare, just a few inches in front of her face.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Now,” I continued. “You probably don’t think that looks much like a seven, do you?” To be honest, I felt bad for the guy; I expected him to be soft, but he wasn’t even making an effort. “So, what you need to do, first of all, is pump a little life into it. Can you do that?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">She was still smiling. “Oh, I can do better than that.” She grasped his meat between two fingers, and pulled the skin back, raising him slightly while she ran her eyes over his helmet. “Handsome little thing, isn’t it?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Not so much of the little,” I cautioned her. “Do this right, and it’ll poke your eye out.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Really?” She leaned forward, and started rubbing his knob-end over her face, across her cheeks, against her eyelid. “No, it would never do something like that. It’s so soft, so sweet… you know, it reminds me of a piece of salt water taffy.” She was giggling now, and her mirth was contagious.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“With a little button mushroom on top,” I added.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Yeah, and I love button mushrooms. Especially in wine.” She reached for her glass; it was empty, so she grabbed the bottle instead, took a deep swig and sloshed it around her gums, and then very slowly engulfed the tip of his cock. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Martin gasped and then let out a long moan; I don’t know exactly what she was doing to him, but I could see her cheeks working as her tongue rolled around her mouth; could see her jaw extending too, as the excitement rushed into Martin’s prick, and he started to grow.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">She broke away and took a deep breath. “I’m still not sure about a seven,” she said thoughtfully. “Maybe a six. Or perhaps I just need to work harder.” Her mouth descended again, wrapping around his erection, as her head started bobbed quickly up and down. I could traces of her saliva clinging to his flesh; felt myself growing wet as she gently popped him out of her mouth, dripped a great pool of spit onto his glans, and then stroked it across her face again. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Okay, now we’re getting there.” She swallowed him again – almost literally swallowed him, her lips sinking down to the root of his cock, and only slowly releasing it from her grasp.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I jumped. Her hand was suddenly on my leg, and sliding up my thigh. I realized how wet… how absolutely soaking… I was, and stepped a little closer to her, as I grasped her fingers and drew them closer to my puss.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">She glanced at me out of the corner of one eye, and her finger slid through the leg-hole of my panties and into my snatch. I moved again, willing that one digit deeper… praying for her other fingers to join it there… almost cried out in disappointment when her hand suddenly left me, and then yelped for real with pleasure as I realized that she was simply pulling down my panties.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Now she was inside me, two fingers, then three, pumping to the same rhythm that she was playing on Martin’s prick – and suddenly four fingers, forcing me apart, back and forth, harder and harder. I opened my eyes – Martin was staring in rapt fascination, his eyes drifting from the girl on his cock to the hand in my cunt. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Suddenly I wondered why we were letting Debbie do all the work? And then… why not? After the figurative tongue-lashing she’d given him earlier, how appropriate that she should now be performing the real thing. Besides, I had a ringside seat for the greatest show on earth, and I wondered whether Martin would give her any more warning of his approaching climax than he’d given me, that Christmas eve.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He wasn’t being truthful when he told Debbie we’d done everything – but, in the course of that night, we did do a lot. His first orgasm was the one I remembered the best, though; after that, everything just blurred into one long fuck. But the tenderness with which he guided my face down towards his erect cock; the disbelieving gasp of “oh, God… thank you” that hissed from his lips as my tongue snaked around his swollen glans; the gentle roll of his hips as I sucked at his flesh – I wouldn’t swear to it, but it felt as though I was the first girl ever to go down on him, and I wanted to make sure he’d never forget that.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I went slow… slower than I ever have before, fighting against my own excitement, to make sure that my every movement burned itself into his memory. It was magical, it was mantric; I moved like a hypnotist’s watch, and he moved with me, rolling… rolling… rolling and then, without a sound or a twitch or a flicker of warning, he was cumming – and that was gentle as well, the slightest sensation of a slowly growing warmth, followed by the feeling that my mouth was suddenly filling. I continued to suck, I started to swallow, and only then did he make a sound, moaning aloud as he raised his ass off the bed in one tight, rigid spasm; a sharp cry and then silence again.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I released him and rested my head on his thigh. I felt a trickle of liquid leak from my lips and pool on his skin; my lips were sticky as his cum dried stringy in the air. I gazed at the unblinking eye of his prick, as it lay gazing back at me. A bubble of cum leaked to the tip; I stuck out my tongue and lapped it up. I hadn’t felt so content in months.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Debbie’s movements were growing faster. I was cumming, and cumming hard. I rested my hands on Martin’s shoulder; looking into his eyes as that express train barreled down on me, and then down at his cock as fireball hit me. I looked down to where Debbie’s blonde hair still bobbed; I had never seen a cock sucked like that, with such grace and beauty, her eyes closed as she melded herself to his skin, and so completely in control. If she felt as good as she looked, she must be cumming buckets – because I know I was.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">My legs buckled and I crumpled against him, my breath coming in ecstatic gasps – and then he was clutching at me, as his cock flew free of Debbie’s open mouth, and spurted its own magic through the air, across her face, into her hair.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">She fell back, looking up at me; parted her lips and let slip the first mouthful that Martin shot into her. Ah – spit, not swallow, I thought to myself, as I watched it pool on her breasts, and her hand rose absent-mindedly to run a fingertip through the goo.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I finally caught my breath. “See, I told you he was a seven.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Debbie’s eyes flashed. “At least that. And you’re not so bad yourself.” She sniffed her sopping fingers as she pulled them from my cunt, then leaned across and kissed me there. “Hey, Martin – play your cards right, and who knows what else you’ll see this evening.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He shook his head, as though trying to focus. He made a sound that might have been a breathless “wow,” and then collapsed onto the sofa. “I’m not ready to become a spectator yet,” he smiled. “You give me ten minutes and I’ll be raring to go.” He cupped his balls in his hand as he spoke; Debbie and I giggled, then crawled across the floor towards him. “In that case, I’ll tell you what I want,” she whispered, as she lay her hand upon his. “I want to watch you and Chrissie fucking, and then I want you both to fuck me.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“I think we can do better than that,” I murmured. I pushed at her shoulders, pressing her down on the carpet; then, crouching above her, facing her feet, I began to slow-kiss down her body – her forehead, her nose, her lips, her neck, her breasts…. I took a nipple in my mouth and bit down gently; moved to the other one and sucked hard. By the time I reached her pussy, as mine poised itself just inches from her face, she was as wet as I still felt. And, as her lips made contact with my screaming clit, I buried my face in her folds, reveling in the thick dampness, slurping her into my mouth, and thrusting my tongue in, as deep as I could.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And then another sensation, something knocking against the backs of my thighs; a whisper, a hiss, and then Debbie’s voice, shaking with excitement. “Brace yourself girl, wonderboy’s coming in from behind.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Martin entered me hard, his entire length slipping instantaneously into my wetness, until his balls were slapping against my wet skin. Debbie was still down there as well – I could feel her tongue drift soft across me; could imagine her sucking at Martin’s balls.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He was fucking me so hard that it hurt. No matter how wet I was, it was never enough to accommodate the cock that was now clattering against my uterus, so that every thrust… every breath… sent a sharp jab of pain shooting through my body. Yet, even though every nerve-end pleaded with me to make him stop, and my bottom lip was raw from biting it, I could not, would not, call a halt. Because always, at the back of mind, a little voice was telling me that it could only get better. And, when it did, it would be worth every iota of pain.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He was so deep inside me now… and he was still growing. I’d forgotten the pussy spread out before me; forgot everything except what was happening inside me, the thick (and growing thicker) cock that relentlessly piledrived into my flesh, slamming harder and faster until my cunt was bursting and my body was tearing, and my subconscious was praying for him to cum, even I screamed aloud for him to last forever, for Debbie to stay forever, for the two of them to lick me and fuck me and hold me tight, and never, ever stop. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I was cumming again – and again and again, three waves, four waves, just one after the another, pounding me until I writhed flat against the body that still rocked and squirmed and suckled beneath me. The smell of cunt was everywhere, and that was driving me crazy as well – and then Martin came, with a roar this time, and a jolt so deep inside me that it might have dislodged my teeth.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I raised my head; prized myself off Debbie’s seat-slicked body. “You okay under there?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Oh Chrissie… Martin… that was amazing. I’ve never felt like that… never done that…” – for the first time all evening, she sounded lost for words. I knew what I had to do.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">“Your turn, then – spit or swallow?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Her tongue ran long and hot against my thigh, sending a shiver through my entire frame. “Well, I guess I usually spit.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I licked her back. “That’s because you’ve never tried this.” Raising my hips, and crouching over Debbie’s expectant face, I parted the lips of my pussy, and watched the great glob of cum hang suspended for a moment….</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And that, I believe, is exactly where we started.</span></span></div>
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