Fucking My Face Off

FUCKING MY FACE OFF
Self-explanatory, really. Especially when it comes up in conversation with a friend, who promptly asks you for pointers!

“I want to learn how to deep throat” I said
“I want to give you the ultimate head
“I want to know how it feels to lie here and get ravaged
“I want to know how it feels to be used, raw and savage”

He stripped me bare, threw me down on the bed
Pulled me roughly around, hung my head off the edge
Then took one step forward, thrust his cock to my lips
I stretched my jaw wide, felt him pause and then slip
Past my teeth, past my gums, past the point of no return
I felt my heart pound, but I wanted to learn
I knew that to start I must learn how to breathe
To control the cold fear that was rising in me

I tried to still him, but he didn’t care
He knows I’m not ready but he’s already in there
At first he glides gently, but as his fever rose
He started to pound me, his balls slap my nose
I tried hard to focus, to slow down his pace
But he was slamming me hard, and squashing my face
And it’s already too late, his cries become frantic
I dig my nails in his flesh – fuck! This feels fantastic!

He’s behaves like he doesn’t remember I’m here
Just a willing tight fuck hole to split ear to ear
There’s no finesse or kindness, he doesn’t even pace it
And when the first spurt explodes, I don’t even taste it
I just feel it flooding, a gush down my throat
There’s so much… there’s too much… I’m starting to choke
But I don’t think about that, because I want it all
The only thing that I need is to empty his balls

And then I was gagging, but I didn’t care.
It’s hurting like hell, but he’s all the way there
The back of my throat’s feeling scarred and red raw
My nostrils are pouring, he’s locked up my jaw
The weight of his hips forced my head to stay down
This must be the way that it feels to be drowned
And still he pumps on, the flow just won’t stop
And I’m going to devour every last drop

And when he’s done and I’ve coughed, and dripped cum from my nose
He lays down beside me and says “I suppose
“That’s put you off ever doing deep throat again?”
And I laugh as I kiss him, say “typical men
“You think I’m so delicate I can’t take a good fucking?
“You think I’m so sweet that you should ration the sucking?
“I came seven times, from three different holes!
“So next time I want you to lose ALL control!”

“Because I want to learn how to deep throat” I said
“I want to give you the ultimate head
“I want to know how it feels to lie here and get ravaged
“I want to know how it feels to be used, raw and savage”

What Are You?

What Are You?
There's really not much that I can add to this one!

You’re a cunt
Lick my cunt
Let me rub it on your front
Let me rub it in your face
Take me back, please, to your place

You’re a prick
I’ll suck your prick
The taste of cock gets me so slick
I want to drink your cum so bad
Take me back, please, to your pad

You’re a fucker
I want to fuck ya
Then pull you from my snatch and suck ya
I want to swallow all you give
Take me, please, to where you live

You’re such a softy
Your cock’s all soft – he
Needs a rest because you boffed me
Harder than I’ve been before
Let’s just stay in this restroom stall

Old Time Hookers

I've talked before about my love of old erotic movies... I love photographs too, and none so much as this selection, taken in New Orleans' Storyville red light district in the early 1900s.

They are the work of EJ Bellocq, a commercial photographer whose best known work was carried out for shipping lines and business owners. After hours, however, he toured the brothels, photographing the ladies. And that's just about all we know about him - various writers and even movie makers have speculated on his motives... maybe he paid the girls, maybe they paid him; prostitution was legal in Storyville at the time, and a smart girl knew that a picture is worth a 1000 words when it comes to generating new customers. Maybe he got his sexual kicks taking pictures, maybe he just paid his rent.

Certainly his family weren't happy; after Bellocq died in the 1940s, his brother is believed to be the one who defaced a lot of the photographer's original plates, before either giving, or throwing them away. They were finally rediscovered in a junk shop in the late 1960s, since when they, and the photographer, have been recognized for the unique record that they are.

I love the pictures, I love the girls that sat (and stood and lay down) for them, and I thought it would be nice to share some with you. Let me know what you think of them. And if you want to see and know more, click here.

Fucking on the Dancefloor

Oh my!

I suggest you DON'T click on this link. Or this one.

See? I warned you.

Sticky Fingers

It’s the little things that do it for me, the tiny details that most erotic writers use as a bridge between the Big Things. Like, they’ve just fucked like animals and now they’re resting and she kisses his chest. It’s the kiss that brings humanity to the situation, that reminds you it’s not just a couple of machines going at it, doing whatever deeds their creator has programmed them to execute.

I was reminded of this the other day, while browsing through the “adult” section at a bookstore in Sweetwater. They didn’t have many and I usually do my shopping online. But sometimes it’s nice to see what you’re going to be reading before you make the purchase, and I’m glad I did because…

Because, because. Because a passage in one so screamed out for a bridge that I almost took out my pen and wrote it in myself. I resisted the temptation, but when I got home, the omission was still driving me crazy. You see, it’s not only in stories that the little things matter. They matter in real life as well. For example….

I’d been working in the office for a month or so, making a little extra cash to see me through my sophomore year at college, and my first ever office romance was going swingingly. Lester was older than me by about five years, and I suspected he was married although he never said a word. But we’d had a few hot and heavy evenings at the apartment I shared with a girlfriend, and a few pantie-wetting encounters in various corners of the office – it’s amazing how much privacy you can find when everyone else is at lunch.

We rarely went beyond kissing and cuddles on these occasions, but one lunchtime in the deserted break room, I had my hand in his pants before he even knew what was happening, squeezing a cock that was so hard it could have doubled as a battering ram.

That’s what I wished he would use it for, as well.

I longed to find out how he felt in my pussy, I dreamed of discovering how he tasted. And today, I’d determined, I would. I’d unbuckled his belt, unzipped his fly. Now all I needed to do was lean over…

I moved slowly. There was nobody around, and there was no reason to rush. I blew on the tip and smiled as he groaned, then inhaled deeply. I don’t care what they do in porn films, stuffing cock in their mouths the moment it appears, I like to study my meal before eating. Admire the shape, the color, the texture, and breathe in its scent as my face gets closer. Poke out my tongue and test it gently. Little things, little things. And only when I‘ve done all that do I ever so slowly open my mouth, and start feeding.

Lester was feeding, too, one of the pastries that someone had brought in every morning for the rest of us to share. Now, of course, it lay forgotten in one hand, as my mouth closed around him and I let out a moan … of happiness, of hunger, of complete satisfaction.

I sucked and he sighed. I licked and he laughed. I kissed… and he came, without a word of warning or even a twitch, just a jet of hot white that shot out so quickly that I didn’t even have time to catch it. It splashed on my hand, it went over his trousers… always conscientious, he grabbed for a napkin and began mopping it up – which was when the door to the break room opened and in walked one of our co-workers, Debbie.

Now, we weren’t stupid, Lester and I. We had our backs to the door for just this kind of reason, and in the split second it took for us to register we’d been seen, he had his cock in his pants and buckled away before Debbie had even said “hi.”

Me, though… sitting there with a cock full of cum dripping off my fingers. What was I going to do?

Easy. I snatched the pastry out of his hand, then turned to the invader and held it aloft. “The trouble with these things,” I said with a smile, “is that they always put way too much icing on them.” And then I moved my hand to my mouth and licked it clean. It was the greatest icing I’ve ever tasted, and beside me, I heard Lester inhale sharply, then breathe out, "fuck, you're hot."

So yes, it's the little things that always get me, the ones you might not even think of mentioning if you were writing a story. That's why I'm glad I write verses instead.

see more Epic Fails

Another First Time

You look back on it later… years later, sometimes… and you realize it really wasn’t that big a deal. Age and experience count for a lot in the bedroom, but there’s something about naivety and innocence that cannot be replaced, no matter how much of an “expert” you become.

It’s like those manuals you turn up in the sociology section at Borders, or masquerading as advice on the Internet… “how to do this perfectly,” “how to give that the best”… they really are meaningless, because expertise itself is meaningless. The best sex comes when you don’t know what you’re doing, and everything you do do is a brand new sensation. Physically, you might improve your technique. But you can never replace your emotional virginity.

ANOTHER FIRST TIME

We'd fooled in the back of his dad's Cadillac
On a few sticky-seated occasions
Now his folks were away and he asked me to stay
At the end of last summer vacation
We never got far in the back of the car
(Second base, if you know what I mean)
So I said, "yeah, alright," and then stayed up all night
Browsing my bro's magazines

I wanted tonight to be more than alright
It's my first time! A night to remember!
But I really don't see why my virginity
Should be the only thing on our agenda
We kissed and made out in each room in the house
Till we wound up in his parents' bed
But when he tried to slide in me, I wriggled myself free
Said "I don't want your dick yet. Give me head."

I wasn't surprised by the look in his eyes
I'd not intended to be that brazen either
But the words' very sound made my heart wildly pound
And my pussy burned up like a fever
"I was reading about it," I explained, and I doubted
Whether he had more idea than I
But then, dutifully, and quite beautifully
He planted a kiss on my thigh

I was nervous and scared... would there be too much hair?
Should I have shaved off my thicket?
I felt my heart race, blood flooded my face
Then he kissed me, and I whispered "lick it!"
I've felt his fingers before, cos they've fingered me sore
But this time was gentle... I gasped
My cunt was so slick, and his tongue on my lips
Made me wish that this moment could last

His thumbs part me wide and his tongue slips inside
Gracefully tracing my folds
Then he teases my lips and his hands on my hips
Dig in as he goes for the gold
This feels so amazing, I'm just lying here blazing
As his mouth and tongue swirl in my hollow
His fingers are plunging, his coiled tongue is lunging
And I'm pumping out juice - God! He swallowed!

I'm feeling him drink my exquisite pink
My toes curl, my hips leave the bed
He's sucking my clit... no, he's chewing on it
And it feels like I'm fucking his head
I'm bucking and flying... I hear someone crying
Hold my breath - Christ! That screaming is me!
But I just couldn't care, as my fists twist his hair
And I grind my cunt hard, fast and wildly

Then I tense. God, I'm coming! I can feel the mad drumming
"If you stop what you're doing, I'll kill you,"
I don't know if he heard, but in my mind I hear words
"When I'm finished down here, girl, I'll drill you!"
It feels so good it hurts! I'm coming! I squirt!
Feel him pause with surprise, then recover
Then he's frenziedly licking me clean while still flicking
My clit with his thumb. What a lover!

I'm catching my breath. Oh God, I need a rest
My eyes closed, my gasps mixed with laughter
My bro's magazines may have conjured this scene
But they never explained what comes after
He covers my titties with hot, warm wet kisses
Smearing pussy juice over my chest
Then I watch while he stands, strokes his cock in one hand
Then slips it between my damp breasts

I giggle, I love it, my tits hang above it
I hold them firm so he won't slip
His hips gyrate fast, I don't think that he'll last
Long... and then his cock prods at my lips
There's a leap in my heart... hey! This wasn't part
Of anything I read last night
I'm a little bit scared... but hey! He was down there
And anyway, he tastes alright

I part my lips slightly, to show I'm inviting
Him in but I don't think he saw it
His movements are graceless, he's fucking me faceless
One stroke... two, three... then he floors it
He's deep me in my throat and I try not to choke
Try to swallow as much as I'm able
I can hear myself gulping it down as he's pulping
My tonsils with his still swollen cable

My panic subsides as his cock starts to slide
Back out of my mouth, to lay twitching
More out than in, on the ridge of my chin
And I raise my head up, my mouth dripping
I cradle his balls as his cock softly falls
Hot and sticky to lay on my wrist
Just moments before, it was eight inches or more
But now it's the size of my fist

I kiss him; his mouth tastes of cunt oil and jizzum
And I cannot believe my good luck
If this is what it's like on our very first night
I can't wait for the first time we fuck!

Jenny's St Valentine's Day Mess-acre

Just a bit of seasonal fun. Except I don’t think I was laughing so hard at the time!

The flowers were dead, and the card misdelivered
The restaurant screwed up so we didn’t get dinner
When the bar asked for ID, I’d forgotten my purse
So why did he say things couldn’t get worse?

“Wanna go back to my place?”
I asked; he said yes
At least there was one thing
That couldn’t get messed
And we just couldn’t wait
Till we got up the stairs
I dropped to my knees
Sucked his cock then and there

He leaned on the wall
His hips gently grinding
I couldn’t believe
All the flavors I’m finding
Then I paused… shit! Goddamit!
He was so nearly there
But someone else in the building
Was coming downstairs

Victoria’s Secret sold him the wrong size
And 50 First Dates was scratched on both sides
He needed to pee, and his voice sounded terse
When he said surely things just couldn’t get worse?

We reached my apartment
I pushed him in quick
I had unfinished business
With a thick, spit-slicked prick
I rubbed his firm helmet
All over my face
Felt his sweet precum smearing
I came at the taste

I said “you’re delicious!
“My favorite supper”
Then my throat closed around him
And he slipped in like butter
But when he reached for my pussy
And I felt his tongue kneading
“Oh shit, man! I’m early!
“I’ve just started bleeding.”

We gave up! We cuddled. It was one of those days
When things just get worse whatever you say
I looked for some respite once we got into bed
But I just called him Johnny…
…when I know his name’s Fred

Attitudes

My friend (and sometimes collaborator) Chrissie Bentley ruminates on attitudes towards erotic writing in the "real" world. Thoughts, anybody?