Status.

I'll be on a brief break for the next few days. Don't worry, sugar, I'm just on the road.

Aw, I'll miss you too.

HNT: Bite It.

Bones.

These have been some long days. I'm getting a lot done, planning for a trip away from home within the next week. Not a leisurely trip, but one with lots of complicated logistics. But I will be on the open road by myself. I'll get to see distant friends and walk on the beach. How often does that happen?

But tonight? I don't need much.

I'll go to bed early. You'll stay up late working at your desk. By the time you crawl in with me, I'm asleep. I feel your body, however, and back into it so your chest is pressed into me. I'm sleeply aware of your erection against my lower back.

You aren't sleepy. You begin to massage your cock between my legs. Not really looking to get anywhere, but taking care of yourself. I dozily look over my shoulder at you.

"Do you mind?" you ask. I shake my head no. I don't mind. It feel nice. At first. Then I begin to notice that you're getting slicker with the wetness from my pussy. But I'm tired. I feel it in my bones. What to do, what to do?

I turn on my back and slide my leg up over your hip. You're still on your side and I'm open to you now. "Oh," you say, with mild surprise. My eyes are still closed but I'm smiling.

Easily, lazily, you slide inside me. You brace my shoulders against your thrusting. Your touch is gentle but firm. I'm in your grip.

I think I'll orgasm before you will. I feel relaxed, even sloppy. I'm not working for anything.

With your free hand you massage my clit with the flat of your hand. Hard, steady, grinding pressure. Oh yeah baby, that's the way I like it.

I've grabbed your upper leg so I can grind myself into you more heartily. Now we're going at it. You grin at me in satisfaction. You've roused me.

The buildup is slow but simultaneous for us both. I'm concentrating and you're watching my face. In real life I couldn't imagine looking at a picture of myself at this moment, but as it happens, I'm joyfully smirking and scowling. Your gaze is tight as we both near the edge. I think you're waiting for me. I'm almost there, desperate, frenzied with it.

Finally is releases over me, like a wave, like a percussive blast. You see it happen to me, hear it in my 'Oh yes!!' and you finally let go. Your jaw braces, your teeth grind. You're like a hard machine drilling itself into me to leave its paydirt. We buck and clutch and writhe together. . .

I fall asleep with you inside me. As I said, I'm bone tired.

Down.

The system is down. Can't find time, privacy, or a fucking working blogger site Blogger this means you when I need it.

Donut all gone. Me no get donut.

Dream.

I had a dream last night. It fades now as the day gets going.

I was with someone. We went to the crepe shop and he tried to sneak chocolates for me.

Ok that part doesn't matter.

But then we were together. My mind was flooded with reasons to stop. But I wouldn't. Couldn't.

Then he was inside me and all I felt was relief. And urgency. A need to do this thing.

It seems even when my days are full and I'm engaged in this life at home, my mind conspires against me, craving something it can't have.

HNT

Waiting for my kitty to hop in with me.

Number One.

He'd know how to twine his fingers through my hair and pull without hurting (too much).
He'd know a spank from a spank.
He'd spend an hour with his head between my legs because he loves it, not because I have to convince him.
He'd relish the taste of every part of me.
He'd tell me how it was going to be.
He'd think sex is hilarious and gorgeous and disgusting and transcendent all at once.
His slipping inside me would be almost as gratifying as orgasm.
He'd get me to want what I didn't think I could want.
And like it.
He'd bite the back of my neck as though he was biting a grape without breaking the skin.
He could fuck me fifteen minutes after fucking me.
He'd use words like lovely and beautiful to describe me.
He'd tell me how much he loves to fuck me. I'd tell him too and mean it.
He'd curl around me and I wouldn't feel smothered or crowded.
He'd get me hot just by kissing me.
He'd get me hot just by running his finger down my arm.
He'd fuck me in a car, on the stairs, in the grass, against a wall, anywhere he could.

He'd be my Number One Lover.

Moms.

I took my boy to playgroup this morning. Only one other mom there. It was fine. We're in a new neighborhood so still meeting people around.

It got me thinking, though. Here's the profile of the women I know: white, late thirties, upper middle-class. They work both in and out of the home, volunteer for their schools, drive mini-vans. They garden and read.

Where are the artists and the writers? Where are the weirdos? Where are the less conventional moms? I really think this city isn't affordable to anyone who isn't affluent.

As an adult, it gets harder to meet friends. Add to that the fact that I'm shuttled into the least interesting category of all: Mom.

We're a group over-consumed with diapers and feeding habits, too sleep deprived to think straight. When we have cocktail parties, the women wind up in the kitchen talking about kids. Except me. I spend all day focused about my son; why would I want to talk about him when I can finally have adult time? I hang out with the men.

Don't get me wrong, I like my friends. But I also need diversity. I'm going on a safari. I'll find the cool moms and flush them out. Make them like me.

Adrift.

Tonight I'm filled with loneliness and grief. It keeps me awake.

It is a terrible thing to go through my life without my mother's love. I don't know how to do it. Wherever she was, that was home. I feel untethered and adrift without her to return to. She died almost two years ago, with me at her side. She lived fully until the last three days. Then she was gone.

"In those moments we were so close our love was right there -- so deep, so open, and alive. I take consolation in knowing that when [she] went, there was not a shred of doubt in our minds about how much we meant to each other, how much we loved each other." -- John Porcellino, King Cat

And then there's the grief of my marriage.

I'm lonely with this man, beyond description.

He is the man who forget to tell me when my grandmother called to say my aunt had died.

He is the man who, when I told about a moment of profound grief about my mother, asked what kind of bagel I was eating at the time.

He is the man who waited more than a week to talk to me about it when I confessed that my stepfather used to ask to borrow my underpants to masturbate.

None of this is callousness on his part. He just doesn't know how to respond, so he withdraws. He's ashamed of himself when it happens.

But in the meantime, I'm standing here alone, exposed, and sad.

I don't know how much longer I can bear it, or the struggle to fix it.

Dream On.

The day has taken its toll on me. I'm wrung out, drained, pooped.

What would restore me?

A soak in a hot tub.

A naked massage.

A girlfriend to make me laugh.

Twelve hours uninterrupted sleep.

A walk on the beach.

My mother's embrace.


...Ah well...A girl can dream...

Easter.

There is no damned place for us to be. You sleep late; you came home late smelling of cigars and scotch from a night out with the boys. I was already asleep. So I wake up before you do and take a shower. By the time I come out of the bathroom, you are making coffee. My hair is towel-dried only. I'm wearing flip-flops and perfume.

You look me up and down. "Get back on the bed, facedown," you order. I pause, wondering if I should comply or fight.

I do it.

You're on top of me immediately. Your hands pin my arms down. I crane my head sideways to kiss you. Your cock probes between my legs. "Spread them," you order.

I do it.

You thrust inside me [...I have to pause here for a minute, dear readers...]

You thrust inside me, one two three times. I squirm to fuck you back.

"I want your ass," you say. Hmmmmmm. I don't answer right away.

"I want your ass," you say again. "Please?"

I turn and look at you.

"Pie?" you offer.

"What kind?" I ask.

"Apple?"

"Nah."

"Cherry?"

"Yes. Lattice top?"

"Sure."

"Whipped cream, not from a can?"

"Yes."

"Get the lube," I say.

He jumps up and comes back with the bottle. He opens it and slathers my ass and his cock. His touch is light. First he rides the slippery valley between my ass cheeks, teasing me. He'll wait until I ask for it, self-consciously. What a thing to want, I think.

"Please," I say.

"Please what?"

"Please. Please don't make me want this." He laughs.

He tentatively, slowly works himself inside me. This is the tough part, staying relaxed, letting it happen. Then, suddenly, I'm open to him. He begins to move around, less thrusting than grinding. Oh the intensity.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Whipped cream by hand, right?" and let him go ahead.

[The thing about it is that there's never a moment when I'm not thinking about exactly what we're doing. It's like meta-sex. My mind doesn't wander.]

So when he drives into me and I think 'he's going to come in my ass' the wicked decadence of it eggs me on, lets him do what he wants. And I like it.



...Later on he takes a pen from the nightstand and scribes 'Mine' across my ass cheek.

Then he gets up to make me my sodomy cherry pie. Happy Easter to us.

Tongue.

First there is your breath. It's hot. I feel it through my cotton panties. It's all you're doing, deeping drawing in and breathing out. You lick the taught fabric and the touch of your tongue on my clit is faint and delicate. Mmmmmm I moan in anticipation. Your hands slide up to my hips and slowly begin to work my panties down.

I know what's coming. I could squeal and giggle with delight right now. Oh and the way you're looking at me. It's proprietary and savage. This isn't something you're doing for me but to me.

You poise between my legs. I can't see your tongue or mouth. Just your eyes. You're waiting. Oh come on! I'm here with my legs open to the world, the most private part of me exposed so let's get it going! I can't stay like this forever, you know.

And yet still, you wait. I start to laugh self-consciously. This is getting silly.

You hold my hips tighter. I try to pretend I don't care.

I feel your mouth open; I hold my breath in anticipation. You close it again. I cry out in frustration and pound my hands on the bed.

Finally you lay the flat of your tongue on my cunt. Excrutiatingly, torturously slowly: you lick up and away so that only the tip of your tongue grazes my clit.

Oh yeah. Oh that. Do that again.

Change.

Felt pretty sick last day or two. Hopefully today I'm coming out of it.

I'm thinking a lot again about this blog. I'm on a campaign to simplify and de-stress, and having this blog, in its current iteration, is extremely high-risk and stressful.

My plan is to go through and archive some posts and basically clean up so that it would be safe if someone I knew found this. We'll see how this thinking affects new posts. I don't know. I just have too much to lose if all was exposed.

I hope you'll stick around and see where it goes. I'll probably have to get more creative -- that can't be bad, can it?

HNT

Here's my profile photo, unadulterated.

Milk and Sugasm

The best of the sex blogs by the bloggers who blog them.

Sex Toy Reviews / Sex Advice

Featured Article - Hit Me With Your Best Shot (part 2) (seskuality.com)

How To Ejaculate - For Women (shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com)

XTC Pleasure Curve (sin.typepad.com/shauna_by_night)

NSFW Pics

Solo Girl

The Incomparable Beauty Of Marketa Belonoha By The Sea (thesexblog.com)

Kele Ward Sexy Cowgirl (eroticandy.blogspot.com)

Kyla shot by Abby Winters (iloveabbywinters.com)

Oh My - What has Annie done (sensualarousalblog.com)

Lesbian

Bridgete, Darlene and a strap-on on Sapphic Erotica (simply-sapphicerotica.com)

Hardcore

She Got Pimped Review (internetisforporn.com)

Personal Porn

HNT - Damn Good Weekend (sabrinainstockings.com)

Performing (sexyukgirl.blogspot.com)

Where Did the Weekend Go? (drtycplinva.blogspot.com)

Sex Toy Reviews / Sex Advice

Featured Article - Hit Me With Your Best Shot (part 2) (seskuality.com)

How To Ejaculate - For Women (shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com)

XTC Pleasure Curve (sin.typepad.com/shauna_by_night)

Sex Work

Happy Blogaversary (I’m Baaack…) (talkingdirtyblog.com)

Top Ten Lies Strippers Tell (tinastrangeworld.blogspot.com)

Erotic Writing

Cum Machine (Part 1) (rendezvous-romance.blogspot.com)

The Floor, the Fireplace, and the Fuck (taratainton.com)

Fruition (mydreams02.livejournal.com)

More Sugasm…

Join the SugasmIt’s Been Seven Years (bikersballsandteacherstits.blogspot.com)

Just A Quickie (stilettodiaries.blogspot.com)

Lost in the moment (gentlygently.blogspot.com)

Retreat. (domequeen.blogspot.com)

Thoughts on Sex: Sex Commentary, Sex News, Sexual Politics

All That You Can’t Leave Behind (sexeteria.blogspot.com)

Disgraceful, Disturbing, and Plain Bad Form (vagueboy.com)

Don’t shit in my mouth and call it a sundae (ethnorotica.com)

The Passion of the Artist (And the Lover) (cuntinglinguist.blogspot.com)

Room 11 (theholidaylife.blogspot.com)

State of Sex (erotiterrorist.blogspot.com)

This isn’t supposed to happen at Duke, is it? (tgp.com)

V for Vendetta (sugarpit.com)

Violent Porn - Three Perspectives (sugarbank.com)

Women can be sick fucks, too

BDSM and Fetish

BDSM

Complexities of relationships - Choices 6 (masterenigma.blogspot.com)

Enjoying a Spanking Shoot (adelehaze.com)

Half-Nekkid Homemade Flogger (alwaysarousedgirl.blogspot.com)

HNT (spiritsex.blogspot.com)

My New Toys (radicalvixen.com)

Naughty in Florida (thoughtsformymaster.blogspot.com)

Stress Relief (darkside-journey.blogspot.com)

Yummy (angelbrat454.blogspot.com)

Fetish

Strange? (v-boat.blogspot.com)

The Whisper of Nylon (easilyaroused.co.uk)

Funny

Though he tries to be quiet… (janeluvsdick.com)

You Want to Play With My Laffy Taffy? (4dirtylaundry.blogspot.com)

Experiences

Feeding the Soul at a Porn Conference (seska4lovers.com)

My Story (thetastetester.com)

Perverts Saloon (nyc-urban-gypsy.blogspot.com)

Tiny Sadists (thegooseandgander.blogspot.com)

Ultimatum (aliferestarted.blogspot.com)

Gorgeous photo of Marketa courtesy of TheSexBlog.com.

Update: April 10, 5:55 am EST. “More Sugasm” link fixed.

<

Retreat.

There's a place in my mind.

We have our own cabin to ourselves. It's one room plus the bathroom. When we check in, someone is dispatched to light the fire in the stone fireplace. By the time we walk down the short path and open the door, we can feel the heat radiate. There's a bear-skin rug on the floor and antlers over the mantle. Other than that, the rustic touches are few. There is a large four-poster bed covered with a silk-covered feather duvet. One wall has a large six-foot mirror in a gilt frame. In it, we can see a reflection of the entire room. The bathroom has a whirlpool tub to fit two. There's a towel warmer. The soap smells like cucumber.

Waiting for us, on a table along the wall, is the midnight feast we ordered. We knew it would be a long drive to this mountain resort. There are two dozen oysters on ice. The Hawaiian ones. There's a bottle of chilled Sancerre and the same of champagne. There's a cheese plate. If we want more, we can still walk over to the lodge and order a skirt steak with frites, or the bone marrow.

We can stay for days, even weeks. No one needs us. In my imagination, I have no other obligations. All there is to do is sleep and eat and read and fuck.

So what does my mind want first?

We're undressed. I'm kneeling before him. The fire toasts my back. He can see us in profile in the mirror. I run my hands up the back of his thighs and over his sweet ass. I lean forward so my forehead is against his stomach, and breathe in the scent of him. This is a moment of fulfillment as also of anticipation. We're here in a safe place, and this is what there is to do. Now it starts. It's the pivot point between being separate and together, of letting him inside my body in more ways than one.

I caress his penis with my cheek, one side, then the other. I look up at him and he's watching us in the mirror: the play of firelight on our skin, the way my arms wrap around him. He strokes my hair. I look down to see one glistening drop of pre-cum on his cock. I lick it off tenderly; the briny taste of it salts my entire mouth. I circle the glans with my tongue. I'm pratically drooling. I cover my teeth with my lips and slowly take him in all the way. I nudge his stomach with my nose. He gasps with the sight of it even though it isn't the first time. I catch his eye and smile as much as I can with my mouth full of his cock.

My mouth knows him in a way my cunt never can. The taste of him, for one thing. He tickles each tastebud: sweet, bitter, salty, savory. It's this primal animal thing I'm tasting, untouched by anything but its own scent. There are remnants of soap, denim, sweat, and what? It's not unlovely but deeply personal. That he lets me do this, to take this vulnerable piece of him into the sharpest part of me, is both touching and lusty.

How could my pussy ever caress him the way my tongue can? I can be lively and brisk, or meticulous and thorough. I can trace every vein, every line of him. I can suck or blow. I could take a cold drink and change everything.

But what I do is continue to slide him in and out of my mouth. One hand hefts his balls gently; the other hand cups his ass to pull him farther into me. He twines his fingers into my hair. He runs his other hand down my cheek and to my jaw and traces the muscles of my throat that exert to do this. The wet seam between my lips and his cock is a marvel to him, and I love him to trace it. Mmmmmmm I moan, my mouth full.

I reach down between my own legs and feel how wet this makes me. My hand is instantly soaked. Raising it, I slide it between his legs. He bend them apart to let me caress that tender sensitive spot between. Then I move onward to the sweet pucker of his ass. I know he likes this. He relaxes so I can slide my wet finger into him, just a little. I match it to the rhythm of my mouth. Now the other hand holds the base of his cock. Here I am on my knees, in total control.

It's a heady rush of power, pride, and love. I'm good at doing this with him. Very good.

When he begins to thrust against me, I let him. He wants to. I can feel the build of tension in his legs and the unkind urgency with which he grabs my hair. After a minute, I forcefully draw back. Hold on there. Not so fast. I let him slide from my mouth a little and tease him with my tongue. I'm hungry for it too, but I want to draw it out. I want to relish the desperation in him and know that only I have what he needs. Finally I relent. Now it will happen. One hand strokes him into my mouth while the other finger fucks his ass. I'm working hard and furious. He thrusts into me so hard it's all I can do not to gag. My eyes water and my nose runs. I am a mess and I love it.

At the moment he comes, we are almost in the same state of oblivion. Sometimes I can't exactly say that my mouth is full of his cum: I just swallow it all reflexively. It's sweeter and saltier and weirder than any man would think. I don't mean bad weird, just unlike anything else. Unique to itself. Like whiskey - you have to drink it a few times to acquire a taste for it.

He's been shouting Oh! Oh! until now. It retreats more to an Oh of surprise and delight. He lets go of my head but I don't let go of him. I slowly lav his penis with my tongue, sucking as I go. I don't want to spill a drop. I kiss him one last time before retreating completely.

He sits down next to me on the bearskin rug. He puts an arm around me and pulls me so we are laying full-length together.

Soon I will make him open one of those bottles and feed me oysters. If he wants to eat any, he will have to do so off my ass as he fucks me from behind. But that's a story for another day....

me.

Nekkid.

This is directly inspired by a post at Erotiterrorist here.

I posted a fuzzy dark photo of my ass a few months ago. At the time it felt as though I owed it to the blog and the readership. But I was hesitant, as a naturally modest person. Thus the crappy photo. I was obliging other people, not myself.

This week I took some additional pictures of myself that are actually not very nekkid but more suggestive in tone. This feels right. I guess it's important to me to create an appropriate aesthetic, not just tits and ass. I mean, hey, half of us out there have the same parts. What makes me different? I think this is one of the reasons that Always Aroused Girl's photos are so hot. She shows not just parts but aspects of herself through her photography. Her vision of herself is artistic, graceful, and, by the way, erotic.

I've debated taking this site down, since it is potentially incriminating, and my sex life is, at present, horrific. It's also difficult for the one friend who knows about this to read and feel that I am sharing myself with strangers and less with him. For the near future, however, having this forum for creativity is helping to remind me that despite my immediate circumstances and difficulties, I am a vital, erotic, sexual person. That part of me is always here, often dormant, but ready to be called into action. Like a superhero. Like mighty Isis.

For now I'll keep going, staying creative, engaged, and invested.

And as for those photos...well tomorrow's Thursday, isn't it?

Submit.

JUndercovers was wondering recently how to reconcile his loving, sensitive personality with the side of him that enjoys responding to his wife's request to be dominated in bed.

I've discovered this dynamic recently, and I relish it. Through my current regimen of therapy, I've begun to figure out why.

All day long I am hyper-responsible. I'm organized. I'm concerned for all aspects of my family's life. I keep things running, clicking along. I do all the meal planning, grocery shopping, and cooking. I know when we need more diapers and that it's time to call the in-laws to check in.

So you know what? At the end of the day, I want to just melt. I want a sensory overload. I want Mrs. Smartypants to shut up about the laundry and the car repairs. I want to forget myself. My partner will tell me what to do, and I will obey.

Please give me this chance to be soft, yielding, and vulnerable. I'm so fucking strong all day. Let me rest. Take charge.

Use this body for its most primal purpose. Make me forget about lugging the kid into the car seat. My muscles need more to do than chores. Push me. Stretch me. Take me.

Under.

I miss the old days of cotton boxers. Not the stretchy boxer-briefs. I don't mean them. I mean the broadcloth, stiff cotton ones. I remember once-upon-a-time when I'd be making out with a guy, my hands would be on his waist, and I could slide my fingers along the waistband, maybe under it. Definitely different. Cotton and elastic gathered loosely over his hips.

At one point we'd scrabble out of our pants and maybe he'd be on top of me. I could feel his hard cock against me -- and this is the important part -- straining to be free. These new-fangled cotton stretchy things are all give. There's so much less suspense and urgency. Plus, the cotton broadcloth ones are much thinner, so he could feel a more delicate touch. I could stroke him and feel his insistent response. Finally I could liberate him. Ah, the joy and relief.

Who still wears these old boxers? Probably stockbrokers and lawyers. Real clean-cut types, the straight arrows. 'Tis a pity.

Weirdo.

I don't imagine I wish for many strange things. I don't need to smell a shoe to get off, or be slathered with red paint. I'm like any regular girl who likes it hard, fast, slow, easy, backwards, forwards, standing, sitting, rough, gentle.

But there is a thing. My only weirdo thing.

I swear!

He's the only one to have done it; who knows how it would be with anyone else? But oh it drives me wild.

I'm on my back. He's kneeling with my legs up before him, straight. Maybe he runs his hands down my thighs to where he's already made me wet. Then with intent, he licks up the arch of my foot and bites my heel. Oh yeah.

Now watch, some of y'all think I'm a perv, some of you think I'm a nerd.

Taxing.

The office is a mess. There are five piles of bank statements, investment profiles, receipts, and the odd old recipe. I'm doing the taxes. It's an eye-straining kind of thing, even with my glasses on. I've been at it all day. I'm tired. I cooked dinner and cleaned up too. I took care of the boy all night by myself. I'm tired. Did I say that already?

I wish he would come in here, touch my shoulder, and say,'You look beat. Let me give you some rubbing.' I'd smile and nod. We'd walk to the bedroom and I'd slowly undress. Even though he knows I'm tired, his eyes would crawl over me lecherously. Even now he'd fuck me if that's what I needed. But it isn't and he knows it.

He'd pull the bedding down so I could crawl onto the sheet. I'd sigh aahhhh with the cool relief of it. He'd straddle my back and rub his thumbs up and down my spine. He knows there's this spot where the bastards of stress hang out, right by my shoulderblade. He'd work it until I gasped. He'd relent. He'd go on to other areas like the sore wrists and my tight scalp. Oh the star-struck joy of a head massage. My tongue lolls in my mouth.

Every once in a while I'd be conscious of his penis touching my back, my ass, or my leg. It's a nice reminder that thoughtful as he is, he's still crawling all over me. Just once I'd feel him slide between my ass cheeks. I would smile. He'd say 'oh that, that's nothing.' But the thrill it would give me tells me that maybe my energy isn't so low after all...

Glitch.

So because [insert technical bullshit here] my newest post is two below this one, titled "Awake."