He’s lying on his back, one arm at his side, the other folded under his head. The fact it is post sex means he is beautifully naked. Exactly as he should be all the time in my opinion. The gym sessions are showing, muscle definition is popping in all the right places. In all honestly I want to have the sex all over again as I look at him.
I wish I’d taken the photo.
Why is it then, if he is so glorious, that I am thinking of you?
I’m thinking of you because I want you to see him, as he is in that moment. I wish I had taken the photo I envisaged in my mind, convincing him to let me take and share it, might have been two very hard battles to win, but I think I could have offered a persuasive argument.
I know he wants you to want him, and oh my, you would have wanted him so hard in that moment.
I wish I’d taken the photo.
I can feel your name on my tongue, both post sex and during. I can feel you slipping into my mind as we fuck, wondering where you might want to be, where he might want you and where I’d like you. There’s is a look he gets, and a shift in atmosphere when your name lingers in the air and it makes my cunt twitch and my mind race with erotic possibilities. I want to make your cunt twitch too.
I wish I’d taken the photo.
There is so much I want to see and do.
I want to showcase him.
I want to show you the things I know will elicit the most sexy and joyful of responses from him.
I want to sit back as you tend to him in your own way, and see what new discoveries unfold.
I want you to do nothing, as together we navigate the pleasures of your body.
I want to deny him, as my fingers make you come, and my tongue revels in the taste of you.
I want to make him beg for you. I want to hear him say the words out loud for us both to hear.
I want to watch as he slides inside you, so I can see him from another perspective as he fucks you.
There are so many ‘wants’ that I am longing to explore. They are all percolating inside me, latching on to my every sense of arousal, consuming me beyond want and into aching need.
A follow on from last weeks Wicked Wednesday piece Cool Shower.
Content Warning: Humiliation and degradation.
‘So … Together or apart?
‘Apart. They’ve enjoyed each other too much today. Time to separate them.’
At our attempts to get on with showering and preparing for lunch, their hands rose into a stop motion and the words ‘don’t you dare move’ were uttered. We both sat motionless on the bed, as the atmosphere in the room shifted.
‘Which one do you want?’
‘Well mine needs a shower, she’s filthy and some punishment for fucking yours. So you take her.’
I love it when they speak about us like this, reduced to nothing but commodities, things they can share between them. The loving endearments of our individual relationships cast aside, while the focus becomes ownership and hedonism.
I am unceremoniously dragged to the bathroom and he shuts the door behind us, muffling the sounds that are beginning to come from the bedroom. He has that look that tells me he is going to make this hurt, whether that is physical or emotional it’s hard to tell.
Physical comes first as his hand makes contact with my face in a firm slap, with a simultaneous command to get on my knees.
His shorts are barely containing his cock and it bursts forth as if it has been suffocating when he undoes his button and zip. Once free it is forced into my mouth, his hand clamped in my hair. I gag and I drool as tears stream from my eyes.
When he releases me, I briefly gain enough focus to hear deep, enthusiastic moans of pleasure coming from the bedroom. I know he’s inside her, pushing, throbbing, lost in the thrill of her warm, wet cunt consuming him.
I am pulled to my feet by my hair, and left standing while his hand reaches for the shower.
‘You look so fucking grubby. Get in the shower and make yourself decent again … if that’s even possible.’
The warm water is mine for just a second before he turns the temperature dial and ice cold water cascades over my body. My eyes close in shock and when I open them he is stood before me, safely out of reach of the water, his eyes upon me, cock in hand.
‘Turn the water off and kneel down.’
I do as I’m told and it soon becomes apparent that my painfully cold shower was completely pointless. The rhythm of his hand now promises to be fruitful, and it would be optimistic of me to think he’d do something as kind as order me to swallow.
I am transfixed by him. He is awful to me in these sessions. He does his absolute best to humiliate and degrade me. Having excavated all the darkest and most depraved thoughts I possess from my mind in order to use them against me. Which is how he knows that I can’t abide having come in my hair, but as he pointed out with great glee, not enough to have it on my list of limits.
I watch as he shudders and tenses while his orgasm builds within him, before his come lands just above my hairline.
He smears his come into my hair and across my face. There is nothing sexy about this, which begs the question why my thighs are wet with my own arousal.
With the shower off and a brief lull in our own activities, I hear the noises of our respective partners floating into my mind as if calling to me from a far away place.
He opens the door just a fraction, and the sound of their pleasure becomes more audible. He moves me into position, my head is leaning against the door frame, he is purposely holding it there because he knows that not only will it be uncomfortable, but it also give me the slightest glimpse of them.
He closes in on me, his body holding me captive as his mouth falls to my ear and I struggle against him, but he holds me in place, knowing my desire to escape is half hearted.
‘Look at them. Look at how much he’s enjoying her. I bet you thought they were still fucking, hard and dirty, like you always beg for. That’s not fucking though is it?’
When I don’t reply, he pushes my head harder against the wooden door frame, repeating his question with an almost venomous force. My voice cracking I manage to utter a single word, ‘no’.
That isn’t good enough though, he wants to hear me say the words that I can’t bear to use. Watching them though, I can see why he wants me to say it. Missionary, would describe the basic position, but it wouldn’t convey the intensity of their interaction. I can see them moving in harmony together, taking deep, laboured breaths that look as if they are breathing in each other, not the surrounding air. Her head cradled by his hands, as his lips keep returning to hers, for one more kiss, and one more, and one more. Their eyes flicker from open to closed and back again, drinking each other in while they are open, committing the others face to memory for when the depth of the pleasure draws them shut. It is so fucking sensual I could cry.
‘Tell me … if it’s not fucking, then what the hell is it?’
‘It … it looks like … like … m-m-making love.’
I cringe inwardly as I say it. It’s a phrase I hate and an action I find hard to embrace. Seeing it though doesn’t create one emotion, but many. It’s hard to untangle them, they well up inside me, until I’m like a river threatening to burst free from its banks. Just as it starts to verge on unbearable, he saves me.
‘That’s enough voyeurism for you. Lie in the bath and spread your legs. Head under the tap.’
His fingers do not move gently or with grace. They slam into me, hard and unforgiving, and the shame of how close I already am to coming brings the moment of climax even closer still. His voice graces my ears with a tirade of verbal degradation, the more he belittles and berates me though the more turned on I become. His fingers continue slamming into me, with what seems like reckless abandon, but he is actually exceptionally aware of the spot he is hitting. Over and over again, pushing me closer and closer, just as I am perched on the edge, only one more forceful push to tear my climax from body, he turns the shower on.
I can barely breathe as the water cascades over face, and it feels like an eternity of fear has descended upon me. It pulls me back from the edge ever so slightly, but his fingers keep on going and before I know it fear and arousal have combined, and I don’t know if I’m going to die or come, and for just a second I don’t care, because wave after wave of pleasure starts to wash over me and suddenly the water is gone too, and the deep breath I take seems to fuel the fire and I come so hard the world goes black.
Wonderful, lovely and sexy readers, get ready to open multiple browser tabs and be prepared for a roller-coaster ride of sexy and emotional blog posts. I have an an EPIC week (yes it did need the capitalisation) of blog reading and I am about to hit you all with some awesome and in some cases intense posts from some fabulous people.
Oh, Cousin Pons what a delightfully smutty blog you have. This weeks offering to Masturbation Monday from Pons was ‘Hornithology’, now while it did leave me with more questions than answers, it did also give me the horn. So that’s a win. You can also see more of Cousin Pons if you pop along and browse through the Sinful Sunday submissions. Would anybody like to see his bottom? If so head to his blog now.
This next blog post is all about the feels.’ Travels with You’ by submissy is just wonderful. In the almost three years I have been with Bakji we have journeyed hard. Sometimes I find it hard to articulate just how much that means to me, but this piece speaks for many of us I think. It is not only one of my favourites from this week, but one of my most favourite things I’ve read in a long time. I honestly think it deserves all the love so please do give it a read. I actually sent this link to Bakji, because I suspect my blog readers see more of my feels than he does, and I felt like this piece of writing said something that I’ve been wanting to say for a long time, but didn’t know how to.
Through Twitter, Sinful Sunday and possibly through the Smut Marathon which his Miss (Violet Fawkes) is taking part in, I have recently started frequenting KinkyandPerky’s blog. This week he wrote ‘Absent’ and I loved it. His Sinful Sunday pictures also cause me to giggle, quite often it’s my FemDom giggle too, which is the best giggle I possess, so finding a blog that encourages that is awesome.
Violet also happens to be the author of one of my Smut Marathon Round 3 favourites,
‘Weak Flesh’. While the voting may have ended, you can still visit the Smut Marathon entries and give it a read. If you need anymore encouragement to enjoy Violet’s writing maybe I suggest her most recent Kink of the Week submission ‘Worn Out’, it is hella sexy.
I have given a shout out to Pixie before, but I’m doing it again. Less for a specific post and more for her entire run of recent posts. I won’t lie, some of them will be hard for people to read, but Pixie is so brave and honest about topics that many people shy away from and I think that needs to be championed. I was recently in awe of the post she wrote about her Mum’s passing, within days if not hours of it happening. My Mum died nearly 9 years ago, and I often think I should blog about it, I want to, I do, but I just … I can’t. Grief is so complex, for so many reasons and in so many ways, and unpacking that in words can be brutal. Pixie has my sincere admiration for being able to share that process with her readers.
CuriousClitty brings us back to Kink, with ‘K is for Kaleidoscope’. Her take on the myriad of kinks we can all encounter, whether we enjoy them or just learn of their existence is fabulous. She also talk about adding colour to her deeper, darker kinks and that really resonated with me on a personal level, as I’ve been doing a little bit of that myself lately.
Social media platforms are becoming more and more restrictive in what we can see and share as a sex positive and kink positive community. Current political climates in a variety of our countries will only add to this. While this seems like a bit of fun, which it is, it is also really important that we do not let each other be silenced. #SoSS allows us to support and share fellow writers who may be unable to reach people due to the recent and ongoing spate of shadow-banning. If you have a platform where people are listening to your voice and you can share some of your favourite sex bloggers then please do. The more of us that get involved in this the better.
There were also amazing posts for Wicked Wednesday, Sinful Sunday and for #30DaysofOrgasm which some of us are indulging in for April. They are all worth a visit and you are guaranteed to find thought provoking and sexy posts there.
He looks fucking glorious, and he is glorious to fuck. Collar on, he kneels in the centre of the room. You arrive first as planned and we continue to adorn him with his accessories of submission. Ankle and wrist cuffs, his harness and for the time being a blindfold and a gag.
Our eyes meet as we stand either side of him and I’m compelled to touch you. The collusion in planning this for him has brought us closer together. I am delighted to find you are as wet as I am as my hand reaches under your skirt. My finger moves between your slick and inviting labia … and the doorbell goes!
One by one our guests begin to arrive, until we are at our final numbers. Ten women and one man.
We take our places, forming a circle around him, there is something sacrificial about the scene, and the phrase ‘like a lamb to the slaughter’, seems positively appropriate. As I step forward to remove his gag and blindfold, I can see his muscles tensing as he realises just how many women we have invited to enjoy him.
With a nod of my head, everyone steps forward, we close in on him as hands descend upon his skin. He knows he is not to move or make advances upon anyone without instruction, only you and I can present him with orders and no one can seek anything from him without presenting their wishes to us first. Yes he will be used, but he will also be protected.
His first task is to serve drinks and mingle, so those present can decide what they might want from the evening, as well as giving everyone a chance to relax get to know each other better. His behaviour is impeccable and I swell with pride knowing that the collar he wears around his neck is mine. Being able to share him and encourage others to indulge in him is an honour.
As flirtations increase, and it becomes clear that friskiness is becoming the main feeling in the room we invite our guests to remove some layers, and before I know it I am surrounded by visions of bare skin, lace, silk and Latex. Some of us remain in our heels, others wiggle their toes as the air hits them and there is at least one pair of adorable socks on show.
You are next on the list of things to do. Tugging on the d-rings of his harness to make your intentions known, as you settle down on one of the snuggle piles we’ve created, you direct his mouth to your cunt and he wastes no time beginning to administer pleasure. When your body begins to tremble and your hands turn to fists in his hair, you move away from him and I usher another woman into your seat. His eyes widen as he realises this might become a conveyor belt of oral sex. He shows no signs of worry though, he just licks, and sucks, his hands travelling across warm skin when permission is granted.
The moans of pleasure increase around the room, as women entwine with one another, and his fingers as well as tongue are called into action. With every moment that passes I can see him slipping deeper and deeper in subspace. His eyes shining, with that glazed look, his words muffled and low as his thoughts become increasingly more muddled. He looks to us for answers for every question he is asked.
As the latest woman to enjoy his attention spanks his bottom before wandering off to find herself some much needed hydration, I take the opportunity to take things to the next stage of our evening.
Part of our intricate planning involved every woman present bringing with her, or being provided with a strap-on to wear. Many of us willing to use them, some happy just to wear them. As I guide him to the piece of furniture we will be tying him too, his eyes dart around as each of us starts to step into, buckle up and stroke their strap-ons.
It is possible with the position he is in and the type of bondage bench we are using for him to both penetrate and be penetrated. As I stand between his spread thighs, you straddle his cock. As I watch him slide into you I feel like I could come from that image alone. Then he attempts to thrust, his movement hindered by the restraints. You lean forward and kiss him, and a moan escapes his mouth as you start to fuck him mercilessly. I finally stop perving over you both long enough to remember I should be doing something. With great satisfaction I draw a grumble from him as the lube feels cold against his arse, a grumble that turns to a groan of pleasure as I slide into him. We fall into an amazing rhythm, and my hands find your boobs and I as I peek around your torso I can see his eyes fixed on you as your movement brings him ever closer to climax. As we sense that moment looming, we both stop. He won’t come without permission, but taking him right to the edge, and then leaving him to fight his way back is most definitely part of our fun.
We takes turns in ushering women forward, his eyes fixed on them as they declare their intention to slide onto him or slide into him. He watches as new hands unwrap condoms, straining against his restraints when boobs and bums are aching to be grabbed. He does amazingly well as woman after woman fucks herself to climax with his cock, one decides she’d like to give him a blow job, while her new friend tries pegging for the first time. It is a joy to behold, and with unflinching honesty you whisper in my ear to ask if her blowjobs look better than yours. A few heads turn as I say louder than anticipated …
‘Remember; a flower does not think of competing with the flower next to it. It simply blooms’
You laugh at my choice of moments to be philosophical, but you still squeeze my hand gently in silent thanks.
Finally our guests leave and we all snuggle together under a blanket, and we place matching kisses upon his face. In a very soft, but alluring whisper, you mention how he still hasn’t come yet. His cock twitches and he waits with bated breath to see if we will indulge him. Luckily for him you’re a voyeur too, and it has been a long time since you saw us fuck. For the first time tonight he’s ordered to make me come, and I do, as my tongue tastes you and your own gushing orgasm flows onto my face. Still he’s thrusting, breathless and mindless, and I wonder why he still hasn’t come, and I can’t help but giggle as I realise my own mistake.
‘Come for us slave.’
He does, spectacularly and we all collapse in a sweaty, messy heap.
‘It’s too fucking hot. I’m going for beer, anyone coming with?’
‘Count me in.’
With that we were two men down, and it was just us girls keeping each other company. I hadn’t noticed just how sweltering the heat had become, until their departure had pulled my attention away from my almost coma like sunbathing. I become aware of the sweat dripping from my body, and as I look over at you, I realise I am not alone.
‘I think the boys are right, it is a tiny bit warm. I’m going to go and have a cool shower I think.’
You decide I am full of the best ideas, and we head to our shared room to make ourselves presentable before we all regroup for a late lunch.
I head straight for the shower when we enter the room, but your hand catches my wrist and you pull me towards the bed. I can’t help but giggle as I realise we will be getting dirtier before we get cleaner.
Our barely there bikinis, and lightweight sundresses are scattered in a trail leading to the bed, and our lips are locked together as we tumble onto the crisp white sheets, tangled together as our limbs entwined.
Your skin is sticky and dewy, from the combination of sun cream and sweat. When my mouth finds your nipples, you taste like salt, but goddamn it’s the sweetest salt I’ve ever tasted. The heat and the arousal is a heady combination, and I’m feeling spacey as our endeavours to please each other increase.
Your fingers are frenzied as they slide into me with ease, I can’t remember the last time I was this wet. The sunshine and relaxed environment has sent my sexual appetite through the roof. Thankfully I am not alone in this, and I have not one, but three people to satisfy my hunger. For now though it is just you and I. The boys didn’t know it yet, but they chose beer over boobs.
I can barely breathe as my orgasm closes in on me, once again we’ve forgotten to turn on the air conditioning, and the heat has become more and more oppressive as our physical activity has increased. My nails digging into your flesh actually provides some kind of relief as your moans straddle the line between pleasure and pain.
I can’t resist any longer, and my orgasm ricochets through me, bouncing off every cell I possess until my whole body is quivering with delight. We are not done though. Far from it. I flip you onto your back, and you smile widely, knowing that I’m a big fan of giving as good as I get, and I just got it pretty good.
My lips find yours and feel like I am being consumed by the need to ruin you. I want you trembling and begging, with bites marks strewn across your flesh and red welts showing exactly where my nails made their presence known.
Tearing myself away from kissing you isn’t easy, but it is aided by the knowledge of where my lips are travelling to. Slowly they make my way down your body, your breathing is ragged, and I can feel the rapid rise and fall of your chest as my hands alternate between gentle teasing and firm pinches to your nipples.
My teeth graze as I go lower, until they reach a favoured sweet spot and then I can feel your flesh firm in their grip. Your sharp intake of breath and murmurs of pain spurring me on, at this rate I’ll be the one coming again. Making you come is first on the list though, and my mouth finally reaches its destination and my tongue moves slowly from the bottom of your labia, gently flickering across your soft folds, until my mouth envelopes your clit.
You moan so fucking sweetly, and you taste like … like I am never going to able to tear my mouth from your hot, wet and addictive cunt. My tongue is buried as deep as it can go now, as you grind relentlessly against my face. I’m not sure I’m breathing, but I’m sure I don’t care. Your hands are in my hair, tight fists pulling me further into you, further denying me the chance of air. Fuck air though. Fuck everything. Because I can feeling your body tensing and clenching beneath me, and your words are beautifully depraved, as you lose yourself in a wave, or possibly a tsunami, of orgasmic feels.
My head falls against your soft thigh, as our fingers intertwine and we both burst into laughter. Sex adrenaline, extreme heat and slight lack of oxygen on my part combining for post orgasm hysteria. Just as we start to compose ourselves, the door clicks open …
‘What the hell did we miss?’
I look up to see our two extremely bemused partners following the trail of discarded clothing to their very naked and out of breath girlfriends.
‘A good time boys.’ I reply ‘’That’s what. But I’m sure we can have a repeat performance after lunch.’
‘We really should have a shower first though!’
Your comment has me in in fits of giggles again, and the men are clearly baffled as to what is so funny about a shower. As their eyes fix first on each other, and then on us, I get the feeling that our shower will be postponed once more, and our late lunch might turn into an early dinner.
This piece was inspired by a flirty conversation with a friend and happened to coincide perfectly with the current Wicked Wednesday prompt of travel. Please do check out the other Wicked Wednesday submissions and give some love to the ones you like best.
When I entered the Smut Marathon I declared that not matter how long I stayed, or more appropriately how soon I left, I would continue to support the other entrants and blog about the contest and I am determined to stick to that.
Part of this is because I believe in supporting and encouraging other writers. However there is a more selfish reason for my continued support and that is personal growth.
I often read through writing memes like Masturbation Monday and Wicked Wednesday when time permits, and I will leave comments where possible on the ones I enjoy most. These are never critiques though, because I don’t believe in offering criticism however constructive, unless it’s asked for.
As I learnt from my two short rounds of the Smut Marathon, feedback is mighty useful, but sometimes hard to take. The usefulness of it far outweighed my discomfort at receiving it though, so I endeavoured to leave as much feedback as possible for the writers that remained in the competition.
My feedback does not come from a place of writing knowledge. I don’t talk about semi colons, line breaks, sentence structure or anything that remotely relates to the actual technical aspects of writing. I will leave that to the Judge(s).
All I can offer in terms of feedback is how I felt, personally, on a completely subjective level about what some wrote. I wondered at first if this would be helpful, and maybe to some people it won’t be, but I know for me it would be, and that is why I decided to offer my honest thoughts on every piece submitted to the last round.
For me, the whole reason I write, especially erotica, is to make people feel something. Sexy is mostly what I’m aiming for, but erotica can do so much more than make someone feel sexy. It can help people accept their kinks and encourage them to explore new-found desires. It can create dialogue between friends, couples and bloggers alike and as this recent round of Smut Marathon has shown it can educate and inform.
In terms of how offering this feedback help my personal growth, well that’s easy. Like most people, I want to be liked, I do not admit that very often though and I try to take a very ‘those who mind don’t matter, and those that matter don’t mind’ approach to life. The interesting part of Smut Marathon though is I am offering feedback to people who do matter, at least they matter to me.
There are many bloggers I have connected with on Twitter, both prior to and because of the Smut Marathon. Many of them I would consider friends. I know lots of people don’t ‘get’ online friendships, but I do and those connections mean a lot to me. When the reveal is made and we find out who wrote which piece in the Smut Marathon it can be hard to see you didn’t exactly champion the work of someone you think a lot of.
That is why I think the initial anonymity of each round is such a good idea. If I knew whose work I was commented on I don’t know if I could be as honest. In part because I think I would be swayed by knowledge of the person and their previous writing.
I’ve since read the some of the entrants thoughts on the feedback they’ve received and in some cases it has been hard because I’ve offered less than glowing feedback to people who are struggling with confidence in their writing or the Smut Marathon process or both, or an alternate issue. I hope though that none of my feedback ever comes off as ‘hey I’m right and that’s shit’. My thought process is more along the lines of ‘I have no idea what you were trying to portray when you wrote this (because I’m not you), but here is where I, as a reader, am at with it.’
Whether I voted for your Round 3 piece, or whether it didn’t resonate with in quite the way you might have hoped, I still think everyone did so well. That was a tricky assignment and I was honestly a little bit relieved I didn’t have to tackle it. I did have a little think as to where I might have gone with it and I decided that it was nowhere good. I’m very forgiving of imperfections, unless they are my own, so you probably would have got a character sketch of what I perceive to be my worst flaws and that is certainly not going to be erotic.
Voting for the next round of Smut Marathon doesn’t open until 29th April. As always those of following do not know what the next assignment is, but I cannot wait to find out and give the entries a thorough read. Please keep your eyes peeled for social media announcements that the voting has opened, and even if you can’t leave lots of feedback, I know that all the writers appreciate every vote they are given.
In my last Smut Marathon blog post I mentioned that I had discovered lots of new blogs to enjoy through entering the contest. In response to that post someone asked if I would point my readers in the direction of these wonderful bloggers I’ve discovered so that they could visit their sites and enjoy them too.
#SoSS Saturday seems a brilliant time to champion some of my Smut Marathon favourites, both those that are still active in the contest and those who are no longer competing. I have included their ‘about me’ from the Smut Marathon website, so you can read in their own words what they are all about.