I’m thankful for my fingers dragging against her wet lips. For the tender little button of her clit and the way it swells under my thumb. I’m thankful for the sounds she makes, leading me moment by moment, when I tenderly lick her thighs and flick at the stiffer hairs that climb her hips.
I’m thankful for her ready attention. How she spreads her legs every time I ask. I am thankful to be met, pound by pound, in my unending desire.
I am thankful for the broad window and bright interior lights of my living room where she bends over a chair and watches our reflection as I work up a sweat with my fingers slamming into her. I am thankful for my grip in her hair and the stream of words coming out of my mouth.
"Yes. Yes, baby. Like this, girl. See how much I love to fuck you? See how much I want you to feel it? I know how much you think about it. Show me how you need it. Show me right now. Yes. Like this. Be my girl. I am yours. If I slow down like this, what do you do? Show me. Show me, baby. Yes. Yes. Like this."
Her back bucks, arches, sways. Her hips wriggle around my fingers. My pumping fist and forearm. I am thankful. We turn the chair around and she climbs into my lap, her legs spread in a wide V. I thank her for showing me. I thank her for opening for me. “Wide. Wider. Yes, baby. Touch yourself. Show me. Let me see it. I like your fingers. Your little hands. I like to watch you.”
I am thankful for the sound as I spit into my hand. I am thankful for her eyes. Her tears. The way she shakes. I am thankful for her loud yell. Her clenched body, racked with the rippling impact of her orgasm. The way she comes. Such force. The way she can break me with it sometimes. “Break me,” I whisper when she can’t hear me.
I am thankful as she sleeps next to me. Thankful how she wakes when I roll her onto her back and pet her arms, her chest, her belly. Wake her with my hands between her thighs. Wake her, pulling my belt off the floor and strapping it across her shoulders. We can do anything next.
I am thankful for the rare afternoons when we get to roll around in her bed on top of the covers. “Keep your clothes on,” I tell her. I go slow. Grinding against her. My thigh between her legs. I pull her bra off her shoulders. Unbutton two buttons. Ease her tits out of her clothes. Rub my rough palms on her nipples. My fingers, scratched and cracked, calloused, pull a jagged path around her swelling nipple. I am thankful for the darkening purple as I pinch, squeeze, slap.
More words. My words. I am so thankful for my words. For the way I can tell her. I am thankful for these words that pour out of me and in a moment transport us somewhere. Fully clothed, hot and sweaty. Thankful for her tight jeans. Unbuttoning. Unzipping. Watching my fingers crawl under the denim. Her wet hole. The way her chest rises up so fast when my fingertips brush her clit. The words that rush out of me. Immediate. Like this.
"I like to think of you, after school, in your bedroom. Is this what we would do? Is this how I would touch you?" She nods her head. Stays silent. Squeezes her eyes shut. "I like to think how you ran home and closed your door. How your fingers knew where to go. How you learned what felt so good. Did you slow down sometimes and let it burn? Like this? I like to think how you imagined what this would be like. How you imagined someone pressed against you. Someone else’s fingers making you feel this way. Do you remember? Do you remember how quiet you had to be? Hush. Shhhhh. So quiet. They won’t know. Shhh. Stay still so the bed doesn’t squeak. Listen to how quiet and heavy your room is. Feel how ready your clit is to explode. How can you keep still like this? Don’t move, baby. I can feel the way you build. Let me feel it. Slow."
I am thankful for the light mist of sweat on her face just before she comes. For our soft tongues.
Let me give this to her. Let me love her like this every day. Help me take it from her. Let me take what she gives me. This is what I want. This is just what I want.
I let her push my thighs open. I watch her drag my jeans down to the floor and pull my underwear back into place. I watch her smile as she pushes me back onto the couch. I look at her fingers on my clit. I watch how I grow for her. I watch her mouth, hovering. My arms lay quiet near my thighs. I lean back against the couch. She pulls my hips forward. She sucks me off. I push her hair behind her ear. I watch. I see my chest shine with sweat. Her hands pull my underwear out of the way. Her cheeks suck in. I feel my clit in her mouth. I feel big inside her. Her soft mouth on me. She stares up at me. I don’t recognize this look. We are somewhere. At the movies? In the back of my car? Behind the gym? I can feel it. I want them watching us. “You’re so good. Jesus.” I yell. Air forced out of my lungs. A rush. My body wraps around her. I pull her head against me and come for longer than I thought possible. For several minutes, I hold myself against her soft lips. I come so hard in her mouth. My body moves in slow motion. My shoulders stretch. My foot presses against the coffee table. I am thankful for the way she gets me off. I am thankful for what she teaches me about myself. For what I learn. For how I can do this now. This. Now. For her.
I am thankful to be yours today. Right now. To hear you breathing next to me, wrapped in my sheets. You fell asleep wearing my necklace.
“I’m a witch woman; high on tobacco and holy water. I’m a woman delighted with her disasters. They give me something to do. A profession of sorts. I have the magic of words.”—Sandra Cisneros (via swanfucker)
She unbuckled my belt and started to reach inside my pants but stopped, smiling at me. She towered above me, straddling my hips in her tight, rust colored dress. Her tits hung heavy, shoved over the edge of her dress and bra. She was grinding her pussy against me and playing with her nipples. Every time I reached for her, I was swatted away. She kept me bound to the bed without any ties. I found myself grabbing fistfuls of the sheet and straining as if I was tightly tethered.
Slowly, giving me a dirty look, she bent over me and grabbed my belt buckle. She gently held it up to her tits and rubbed the worn brass against her nipples, one and then the other. I opened my mouth wide and gasped. My tongue reached for her. My jaw ached. She shook her head at me, “No.” I watched. I felt the sweat that comes when I’m worked up like this, between my breasts, under my arms, my low back, high on my neck just under my hairline, my upper lip. I lifted my hips into her with more and more force.
I wore white briefs, her favorite. She pulled the waist band high and smoothed the pocket I had no use for with her fingers, rubbing just above and on either side of my clit. Her sweet little hand moved softly above my cunt. I knew how wet I was. I felt her fingers drag on the damp cotton. I could smell my own pussy. Aroused. So fucking ready for her to suck me off. Feeling myself strain, every muscle coiled.
"Fuck," I whispered long and low and lifted my shoulders off the mattress. I bent my knees so that my thighs lifted her ass, tilting her towards me. She sat back against my legs and jerked my belt all the way off my jeans, bringing the leather strap just under her tits. She pulled it taut and ran it back and forth, her tits hanging heavily over the brown leather. She pulled the belt tight around her ribs for a moment and then teasingly, slowly, edged it up the swell of her tits. The rough side of the leather pulled against her nipples. I watched it drag back and forth across her skin. Now and then it would slip and I could see her nipples, raw and red, nearly purple from the rough hide abrading her skin. Her eyes were closed. Her mouth hung open, heavy. My tongue pushed against my teeth. I felt my eyes grow wet, one small tear rolled down my left temple and into my hair. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I cried for her. But I did.
She worked her nipples with that belt longer and harder than I would have had patience for. I nodded my head, the tears stinging my eyes, “Yes,” I said again and again, “Yes, this is what I want.” Useless words. She knew what I wanted before I could understand myself. It’s what she does. She reaches deep down and finds me and grabs my hand. We take off running like children in a fallow field and don’t look back. “My baby,” I say, “My girl.” I repeat all the words that have been said so many times by so many people they’re faded and gray and nearly wrung out. It doesn’t matter. It’s the sound of my voice. It’s the way my belly pushes out round and tight as I arch my back, as the muscles in my arms ball up with the tension of needing to be fucked, as my veins bulge to keep up. I want her fingers, her tongue, her breath, anything on my swollen, aching clit. I don’t know what I do in these moments. I don’t know what she sees.
When she’s done with my belt, she tosses it down to the mattress and I wrap my fingers around it. She pulls her panties down low on her hips and lets me see the thickening hair beneath. She pulls the lips of her pussy wide for me to see how wet and flushed she’s become. She sticks two fingers in my mouth and teases me by hovering, then rubbing my spit on her sore nipples. My head strains towards her pussy. I inhale deeply but can’t catch the scent of her. My hands get slapped away again as I break the rules and reach for her thighs. It’s the last time I forget. I want to be tortured. I want to be still.
"Yes," I say, staring at her pussy, "Please." She smiles at me. It’s a pitying look. She nods. Her lower lip hangs open and I see how wet her mouth is. My tongue strains. I feel the sharp, ridged edges of my teeth. "Yes, baby," she nods her head quickly at me. Her hair hangs loose around her face. I stare into her eyes, admiring her face. Her high cheekbones and solid jaw. My eyes wander slowly down her neck, muscled, red from the sun, her rounded shoulders, her heavy tits, her belly. I watch her hand travel to her clit, her lips still spread to help me watch.
When she touches herself, I’m on fire. I’m yelling as if I’m about to come. We sound the same. “Come for me, sugar,” I hear myself say, “Let me watch you.” She rubs herself with one finger crooked, the others raised, mimicking quick, circling movements in the air. I can see her clit swell. I imagine I see it clutch and throb as she comes. I know I feel it. I do. I have a shadow orgasm there beneath her. I pant as hard as she does. She bends over me and I grab her tight. She brushes her open mouth against my lips.
By the time her mouth is on my clit, I’m so turned on that my body lies motionless for several minutes, stunned. She knows. She feels it in how wet my pussy is. So fucking wet and dripping. Her tongue is soft, barely there. I writhe beneath her on the mattress. Her lips close around me and I feel the suction as her tongue cups my clit and pulses. “Oh god,” I say. Everything I say sounds hollow, used up. I have no new words for this and yet it is entirely new. “Oh god,” and “Fuck,” and “Yes, baby. Yes.” I want a new language just for this, but instead I shut up and let my body do what it needs. I pulse my hips against her. I hold my thighs open for her. I crook one arm and hold my neck, pulling myself up to watch her. She’s staring back at me. Sucking on me so sweetly. Getting me off in an ancient way. Her tongue. My clit. Flickering. Sucking. Pulling me deeper and deeper into her mouth. The noises I make are wordless. Known. I come in waves so deep and long that she can leave her tongue against me, pressing hard, still sucking on my clit. I come so hard for her. My body twitches. I suck the air into my lungs. I lick my lips. She lays her head on my thigh. I feel her breath on my wetness. I shiver.
This is my lover. My girl. This is me. Hers. This is how we fuck. How we fucked once. One day. That is all that this is. This is all that it was. And tonight or tomorrow it will be something different. This is me. This is her. Today.
it is a marvelous moment, as an ostensibly fully-formed adult, to find the world getting bigger and the possibilities infinite. and that's what i notice, reading your stories, finding something i did not even know i was looking for. thank you for your beautiful words, which have somehow cracked my heart (and pants) wide open. i want to sit on your lap while you tell me more.
Finding something you didn’t even know you were looking for is what it’s all about. Beautiful. Thank you for telling me this.
Keep your heart open. It’s amazing what can happen.
Everything is quiet. Hushed. Not the world around me, but my head. I close my eyes and there’s not the usual hum and chatter. An unfamiliar calm takes it place. Eyes wide open, I see the street. Coffee shops, sweaters and coats, smiles, energy, life. Colors ablaze. Cute haircuts. Sexy glances. Dropped coins. Dirty fingers. I hear the rustle of the crisp leaves. I hear moaning dogs echoing the sounds of sirens in my city. The vibrancy that surrounds me is astonishing. The quiet shush in my head, a revelation. I hear my blood.
There is this girl. That’s how stories begin, yes? There is this girl. I won’t tell you she’s magic. I won’t succumb to the swelling orchestra, the perfect pop song, the knowingly false belief that this is unique, unknown, a singular love. But, truly, there is this girl. And when I’m with her, my mind is quiet. That steady stream of second guessing that always rustled my thoughts disappeared when I met her. It took me several weeks to figure out why things felt quiet.
Everything is in our hands, on our skin, rolling off our tongues. We are face to face.
Deep. Deeper. At first it was my cock. She wanted me so deep inside her. My fingers weren’t enough. The cock tucked inside my jeans wasn’t enough. More. Deeper. My biggest, longest, thickest cock and still she seemed to want more even when I felt my cock thud against her and she gasped with every deep, long thrust inside her. I felt the pressure against my clit as my cock reached deep inside, filling her. “I’ve never wanted so much,” she cried, her tears streaming down my neck. Her wet mouth lay soft on my chest. We fucked like this for hours and fell asleep wrapped around each other with sticky thighs and fingers. I woke up with my open mouth against her shoulder as if we’d been suspended in time. “I love you,” she said. Or maybe I said it. I’d been thinking it for days feeling unable to say the words out loud. Not sure I believed in such a thing anymore. But here it was.
Deeper. So deep. Everything. Opening up completely. Letting me see down deep into the depths where she feels ugly and undeserving. Telling her things I’m ashamed of and being glad to lay them down in front of her one by one.
This isn’t so scary.
Yes it is. I know it is. And yet it feels like home. Like the home I’ve never known. Like what you think home must be for someone, somewhere. Is it?
“Have you seen her? Tell me, have you seen her?” The Chi-Lites sing inside my head, sway from side to side, snap their fingers. It’s funny how many songs I catch myself singing these days are sad ones. Now, when I’m so happy. But then, this love feels like the sweetest melancholy. Sweet and sad knowing that I’d given up on it. It’s that sweet sadness that comes with the joy of barely missing some terrible accident. You hold your child who nearly drowned and the relief is bound together with the realization of what was nearly lost. You sob. You’re so happy. You hold her.
I’m shuddering with big, fat tears and squeezing this girl tight because I thought I’d never find her.
These last few weeks we fuck slow, so slow. Painfully slow. Yesterday I burned with desire and started to pound her pussy with my fingers. She grabbed my hand and dragged it up her belly, between her breasts, and sucked me into her mouth. Softly, her tongue licked my fingers until they dripped. She held my hand in both her own and pushed it back down between her legs. She gripped my index finger long and slowly, so slowly, pulled it up and down over her clit. Wet and slippery. “I want you to kiss me,” she whispered, her eyes already wet with tears, “I want to come in your mouth.” I opened my lips just above hers. The tips of our tongues brushed each other lightly. I felt her warm breath in my mouth. Her slick, wet, swollen clit under the tip of my finger. So soft. So slow. Feeling everything. I felt it so deep. Bone deep. An ache. She moaned and the vibration of her voice buzzed my lips. “Baby,” I whimpered, “This is what I want.”
She came with a jerk of her hips and a loud groan. She pushed my hand aside and said, “I want to come again.” I felt her finger push and pull on her clit. I tilted my head to see the quick circling of her wrist. Tense. Taut. I watched her climb. My hands were everywhere, rubbing her. I hovered over her, my hips thrusting in the air. She came again almost immediately and said, “One more.” “Yes,” I said. I felt something unlock inside her. I held her close to me while she came again. “I want days and days,” I whispered. She nodded quickly and turned her head into my chest as she came so hard, her body so flushed and hot. “I’ve never wanted something so deep,” she said. “So deep,” I answered and pulled her to me with my hands buried in her hair.
Sexting (I hope you send this to someone and tell me about it)
I’m in bed with you. My fingers run down your spine and scratch your sides, your ass, reach around to your belly, rub your tits. My tongue starts on the back of your neck and works its way under your chin, across your jawline, up behind your ear. Let me pull on you with my teeth a little. Let me find my mouth on your mouth and suck your lip in between mine. I’m awake. On fire. Needy. My hand between your legs. Pulling you onto your back. Breathing into your neck. I want you. I want you so bad. I’m going to fuck you now, baby.
I woke up this morning to see an amazing review of Rachel Kramer Bussel’s Big Book of Orgasms published by Cleis Press. It was unreal to see my own story receive such praise. It’s a great collection overall and I’m very proud to be part of it.
If you’re in the Bay Area, I hope you come hear me read (the whole story) on Nov 6, 6:30pm at Good Vibrations on Polk St in San Francisco.
I only have a little time to tell you a story. Just a small story tonight. But everything is true.
She will do anything. Anything. Anywhere. Anytime. The abundance of it is overwhelming and beautiful. The rush of it. I look at her and see her lift her skirt. My eyes dash around to see if anyone is watching. My cheeks flush hot. I squeeze my thighs together.
But this is a simple thing.
Sometimes I drag her down to the floor and fuck her as hard as my muscles allow. Harder. I wake up wincing in pain. What have I done? I want to do more.
Sometimes she whispers, “Go slow,” and I stop and smile. One finger slowly, so slowly, moves in and out of her pussy. My thumb on her clit. I pause to slick it with my spit. Slow. So slow. I see her skin turn the deepest red. I watch her pussy drip around my knuckles. I slow down even more. I lick her thighs and listen to the sounds she makes. I look for her tears. She cries. It’s my honor. My honor. Sweet baby.
She asked me how I want her to fuck me for my birthday. I felt a lump in my throat. Anything. She’ll give me anything. I never asked. I never demanded. She is a miracle. We are miracles to each other. I have written what I want. It’s only a map. I ask her to take her time and wander.
Welcome to e[lust]- The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at e[lust]. Want to be included in e[lust] #52? Start with the newly updated rules, come back November 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!
I grabbed her when she came out of her apartment building. I backed her up against the awning post and lifted her skirt to make sure she still had panties on. “Did you do as I said?” I asked and brought her fingers to my nose. “I tried,” she answered. I could faintly taste her pussy on the tips of her fingers. “Let’s go,” I told her, turning quickly and heading toward my car. “Back seat,” I said with a jerk of my head toward the door. She got in.
“What do you want?” she asked me as I slid behind the wheel, “What are we doing?” Earlier that day she told me she wanted me to take her. She wanted to be jumped. She wanted to feel dirty. “We’re going to my place,” I said, expecting her to be disappointed. Too safe. I smiled. “Take your panties off back there,” I whispered to her, “I don’t want you to come, but touch yourself.” She laughed a little. This was too easy. She does this all the time. I wasn’t sure if she rolled her eyes at me or not but her attitude was clear. She put one foot up on the seat. I saw her thigh and big black boot. She spread her legs wide for me and lifted her skirt. “Can you see me, baby?” she asked and licked two fingers before stroking her pussy, one hand holding her lips open so I could see her pink wetness. I wanted to pull over and suck on her but kept driving. Slowly.
She squirmed in the back seat. “Are you taking the scenic route?” she asked me, snotty. “You need to learn some patience,” I said. She was pushing it, “I might come if you don’t hurry.” She likes to fight back. “Don’t be so rude,” I said and drove past the exit to my house, “Now you have to wait longer.” I growled low at her. Grunting. I adjusted my jeans. My cock was jammed uncomfortably against my left thigh. I had a small rope in my pocket and one latex glove. No lube. She wanted to feel dirty tonight. She moaned in the back seat. “Don’t stop touching yourself,” I reminded her.
When we got to my place, I got out of the car. She didn’t move. I opened the back door. “What now?” she laughed, taunting me. “Get out,” I told her and walked to the sidewalk, waiting for her.
She took her time. Slowly, she made her way to me and started heading towards the house. “No,” I said, smiling, “Head that way,” and pointed to the back of the garage. She looked at me. I nodded. She didn’t know I had a room back there. Small. Storage. A dirty wooden planked floor. Perfect.
Inside, I shoved her up against the wall and kissed her hard while I undid my belt and pants. I ran my fingers through her hair and gripped her. I felt her scalp strain as I balled up a wad of hair in each fist. “Suck me off,” I said, pushing her to her knees. I saw her lips quiver. I don’t care about being sucked off really. I’ve told her that before. But I wanted her on her knees, uncomfortable. She took me deep into her mouth. I kept my grip firm. After a few minutes, I pulled out and rubbed my cock, wet with her spit, all over her face. She looked up at me with an open mouth. I ran the length of my shaft between her lips. She took me in her mouth for a few more minutes before I pushed her face down on the floor.
She pulled her skirt up and lifted her ass in the air for me. I spat several times in the palm of my hand and once let it hit her low back. Rubbing my spit on her pussy and then my cock, I felt my cunt throb for the first time that night. “You’re mine,” I said and she grabbed my cock to shove it inside her before I had the chance to do it myself.
I was up on my toes with my legs stretched long. My hands were palm flat on either side of her. I felt like a marine doing push-ups as I fucked her hard and fast. I wanted my body stiff and mechanical. I wanted to fuck her like a machine. Hard. Fast. My muscles burning within minutes. The sweat making my shirt stick to me. I picked up one hand and slowly pushed the side of her face harder and harder into the dirty floor covered in muddy boot prints. Her moans sounded desperate. A hurt animal. Unsatisfied. Unsatisfying. Loud. Just what I wanted.
She flipped over on her back and pulled on my ass to shove my cock deep inside her. I pushed her thighs up against her belly, leaning into them. Letting all my weight fall. I yelled out, refusing to fuck her any less hard even as my legs started to shake. I bent one knee and pushed my foot against the wall to get a better purchase. I needed to fuck her harder than either of us thought possible. I needed her spent and wasted like a shell casing. Exploded. Lost and gone. Done.
We fucked for a long time. I told her to jerk off for me while I held her ass on my thighs and watched my cock slide in and out of her. I shoved her off me and slipped the glove on my hand, fucking her with three fingers. Sliding easily in and out of her slick, wet pussy. I had to remind myself that we hadn’t used any lube. “So wet,” I thought. I fucked her too hard for her to come. Maybe she came once. I didn’t care. I didn’t ask. Eventually she shivered with cold and I wrapped my leather jacket around her, picked up her clothes, and walked her to my front door. Inside, I let her sleep. I held her head on my chest and pet her. I could see dust and bits of mud from the dirty floor in her hair. I wanted to fuck her again. Comfortably. In my bed. But that would wait until morning. She slept hard. Not moving in my arms for hours. I held her tight.
The martinis had come and gone and left us lazy. We were sleepy. So tired, but we wanted to fuck and exhaustion wouldn’t stop us. Every time we fuck I learn something new. Last night as she fucked me, I edged lower and lower off the mattress until my head was nearly on the floor, my arms holding on to the chair behind me. She had me in her mouth, sucking me off, holding my clit tight between her finger and thumb. My orgasm shot out of me and I hit her hard with a balled up fist. I came so hard, my desire felt like anger.
As I fucked her, I smacked her with such force I left dark, purple handprints on her ass. The blood vessels breaking beneath her skin with each wallop. “Feel me, baby,” I cooed behind her, “I want to see you feel it.” She nodded her head quickly. She’s very good. I fucked her hard like this, staring at her ass and her back laying flat in front of me until she twisted and stared into my face. “Sit back,” she said and shifted to sit in my lap. She jerked off while I played with her tits. She likes to watch my hands on her. I like to watch her play with herself. I like feeling her body rock against me. Simple. Dirty.
When we fuck, it hangs in the air around us. Slow or fast. Soft or hard. Either way, this is thick business. I haven’t strapped my cock on for her in weeks. I’m too busy jamming my fingers into her pussy and making her suck them later. Hard. Angry desire comes out hard. Later I’ll be soft. So soft she’ll chase my fingertips. So soft she’ll roll her body side to side and moan.
After she came last night, she drifted off to sleep. I lay beside her watching her breathe. I traced my fingers down her spine and woke her up. I needed more.
"Come to me, sugar," I whisper. I don’t care if she hears me. I’m talking to her pussy. I curve over her, my face between her legs. I watch her clit swell with pleasure as I tease it. I say sweet things. I lick her tenderly and then pull my tongue behind my teeth. I rub her with my soft lower lip. She’s so good. I think those words over and over while I softly rub my mouth on the sweet folds of her pussy, "She’s so good." I fill my mouth with her, letting my breath brush her clit. My tongue stays slow and soft as warm air.
I love our shifts in mood. Hard. Soft. Control. Abandon. Love. Lust. Sometimes I want to be the one who knows her best and sometimes her attacker on the dark, deserted sidewalk. I fight her every time she pins me down but can’t deny how wet I am when she reaches into my underwear and slams her fingers inside me.
We fucked hard. I let her fall asleep before I woke her up again with a soft and tender desire. She came twice more. Maybe a third time. I told her I wanted more. I told her I wanted to fuck her all night. She asked me why I stopped.
Here’s my desire. Here’s how it builds. I grabbed her head tight between my hands and pressed my forehead against hers, spitting as I whispered, “I want you to sleep now. I want you to dream about me fucking you all night long. Dream about how I hold you on my lap. Dream about being pressed up against the plaster. Dream about my tongue. My fingers. My hand. My cock. My grip on your neck. Dream about how hard you want me. How crazy you make me. Dream it all night. Wake up exhausted by it. Wake up wet and sweating and needy.”
I said all that and more. I didn’t shut up for a long time. She fell asleep while I was still talking. I lifted the sheet off her chest and licked her tits softly enough not to wake her. I smelled my pussy on her chin and kissed her mouth. I licked the taste of her off my own fingers until I finally felt sleepy enough to settle down beside her and close my eyes. I felt her shaking me at three in the morning. Thick with desire. Asleep. Muddy. Slurring. I wondered if she was still asleep. She shoved my head under the covers and held my face against her pussy. I sucked her off until she shook all over. We didn’t say one word. She was dead asleep again before I rested my face against her neck.
To celebrate The Big Book of Orgasms: 69 Sexy Stories being in stock on Amazon as of October 1st, editor Rachel Kramer Bussel having a 48-hour flash sale. Not only do you get 69 stories for $12.12 (less than 18 cents a story!) you also get a whole other free autographed book. It’s a win win.
Note: This offer only extends to purchases on Amazon.com from October 1 at 12:00 a.m. EST to October 2 at 11:59 p.m. EST. I can only send to U.S. addresses for print copies, but can send Kindle copies to anyone.
Come ‘n get it. A story of mine kicks off this big collection of smut.
Today I pushed her head against the mattress and shoved her onto her side. I got on top of her and got off, rubbing hard against her full hip. She’d undone my jeans and tried to touch me, but I held her down. “I want you underneath me, silent,” I said. “Use me,” she said. Her voice told me to keep going. Her breath fluttered. Now there were no more words, just sounds. Sweating, grunting, panting. I climbed her. Over and over. My feet kicked around for a better angle. I spread my thighs wide. My hips thrust hard against her again and again. Grinding against her hip. Not caring if this hurt her. Ignoring what she might want. Right now she wants this. I felt sure. She wants me to take whatever I want.
I stared at the sweat on her face. Her hair was curling, wet on her forehead. I held my face above her and looked at my splayed hand pushing her head down. I held my thumb to her lips and she opened wide. “That’s right,” I whispered, “Show me.” She teased my thumb inside her, sucking and licking. Lightly dragging her teeth against my skin. I pulsed my thumb slowly in and out of her mouth. My own lips hung open just above her. Spit pooled under my tongue and threatened to drip.
I let my head fall into her neck. My hand pushed harder on her head, pressing her down. I was loud. Forceful. My lungs filled fully with each deep breath. I felt myself crashing up against an orgasm so explosive I thought I might hurt her. I might kick or punch her hard. One knee was bent and pressed against her ass. One knee twisting and stretched near her belly. She lay beneath me on her side and I rode her hard. Fucking for my own pleasure. Thinking only about the feeling under my jeans. My cunt, so warm and wet. Enjoying how good and still she was beneath me. I held her there. She stayed in place while I ground my clit hard against her. Raw and swollen in my jeans. Her stillness moved me.
I came loudly. Hard. All my weight forced against her. She groaned beneath me. Both of us drenched in sweat. Her face was wet. My shirt stuck to me. I rolled off of her, breathing hard for a long time. She stared at me. She watched me recover. My belly inflating like a balloon with each rapid, deep breath. My back arched and stretched as pleasure still wound its way all through me.
She traced my lips with her fingers. Smiling. “We’re always fucking,” one of us said. She took a bath and I read on the bed. Resting. I was dropping her off at the train station an hour later. I told her I wanted to fuck her again. “Why don’t you,” she asked and spread her legs apart before shoving my hand inside her panties.
There is no way to describe the 33 hours I spent with her. What we planned and how it got sideswiped immediately. I went out drinking with friends instead of napping before I met her at 1am in a crowded bar. It didn’t matter. None of the plans mattered. She drank. Some crazy, drunk lady who insisted she was straight and married hit on her. We laughed. We looked around at the crowded bar and the douche bags filling up San Francisco these days and left. Fucking assholes wearing name tags and ordering shitty drinks. Wondering why the bartenders ignored them. Some guy jammed his elbow into my back as he crowded the bar and she stomped on his foot with her boot and held it there, not looking at him. I felt snobby in my disdain of the straight, obnoxious drunks who liked to look. Yes, girls like us fuck each other. Yes. We do.
Let’s be snobs tonight. Let’s know we’ve got a secret they don’t have. We know how to have a really fucking good time. Let’s go do that. We drive over the bridge. She’s drunk. I’m sober but so tired it’s absurd to be driving. We’re silent. Staring at the brightly lit up span. It’s all new and so strange. We mourn the dead bridge beside us. She calls to it and thanks it for carrying her over the bay for so many years. It’s touching. Her speech moves me more than I can explain.
This is all true. This is a true story. She deserves so much more than that. She already knows this one. She knows what happens. How we were tangled. How we slept. How we woke and decided not to go anywhere. Not to do anything. How we fucked and ate and fucked again. How she took me to a place I didn’t know about. How we were little boys together and then sweating, panting women looking at the mystery between us. How we smiled at those red lines left on my upper arm for hours. How we nearly argued, or maybe we did argue, as we ran to make our reservations. How the waiter appreciated our visit and was in on the whole thing somehow. How we laughed and stared at each other and felt filled with awe. Everyone knows that story. When you get down to it, it’s the story everyone knows already. I don’t need to write it down for you. There’s more to it than this.
Sometimes you meet a person who already knows you. Who takes your hand and leads you into a small, bare room where she strips you and fucks you right back to your childhood. Here’s the story she doesn’t know. Here’s something new.
She led me to the safest place. She took me there. She asked me for exactly what she wanted and then threw me over and held me down and changed everything. She drew me a new map. I found myself in a strange place. Not where I expected to be at all. I looked at her and felt myself trusting everything all at once and completely. She told me a story. She told me where we were. She told me who I was. She told me I didn’t have to like it. She told me she wouldn’t tell anyone. She told me to be quiet. I struggled like any wild animal does until it’s too tired to resist. But I wasn’t too tired. I wanted to be tamed. This was my desire. I wanted to find how deep it went.
My eyes bulged. My chest heaved. She held the strap tight. At first she was sweet. Telling me everything would be okay. She whispered to me the whole time she fucked me. She told me where we were and what was happening. She calmed me down. No one would ever have to know. I didn’t have to like it. I didn’t have to want it. It was going to happen anyway. Freedom. Religion. Absolution. The dark cave. The tangled woods. The tiny boat on the ocean. The belly of the whale. The death and the resurrection. It’s all the same. I’ve been there.
And then she turned me over onto my belly. I felt her eyes on me. My own powerless never more clear than in that moment. My desire dripping onto her fingers. Tears welled up in my eyes. I stared at the floor of my room and knew I was lying powerless on my own bed in my own room with my ass in the air and my arms held tight behind my back by my own belt. Getting fucked. Having been usurped. I felt low. Humiliated. Dirty. Craving. Look at her underwear balled up in the corner. My own underwear barely down to my knees. Look at my dirty sock half under the bed. I cry out as her knuckles pound against my pussy. I have never felt my pussy ache with a darker need in my life. I am begging her to fuck me. Silently. I’m whispering it in my brain knowing that she hears me, “Fuck me so hard you rattle my teeth. Fuck me with my head hanging off the bed and my feet scrambling behind me. Fuck me like this and drain everything from me and I will know who you are after this and you will know me.”
When she turned me over onto my back, my pussy opened for her and I muttered incoherently. She knew just exactly what to do to make me come so hard I thought my back would break. My body arched high off the bed, shaking. Everything shook. I didn’t cry then. My tears had dried up. I was an electric jolt of energy and then nothing. Limp. Doe eyed.
She loosened the belt that bound my arms. We traced the lines. She stretched her body out next to me and said sweet things. “Hold me,” I said, “I need you to hold me now.” And here was the thing. It was in that moment when everything fell into place. She wasn’t sure. She didn’t know. We didn’t know. And then I asked to be held and soothed. And she held me and pet my face and kissed my forehead. It was everything.
Twice now we’ve fucked and known that there were things we wouldn’t talk about. One time I fucked her and said so many things and I felt her go somewhere and I felt myself take her there and somehow I know just where it was and yet I don’t know and I don’t want to talk about it more than that. And then here, this story, when she took me and fucked me and I was in that place and she was there with me and I know that she knows yet doesn’t know and I don’t want to talk about it more than that.
Still, this is all true. This is our true story. She already knows it. And I know it. And yet we don’t. And we don’t need to talk about it any more than that.
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Oh god, she is so good. Distracting. A distraction. So fucking good. Nothing makes me crazy like a girl with smarts and a kind heart and a dirty mouth. She has all that and heels. I’m lost. Gone. Hook, line, and sinker. Sunk. Sinking. Distracted. It’s good. I like a girl who likes to have fun. A girl who likes to play.
She sparks my imagination. She makes me want to write. Not this story. This is the story that comes first. She makes me want to write a story that’s so fucking hot and dirty it grabs her breath. She makes me want to write the story that gets her to shake her head and go silent. I want her neck to flush when she reads it. I want her to feel it between her legs and low in her belly.
When I see her, I kiss her. I suck on her neck and her fingers but mostly my mouth is on hers. My tongue runs delicately across her lips, her tongue held tight in her mouth. She comes up beside me at the meter while I drop the quarters in and I turn to grab her. I rub against her as we walk through stacks of books. Her too tight too short skirt. I can’t control myself. I won’t. I slide behind her and press my hips up against her ass like a dirty old man. I cop a feel. My arm reaching for a book on the shelf right in front of her casually keeps moving and grabs her breast. A firm grip, a squeeze, my teeth against her ear for a moment, “Holy smokes, you give me ideas.”
I’m not hesitating for a moment with her. I’m not holding back. Life’s too short. We fuck like it’s a game. A race to outdo each other. We fuck and every time it’s brand new. Astounding. Astonishing. We fuck and growl and spit and bite and hit and wrestle one another down to the ground and when one of us comes, we stop and stare. A shock. “Who the fuck are you? What are you doing to me?” This is all brand new. We are cracked open.
Let me tell you how we fuck.
The first time I wore a cock, tucked away, a surprise for her, she felt it under my jeans. She rubbed it hard against my thigh. She unbuckled my belt and undid my jeans. She snaked her hand into my briefs and pulled my cock out to look at. She unbuckled my harness and threw the cock to the floor, tugging my jeans and shorts down far enough to bury her face in my pussy and fuck me with her fingers. Her hand slammed into me. Burning. I was bruised and sore the whole next day. And after she fucked me. After she held me in her lap with my legs thrown back. After she’d had her way with me and felt satisfied with how many times I came. She said, “Don’t think I wouldn’t want your cock in me. I just didn’t want it now.” I looked at her like she was the first woman who had ever fucked me. I remembered her like I had dreamed her. Something felt far away and right there at the same time. “That was good,” I said “Really good,” and spread her legs wide.
I jerk off in front of her. I love to show her. She lies down beside me, spreading my pussy so she can see and stroking me while I rub my clit. She spits on my clit to watch it drip down. She stares and smiles and looks up at me with a sweet pleasure. She thanks me for it. She grabs my tit and squeezes my nipple until I jerk away. She licks my moving fingers, running her tongue up and down each one. She bites my thighs. She stretches beside me and throws one leg over my chest, her pussy under my chin, and opens herself for me to see. When I come, she shifts above me. “Show me,” I whisper.
She kneels over me and I watch her pussy drip just above my face. I stare as her fingers pull her swelling clit in a circle. I grab her hand, spit on her fingers, and shove them into her hole. She looks directly at me. Our eyes lock. “Fuck yourself for me,” I plead. She nods. I let go of her hand and she slows. Her fingers push once, twice, deep inside her pussy and then drag across her lips and on her clit and even up on her belly. She comes for me, but builds it up so slowly. My hand is back on my cunt. It hurts to jerk off again so soon but I can’t stop myself. I’m moaning and writhing beneath her. Smelling her arousal. The sex hangs so heavy around us. I watch her swell and see her skin turn a deeper, blood filled color. “Show me,” I hear myself muttering over and over. “Come for me,” I’m crying out, desperate and nearly blind. When she does, when she comes, she doubles over me with a twitch and a jerk. I grab her ass and pull her onto my face. Smothered. Delirious.
We tell each other stories. I’m going to make you wait. I’m going to strap you down and lick your pussy until you’re so fucking wet and ready and then I’ll go out for a drink and a smoke. She asks me to tell her how I’ll fuck her the next time. I make her tell me what she’ll do to me later. So many stories.
Tomorrow, she’ll leave the door open all afternoon. I’ll come find her and shove her back against the wall, push her shorts down, spit on my fingers, and bang her while I have one hand clamped over her mouth. I’ll whisper into her ear telling her that if she makes a sound, I’ll pick up my keys and walk out the door.
We are always right there at the same moment. This sounds simple, obvious, but think about it. It’s fucking incredible. A shift I couldn’t anticipate. We are always right there at the same moment, together. We start and end and can’t wait to begin again.
This isn’t the story I want to write for her. This is just the first story. This is the telling of what will be told. An introduction to the nice girl with a dirty mouth. I think you’ll like her as much as I do.
"Did I say you could get so wet?" I felt spit fly off my lips when I said it. We’d been wrestling. Chasing each other around the house. I’d finally caught her in the living room and shoved her ass onto the tiny couch. Her forehead was under my hand. Her head pressed against the wall. She was wearing shorts and I’d shoved my thumb under the fabric to feel her pussy. Wet. She was very wet. I gripped her soaked panties. My hand jammed between her legs. I squeezed her pussy. She winced. She shook her head quickly back and forth and mouthed her answer to me, "No," but the sound of her words never came out. She was breathing in, not out. She was sucking the word inside her, "No. No. No. No. No." Her eyes were squeezed shut and big, wet tears bloomed on her eyelashes. "No," I said calmly, "No, I didn’t. You’re right. You better go clean yourself up." She was panting so rapidly that I felt real concern. I’d been playing with her like a cat with a mouse. Catching her, being cruel for a moment, letting her go again. These were the first tears. And now she was panting. When she opened her eyes to look at me, they were open so wide. Shock.
I shoved her pussy away from me and walked out of the bedroom to go make myself another drink. I listened to the water running in the bathroom. “Wash your pussy for me,” I thought, “Pat yourself dry and we’ll begin again.” The ice cubes rattled in my glass as I carried it over to the bar. I poured a double. Whiskey. I let it roll around in my mouth. Imagined the taste of it on her tongue. I closed my eyes and remembered the night before with her dirty martini and my bourbon and the cigarette we passed back and forth before sucking on each other’s tongues for nearly half an hour. I’ve never wanted to make out with a girl for so long before. I could suck on her mouth for days.
I thought I heard her sobbing in the bathroom. I whispered to myself, “Take your time, baby. Get it together.” She’s so good. She’s so damn good. She gets wet so easily. She comes so hard. I needed her to be good tonight. I needed to show her what I wanted. I needed to fuck her just the way I liked it.
"Are you done in there yet?" I yelled. I pressed myself against the bathroom door, pushing against it. I put my lips up against the wood and whispered to her, "I want you back out here. There’s more to do." She opened the door and I turned away from her. I sat down on the little couch, letting my knees fall open wide. "What do I want?" I asked. She looked at me. She got down on her knees and reached her hand to my shirt buttons. I slapped her away. Her fingers moved to my belt buckle. I slapped her away again. She leaned back and cocked her head, staring at me, trying to figure me out. I looked back at her with no expression, silent. She grabbed the low cut v neck on her shirt and yanked it down along with her bra, exposing her tits for me. I nodded at her and parted my lips, "Uh huh." She rubbed her nipples with her flat palms, her fingers held stiff. She pulled her fingers slowly across her flesh and flicked at the soft curves, stiffening her nipples, reacting to the sharp feeling. I grabbed my crotch and tugged at my jeans. My cunt felt her, wanted her now. Her eyes darted down to my belt.
She tugged at the waist of my jeans. “No,” I said, “You can’t take anything off.” Her eyed darted up to me, flashing annoyance, but she nodded. She pulled on the backs of my knees and slid me to the edge of my chair. She rubbed hard in the hollow of my hips with her thumbs, pushing my legs wider apart. She buried her face between my legs and I felt her hot breath come through my jeans. “Jesus,” I whispered, caught off guard. She was eating my pussy through my jeans. I could feel everything. Her teeth pulled on me. She was letting her spit soak through. Her wet mouth met my suddenly very wet cunt through the layers of fabric. I gripped the arms of this tiny, rickety couch, “Holy fuck,” I let out. I wasn’t expecting her to turn the tables like this. I wasn’t ready, but Jesus she felt so good on me. I forgot everything for a minute. Just for a minute. I felt my pussy opening for her and I snapped back to my plan. I needed her to be mine tonight.
I grabbed her throat and stood up, pulling her off her knees and onto the couch. I gripped her throat tight, her hands flew up to my arm and pulled but I kept my grip tight. She stared into my eyes. That look. That wet, wide-eyed look that says in a shaky little voice, “I trust you right now. I trust you.” I stared at her. I was breathing hard. I felt sweat on my face. I pressed my forehead against hers and stared. Both our faces were wet with sweat. “I’m going to take care of you, baby,” I said to her, “I’m right here. Right here, tonight.” She nodded and turned her head a little to the side. I kept my forehead pressed against her, now on her temple and her damp hair. “I need you to do something for me now,” I said, “Put your hands behind your neck and lace your fingers together.” I waited for her hands to move into place. “Okay,” I said, “Like that. Can you be still for me?” She nodded. I didn’t hear any sound from her. I stood up and waited for a minute, watching her sit still, watching her hold herself stiff for me. “I’ll be back.” I said, walking away.
In her bathroom, I took my jeans off and buckled on my largest cock. She normally wants just one finger inside her. I’m not cruel. I don’t what possessed me, but somehow I wanted a big dick inside her tonight. My biggest. Maybe I got mean because we were so sweet together. Maybe I needed to know something more. I wanted to fuck like that. Pushing each other. We’d spent all day, all day playing. Sucking on each other. Napping. I’d spent hours with my face in her pussy. She can come again and again and again a thousand times with no stopping. I’d dreamed of this woman before I knew her. I fuck her like I know. She fucks me… well, I can’t even say it. Not yet. That comes later. That’s a different story. But I’ll tell you that I let her hold me in her lap and undress me like a girl. I let her finger me and suck me and fuck me all night. I let her watch me stretch long, my back curved off the bed. I let her see me buck in a bleary haze. I don’t know what she sees exactly, but she sees me come.
I pulled my jeans back up and held my cock in my hand. I went back to her. Her hands were in place. Her eyes were open but looking down to her lap. I gripped her cheeks and pressed my thumb and fingers into her flesh. “Look at me,” I said. She did. “Slide your hands up above your head. Keep them against the wall.” She did that too. I pulled her shirt over her head and off. I unhooked her bra and threw it on the floor. I pulled her boots off and let them drop with a thud onto the hardwood. I snatched at her shorts and panties and jerked them both down to her ankles, leaving them there for her to kick away. I looked up. Her hands were still above her head against the plaster. “Good,” I whispered. I gripped both her wrists in one hand and gripped her cheeks again in the other. “I want to fuck you so deep tonight,” I said. I pressed the cock up against her pussy. I pushed the tip inside her, not yet wet enough. She made a tiny, pained sound. She stared at me. Sweetly, so sweetly, she asked “Do you want to hurt me?” I answered “No,” out of habit and kissed her mouth hard. I pushed against her and heard her the sound of her head rubbing hard on the wall. Then I looked at her. “No. I do,” I said, “I do want to hurt you. I want you to feel this. I do. This might hurt.”
She nodded at me. Serious. “Okay,” she said. It sounded funny, that okay, but it was just right. “I want you to fuck me the way you want,” she said. Her cheeks blushed a deep crimson as she spoke. “I want you to show me how you like it,” she whispered. It was like a starter gun had been fired next to us. I slapped her face hard. Once, twice, again. I kept slapping her. I’d slap her. Stop. Stare at her. She’d nod. And I’d slap her again. After a dozen or so hard slaps, I reached down to my cock and held it up against her pussy again. I shoved her shoulders back. I gripped her neck. I shoved her in these tiny ways that made her jerk and stutter. I knelt down into a squat and slid the tip of my cock deeper inside her and back out. I spat in my hand several times and rubbed it on my cock before moving inside her again. Just the tip. Just the head. Her face registered the girth. We’d have to move off the couch to fuck. But I wanted her to feel this right now. I wanted her unsure.
I grabbed the back of her neck and lifted her up. She pulled on me as she stood, her hands climbed me like a ladder. With her hands on my shoulders, I dragged her over to the bed and shoved her across it face down. I grabbed the lube and poured a sizable amount into my hand. I rubbed her pussy and my cock and wiped my hand on my thigh. I held my cock between her legs. “You’re going to have to come to me,” I said. She fell back onto her knees and rubbed me up and down. I saw her legs shake. I pet her back. We were slow right now. Soft. Easing our way into it. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she said, “I’ve always had a small pussy. But I want it. I do want it.” I pushed hard against her. “You can do this, baby,” I told her. I fucked her with the tip of my cock. Slow. I felt her burn. I saw her back glow red. The room grew hot. She dripped sweat onto the sheets. My shirt, still on me, was stuck to my back and sides. My jeans were tugged down to my knees, binding me. I pulled my shirt off and then pushed her head down against the mattress, her face in the tangle of sheets. “You can do this,” I said.
"Get on top of me," I told her and pulled myself onto the bed, tugging my jeans off. She threw one leg over me and looked down at my cock. I held it. She stared at me as she pushed her pussy down onto it. I watched the long, thick shaft disappear inside her as her eyes grew wide. She gasped and held her hands to her chest. Looking at the scene, it seemed simple. Here she was lowering herself onto my cock. I was just lying there beneath her, staring into her eyes. Innocent. Sweet. But I knew this was hard. She felt too little for this and here she was with the full length of my shaft inside her. “Can you feel how deep you are inside me?” she asked. I thought there were tears in her eyes. I nodded. “I feel you pulling on me,” I said, “I want it to hurt. I want the pain to make it last longer.” She blinked. Her mouth was open wide. She was moving slowly up and down on my cock. I stared at her. I waited. Then I jammed my hips upwards, shoving deep into her. She winced. I slapped at her tit. I slapped hard. Her hands moved to protect her and I stopped. “Put your hands on your thighs,” I said, “Keep them there.”
I went back to slapping her. I slapped one tit and then the other. I held each tit steady, one at a time, and slapped it hard. I slapped at her nipples. I stopped to pinch them. And all the while, I jammed my cock hard inside her. Hard. Again and again. She winced. She shook her head. She moved her lips with no sound coming out. She stared at me with a scared little, soft little look on her face. “You can go there,” I said, “I want you to go wherever you need to go.” She stared at me. She nodded and started to cry. I heard this tiny voice inside her say, “Uh huh.” I slapped her tits again and again. “I’m right here,” I said, “You can feel me.” She pulled one hand up to her forehead like a woman with a migraine. I let her leave it.
I don’t know how many times I hit her, but my arms were burning, my shoulders ached. She curved her body over me and wrapped her arms around me. All her weight settled onto me and I pulled my legs up to push as deep as I could inside her. This was good. I could tell it felt good. I sensed her starting to cry harder. I clamped my hand over her mouth and my words streamed out, “I want you to come to me, baby. I want you to show me how much you can take. I want you to go where you need to go and come back to me. I’m so deep inside you right now. We’re bruised. Both of us bruised. I can feel it. Can you feel it?” She was nodding as I spoke. Nodding and whimpering “Mmm hmm” under my hand. As we rocked into each other harder, pounding, she was whimpering, a high pitched moan. I felt her teeth and her spit. Her open mouth on my palm. “Do you need to bite my hand?” I asked and turned my hand sideways, offering it to her. She clamped down with her teeth and the pain shot through me. It thought she’d cut the skin. I imagined the gentle partner offering a hand to the laboring wife during childbirth and finding the grip unbearable. But you stay put. You let her transfer pain to you. You let her ease herself through you. I knew this hurt her. I heard her cry out with it. But I knew it felt so good, too. I knew she surprised herself. She was nodding her head and gnawing on my hand.
When she came, her noises were unrecognizable and tears streamed down her cheeks. I left my hand in her mouth but her teeth let go of me. I kept my hips raised with my cock deep inside her. I felt her pussy throb around it. I felt her tears on my neck. I held her so tight. I pulled out of her and she rolled me onto my back. “Press me down,” she said, “Press me down as hard as you can.” I lifted myself up and balanced my full weight on her. I held her. We were soaked in sweat and now shivering from the cool breeze coming in through the window.
We fell asleep soon after. I wasn’t sure if anything had hurt much. I wasn’t sure if she’d gone anywhere too far away before she came back again. But we slept deeply together that night. I woke early and put my hand on her chest but she jerked, saying, “No,” and I pulled it away again. She was dreaming. Something. She wanted something to go away. I rolled over and fell back asleep. She woke me in the morning with kisses on my neck. “I’ve got something to show you,” she whispered, giddy. I rolled over and she held her breast in my face. It was almost entirely purple. One big bruise. It was a little shocking, but so damn hot. She told me not to flatter myself, “I bruise easy,” she said. But still, it felt good to see it. I don’t know why. I don’t know what that feeling of pride was in having hurt her. “Is your pussy sore?” I asked. She answered me with a slow, wet kiss. Long and slow to start me up.
A few minutes later, I was buried in her thighs with a single finger dragging the walls of her pussy wondering how many times she could come for me this morning. Her words repeated themselves in my brain, “I bruise easy.” I’d never wanted to bruise a woman before. I’d done it, but for her pleasure and not mine. I’d never desired it. I’d never wanted to hit her and hurt her and fuck her so hard. But when this is right. When this is what takes you there. When you see that release and the peace that comes. You want nothing more than to make it happen for her and see that bloom under her skin. You want it to be there a few days later when you’re out for coffee. You’ll pull the picture of her bruises up in your mind and tenderly caress them before putting them away to focus once again on whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing. You’ll know her. You’ll know something deep and true about her that can never be described or explained or even understood. But it doesn’t matter. You’ll just know.
Her face, boyish, grinning at me, looking down with the sexiest ‘aw shucks’ shake of her head. Her strong hands moving quickly to find a place to land that feels solid. Something to hold her steady for a moment because she moves as a constant. Her energy pulls at me when I get close enough. Pulls me in. Holds me there.
I scratch at the closely cropped hair on her head. After we’ve fucked and she’s falling asleep, I pet and pet her and she nuzzles against me like a sleepy little pup. I kiss her above her ear and nip at that sweet, thick mass of hair. I growl and she laughs and groans against my neck. “I can’t stop fucking you,” I whisper with my teeth grazing the side of head. I roll her onto her side. She reaches an arm back and grabs my neck, pulling my mouth harder against her. My teeth clamp down for a moment. I hold her neck in my mouth. She stirs awake enough for me, for this, for more. I listen to her body. It’s her ass suddenly pressing back into my belly as I slide lower against her back that tells me. I listen. I listen to her. I push my fingers against her and feel what she tells me. I press my ear between her shoulder blades. My mouth is open and breathing heavily. We are going to begin again.
I rock against her, my chest pressed up against her back, starting slowly and then building into something more like wrestling. She responds, first rocking with me, playful, and then kicking one leg in front of her to help her fight back. She laughs. I feel her laughter. Her back shakes against me, her strong shoulders. I dig my chin into her thick muscles. I bite hard next to her shoulder blade, making her yelp, and move quickly to roll her onto her belly and pin her down. She lets me. She pushes back, but she lets me grip her wrists and hold her down. I press my hips against her, lifting my chest and belly to push myself with a stiffening desire up against her ass. I curve over her to suck on the back of her neck. I growl with my lips smashed against her skin, “Again. I need you again. Now.” Her head is pressed into the mattress, turned to the left. I see her wide, crooked grin. Her eyes are closed. I grind my cunt against her ass. I feel myself get so wet. My pussy drips down my thigh. Hard now. Pounding. Pushing against each other. We go from playful to serious in a split second. And now I’m gripping her wrists more tightly. And then her neck. She opens her eyes and looks at me. That grin. Her open mouth, gasping. Tight on her neck. My fingers. Squeezing her in my thighs. The sweat on my chest and lower back surfaces quickly. We’re wet where our bodies rub together. My thighs slip against her. Sweat. I let go of her for a moment to reach down and pull the sweat off her back with my fingers, bringing them to my mouth for a taste. “Salty,” I say, “Taste this,” and touch the tip of my finger to her tongue. She pulls me into her mouth, sucking hard. “I need to fuck you,” I tell her. She nods her head, pulling my finger deeper insider her mouth, her cheeks sink as she sucks on me. “Yes,” I tell her and press my face against hers.
I kneel between her thighs, shoving them open. I lean down to the floor for the knocked over bottle of lube we’ve been going back to all night long. It slips in my fingers, spinning on the hardwood floor, hard to grip. More wetness. More. More fucking. It’s been hours. I was exhausted and nearly asleep only a few minutes earlier. And now I’m awake and staring at the flushed red patch that grows on my chest and on the back of her neck. Red. Flushed. Hot. Ready.
I listen. I watch. Desire is visible, tangible. Hot, so hot. I hear my own voice suddenly yell out, guttural, animal. I say the word that’s in my head aloud, “Animal,” and lift her hips off the mattress. Her ass, so perfect below me. I push three fingers inside her. Slicked up. So wet. “Fuck,” I yell or maybe she does, “Yes.” She pushes her elbows into the air and lifts her low belly, her ass elevated higher for me. She comes to me. I invite her. Or maybe it’s the other way around. “More,” she says. “More lube. More of you.” My chest rattles and shakes. “Fuck, yes,” I whisper, lost in ecstasy, religious, expanding inside my body, my mind, lost to myself in the physical present tense. More lube. A lot. I drip it onto the back of my hand and twist and bend my wrist moving another finger and then my thumb inside her. She slaps the bed hard with her hand. “All of me,” I whisper to her. “Yes,” she whines through clenched teeth, and then “Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me,” streams out of her and drives me blind.
I’m on my knees, leaning back. I see the muscles in my stomach stretched tight. I stare down at my body kneeling here between her thighs. I stare at my hand moving deep inside her pussy. I lift my free arm like a rodeo rider and swing it above me to help me move and sway, pushing my hand deeper, so deep, rhythmically inside her. She opens for me. My knuckles disappear. “Fuck, yes.” I yell, “Fuck, yes.” My left arm swings down, swings, so fast like a whip and I smack her ass hard. My flat palm hits her. Stings. My own hand stings so much I wince and only hit her harder each time. Relentless. I can feel it inside her. I can feel the spanking she’s getting and her pussy opens for me again. More. Deeper. A cave inside her. Ancient. I close my eyes and smile, leaning my head back so my face is turned towards the ceiling. We are both yelling, “Fuck.” I smile so good so happy so lost.
My luck. I can’t believe my luck. I lose myself for a moment. Remembering how just hours before this moment I walked into that bar and saw her. Saw her grin. Saw her boyish jaw. Her good hands. The scar on her wrist. How she slipped into that soft accent and stared just right with her head tilted just right and her tongue her lips her teeth just right. How we laughed at everything. How I told her I wanted to take her home. How she said yes and yes and we left together and fucked for hours. And here she is, my hand inside her, both of us reaching for pure, ecstatic release. Our mouths open. Our heads upturned. Like the birds on my arms. Soaring. The birds we talked about for a long time. The birds she will dream about. Her own birds.
I am fucking her now. The room is so goddamn hot. The muscles under her skin ripple beneath me and make me catch my breath. Sweet girl. So sweet. I fuck her like this for a long time and keep hitting her ass with my open palm, swinging my arm wildly from one side to the other. Her ass starts to glow red in the dim light. The heat of this minor injury rising up to warm my belly. I feel her bones rattle. I watch her mouth open and suck the air. I watch her eyes squeeze shut. I see her fingers crook and grip the air, so stiff. Her body clenches and relaxes and pulls her forward into this deep abyss of pleasure and pain all mixed up together so you don’t know which is which. And I scream out once or twice. My voice bouncing back against me off the walls.
Rattle and moan. Wriggle your hips. Laugh. Yell. Bite your lip. Wrinkle up your nose, that nose, your cute face, so fucking cute, catches me, caught me.
My chin is wet with sweat. My forearm is burning. I stop smacking her ass and grab my own wrist to fuck her harder, shoving my hand inside her faster and watch her react. She reacts. “Animals,” I say and she smiles, “We fuck like animals because we are animals.” “FUCK,” she yells back at me.
No more words. Just the sound of us fucking. For a long time.
I can’t remember how we slow it down. How it explodes and ends. Somehow it just does. Somehow I pull my hand out of her and drag my wet, sticky fingers over her ass and up her back to her shoulders. Somehow we are sleepy again and she is held tight in my arms and we kiss with big open mouths, sucking. My heart still pounding. I catch my breath. We’re going to do this again. We talk. We agree. She stays. I want her to stay. I need to fuck her when we wake up. We need more of this. We laugh. Who does this? Maybe everyone. How would we know? We only know this. We only know ourselves. Our own lives. Fucking. Fisting. Hitting. Biting. Clawing. Scratching. The struggle. The playfulness. The heat and the wetness. The marks we leave. Her bruise from someone’s bite before me that I lick and trace. Let’s dance together like this. Let’s make a pact. Again. Like animals. Soon.
I love being a woman. I enjoy having a lover pull my tank top over my head and tease my nipples, suck on my breasts. I sit and watch as she undoes my belt, smacking my roaming hands away, making me be patient. I love to watch her enjoy me. I let her pull my pants down lower and lower to touch my cunt, taste me. I love having her fuck me so hard my cunt is sore the next day. I love being fucked. And fucking. And again. More. It’s so good.
One, just one. Give me one more sip of your drink. One more drag on your cigarette. Let me grip your thigh one more time. Your fucking short too short jesus so short skirt. My fingers edge beneath the hem so tight fucking tight on your thigh. I snag your stocking with my nail. Give me one more taste of your mouth. Lean against me right here on the sidewalk with the parking meter jammed between my shoulder blades. The dirty concrete. Dirty bricks. Dirty windows. Come here. Closer. I grab your neck in both hands. Give me this. One more.
My hands slide under your coat. Your shirt so soft so tight. Your back held in my hands. My fingers grip and feel the ridged edge of your bra. I push beneath the elastic. I’m held tight. Trapped. Keeping you close against me. This. Right now. One more minute. One more like this. Kiss me. Don’t stop. Don’t go.
We kiss and people walk by cheering us on. We kiss and I hold my feet shoulder width to steady us. We kiss and I feel you breathe. We kiss and stop and look at each other and you say something muffled that I can’t understand and then my tongue is in your mouth again. I look down at your shoes. My cunt feels wet, heavy. I want you. I feel your want. I feel it in your hips.
All week I thought about it. Not that moment on the sidewalk, but how it would feel with you next to me on the couch. I waited. It felt like weeks. Every day got me closer. One more. One more day. And then you were here. My hands under your shirt. My hands everywhere. Your calves. My tongue on the curve of your foot, your ankle. Crouched down on the floor while you leaned back against the cushions. Prayerful. Lapping at your thighs. Pulling at all your clothes. Pulling at my own. Holding you so tight you struggle to breathe deep. Pressing my weight down on you. Marking you on your ribs. Pulling you hard against me. Hard. So hard, my clit hurts. Grinding into each other. Hard. Sweaty. Unsatisfying and making us want more much more.
Stay. Let me taste you. My mouth on your pussy. My nose buried in your wet, matted hair. Stay. One fuck with my cock deep inside you. Stay. Your fingers inside me. More. One more. Slow. Hard. Keep moving. Yes. I rub my own clit and watch you watch my fingers. Your mouth falls open. Wet. Pink. Soft. Stay. Here. Like this. Fuck me.
We come. Again. More. Hot and sticky. I bury my nose in your neck. The room ripples when I look around us. It moves. It’s filled with us. You have to go soon. I will get up and get dressed and drive you home. But right now, lean into me. Rest your head on me. Feel the rise and fall of my belly. Trace your fingers through the sweat. And I’ll kiss you one more time. So long. Slow. Maybe you’ll stay just a little bit longer. One more.
I once overheard a drunk guy tell a waiter, “There’s no such thing as a harmless person.” I was sitting in a too bright, late night pizza place with drunk friends. He said those words and I shivered. He’s right. His words stopped me.
What makes me dangerous is that I want the kind of love I have to risk something to choose.
I've never left a comment like this on a blog before. Your words speak to me in a way I never thought possible. Like you're taking the thoughts I can't articulate and making them real. Something inside me has always felt wrong; like I'm not quite here yet feeling each moment so intensely it physically hurts. I wanted to tell you that your words give me peace. I read some of your posts and the pain stops. Thank you so much. You can't imagine how you've saved me.
I remember the moment I realized that I had to find my own moral compass because the world around me said I was unworthy, disgusting, even criminal. I remember how hard it was to breathe in that moment and in many moments after that, for years. I remember staggering to the mirror in my bedroom and staring at my own face, unrecognizable.
I don’t know what you’re going through or why you’ve felt the way you have, but I recognize those feelings deep down in my bones. In that way at least, we’re alike.
You are not alone. We are not alone. We are all around. And right here. We find each other. And help each other. Because somewhere deep down inside we know that we are filled to bursting with love. We learn how to risk our hearts and feel it all and rise up again and again.
Thank you for writing to me. Thank you for taking care of yourself. You are beautiful and I love you.
I like to call my sweet boy “baby” because he has the most beautiful clear blue eyes and soft skin. I like to see him blush. He blushes easily. When he kisses me his prickly mustache makes me itch. I bite at the hairs above his lip to make him yelp. Sweet boy. My baby.
He’s young. A whole childhood and then some between our ages. He has never written a letter or licked a stamp. He’s never made a mix tape. Never held a record in his hands or let the needle drop. He looks at me with his sky blue eyes, the silver in his nose shining. I love his boy face. His heavy lower lip and the way he lets it fall open.
I say, “Baby, you are so beautiful. So handsome. Such a pretty boy.“ He snuggles next to me on the sofa and we watch a scary movie and neck. He makes me crazy, this boy. His flat chest and his scars. He lets me trace the lines with my tongue. He lets me touch him. He lets me watch his own fingers pull pleasure from his beautiful pink shaft. I am learning him. Beautiful boy. New boy.
When we met, he told me how he liked to watch movies and neck. He said that word, “neck,” and I got so wet I almost felt ashamed. How does this beautiful boy with his sweet face and scratchy cheeks melt me so? I kiss his face. I suck his neck while he moans and rubs his pants. We suck and grind against each other until I nearly lose my mind. Until that moment when he snaps and grabs me and shoves me down on the cushions, pulling at my clothes, scratching me in a frenzy. He bites me, growling. I claw his shorn head. “My boy,” I whine, “My beautiful boy, how long do I get you?” He laughs. I smack his head hard. He grabs my wrist and squeezes it tight until I wince. I’m an odd distraction for him. Something old, something new. He likes to hear my stories. I have lots of stories for him. I tell him my stories while he sucks hard on my nipples and moves his hand into my pants. He’s always surprised at how wet I am, how wet he’s made me.
Every thought disappears when he fucks me. My jeans pulled down mid-thigh, his fingers inside me. All his weight on my back. Heavy, pushing. He’s strong, so much stronger than I’ve known. He fucks me with his hands until my cunt hurts but he doesn’t let me come. He pulls me up, pushes me onto my back, and tugs my jeans all the way off. He pushes my knees apart wide. He kneels between my legs and slaps my pussy hard until I see stars and come so powerfully that I usually kick him off of me, my legs shaking visibly afterwards. A wet mess of a woman.
He slips his jeans off. I smile at his ratty underwear, full of holes. “Down,” I whisper and he pulls them down for me. “Play with yourself,” I tell him and he tugs at his swollen cock. So pink. So beautiful and long. I watch and move my mouth closer. I’m gentle with him. My soft lower lip. My light tongue. I nod my head for him, “Yes,” I’m saying as my head moves up and down against him. I say yes to everything about him. Yes to my beautiful boy. Yes to these moments, these late nights, the shitty coffee I make in the morning and bring to him in bed. Yes to his pile of laundry on the floor. Yes to the dishes in his sink that I’ll wash before I go.
"You’re such a boy," I say to him when he comes into the bathroom to take a piss while I’m brushing my teeth. He laughs. I spit into the sink and splash cool water on my face. He bends over me tenderly and I feel his mustache against my neck. My skin shivers. "I was your boy last night," he says, "And I’m still your boy this morning." "Baby," I say, "Beautiful boy." He kisses my wet face. His tongue moves slow and sexy in my mouth. I’m thinking it in my head, “How long do I get you?” I smile as he kisses me. I don’t really care how long I get him. I have him right now.