It's a little bit sexual. It's a little bit lovely. It's simple really. Has sex? Write sex.
Do you ever roll over, face in the nook, and catch his scent?
It’s strong, and musky. Luring, and intoxicating. I nuzzle, and he grunts.
I hitch my leg over his, gently swiping his cock as I do.
I whimper, lusty from his essence.
I want to smell him all over. I want to lick as I go. I want to bend him, and tie him, and have every little piece.
I force him to get up, only to push him down again, face to the sheets. I grab his ass. My nose finds him. My mouth too.
He is out of control as I spread him and begin to lick.
I am a filthy whore.
And he knows it.
I’ve sparked him. I’m done for.
He flips it on me, and forces me to turn over. He slaps my ass, hard, and buries his face in it, in me. Spreading my cheeks to smell my scent, he growls.
He is a filthy whore.
And I know it.
I see you all. Your hearts, and your anonymous messages, and I adore. I thank you. I read them, and read them over. I read the notes you attach to my posts, and I want to talk to every single one of you.
I can’t wait to share more! <3
bouger avec moi
It’s the moment in the dark when you realise you’re not alone. It’s the moment in the dark when you realise it’s not a fantasy and that even though you’re not the hand that pushes him, that it’s his own that holds his hard cock, it’s you that drives him.
It’s your body in his bed, yours that he sees when he closes his eyes. It’s the sense and sound of your breath as you breathe his illusion with him…the movement of your hips, your naked body pressed to his own. It’s the soft bounce of your tits and the moment he tells you he’s coming undone.
It’s the moment you part your lips, and he kisses you on the mouth as he rides out his high with you, tongue against tongue, wet and lusty.
I’m lusty. In lust with you.
I’m not dead, I’m just busy. Having sex. Writing a book. Having more sex. (Seriously?) Trying to write when I’m not in the mood. Having sex when I am, which is all the time. Eating chocolate by the ton, before and after sex. Showering three times a day. Reading stories that make me cry. Kissing The Boy all over, including but not exclusively, his penis. Did I mention I was busy?
I miss the words.
And they will come.
Just like I did. Six times today. (Seriously?)
And you know, I just wondered, and thought, as simple and basic as it should be, I hope everyone else is having amazing sex. I hope people all over, are able to just lie in bed with their lovers, and bask (READ: 2. to enjoy a pleasant situation.) in the afterglow of their fuck making. I wondered if anyone else is wondering if their neighbours can hear them moaning, screaming, unable to stop themselves from calling out for sweet Jesus, after their third, fourth orgasm?
Because I was. And I did. And I feel lucky, I feel happy. I feel special, and tingly, and open to the world’s full potential.
Today was magical, my friends. Like most days. Like all the days. And I hope yours was too.
Candles float above my head, dreaming as your fingers play along my skin.
You part my legs and pull me closer, my eyes close hard - awaiting your mouth.
Candles light the shadows, your tongue tracing wet as you climb deeper.
Dancing, I sing along, loudly, louder.
Hearts play on the walls, lights get smaller.
Moan into me, I want more.
Fingers and toes, your fingers, more fingers.
Moan into me, I need more.
Hearts play on the walls, lights get even smaller.
I love openly, wrapped in sheets, against the railing, I hold onto.
Let’s talk about kissing <3
Kissing is usually the first thing you do when you’re young and discover yourself with all kinds of feels for the boy or girl next door. (Well, it’s probably holding hands, but let’s pretend it’s not because that’s a whole other post.)
Kissing is usually the first contact. Past holding his or her hand, sweaty and awkward, holding on for dear life.
Kissing is the thing you worry you might not be able to do because how do you know how to do it, before you just do it, you know?
There’s always practice. Or so your bestie may have told you once upon a time. “Practice on your arm.” “The crook of your elbow.” “Practice on the opening of a bottle.” < Yep, I heard that one too!
I tried. I did.
But nothing was to prepare me for my first kiss.
My first kiss was with a girl. Before this I never knew any different than, “I like you.” Meaning, I liked everybody. All the time. I liked you one day, and you the next. All together, all at the same time. I wanted to learn you, hold your hand, and kiss you. So when I started to have the feels for my good girl friend, it wasn’t “weird”, it was scary. Scary not because she was a girl, but because she was my friend. And I didn’t know if she felt the same as me.
So we talked about boys.
And then one day. We kissed. For practice. Or rather, that’s what we said out loud. But after two months, four months, six months, it became apparent, we were no longer practising, readying our skills for when the perfect boy came along.
My first kiss was silent. It was time stopping. It was life changing. It was pretty. It was awkward. It was wet. It was special. It was over.
And then we did it again.
And since that time, that girl.
I <3 kissing.
Now, with The Boy, it’s still one of my favourite things to do. It’s sweet, sensual, kind, caring, sexy, home-sweet-home, perfect!
The Boy, he likes to ravage me with kisses. Tiny little kisses. All over my face, all over my boobs, all along my tummy. TINY LITTLE KISSES FULL OF LUST ARE THE BEST THING EVER. And never fail to make me smile.
But kissing is for all time, all the time.
They are sexy. The mouth is hot, cool, hard, soft, wet, bitey. Uh. Bitey.
Bite my lip.
Bite it, and pull it and suck it between your own lips. I’m yours. And I am. His. Because he knows how to kiss. And kiss he does. Me. All over.
So let’s talk about kissing <3
Kissing is often the first thing you do when you meet someone and your relationship progresses past just friendship. Whether you know it will lead to sex or an epic make-out session - dry humping included. #omgdryhumping
Kissing makes me dizzy. Kissing makes me hungry, horny, feisty, feral and left wanting for all the more that can follow.
I love your mouth after we’ve kissed, red and full. Soft and wet.
I love kissing <3
It does happen.
It’s happening right here.
It’s happening in the morning when I wake up in my underwear, my hair a mess. It’s happening during the day when I’m writing and you look over at me and tell me, “I’m so happy”. It’s happening in the kitchen when I make dinner and you come up behind me, wrap your arms around me and tell me I’m sexy. It’s happening when we take baths together, when we play together, and it’s happening in our bed, in familiar ways, new ways, exciting ways, tender ways.
It’s happening all over the world.
And it can happen for you too, because you are beautiful. <3
I have been doing much of this lately, much of sleeping, fucking and getting massages from The Boy due to the crazed sleeping patterns I’m living and well…the fucking.
A couple of weeks ago, The Boy took a bath and told me to wait downstairs. I waited as he moved around the house doing all kinds of secretive things. I waited wondering if he had attached a sex swing to the ceiling of our bedroom, or if he was just cleaning and it really had nothing to do with what I thought it was to do with. Until he tells me, “Close your eyes and come with me.”
So I did. And I did.
He leads me up the stairs, my heart pounding with excitement (I love surprises, in fact I’mma just go ahead and get used to this right now, ‘kay?!) to our bedroom, to find it filled with pretty tea-light candles. Candles way up high, candles on the desk, the dresser, and candles surrounding the bed. It may seem simple to some, and some may even say, “I’ll take the swing.” But nope, not me. I like to get romantical. And I like it even more when The Boy gets romantical <3
I’m told to take off my clothes. I’m told to get on the bed. I’m told to lie on my tummy.
I do as I’m told as The Boy kneels beside my now naked body and I’m just tingling silly, like a child. Like a child knowing my mama just bought me sweets but won’t give them to me until after dinner.
Though, I quickly fall calm. I’m quickly made to feel so fucking relaxed as he moves his hands across each part of me, massaging me, feeling me, soft to firm, I’m so hazy. And at this point, it’s not about sex. I am aroused; it was sensual, sexy and frankly some of the best foreplay, pulled from his bag of tricks. But I’m happy. I’m happy to know he wants to do this for me, to me, experiencing me. It’s nice. It’s all I want and more. Because what’s really amazing on this night is the act of surprise. The thought, the action after the thought. So it really doesn’t matter what comes next. #althoughwhatcomesnextisamazing *le sighs*
Since that night. And we did totally follow up that massage with sex. There has been much more, but several days have especially stood out.
Today was a day of back to back fucking. BACK TO BACK FUCKING.
After sex, when The Boy trails his fingers along my skin, pulls me down the bed, and begins to kiss my thighs, I know I’m in for more treats.
I don’t think about the sounds he makes sometimes. The moans, the cries for more. Because we’re huge fans of the ‘dirty talk’, and I’m usually, mostly, always moaning so loud the neighbours neighbours can hear, his moans are often drowned out.
So when The Boy begins to lick my pussy, and starts to growl and moan against me, I’m finding it’s becoming my new favourite thing.
And I want MOAR dammit. MOAR.
Waking up to sex. Sex before bed. Any kind of sex when your body is in sleepy mode, is not the kind of lazy sex you might think. It’s blanketing, it’s expansive (even in it’s filthy ways) It’s spontaneous. It’s beautiful.
I cried a while, the kind of crying that shakes your whole body. The kind of sadness you might die from if you don’t let it out. So I shook and I sobbed and he wrapped his arms around me.
I spent all night, until the moon turned into blue, trying to sleep. I tried to sleep it all away and I wondered. I wondered if he wished I weren’t there anymore.
My sleep took a long time to come. I turned and I made, making lines and dents in the bed, buried in the sheets, the fan wafting across my face.
I don’t remember falling asleep, only that I knew I was. I don’t remember dreaming, except that I thought I was.
Feeling, like feeling all the soft songs of his words when he tells me funny things.
Feeling, like feeling lusty and high when he pulls me down the bed.
Dreaming awake, I was trying to stay awake now as my never ending dream came to life in bed with him.
In bed with him as his hands, so many hands, it felt like they were everywhere.
Fingers gentle, gentle over my tummy.
Fingers gentle, no longer gentle as he let loose my boobs. Soft tits to feel, his cool fingers, trailing. Splaying over my skin, to make ways. Making ways to run them over my pussy.
He held me still as I was waking.
He held me high as I began to see him.
I cried out for something else now, like for something better now. I cried out for his hands that made me cum.
And I held my breath as he held me down and entered me. His cock pounding hard against my sleepy body, hazy and dazed from the dream he gave me.
I was definitely awake now. Awake to his pushing, pulsing, beats, and his words, his filthy words against my mouth as he fucked me, as we fucked, his milky skin against mine, soft and sweaty.
He was there, holding my arms as he told me his end.
He came and he lay and I played finger dancing along his goosebumps and sighs. Happy sighs.