One ring to rule them all

“What’s this?” He pulled at my waist, drawing me close to scrutinize the round, orange rubber ring resting innocuously on the bench at the end of my bed.

“Why I just don’t know,” I replied with mock amazement. “Calamari?”

He smiled at my joviality. “Have you ever used a cock ring before?”

“No.”

“You’ll love it, I promise. It makes my cock nice and hard for your tight little pussy.”

“Oooh, yummy! You know what a big fan I am of your cock already.”

He laughed and pulled me roughly onto the bed, kissing me deep. We made short work of stripping the layers of clothes and his fingers immediately sought a wet purchase between my thighs.

Later, standing at the side of the bed while I lay with my head off the edge, his rammed his very stiff cock –- as promised -- down my throat, leaning over me to flick my clit with his tongue. I writhed and sucked, tonguing the rubber addition at the base.

On my back, on my knees or my knees behind my ears, his cock drove home his point again and again, much to my ever-growing delight. To the last stroke, when he pulled his dick dripping of me to my lips to taste, he was stiff and proud.

Afterward, lying among the debris of my panties, his tie and all the pillows, I noticed he was still ready.

“Are you still hard?” I sounded a little disbelieving.

“Yeah. The ring keeps it hard for a while.”

“Mmmmmm…” I rolled on top of him, sliding down slow and easy. He gave a little shudder. I rocked onto him, circling around and around. It was not the biggest orgasm I’ve ever had but it was deep and wide, pushing up from my hot, wet center to spread warm, relaxing tendrils into my legs, arms, chest and cheeks.

I rolled off and curled against his side. He pulled off his ring and immediately his cock grew soft and pliable in his hand.

“Oh. No more then?”

“God, woman. How many orgasms do you need?”

“Just one more? Pretty please?” I smiled my most charming smile.

Apparently a girl can still get more of what she wants by fluttering her eye lashes … sometimes even a few more.

Contemplative

I sit and analyze.

I'm faced with some job changes that could signify the end of my favorite hobby. I don't think it would be a permanent end, but an end nonetheless. As I am still searching for that perfect balance of "fun to chat with" and "fun to fuck," it wouldn't be too difficult to put that search on hold. These changes would greatly affect my free time. My fucking time. My play time.

Oddly, I'm not too sad about that. I'm dissatisfied still. Unfinished. Orgasms given but attention still at a deficit. At odds with myself.

I had a man who ravaged my body and blew my mind. He's been gone for a while, but in his place is a new model that has yet to be filled. Maybe I just expect too much. Maybe the time away from the hunt would refresh my attitude. Or maybe I'll never be that satisfied again.

End before we begin

I'm a lucky girl. I've had some great lovers. It's been a smooth, wet transition into this lifestyle. It's easy to enjoy the lover who worships your body, begs for your mouth and cums with a shudder and a gasp.

Lately, my luck has not been so good. My brown-eyed Irish boy could care less if he ever saw me again. Occassionally he'll e-mail, tell me he misses my pussy. I just stopped writing back.

My long-distance lover pulled the curtain on our meeting the day before I boarded a plane. While he had a valid excuse, I can't help but feel like the dupe. Was he as in to me as I am into him? I guess I'll never know.

And then there's the boy I'm seeing now. Eager, voracious appetite, works close by but is never satisfied. Now before you open your mouth in surprise, I always leave my man satisfied. But this man isn't happy with just me. He wants to try something new, exciting, different every time. Let's add a guy, he suggests. Or maybe a girl. What about double penetration? We could swing with another couple.

All of those are exciting, fun things I'm eager to have, but not on my lunch hour when I have a lovely planning meeting at 1. He never seems happy to just meet me for some quick but thorough sex at the local park. I feel like I'm failing before we even start.

The pragmatic me shakes her head, and reminds me that I should be thankful to have these chances at all. To be thankful that men look at my freckled nose and looping curls and want to bury their hands between my thighs. But there's that other little voice, the one that wants something more. Something that I haven't had for a while.

I am a sure thing, but I still want to be seduced. Maybe it's time to look for someone else again.

For the love of boys

How many lovers is too many?

I find myself in a precarious situation. My lovers before were solo adventures. Just me and he, exploring the depths of human sexuality and depravity. One tongue, one set of fingers, one stiffening cock confined by my lips.

When did things get so busy?

I started this blog as a catharsis for discussing my need for male attention without actually discussing it with any one. It's my outlet. I am a writer both in this life and in my straight life. It's only natural for me to keep a diary, or accounting of my sexual adventures.

I've met some really fantastic gorgeous men in my life. Through this blog, I've met a few others. But how many is enough?

For a while I thought the next lover would be the last. I've given up that dream. I can't see a point where I'll stop. I know that's dangerous, always looking for the next. But it's become a part of who I am, the mistress I've become.

I love boys. Bald, thin, chubby, tall, short, muscular or a little soft in the middle. I crave them, like the sugar I don't eat. They are the sweetness on my tongue.

I've met a new boy. He's much younger than I, still a 20-something. I tend to prefer them older, wiser, experienced. This one, however, intrigues me. He smells so damn good, he must taste like honey. But he's a little shy and requires that I brush off my skills to seduce him. He's never been a toy. He's not sure how to respond. I should just let him go. Pass me by. Find someone his own age to fall in love with. Except, now I want him for my own.

Maybe just one more. Just one more.