Unexpected

My lover is out of town this weekend. Not even one little e-mail has followed him home. I sent him a series of instructions for our next meeting, each accompanied with a photo such as a twist of hair, lips wrapped around my finger, the inside of a thigh -- all culminating in a final, very graphic, very wet picture of promise.

I was expecting four or five days of no flirtation. Well, maybe the occassional smile and shy hello with that married guy I run into at the grocery store. Our shopping habits are oddly in sync.

My low expectations were pleasantly aroused with an e-mail from someone new.

It's interesting how quickly fuckery can progress. What started as a friendly hello and appreciation for my storytelling has quickly devolved into erotic repertoire about fantasies, hot wax and remote-controlled vibrators cleverly used at a dinner party.

I've lamented my brown-eyed Irish boy's lack of e-mail flirtation, so to find someone who likes to arouse with words has revived my interest in the delicate art of e-sex. I hope it's the start of something somewhat lasting. It would be a dream to have a lover online, and one in person. It's too bad my new friend lives so far away, otherwise we would try out some of those hot wax and champagne fantasies very soon.

I'm such a greedy little cunt.

Following directions

I opened the door and found him just the way I requested: naked, hard, waiting. I gave an uncustomary squeal of delight. I love to be obeyed.

I crawled on top of him, kissing his neck, cheeks, eyes and finally his mouth. His hands were on me instantly, sliding up my shirt, giving my nipple that eye-watering twist I love so much.

I dropped to my knees and stroked his cock with my tongue, lapping at it. He still tasted of me, from our last fucking at lunch. I sucked him clean. But when he started to pant, I stopped and ordered him to the bed.

I stripped as he climbed in, his sweet ass taunting me, begging to be slapped. I was forced to oblige. I relish the sight of a red hand print on a round cheek. His big brown eyes opened wider, flashed some dimples and pulled me onto him.

To say we fuck hard would be mild. The half-moons from my nails were livid on his sides, the force of me pulling him in deeper. My instructions were issued sharp, one-word: behind, harder, hurt me, down, there! He is an excellent listener.

Forty minutes later, sweaty and heaving, he came with a groan whispering my name in my hair.

Synopsis

Can I compress one woman into six little words? Can I summarize all my experience into a short phrase? Can I actually follow the rules? One can only hope.

Live. Laugh. Fuck. Write about it.

Picky, picky

When it comes to choosing a lover, I am pretty amiable. I like men of all shapes and sizes, blonde with blue eyes, dark hair with smoky brown eyes, soft and firm, tall or short -- they all taste so sweet. I usually prefer them married, but my brown-eyed Irish boy is not. He was a welcome addition to my fuck parade after a drought, but in one area, he fails.

Maybe I shouldn't be so picky. Maybe I should be thankful for an ever-ready cock and twisting fingers that so easily find my g-spot. Maybe I shouldn't assume that all men who cheat with a married woman like the same things.

I have a secondary love affair with words, and until now, my lovers have joined me. Stories about dreams, desires -- many posted on this site. Typed promises about next meetings and naked rendevous. E-mailed memos about music, movies and porn.

I was lucky. My previous conquests were voracious e-mailers, seducing me with their virtual attention as well as their honey tongues. My big strong man would often send me three or four messages at a time, and then plead for my quick response with a terse, "What are you doing? Please answer me!"

Part of the thrill of an affair is that extra attention a lover bestows. Lately, I'm not so thrilled.

I'm already contemplating the end of this affair. To end it now without a replacement would only leave a hungry, selfish pussy in the wake. I can fuck him for a while longer.

But my fingers are itching to type those seductive promises to someone new -- someone who loves words as much as orgasms.

Why, my love

How do you answer the question, "why" when you're an adulterer? It's a question I've asked myself many times. A close friend posed that query this week. Why, she asked, do you risk everything important just to fuck someone you don't want to love?

The first time was for love. I fell for him, the sexual intensity was an added benefit to our already kinetic connection.

What about the second, the third, or my current, the sixth? There's something raw and animalistic in taking a lover who is not yours to have. Biting skin that cannot be marked. Dragging nails down his back, making marks he'll have to hide.

The scent of a naked man who wants to fuck you until you cry is intoxicating. It rises from his skin like mist. I want him to hurt me. I want him to invade me. I need him to fill that empty, warm, wet space that is begging for him.

I want that look in his eyes, that look reveals me as an amazing sexual being who only offers pleasure. I want that first time when he slides in and we both sigh. I want to see him cum, shaking and rolling his eyes with intensity. I want to know that it was me that fucked him -- the best he's ever been fucked. I want him to come back for more.

I want to be wanted.

Hand jive

I am a sucker for brown eyes and the perfect dimples. A come-hither grin will win me over every time. But that's just an introduction, the fun part starts with his tongue in my mouth, his breath hot against my skin. Warm palm against my stomach, under my bra, pinching my nipples erect.

The first time is fast, hot, needy. We race to make each other cum, determined to fuck with exciting intensity. He leaves me wanting more.

Today he remembers all my favorite spots, or rather my most favorite spot, that quirky little g-spot that when properly plied will welcome him with a gush.

He makes me cum again and again, wet against his palm. He smiles as I writhe and moan, riding his perfect finger as it twists and pushes. I beg him to stop before it's too much.

Then I do what every nice girl should -- I swallow.

Am I your fantasy girl?

I should warn you, I like to be the best at everything I do and sex is my favorite challenge. So tell me what you've always wanted to try. Share your fantasy, let me fulfill it for you. I cannot promise you'll know me for very long, but I swear that you will never forget my name.

I can be that girl you've always wanted, but couldn't find: That naughty, slutty girl who wants nothing but a bit of your time, attention and energy. That same girl that leaves as soon as you're done without a backward glance. Don't call me, I don't care ... unless you want more. What would you do to that girl if she shows up to lunch in a skirt?

Would you put your hand on my knee to feel the smooth satiny stocking, run up my thigh to the clasp where the garter meets the lace, further still until you find the round curve of my ass, around to the slip of damp fabric which is all that stands between you and the rest of me?

What will you do then? Are your fingers itching to find out how wet I am? Will you slide in and make me sigh and shudder with the lovely feeling of penetration, then go back to work smelling of me? Or will you back off and wait for the next time when you can have more?

Ask me, I'll give it to you.

The times, they are a changing

You have changed, my love.

The things that pulled me to you, magnatized my body and mind, are gone. Goodbye to your sense of humor, your aggressive nature, your loving teasing, your arrogant certainty.

I'm left with hesitancy, unwillingness to open up and share, a mean temper. I have memories of your hands buried deep in my hair, your mouth on mine. Today I have bitter comments about my wild curls and presumably outlandish hairstyle.

I have hopes for your crazy desire to possess me. Your drive to find me, no matter where and make me your own. Today I have time waiting in my car for you, time in which I know you are not coming to meet me at all.

I know you loved me once. Now I have no idea what you want.

It seems there's only one solution. I am so unhappy when you're not around, but I'm miserable when you are. Leave me behind, lover. It's the best thing for us both.

Anticipating history

Suggestions have been made. Lunch meetings set. I want him so bad. He's the only man who can make me shake with the need to have him.

Our history weighs on me. He cannot be mine. We missed that window of opportunity. He will eventually allow his guilt to overcome desire and he'll leave me behind. History repeats.

In the meantime, I intend to have him again, as many times as possible. To find a bed, time, space, these are my worries today. When, where, how long?

The voice on the phone

The phone rings. I feel my heart skip when I recognize the number. I answer, a breathless hello. He answers with a deep, dusky, Hey, it's me, like there was a doubt in my mind who was on the other end of the line.

I'm aloof, angry. He cajoles, kids and I soften. He'll always be that one who can melt the icicles.

He says my name, softly, and the yearning begins again.

Missing him

It's been a month since he left, abrupt and final. I'm cut off. No recourse. Nothing left but memories -- vivid behind my eyes -- of skin, lips, hands, body, cock and pure pleasure.

And his words.

Its late when I show up, you answer the door still half asleep, hair messed from tossing and turning, wondering if I would stop by. Your eyes light up when you see me, a giggle escapes. You pull me into the room wrapping your
arms, as well as your lips around me. Stepping back you take my hand and lead me to the bed.

As the soft light casts shadows, you slowly undress me, rushing would be much too easy, instead taking your time, kissing every inch of my skin caressing, me with your fingertips.

I stand before you naked wanting waiting and watching as you remove your panties and shirt. Pink full hard nipples brush against my stomach as you lean in to kiss me. Needing to react, I lower you onto the bed kissing you deeper, my hands and lips explore you, finding your wetness. I enter with my finger -- first one then two -- a moan, a gasp escape your lips, I must be inside you. In between your legs I find my destiny, so inviting, so perfect. I never want to leave.

Fast, slow, stopping then starting, deep and shallow. You shudder then moan, again and again. I take my time but I must cum for you. You feel it, as well as see it in my eyes and your movements rise up to meet me until my cock exploding is all that can happen. You call my name I answer with yours.. M--- oh god M---!! You smile, touching my face.

His dreams for me

As you lean forward to check your lip gloss in the mirror, you catch a glimpse of me walking into the ladies restroom. The room is empty but the dining room is full, including the person you are having dinner with.

You turn towards me, "what are you doing here?

"You mean in the restroom or at this particular restaurant," I reply.

Both is your answer.

I cross the distance quickly sweep you into my arms and bury your lips beneath mine. We are both panting by the time we pull apart. The short skirt and no panties you have for the occasion pose no problem for access.

I push you against the counter spreading your legs with mine while undoing my pants, letting them fall to the floor. I enter you with a single thrust, you are so wet there is almost no resistance. We meld together seamlessly, each one thrusts in perfect time to the others. We are running out of time and luck, someone will catch us soon.

You grab the back of my head as you explode with your orgasm, calling my name. I am getting closer, you feel me starting to swell inside you, my breath in short hot gasps against your neck. I stop turn you around and bend you over the vanity, we stare at each other in the mirror. I'm back inside you, your red hair and beautiful blue eyes, your mouth ... cum for me baby, fill me. I grab your hips slamming myself in you, the final thrust sends streams of molten cum deep inside you.

As we slow our thrusts a smile creeps across your lips. Just as I'm walking out someone walks in, startled, oops must have come into the wrong room. You adjust your lip gloss and check your hair, wondering if your salad is there yet .

When I close my eyes

Last night I dreamt that you came to my room while I slept. You stripped off your clothes and slide naked into bed next to me. Your skin was cool from the night air so you wrapped yourself around me. You kissed my neck, whispered "Michele, wake up" in my ear.

You slide you hand up my leg, over my thigh, under my panties and tickled my clit, ever so slightly. I rolled toward you, still not awake, and you slide your finger deep inside me and started rubbing. I woke with a sigh and then I came hard and wet against your hand.

You slid my panties off, then my shirt. My skin was warm and flushed both from sleep and excitement. You leaned down to kiss me and brushed your fingers down my neck, around my shoulders, across my breasts to make my nipples stand up. You bent your head and flicked them with your tongue, first one then the other, then squeezed my full breasts in your hands. By now I was very much awake and very turned on.

I pushed you onto your back and dipped beneath the covers, spreading your legs and settling between them. With my breasts brushing against your balls, I showed you much I appreciated that orgasm using my hands and tongue to stroke your dick fast and wet. I could taste your cum, ready to be release. You rocked your hips in rhythm to my strokes. Your breathing was fast. But you weren't ready to finish just yet.

You grabbed my arms and pulled me on top of you, sliding my wet, hot pussy down onto your waiting cock.

I rocked back and forth, slow and easy, taking each orgasm greedily and with great pleasure. Your laugh rumbled in my ear as I ground my hips into you again and again.

You grabbed my hips and pushed against me, urging me to go faster. When I couldn't go fast enough, you flipped me over, causing me to giggle, and grabbed my hands, pinning me to the bed. And then you fucked me. Hard, deep, fast, it took my breath away. I could hear your breath, ragged and fast in my ear, but I couldn't concentrate on anything other than the waves of sensation that started in my pussy and shot through my body. Again and again, my toes curled and my body clenched with pleasure.

And just when the tears threatened, you said my name again. I opened my eyes and you were looking down at me, brown into blue. Your eyes darkened and you came inside me, hot, fast, salty and sweet. And in that moment, you belonged only to me.

Don't stop

Every time I’m with you, I want to beg you to keep going, don’t stop. Is it wrong to tell you that everything you do sets me on fire, makes me crazy? Is it illogical to leave and want to turn around, go right back to your arms and start all over again?

Don’t stop running your hands under my shirt, even when I gasp because they are cold. Don’t stop kissing me, soft and gentle then hard, teeth digging and bruising into my lips. Don’t stop putting your hands in my hair, pulling ever so slightly to expose my throat to your kisses and nips. Whatever you do, don’t stop undressing me and trailing your fingers under my panties, around my clit, teasing me.

Don’t stop giving that magnificent feeling of penetration when you finally slide inside, tight and wet, and you sigh because it fits so nice. Don’t stop moving inside me, bringing me to orgasm again and again, making me moan and wriggle beneath you.

Don’t stop whispering my name, sucking my nipples or groaning with satisfaction when I lick and stroke your cock. Don’t stop fucking me even when you bring me to tears. I haven’t had enough of you. I can’t stop yet.

And when you run out to my car, for one last kiss, I know you don’t want to stop either.

Answer me

I'm amazed at how quickly you know me. How readily your body answers mine. Iache for you to touch me and you know right where I need you. Fast or soft, hard or gentle, you answer.

I run my hand under your shorts, feeling your long lean legs, traveling up your thigh, rubbing my finger softly over the head of your dick, feeling you twitch and rise in answer to my touch.

I slip out of my pants and ease down -- warm and wet -- onto your waiting cock. You sigh and lean into me, pressing upward, answering my urgent need to cum. I rock and ride, fast and slow, taking my pleasure as much as I want. You thrust up to meet my rhythm, watching me blush and shake, taking your own pleasure in making me shiver.

When your own need becomes too much, you roll me over, spread my legs and thrust deep and fast inside me, filling me up with all I can take. Over and over again, you make me cum.

And when I can't take it anymore, I call out your name and you answer, shooting rich, hot cum inside me, satisfying my desire to possess some small part of you.

As our bodies slow, rock quietly together, you kiss me softly, answer my tongue with your own. Then you smile and promise to come when I call tomorrow.

Crazy

I am crazy from wanting you. I want to feel your breath in my ear when you whisper your desire. Your hands on my breasts, squeezing, rubbing, then squeezing again. Your earlobe between my teeth as I nip the sensitive, soft skin. Your tongue in my mouth, frantic and hot.

I want you to undress me slowly, peeling the clothes from my body, running your hands over my skin, feeling every inch of me until I can't wait anymore.

Slide your finger into my silky wetness, feel my desire, slick and ready for you. Take me, rough and deep, make me gasp with pleasure and pain. You drive me to the edge again and again. I cry out with each rolling orgasm, my face flushes and my body shakes.

But I want something else. I want to see your eyes darken with pleasure, hear you moan with release. I want your orgasm. And next time I won't let you leave until I have it.

Appetite

Absence makes the pussy grown fonder.

I miss your fast, hot loving -- your hard, long dick sliding inside me and pumping me full of juice. I miss your cock in my mouth, the taste of your hot cum running down my throat.

I worry. Even though I'd prefer to be with you again, if you are gone too long, I will have to find my diversions elsewhere. Will I get so lucky next time? Will I find a lover who's smart, handsome and as fuckable as you?

My appetite is growing. I need some fast, hot fucking. Where are you, fuck buddy? I will need to eat again soon.

Pleasure begins

Some would say that pleasure begins and ends with orgasm. I would argue that it begins with that first touch after a long absence.

Pleasure is the tingle I feel as my pussy contracts when I hear his voice on the phone. He pleases me when I walk to his door and he smiles wide and generous, happy to see me -- eager to please me.

It's pleasure I feel when he grabs my waist and smiles at me before he leans in to kiss my mouth. Pleasure is his hands running up under my shirt to find my breasts.

There's a pleasing resonance in the clinking of my buckle when he unbuckles my belt and pushes my pants to the floor.

And then there are his fingers. Oh, but I am a girl in love with my g-spot, the pleasure button of the sweet, pink center.

I am always pleased to push him down on a chair or the couch, push myself between his legs and take his dick in my mouth and hands.

It's a pleasure to make him cum, to feel his legs shake as he gets closer and closer to orgasm, to hear that ragged catch in his breathing at the intensity builds.

And if it pleases him, he can cum on my face, in my mouth, in my pussy or on my ass -- and I'll lick it off, with pleasure.

Masturbation imagination

If I close my eyes, I can see you walking up the front steps. You open the screen door and scoop me up in your arms and hold me tight. You smell like sunshine and fresh air.

You lean down to kiss me, your tongue is hot and heavy in my mouth. Your hands slide under my shirt against my skin, under my bra and you squeeze my nipples ... hard.

We sink to the floor and you pull my pants open and find me slick and eager for your touch. Slide your fingers in and I start to cum almost immediately. You bite my neck as I orgasm into your hand, the pain and pleasure intermingle making my orgasm deep and intense.

Pull down your pants and in one swift movement you are inside me. I have missed you there, deep inside where it's just you and me.

You fuck me hard and strong, pushing me over and over as I twist and cum beneath you. I feel your breath quick and wet on my neck. You moan from the intense pleasure and your dick throbs, wanting the release.

I look up into your eyes and you lean in to kiss me just as your start to spew inside me.

This is what I see when I masturbate to you.

Longing for my lover

I miss my lover's hands, and the way he slides them over my skin. Down my ribs, over my hip and back up again. I want to feel his fingers digging into my ass as he pulls me closer to him, pushing his hard dick deeper inside me.

I miss my lover's lips. Soft and tender on my mouth. Slow and easy on my throat. I want to feel his lips and tongue caressing my clit, shove his face into my pussy as he licks and strokes me over and over until I cum in his mouth.

I miss my lover's dick. Long, hard and always eager. I want to taste it, rub my tongue around the ring of his head, slide down his shaft and suckle him until he finally lets go and spurts hot sweet cum into my face.

I miss my lover's body, the smell of his skin, the rhythm of his fast breath, the quick beat of his heart, the thrusting of his pelvis. I miss the orgasms I know he will give me, and I look forward to seeing him very soon.