My pussy really is a cleaver contraption. She rules the party, opens and blooms when she wants–and how she wants. It’s often different every time. My pussy has the ability to get really wet and stay that way–or she can just close up and lock your cock right out. Sometimes even lock right on your cock. Clamping down tight, until you have no choice but to get out– if you can that is.

The pussy really is a complex flower. I refrain from calling it delicate- perhaps some women do have a delicate flower-but my flower can withstand a good solid pound if you bring to the right place before hand. My pussy can make you very happy man if you put the time into understanding what maker her so clever.
NYC is good at understanding my pussy. When we fucked in NY there was a wild frenzy of sex, which I connect to us meeting for the first time–my pussy was ready at any moments notice. I was extra horny–not a lot of coaxing was needed.

This time with NYC there was more familiarity–a familiarity that equated into his  further understanding of my body. Although,it could just be my bossy ways.

I directed, dictated how I wanted him to coax the lips of my pussy.
“I want you to make my pussy puffy.
Kiss my cunt like it’s my mouth.”
I  like it when a man takes his time, I understand how your cock is zealous for the cunt, but it is so simple to just slow it all down. If you take me slow, follow my cue and leads–I am sure to coat your cock in all the liquid gloss I have.

Kiss and rub my full lips with your palm, slip the tip of your tongue in between my folds-begin to split me.
“slow down, slow down, slow down.”
The fucking cock can be so damn eager.
I get so wet with just a small slip of your finger- slick, needy–truly wanton of more. More…tongue, fingers, mouth, and of course that thick cock.

The slower you go– the longer I fuck. The slower we start, the more my pussy opens and the wetter I will get. I do not even want to feel your cock on my lips until I feel drops of me dripping from my cunt in between my ass cheeks–into my ass hole and onto the sheets below. Take a step back and the more your cock will strain and drip to get into this pussy.

Let’s take it slow before we take it fast.

Because I am too busy pleasing a fat persistently hard cock, I am pulling a post from the deep storage, the archive, the vaults, the closed stacks.

Now I must get back to the cock, to my spread thighs, to the man lapping at my pussy–keeping me in persistent soak, and back to the cock for breakfast.

I used to date this man, a whim, not a keeper, but a time passer, the first man after my divorce. He was a librarian too. The male librarian is not the same as the female librarian. The hot librarian archetype does not apply to the male version of my species, although they do tend, like me, to be sexually freaky. As a personality type, they tend wear crumpled suits with cigarette holes in the pants, they are nervous, on the edge of being under a blown stress out at all times, they are the quite type you wonder about.

Back to the man. He looked like Vladimir Lenin, my friends all called him Vladdy, “where’s Vladdy?” He had the bald head; I used to wrap my legs around his head and drop my pussy right on top of his bald cranium, feeling the wetness and the suction from my cunt to his skin. It really felt quite fantastic, if you are bald you should try it.

If we went to parties, he would scope out friends of mine, friends with features similar to mine, reddish hair, full ass, and then he would “accidentally” grab a feel, pretending he thought it was me. The first time he did this, I thought, hmmmm—maybe it was an accident, but eventually I became a co-conspirator in his little ass game, it was entertaining. One friend though, we look pretty similar, must have gotten her ass grabbed 50 times by him.

Vladdy and I would spend a lot of time driving around Oakland, taking pictures, checking out prostitutes, drinking in dive bars, we often frequented the White Horse Inn, the legendary gay bar, that’s been in operation for 75 years. We also frequented the hot tubs in Berkeley, also pleasurable. We would get sloppy drunk, actually I stayed sloppy drunk for about two years after my divorce, I had just found an equally as sloppy partner. We would get sloshed go back to his place, slowly remove bits of clothing, while doing so we would draw each other, each drawing with less clothing, until we were naked. His drawings were more simple, a line varied width style, mine would be more detailed, or detailed heavily in one area then fall off in all the other areas.

Vladdy was a pussy worshiper, well–and a cock worshiper too, but since I pack pussy he worshiped at my pussy. He would stay in there forever if I permitted him to. He probably would have crawled up my snatch, set up a home for himself if he could. He was submissive. With his submissive type, I am both very good and very bad, and to the submissive–that is still very good. I found my self using him all in kinds of ways. I would make him fuck me with his mouth; I would ride his face, grind into him, cum all over him, and then not reciprocate. When I did, I pounded him like crazy; when he fucked me I would get my fingers slicked up with spit and ram his ass with each trust into my pussy. Often, on those drunken dive bar nights, I would nearly assault his ass. He loved it, I fucked him harder each time, but each time, it was with more and more disdain, and it made me fuck him harder. I would fuck him until I was done cumming; however many times it would be, then not really care if he ever came. What a selfish mannish girl I was.

He was also chronic masturbator, if we were not out of the apartment doing those other things; he was either masturbating or serving my cunt. One time I left him in my apartment, while I went to run some errands. I came home sooner than anticipated. I found him at my computer, watching porn, wearing a pair of my panties, masturbating, and chain smoking. It was quite a sight.

We had a good run, but in the end I used him, I fucked him, I “fucked-used” him. It was never going to work; I would only always be fuck-using him. It ended rather badly, he became sort of stalker-esq, librarian weird, very needy, needy of my fingers to be buried in ass, and while this is fun–a girl need to fucked-used sometimes too. It was all just too one sided of a sex life. I am in search of a man who will let me bend him over, but who will do the same to me. I need to be used, fuck-used. I need fingers in my ass while you fuck me, I need to be handled, but then have the opportunity to handle as well.

Make sense?

Don’t look for me at the Library for a few days. I have plans. Juicy, wet, filthy, naughty plans.

You won’t find me in the stacks, you won’t find me assisting patrons with their informational needs. No, no, no. Not this week.

NYC comes to SF. Coast to coast fuck mashup.

A nice long long weekend of fucking, sucking, eating, drinking, and a lot more fucking.

First a blow job at the Ocean. That sounds like a perfect West Coast good morning greeting.

Then on to the fucking. I’ll be sure to tell you all about it.

Since returning from my mini wild wild west vacation–I have for some reason have been hit far more than usual. Typically I am not the type of girl who gets hit on often–I think I scare a great deal of men and the others are just not into what I have to offer. But, don’t get me wrong neither of these are a problem to me. I actually like scaring men with my zealous confidence and those who are not physically into my curves, my round ass, my globe tits and woman belly well there are that many more who are.

I have a theory about when men hit on me and why. First which is proven science by strippers everywhere– is fertility. Men, the dogs they are, can smell when I am primed to fucked and filled with cum. According to Psychology Today strippers make $20 more and hour when ovulating. Men know this, they sense it, they smell it–and are willing to pay for it.

In my own experience this is certainly true. On that oh so special week before my period– I feel like an animal with men’s nose s glued to my ass seeking a sniff, burrowing into my pussy. I like it, it makes me feel powerful. It makes me want to feel cock filling me up. I become more aggressive than usual–it makes me want to push you down on my bed and crawl the length of your body–letting my pussy feel all parts of you–with lingering attention paid to your throbbing branch– until I am straddling you face with my strong thighs flanking the side of your head and my cunt ceasing the flow of your words.

My second theory, not proven, is that men can sense when I have just recently fucked. Differently than those men who can tell I just fucked myself–the effect of fucking ones self are brief compared to being fucked by another. The bliss shows on my face, my walk, my smile and my attitude for days even weeks after–depending on the cock.

It is not that the sex I had on my camping trip was the best most explosive sex ever, it was that it came unexpected. I was not hunting for cock, just having a good time. It was a simple mutual drunken attraction–and this is what I think has caused the residual fruit of male flirtation this week. The men folk have sensed I like to be fucked.

Whatever it may be, I certainly have been enjoying it and it has left me cock hungry and in state of needy pussyness.

I don’t even want to tell this story, because it makes me feel like an asshole. But…I was an asshole.

His name was Mark, he was such a super geek, a Dr. Who fan, he even wore the scarf. He had this complete fascination with John Lennon; he was looking for his Yoko. At this point, I’d only had sex once before, the mandatory get it over with pop-my-cherry sex.

He was sweet, he really liked me and I didn’t know how to take that. I was hung up on his complete un-coolness. What asshole I am.

We actually went to Jr. High and High school together, we were always friends, I was not cool, so I am not sure, why his not being cool was a problem for me. We were in many art classes together; he was good artist, the kind of kid who always wins first place in those Jr. High art shows, getting his artistic achievements displayed behind glass in front of the art room.

It was not until after High School when we ran into each other again, he ended up being a roommate of a mutual friend; I found this out one night after a Wendy O. Williams (post Plasmatics) concert, when we were dropping our friend off. We went in to smoke some weed, relish in the half a guitar my friend caught at the show, after Wendy O. chain sawed it in half, and there he was sitting in the apartment drawing listing to the Beatles, like he was still stuck in Jr. High. Stuck into a further time warp than before. I was stunned. We clicked instantly although it could have been all the booze and weed, but that night we shared a kiss and I gave him my phone number.

He was hooked, he came around my house all the time, impressed my parents with his ultra geek-ness, it was strange for me, I think he was actually the first guy who liked me. We went out a few times, we laid around his room and smoked weed and, yes you guessed it listened to the Beatles, I drew the line at watching Dr. Who. We fucked around, awkwardly kissing, rubbing and rolling around, not sure of anything about anything. Our mutual friend told me I should fuck him–pop-his-cherry. We were all so eager to get it over with.

Eventually one night it was to happen. After what seemed like hours of rolling all over the place, dry humping, feeling our parts beneath our clothing, loosing bit by bit. The scarf was the first item to go. The well worn John Lennon look-a-like army jacket was the second. I watched him, I was so eager. It was not at all like when I lost my virginity. I was interested; I wanted to watch the reveal. We took turns, I removed my jeans, he removed his. My t-shirt—then his. There I was–for the first time, standing in my bra and long underwear (Colorado winters). He stood there in jeans no shirt, skinny, concave. Our hands found each other, kisses, lips on my shoulders, the back of my neck, hands fumbling with my clasp. The bra was gone. Standing there, oh my god–so self-conscious, exposed, his jeans dropped. We just stood there looking at one another, fear, anticipation, and perhaps a touch of young love.

We were so interested in our bodies, in the others body. Searching each other. We moved to the bed, he took off my long underwear and I was finally fully exposed, then he dropped his loose fitting boxers. My eyes must have bulged out of my skull, his cock was so huge! Who knew what this boy was packing. I was shocked, I was scared to death. My mind whirled, how the hell is he going to fit in me.

Laying on top of me, kissing, he was tender, sweet, he moved down my body, my young breast filled his mouth, his fingers fumbled into my pussy, he was soft and gentle, his lips moved down my belly, his lips began to brush into my mound. He kissed my pussy the same way he kissed my mouth. I loved it, I opened up to him, to his mouth on my lips, his tongue sliding—spreading and parting me in the softest kindest way. He made me very wet. Against my thigh, I could feel his huge cock grow in even greater significance. He slid up and we kissed, his lips tasting of me, we kissed and kissed, our bodies in procession. We kissed. His monster–instinctive, impelling into the heat and wetness of my pussy. His eyes never leaving mine he raised up on his arms, balancing on his hands, both of us lost in our deep panting of want, cunt to cock, and then he slid into me.

I felt myself split, I let a moan of pain and pure bliss break free, a moan I had never heard come from me before. Slowly he continued to slide into my tightness; he was slow and deliberate, filling me up, even before he was anywhere near being all the way inside of me. Little startled whines and groans escaped between my lips with each leaden thrust into me. I raised my legs, lifting my hips up, surrounding his torso, he gained poise as he lifted to his knee, pulling my ass toward him. We were there. Finally he was pulling in and out, crushing me with the lingering fuck of sweet friction, my pussy stretched more than ever before to accommodate him. Not once did he take his eyes off mine. It did not last long, when he came, he tried to pull out, but did not quite make it all the way; I could feel the heat inside my body, on the outside of cunt, and on my thigh. The monster cock was filled with a monster amount of cum. And then I was empty, he landed on top of me, his cock remaining heavy and we slept.

We remained together for a little while, he was always a giving tender lover, but like I said I was an asshole. I was shallow. I was young. I broke up with him, because of the scarf, the obsession with John Lennon, the overly friendliness with my parents, his horrendously loud laugh. I was embarrassed of him. I was an asshole; I gave up monster cock because I was embarrassed. I am embarrassed of myself.

Mark—my deepest apologies and thank you for giving me my first deepest sweetest monster fuck.

Someone asked me to tell them something that would make them blush. That is easy with some people, though I don’t’ think it would be with him. I have been rolling the question around in my head for a few days now, and am still at bit of a loss.

I do things that would make many woman and men blush, shutter and perhaps even gasp–but does my own behavior make me blush? What would make you blush?

There are sexual acts I have not written about here, because they are a bit over the top, but are acts I know damn well many of you would like.

When I was with NYC, we spend many days, and many emails discussing sexuality and determined that nothing should really be off limits that if either one was feeling something or wanted to explore some kink we would. And through that I got my first fisting, and it was pleasurable and not shameful, perhaps I did blush when the mini bus full of tourist got a full on view of the action, but telling you about it does not make me blush.

Would it make you blush if I told you I peed all over NYC? I have been with guys who wanted me to pee on them,  but I was never really altogether comfortable with it–or perhaps, not with the act, but with the man. With NYC I felt a freedom, a release of all of me and I felt like fuck it, lets do it. It was not something deliberately planned it just happened. Both times were similar, we had been out all day on the town–flirting, touching, getting finger banged, licked, sucking cock, getting my pussy vibed, drinking and eating, feeling a true connection for the other. My pussy was in a constant state of soak, continually dripping down my thighs. On this particular late day we were full of drink, I had come a few times, I was ready to be fucked, but I had to pee like crazy and the subway vibrations on my cunt were not helping the situation. I told NYC how much I had to pee.

“I want you to pee on me.”

It was simple. Off the subway we tore down the the quick block to the apartment, ripping clothing off along the way. By the time the door shut behind us, we were both damn near naked as we raced to the bathroom. NYC lay in the bathtub while I stood over him and let it all go. It was strong and powerful and probably mostly beer, but it felt so freeing and connecting at the same time.

We did not blush, we relished in it. I may blush when I hit the publish button and whoever reads this reads it. But I don’t think I blush at my own sexual behavior too much.
I blush at simple things….

at my own loneliness
when a man genuinely smiles at me
sexual eye contact
when I am hit on by a woman
when I am getting complimented (not overtly sexually)
when I speak and stumble on my words, because you are there
when you tell me you love me

So, how could I make you blush?

image by Aeric Meredith-Goujon

My weekend was certainly suitable of a wild wild west adventure. One of my closest friends and her fantastic husband never cease to show me a good time whenever I am in town and they are extremely tolerant of my wily ways.

The three of us ended up on a mini road trip  to the truly wild Wyoming. Colorado and Wyoming have a definitive culture that crosses state lines. There is a freedom and purity that is not sullied by living in a city such as San Francisco-there is an element of bullshit that disappears here. The people are giving, real and love to party. And, lucky for me the ratio of single men to single women is about 10:1.

I was sort of a welcomed party crasher. Our first stop, a check mark of the rock-n-roll to-do list, KISS on opening night of one of the largest state fairs. Next on to a rock-n-roll mountain hippie wedding and party, and of course all of this included much drink and smoke. Colorado recently allowed medical marijuana bills to pass, they call Denver, Demsterdam. There is more weed dispensaries than starbucks. To say the least I stayed in a cloud float mode for the entire weekend.

The wedding was held in a beautiful outside chapel overlooking the edge of the earth–the sky vast, the clouds in patterns of dreams and the air full of deep summer–those elements alone made me want to cry. Then the wedding started and of course I really wanted to cry, I cant help it–I love love, I love to see people express and join in a unity–all in the company of their friends, family and random wedding crashers.

The reception was held at a secluded private campground, the entire area ours for the remainder of the weekend. The sun went down, little lights began to twinkle and shine, a bonfire lit up and warmed, and music filled the night air. Someone actually brought a organ and a generator to run it with–like I said rock-n-roll mountain hippie wedding. The beer flowed like a river, the weed pipe stayed lit and love was in the air.

I, being one of two of the only single women at the party was quickly targeted, I was introduced as the single one. It was great, I flirted all night long, I teased, I smiled, and I listened to the 9 single men at the party. We all wanted the same thing, love and a nice fuck romp.

With over half the party having stumbled off to their tents, the remainder of the party turned into a spontaneous bout of music. The organ played, there was an accordion player, drums, banjos, guitars–and the rest of us played what ever we could get our hands on. The valley was alive with noise. I was high on all sorts of things, then I was horny,seized by my pussy, I needed a cock, I needed someone to love for the night, for the moment. Slut.  As we played our chosen instruments my pussy cozied up to the young organ player, and introduced her self properly. Soon we were dancing, soon my ass cheeks felt his cock growing, soon my hands felt his cock, soon we danced our way out of the party.

We walked and we played, fucking and laughing, feeling his dick get solid in my hands as we walked to his truck. At one point I bent in half my fingers digging into the rich earth as his explored and opened my pussy up. I said filthy drunk things to him as we stumbled along.

Once in the truck I lost myself and became all about fucking. I took a big drink of water and did what I do best–dropped my lips and mouth to his cock. I kissed, licked and sucked getting him nice and hard, getting him ready for my pussy. When the time came I climbed him- my pussy was crazy, I was the one doing the fucking. Surprisingly the cab of the truck seemed to have enough space for me grind all over his cock and to lay back with his cock still filling me, allowing him to work my pussy with his rough Wyoming hands.

The nights libations made this a sloppy fuck. I recall I kept saying I was too tipsy to continue, then I would take a break with his dick still inside me, then fuck some more. You finger fucked me often, I like that, I could hear my pussy being fucked, I could hear my liquid forming around your fingers. Alternating between fingers and cock, we fucked for a few hours. With one foot on the back of the seat by your head and the other bent behind me I was able to bring my cunt completely into your cock with each trust. I came while bucking on your cock and tweaking my own clit. We continued to move all about the truck cab, fucking and finger fucking and filling my mouth with cock, eventually I fell asleep on top of you with your cock still filling me.

and few last tid bits about wyoming…
this is one of their library logos and this their tag line.

I am on brief trip to Denver, the place I still call home, though I will never move back here–it’s always home. My favorite thing about my parents house is the bathrooms that my Pops has spent a great deal of time remodeling over the past few years. The downstairs has a beautifully green glass tiled giant two person shower with multiple shower heads and hand held nozzles for an accurate point and spray. I day dream about getting dirty and then clean with you in that shower. The shower is my favorite place to get fucked in my tight ass hole, the heat and water has me relaxed and ready. A little soap, some fingers, then your sweet hard cock.

But, I tend to go for the jacuzzi over the shower. There is nothing like the excess of a huge tub filled with the hottest water I can stand shooting high powered jets causing everything in the mind and body to slip away to relaxation.  

I got in late last night–the first place I headed was the bathroom. Getting the hot water going (it takes awhile to fill the tub up), I grab my bath supplies: a little scented salt, a bit of bath oil, small amount of bubbles, light the candles, big luxury towel, and of course jimmyjane.

As I wait for the water to get to the appropriate level to turn the jets on I think about the first time I discovered the power of the hot tub jet. I was young, maybe 10 or 11, I had been masturbating for some time by then–anywhere I could really (not much has changed). We used to go visit my Aunt Kay, I thought they were rich because they had a hot tub. I can almost feel that first sensation of that jet hitting my clit. I never felt anything shoot my pussy like that before.  My mom and I would go visit her often, while they sat around and chatted  I would spend hours in the hot tub with my girl pussy pushed up against the jet fucking the powerful water cock. Shy with guilt–looking around to see if anyone could tell what I was up to, I would sit in there and just come continuously. I loved going to my Aunt Kay’s.

Sinking down in the tub, my red curls float and grow straight with the water, relaxation surrounds me. I soak for a bit, then start with the vibe on my now fat full pussy lips. Even though I am surrounded by water, I can feel the sweat forming between my shoulder blades and down my ass cheeks and my feet are on fire already, I really must have needed to come–because it didn’t take long for me to want to.

I turn my body so my ass and pussy are in position to blast them full of water. The first shot of water hits me and it feels the same and just as good as it did that first time in Aunt Kay’s hot tub.

The water opens me wide up like nothing else ever does, being stuffed and fucked with a stream of high pressured water, I fuck it and ride it like a cock. Thoughts of being young, of water cock super heroes–like the silver surfer but with water cock powers circle my mind. Bucking and sweating I fuck into the the jet.  I let the jet spray right up into my ass, something I never did when I was a girl. Hot Damn! While my ass is being filled I flick the vibe ferociously around my pussy and clit–there is so much sensation it is hard to even feel the sensation of the vibe.

My fingers feeling my cunt, I am so spread– I think I could take a fist, or two cock, or three as wide open as I am. I cannot take it anymore–I have to release. One more blast on my star and then back to my pussy. The jet rides  right on my clit–it is an explosive feel, a jerk of my whole body consumes me from deep inside then right back on to the jet for one last water cock thrust and my whole body pulses with come. When my body stops jerking and twitching I sink into the heat of the water and get ready for round two.

I do not think I can classify any of my sexuality as a fetish–other than on whole my fascination with sex could be considered the fetish.

I know I’ve mentioned–I try everything with very little hesitation, but I have never been one of those people who locks on to one concept or idea that will get me off. My kink changes and I want someone who rolls with changes like I do.

I am certainly no pain slut–I don’t like being hurt. But I do like making my partner happy and if that means spanking me until I beg him to stop, twisting and clasping my tits until bruises appear, or the way your hands strangle around my neck as I grind your cock–stars and brain power being cinched with the loss of air, or the way you have my head hang over the edge of the bed and choke me with your hard cock as pools of my own saliva hit the floor as gagging sounds fill the room–well then pain can certainly work in those situations.

But, for me, it would never work for the long run.

At the top of my list is to please my lover, to indulge in their particular wants and needs. In this way I guess I could be considered submissive, I like to please, I like to make you happy, I like you to be thoroughly pleased with the way I love fuck you. Rather than submissive, I consider it a part of my giving nature, I am a giving lover.

I could never be a complete sub, because I like to use my lovers too much.  I am guilty of sometimes separating the man from the cock or the tongue. This is why I like a man who makes me mad, as much as I like a man who make me laugh–I need both. I know if you make me mad–I have full emotion for you. And when you do make me mad–watch out–that is when man and cock separation happen and I take it out on your cock. You become irrelevant until I fuck the emotion and anger out.

And sometimes you just don’t shut the fuck up, and it makes me so infuriated and on fire–the only thing I can do is take you down. Squeezing your balls until your cock is throbbing red purple shades of darkened hues. The only thing to keep you quite is my pussy on your face, putting your tongue and mouth to better use. When I become this woman, it is hard to turn off until I have poured cum down your throat several times over. Your muffled noises mean nothing.  Using your cock like it is just some dildo toy from the night stand drawer, rubbing the tip into my wet lips, working my clit with your inanimate, yet pumping full of blood cock.

This is the time when furniture is moved, dislocated and strewn about, the time I impose bruises upon my own self by how hard I am fucking  you down. It’s a match, a bout, we take each other down, I smother you with my pussy, you fill me with your cock, I ride you and the couch moves from one side of the living room to the other.

Exhaustion and come take the place of anger.

Control is fleeting and neither one of should have it solely–I could never stay in such a situation. The control, the dominance and being the receiver of it strips you down–it allows great release–it brings those moments in between. Those are the moments, the two of us, no separation of man from cock–woman from pussy, you are all there and I am all there–and we fuck slow, tender, your feed me your cock and willing I take it–love it-lick it and suck it, your tongue works my core until I drain and you still keep on licking.  The come I long to feel fill me up, does. The You and the I are gone to We.

But,  I sure do love it when you make me mad.

It was an unusually hectic week, so busy that  my mind has only turned to thoughts of fucking with a little help from friends.

I had a quickie bathroom 3 break yesterday–thinking about your tip peeping out from the leg of your boxers. Thinking just how much I would like to make it grow from that state of soft, tender and ready for my mouth–to rock solid. thinking about your smell– the smell of fabric and cock–one of my favorite scents. Drifting–I inhale deeply. You twitch and my lips part in response.

As my mind aimlessly wanders into into images of your cock–ones you have sent, ones I have made up in my mind. I think about being on my knees, between your legs. I love your thighs–I imagine the heat and the strength of them surrounding me, while my mouth begins to understand your cock.

Licking and surrounding your tip with my tongue, my circles elicit pre-cum. Your body slides into the comfort of the action. My slim, yet powerful jimmyjane vibes my pussy out. My cunt is throbbing and my head is pulsing as the blood begins to pound harder in my body. I was in a hurry, but did not want to be.

The thoughts became disjointed the closer I was coming to bringing myself off. Plunging my finger deep into the walls of my pussy, I surround the, pull them in wanting it to be your cock–my cunt creamy and wet.

I was in a hurry or would have slowed myself down at that point, instead I sped the thought process up.

I thought about how  you would taste in my mouth, if there was just a drop forming for me to lick off. Then I was around you, your cock– my mouth being filled. My tongue sliding all over you. You balls filling my mouth, embraced by my tongue–as my hands stroke your curve, locked between your thighs–devouring your cock, fucking my own pussy.

More disjointed thoughts…everything fell away the sounds–the buzz of the florescent lighting–the quite vibe of the new toy—all dissipated to the hum in my head, and you were deep inside my mouth and I came–with a jerk to my body and a small rush of liquid.

image from The Art of Blowjob