There was nothing that could really prepare my ass for his cock. I spent the weeks prior to our meeting playing in my own tightest space, fingers, plugs and vibes of varied sizes. I thought my ass was ready for deep tight lovin’, but not so.

I had not anticipated his cock would get that hard, I thought the living flesh of this man would have some give, but no no no. Truly I would not have had it any other way, I was constantly astonished at just how hard he got. My hand wrapped, gripping around his beam–mine to use–- momentarily. Then I would become the one he used. His round full head finding my tight little bud, a bud closed so tight you would think nothing had been there before. His throb wanted in. The pain surged through my entire my body as he tried.

“NO, no, no–it hurts baby.”

The pain.

He slowed way down and became full of a tenderness I was seeing for the first time, he must have really wanted in my tight little ass. Whispering into my ear all the right words to make my body become nice and tender, loose, ready for entry. Slowly, his hand on my ass and the other on the small of my back–him in control, but me thinking that I might have been–we try again.

His big round tip begins to spread my bud open, pain rolls through my body like a wave, breathing I begin to accept it, I push my ass down further into him. My ass beginning to appease cock and my mind finding a quell, the pain turning to velvet solace. The round tip of his cock was in, I felt high, he tried to thrust and I yelped in pain. I was thoroughly surprised considering I had my big blue vibe in there with not as much pain that was ebbing through my body associated with his rock cock.

“Just slow down” I demanded–my ass clinching and my thoughts racing.

Taking a deep breath, I recall to memory just how good I know this is going to feel once we get to where we need to be. Breath. Let go. Open. I slide down and accept the pain that flows into me, which subsides as quickly as it came. Your inside my tightest space, my bud wide open like spring and it feels exceptional, just like springtime. My tightest hole accepting the heat that emanates from you solidity. I am on– my ass rocking into you, pulling up and grinding down, my pussy in full bloom dripping her own honey. I get so wet when you are inside my ass. It’s on now, pain long gone and given over to bliss. Looking down at you as I ride your cock, your eyes closed in those fuck me slits, so lost are we. My pussy streaming full of want and lust, my fingers slip and explore my open hole and clit. It’s perfect, it’s not control, it’s not you over me, it’s you in me. It’s me dripping on you.

“fuck my ass baby, please…”

I have alwasy considered myself a pro when it comes to “cock worship.” There is nothing like having cock in my mouth– that mix of hard stone and the soft velvet of flesh combined with the saltiness of pre cum. There is a power I have when your cock is in my mouth. The sounds I can elicit from you with my tongue as it runs the backside of your shaft. The sigh that escapes my own mouth at the pleasure I get from having you this way.

I like to slide my tongue in you slit and taste that drip of brine, suck it like a straw trying to get more. Cirlcing my tongue around your round head, running it along the ridge, trying to know you through your cock. Is that possible? In some ways I think so. I try to link more than mouth to cock, because to me it is. I don’t just suck cock, I want it and I do slip into worship, I get lost.

I am sure I’ve mentioned that I try to be a generous lover on nearly every occasion, men like to have their cocks sucked in a variety ways. Some will let me just find my way, do what I want, how I want. Then there are those who want to face fuck me, gag me, make me cry, drool, almost vomit on their meat. And all those in between. My personal taste is a mix, I like to do what I want, but I also like you to take part. Maybe your hands locked in my hair guiding each swallow, or slow thrusting into my mouth bring me close to gagging–a slow mouth fuck I like. Kneeling below you looking up. Glasses on or off? Do you like it when I fill my mouth with you balls? I like the way your balls change from heavy to tight with my lip service. I like it when you can no longer control the lust and rise up and start thrusting into my parted lips, making them conform to your shape, filling me.

Once I have you nice and wet, coated in my saliva–hard as rock, bouncing and throbbing, my hand gripping tight–sometimes I’m amazed at how tight my grip is around your solidity–then, I like to feel your cock on me, on my face, cheeks, under my chin, my tits, back in my mouth, all over my face. There is something about that smell of spit, cock, want, and precum that makes me acts like a crazy cock worshiper–rubbing your wet cock on all parts of  me, making me wet and hungry for more. The want almost make me want to cry, your cock almost makes me want to cry and I can never get enough.

I like to take my time to you make cum with my mouth. I think  I enjoy making you cum with my lips more than any other way. This is why when I could not make my Chicago guy cum with just a blow job I became quite troubled. This has never happened, I am still shocked. He said only one woman has ever been able to make him cum with a blow job. I have tried every time I’ve been with him, but nothing, lots of precum and dripping, rock fucking hard cock, he is choker–like to make me gag, likes me to hang my head over the side of the bed for a proper face fucking–but no cumming. Dammit! I tried to get him to find that woman on facebook so I could know what it is she did that made him cum, it drove my crazy, it still is. I am not sure I could be with a man for the long haul that I could not make cum with my mouth.

My worship must conclude in hot white. I want to know the fruits of my labor.

It’s been awhile since anyone was so bold, I am sure there were many before him, I’m sure there were those whose cock I wasn’t even grinding on  that wanted to.

The last man who did it, did it anger not in sexuality, it sort of felt the same though, but different. His cock was figuratively deep inside me, while yours was literally filling me when it happened.

The first guy who ever did it I asked him to, made him do it.

But this time it felt like a release of everything in one slap across my cheek. He said he did it last time we fucked, but I didn’t recall that.

When his lumbering hand barreled across my face I was in shock, my pussy soaked instantly–and I was pissed off and turned on like crazy–all at the same time. I wanted more, but l like the way I can’t tell when it is coming. It was sort of a sick game, played in a healthy way. A give and want. A shock and surprise landing across my jaw, as I rode your cock, lost in the sensations of being filled–eyes slit in fuck lust, then slam, a convergence of pain and sting stemming from your hand connecting to my face hits. My eyes open a bit, I know I flash a look of fuck you and a look fuck me simultaneously, as the wave of heat surges through my body being released through my pussy and on to your cock in a rush. Culminating in clinch and pulsation from the flesh inside my core. Connections of an electric pussy.

I didn’t have to ask. You knew what I wanted from you.

Well, there certainly is nothing like a rock solid cock and firm spank until my ass is pink, red and stinging to make me forget about my blues. There is just something perfectly fleeting about having a “fuckguest” to come roll around with you for a few days to make you forget reality.

Chicago guy in SF has been fun, and actually sort low key, not the sex but our activity. Almost like playing house for a few days. It is easy for me to let that submissive side become the dominate side of me if, especially if I am aware it’s only going to be momentarily. I like and enjoy it then, I like to make my man happy in many ways. I like to cook you dinner, rub you down from head to toe until you fall asleep, and then I like fucking you like the crazy girl I am. Fucking all this recent pain disgruntledness away. There is a freedom to being with someone you know and fucked before.  It allows me fuck like me, and like you want me to be, and then like me again. The dynamism of man woman. Magnetism of cock to cunt.

After a nice romp and serious tear jerking cum on my part, we hit the Golden Gate Bridge, and the Marin Headlands, it was quiet, almost sunny, my bitch of German car loved the drive.  I loved the drive.  Back to the city, we hit up Madame S. I cannot believe I have never been here before, I had been to Mr. S at it’s original location, but not the new combined store. First off, this looks like fun! Secondly,  Christ latex wear is expensive–we didn’t get any. The one little thing I wanted, this cute latex collar with a tiny purple bow was $40, we didn’t get it. And another thing, the sex industry is like the wedding industry, or baby industry, they jack the price up about 300% because they can, it’s niche market. They have a leash there, selling for $18.95, the same exact one I scored at the army surplus store for $2.50. Crazy. That reminds me I need to find someone to use that leash with.

We did get some Bondage tape to try out,  a little bit of restraint. I have never tried it, looks like fun. I sort of prefer restraining myself though, I like locking my hands behind my back while I grind on top of your cock, or my peace fingers locked around my big toes– legs spread wide in a slut V shape, open for serious pounding by you, or locking my hand around my thighs at the bend in my knees–feet in the air– ass and pussy smiling you, inviting– while you slow slide in and out of me, my feet may come to rest on your shoulder while you appear and disappear inside my flesh. I can see you looking at my pussy and your cock taking it all in. Or even better, I like it when you restrain me with your strength. Pulling my hands behind me, or around my shoulder, or neck, or hair– while you fuck me from behind.  Keep me in my place, tell me what to do, what not to do, take my thought away from me for this brief moment of fucking.

Chicago also bought me a new glass blown butt plug. I had one, but well one, it did get lost that one time–  and two,  it was not (bluntness ahead) opening me up enough to take his cock. We had tried early that morning and I practically punched him the nose.  It hurts like nothing else I have exactly felt before. A finger, a thumb is certainly not a hard cock, it takes more time to get it in.

When we got back to my place, I jumped in a shower to put the plug in, the heat makes me relax more. It was difficult still, I had to get on all fours and spread my cheeks a bit to get that lubed round tip to pass. The pain shoots to pleasure and it’s in.

We lull around the rest of the evening–ass plugged, I make drinks, relax, watch a movie–then “let the wild rumpus begin!” We fuck all over my tiny room, the bed sheets lost to the floor. I am acrobat on your cock. Eventually I am backwards riding, my ass to your gaze, with each grind you push the plug in deeper, twisting, and fucking both apertures. Then you pull the plug out and I slide you cock in with ease and, yes, with pleasure. I ride and ride, until you command me to face you without getting off your cock. Twisting around, we are eye to eye, leaning my hands behind me for support, I slow grind.  My pussy wide open and clit begging for attention, which you give.

You cannot take it any more, pulling out you flip me over grab on to my body, limbs, hair–and fuck me from behind, truly. I have my vibe coursing through my core, as you plunge, face lost in the pillows, and you plunge. My pussy opens up wide and you cum hard, in my, now, not scared space, my pussy willow jerks from your release and the vibe hitting just right spot.

Collapse into fuck sleep.

(thanks GrayRake for term fuckguest)

Well, maybe yesterday’s post was a bit extreme, due to the response and wonderfully thoughtful emails I receipted. Thank you all.

Yes, I do admit I am having a bit of a rough bout, perhaps mild depression, existential crisis, the good old fashion blues, is the sun ever gonna shine again doldrums–but, in absolutely no way have misplaced my sex. I just seem to have a loss of energy to go out and get it.  Yeah, that sounds fucked.

Believe me when I say my pussy mojo is still intact.  In fact in the middle of the night last night I had one of those dreams, where  I was masturbating. Do you have those, dreams about fucking yourself? Well the dream felt so real, that I could almost feel myself about to come, I could no longer tell if it was a dream or reality. The line between sleep and awake became blurred and I began to slide my fingers into my wet slit, the flesh full of pumping blood, ready to burst forth from my cunt.  Asleep, I slid two finger into me, it was hard to get them in, because my arousal had made my pussy even tighter, full. Once my fingertips were in, I slowly worked inside, small pressure circles–while more furiously working my slick outer lips and clit. My room muggy from all our rain and and getting hotter because of my body being on fire.

That fire spread from my core, out of my pussy, radiating through my body and limbs, into my breath–now deep and heavy. I had to kick the covers off, I got so hot. I came strong and hard and creamy and then fell right back asleep with my finger still in my pussy.

Sex is not the problem, a good sex partner is the situation and my momentary lack of ability to find that is the problem. Of course–I have a phone sex partner, and online partners, the virtual lovers. But I need more. It is about the flesh, the here, the now. Blood flowing into me not through my land line or blue glowing screen. Blood pumping through a cock that wants to pump into me. I am thankful to those I play with virtually and have a few I consider true friends and lovers, and both in one, but I will never get to feel their cocks pump into me and that, therefore is not real, it’s virtual fiction, and yes–that does sort of make me sad or wax poetic. But that is what it is. What  I need is blood, hard, pumping, hot boiling fuck me blood.

Which, I will get again–as soon as I slide through this patch of troubled blues.

I am calling in sick today, I need a personal day. I must get prepared for my Chicago guy to come to town.  First, a kitty wax, Chicago likes a clean shaved pussy. Second back home for apartment cleaning and laundry (not so fun, but better than the library). Third hot yoga followed by a deep tissue massage from Cy the yoga hottie. Then I will actually make myself get out and have a drink with a man whose blood is pumping, whose cock has the potential to throb.

Some of you may know, I have a love hate with Craig and his List.

It can be such a fun distraction, even though nothing concrete or serious has ever panned out (for the long haul) other than a hundreds–maybe thousands– of emails and the thought, the knowledge–of all the hard cock there is in this city going un–fucked. When this is realized, I know there is hope of finding the hard cock for me (or two).

Yesterday, from work, I posted an ad (or two), for a threesome. Fun! My Chicago guy is coming to town, and what better opportunity than to work on that grand sexual to-do list. Right? Right.

I posted in the MW4W, of course I got zero responses, which is a shame, because I think my Chicago guy would really enjoy that, as would I. It has been some time since I spent anytime with a cute mutual girl. I also posted in the MW4M section, which resulted in many fun naughty dirty day passing responses.

So much cock going un-used out there. Such a shame.

My work day flew by as I gazed at pictures of men and cock.

Sometimes, okay many times, my ads result in nothing more than a few days of full on virtual flirtations. Which is fine, I like that. An inbox full of filth and want. CL has the ability to fulfill my instant wants. It gratifies me quickly. Unlike other online “dating” services I continue to find myself back here time and time again. I have sworn it off, placed self-imposed bans on my use, and even entered into my own makeshift CL rehab, but eight plus years and I still come back to it. There must be something there.

It is random, hit or miss…and I love random. I have made a few lasting relationships, they may not be concrete and all together tangible, but relationships none the less. Relationships I do not want to give up or lose. So– as much as I hate Craig and his List, I love him too.

As for my Chicago man and our third party, stay tuned for all the messy girl details.

Two cocks, I want two cocks.

And yes, I am sporting a big hungry Vixen smile.

Guarded, controlled and yes– my body betrays with abandonment. And yes, I think you may be right, I do get some perverse pleasure in battling against the dichotomy of my mind and body. I am into dichotomy and my pussy is definitely into it.

When I got to Chicago for round two I felt prepared. Although, I am never sure one can be fully prepared to be fucked in the ass and controlled by a dom lovin’ man. This is part of my experiment, the exploration into one of the many sides of my sexuality. I have a dominate persona myself, I have dominated men in and out of the bedroom. Ahh, but the other side, maybe the stronger side– is soft, a giver, generous and nurturing. Submissive? I truly do long to take care of you, to feed you, comfort you, listen to you, love you and more than anything to be your sweet dirty nasty slut. Life becomes contorted though. Values, ideals, hopes and dreams get diluted and we are left with shards of theories of love and sex, which we stitch together to make up our particular proclivities for getting off.

The gangster used to control me in unhealthy ways, and in some misconstrued seductive way, I liked it. We fought and fucked. I would often purposely make him mad to see his anger, to feel his control. A rather fucked up cyclical situation. There was fire to every aspect of our relationship, not just sexually. When the sex died all that was left was the anger. My anger, his rage, my mouth of fire and poison would flow until he could no longer react with anything else other than his angry hand. The burning sting left across my face, the hand that wrapped and tangled around my hair pulling me to the floor, it connected to our sex–even though it was some twisted form of what our sex had become.

So this brings me back to my the investigation into my sexual dichotomy. While the gangster and I had deeper problems, I always recognized that his power and control turned me on, more so than my husband ever did or could, but that I was never without my control, it may have gotten lost, amalgamated–high on the mix of cock and love, but it was still there, just being an antagonist.

What is it about pain and control that makes so insatiably wet. I am not really a pain slut–I like good solid ride and nice pounding, just as much as the next girl, but why the rougher you became, the harder you bite my nipples, and clamp your hands around my tits, the wetter I get, despite my pleas for you to stop, despite my anger. I did not enjoy the pain, plus I absolutely hate being told what to do as you command in various ways, it pisses me off, but you like that. Don’t you? You like that fire that anger and pain give, that blaze that it sets to my cunt, the way it makes me saturate between my thighs. You like feeding me your cock, until I choke and gag, saliva spilling out the corner of my lips around your shaft and on to the hotel room floor, as my head hangs over the side of the bed being so completely filled and fucked.

What I am into is the way your strong hands wrap around my throat, tightening, while your cock fill me up. It is the closest experience to being high that I have experienced since being high. My cunts throbs, as my mind fades, and my brain turns to static, and tiny stars fill my eyes, and if I could see my face I know there would be a sick sick smile on it. Your hand gripped tightly around my throat, mine buried between my legs, grinding atop your rock, I am amazed at how wet I am.

“do feel that? Can you even feel your cock in all that wet mess?”

My pussy overflows, the mouth of my river meets the ocean, and I ride and grind with all I can, I use your cock. The fire and the anger is focused into my pussy and ride it out, while your hands lock, continuing to restrain my thought process, I don’t need a thought process at this moment. I come many times this way, using your solid beam, my pussy in control of both of us. You make me cum in ways I have not cum in long long time, for the pain may have been worth it. But, is it really the pain that made me cum?

The dichotomy continues. If was with the right man, would I not cum just as much, of not more? Wouldn’t I let my guard down for him and let go of my ocean without the connotation of pain? The search for what makes me cum, let go, fall in love, soar–in all those deliciously perverse ways continues. Will I see Chicago again? Probably. Is he the one? No.

When you make me cum that way, I fight it. You tell me to let it go, but I keep fighting.
I don’t like coming that way. It makes me too vulnerable, so I hold it in. It’s not yours, it’s not even mine. I have this notion I am saving it for someone, for the next man I love, for that man who turns my world inside out, who makes me want to go on a crime spree. You know that man who I want to stay up all night with drinking scotch, smoking cigarettes–even though I quit–drawing nude pictures of me sprawled on my couch–then switching, taking my turn–in between romantic passionate raw fuck romps, that’s the man– I want him to make me cum like this.

Oh, but you. You had to go and do it, you had to take it from me because I was unwilling to let it go. You had to draw it out, pull it out. Your fingers deeply buried, C shape hitting my G shape, that ache, that quiver. My body in a pained numbing, but full of come sexual energy. When you hit me there it instantly feels as though I may soak. I tell you no, tell you to stop, I beg, beg and beg. My hips raising off the fuck sweat soaked, sex smeared mattress. More than raise, they lift my lower body attempts to consume you, I am balancing on my shoulders and neck, begging you to stop. Tears begin to stream down my face as I feel the orgasm begin to build being pulled, extracted from my inside. My mind strains to bring it back in, your fingers keep working, and though my mind is working one way in opposition, my body still arches to meet yours. The pressure you hit, that sweet spot that few men hit, I can’t see–everything has become static and tears.

I come in a wild bucking explosion, and let loose with a full on cry. I am crying, I never let anyone see me cry. My eyes and pussy are equally wet, my cunt controls. I come so hard my body is a tingling mass of flesh, my thighs spasm out of control, my pussy jerks hard from the core out.  This is not my body. I am exhausted from my fight, I sleep. I sleep and I sleep. When I wake up you have been gone for hours,  I realize over six hours has passed and part of me is gone, just like you are.

I am catching a way too early, especially for a Vixen, flight to Chicago this morning.

Yup–going to go fuck some more of that rock solid cock I had during my sexcation.

This move is unlike me, I don’t really drop everything and go off and leave the West Coast for the frigid Mid-West for just any man. But–the offer was too good to pass. Three days of solid hotel cock, rest, relaxation and whole lot of bucking, fucking and grinding–plus a hot tub and pool.

Generous Chicago man wants some more librarian pussy and I want some more Chicago style sausage. I am excited for his hard cock to invade all spaces, traces, tight little buds ready to open to his pounding throb. My good nature librarian type left behind for my other woman–the one who likes to have her neck throttled a little, the one who likes to be choked on cock. You know the one– that woman who wants her tightest space to be opened–taken, the one who wants to feel all that hot cum land across her body–her face–lick it off your finger tips as it drips down from cock and digits. That sexy bitch who comes and comes while grinding on your cock.  And the one who secretly like to be told what to do.

I had not anticipated even going back to Chicago. In situations like that/this,  I am sort of that one time kind of woman–but I am also not one to pass up the opportunity for hotel action. I do not really plan on doing too much, if any, tourist type stuff–just fucking, eating and sleeping. Big, BIG vixen smile.

I am packed, I am only bringing one pair of clothing, I don’t plan on wearing cloths too often. In my bag I have  more bathing suits than actual cloths. Of course– I have packed sexy gear…scarves- for tying-blindfolding-gagging, garters with clips, stockings, frilly panties to be yanked aside so your cock can plunge into my soak, and of course–the reason the bag is so heavy–some fun fun toys. Oh, and two cameras–as I’m sure there will be Kodak moments.