Leaning over the desk with my bottom jutting out, panties skewed around my ass and thighs, still doing a slow grind for my cohort behind me with his dick kind of bouncing around me. As I continued my lean over the desktop I thought about a change of pace, just for the moment at least. We need a dick dancing thumping, a change from the Marvin Pontiac we had just listened to and fucked to– in various situations, positions, bend me over, slow spank me, and smash my face into pillow postures played out to the backdrop of bluesy strange humored slow cries of pain in love that Pontiac belts out.



When the song began to hit I began to bounce my ass against him at a faster dirtier pace, I could easily feel his dick through his pants, still hard from all the playing we had been up to all day. Bouncing there for a moment, lowering my ass even more, so I could lift his dick up with the angle and bounce it in-between my two round cheeks. It was silly and fun. My ass still bumping to the beat, I moved in a laid-back manner, turning around and slowly began my descent down his body, pulling my breasts across his chest and then his cock as I lowered myself toward the floor. I positioned myself before him, feeling my panties being stretched from their crooked location of not covering my ass nor below my knees either, my thigh spread around his body.

Reaching the level of your dick; I stroke its thickness through the light weight fabric covering, gave a lick then pulled it from behind the fabric covering. You sprang out quick with comical force. With no hesitation, your cock is mine. Moving to the song I fuck you with my mouth to the beat. Overcome with a feeling of playful, bouncy, mischievous naughtiness, and my mouth filled with the vivacity of yummy cock. I felt like a stripper, but I was stripping with my mouth on his cock, a true lap dance. I bounced and bopped my ass to the song, while working your cock with my mouth. Slipping in and out of imagining you are actually fucking me and not my mouth, this makes me even more excited and enthusiastic, with my mouth behaving like my pussy would. It became  playful, a bit rough, fast paced, side to side, dance on your dick kind of blow job.

When the song ended I raised from my squat still moving to the next song, I straightened my abused panties and teasingly shook my ass around around your cock. What good lap dance  I can give.

When I came today, I tasted very similar to a blueberry scone and was slick and creamy good.

It’s been a hectic few days that has not allowed me time to come. But, this morning I needed it–I needed it twice apparently.

It is strange to me what gets sometimes.

From the first line I knew immediately I had to come.

“Hey Sis!” my brother Glenn called from downstairs, “Get your butt down here and start sucking on my dick!”

Instantly I stopped reading and went to the bedroom to get my njoy and a vibe.

The story was long and read with a thread of reality and pain, yet still made me long for a cock to suck on.

The words sort of took me back to my own teenage life, not necessarily the incest side, but the ideas of escapism and sex. Being stuck in a life that I tried to fuck away and sometimes still do.

Reading her words brought me right back to my suburban seventh grade–hiding in the garage mulling over my Pops porn collection, reading and re-reading Penthouse forum. Going through the whole story twice while gently working my young pussy. Like I had to know the whole story before I would go back to those key paragraphs, the exact sentences that would make me want to explode.

“I loved Glenn’s penis, and at the same time I was scared of it.”

“I was so turned on! I could actually see his cock sliding in and out of her cunt, covered in her slippery juices.”

It is sentences like these that turned my cunt to cream. I got to the edge of a shaking orgasm then re-read those sentences over and over until I came, just like in seventh grade. Like I was back in my Pops garage a wave of guilt flowed though me with the wave of cum. My breath simultaneously heavy and shallow and my brain floating into the rafters.

When my head floats back down, I do it all over again. Focusing on different sentences, different phrases. Thoughts of sweet pussy, and the smell of sex fill my space. My toys and fingers are covered in a creamy gloss, I taste and lick them–and think blueberries with just a hint of baking soda.

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It seems in many of the posts lately, I have been talking a lot about my love of cock. Cock Worship. I told you how it started, and how it really became a complete fascination for me with Monty, my sleeked curved cock lover. I mentioned how I felt it was like a power, a supernatural power, the way I make your dick feel. Why do I feel it is like worship? Well…I feel like I have almost devoted a lifetime in pursuit of the yummy sweet stick, each one different, some sweeter than others, some salty, brine, sweaty, lustrous, dark, curvilinear, veined, streamlined, textured, fat, long and fat, cut or uncut. And some are so ugly they are fucking beautiful. So much variety how is a girl to choose just one?

Someone was recently describing their cock to me, saying it was normal, just like every other cock. This is not possible; every pussy is not the same is it? No. Some grow fat, some grow pushing their love petals open, some get slicked with sticky dew, some swell like an over ripe summer fruit. Some taste like sweet honey brine others like pennies in your mouth. Like cock, we are all different.

I have been trying to think if there is one particularly way in which I like to worship over another and have decided that, no there is no one way. Like the actual physical characteristics of the cock, the act is always different too. I will become accustomed, begin to understand how certain men, how certain lovers enjoy my lips, but the manner in which I make you cum is always different.

How do you like it? How do like when my lips are at your crown, sinking toward your shaft? Does it alter with your ever changing moods? Do you like to gag me, yank my hair to meet each thrust of your cock into my willing wet hot word hole, until you fill me with your liquid subjugation? Or, do you like to sit back, let me take control; watch me as I love your cock? Pleasing and teasing beads of pre-cum for my sampling, licking, slow tasting, drinking you in, intoxicating my mind. Do you like to hover over my face, fucking my mouth like it is my pussy? Do like the way I cup your balls as my mouth sinks down to take you all the way in, the way I remain there, not moving just savoring your whole cock filling my mouth? Are you a brute, ramming around choking me, bringing water to my eyes, causing drips between my thighs? I bet you like to slap me around a little with your cock. Do you want to fuck my tits as I mash them together while the tip of your cock slides in and out between my O-shaped wet lips? Do you not let me use my hands, mouth only or do you like the combination of mouth and hands all over your saliva coated dick? Do you enjoy a tease of the tip, a flick of my tongue, a parting of your slit? Do you want to coat my face with your sticky, or do like it when I swallow it down like a hungry slut?

Let me worship your cock today.

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The high of NYC fuck loving is wearing off. I am officially horny and must take action. Most of the week has seen me behaving as an insatiable flirt–going above and beyond my call of duty at the library to help adorable men meet their informational needs. All the while creating vivid scenarios of how I would seduce and fuck them.

Cock hungry is what I am and feel a determination I have not felt in some time. Determination for someone to share a drink with, shyly smile at, for lips to kiss, for a strong thigh to run fingers up as our legs do that intertwine under the bar, for a cock to make heavy with a whisper in the ear, and hard with my skill.

What is a single lonely cock hungry girl to do?

I must take some action to get this need satisfied. I don’t think I got enough of NYC’s cock while he was here–I did not suck his cock enough, I was too happy and pleased getting my pussy worshiped. Loving on that , but now that the cock is gone all I can think about is making a dick considerably larger, smelling, tasting, kissing and licking–all those preludes to a good face fuck.

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Yesterday I  ran a hot bath, I filled it with green tea bath salts and rose petals, I lit candles. It was all about relaxation and soaking.

Then I thought–-hell this is the perfect time to test drive the new 8” suction cup dildo.

Starting slow, with my fingers, I was already slick though, I have been horny for a few solid days. I switched to the dildo, I did not suction cup it to anything, but just ran it along my slit, enjoying the way the silicone feels sort of like real cock. Pushing the tip of the clear blue dick into my puffy lips, I opened myself up–running the length of the shaft between my lips, causing me to immediately want more. When I pushed the tip of the cock deeper I simultaneously felt my clit with my other hand.

I stayed slow, I was in there to relax.

Letting the dildo fall to the wayside, I drifted into thoughts of sucking cock. Not one particular cock–my imagination makes up cock–thoughts of what I think your cock is like, the cock I have tasted in the past. My ideal.

I switched to the jimmyjane’s (love that I can take it in the bath) low rumble, not in my pussy or directly on my clit, but on the mound, the surface–it makes me very creamy when I do this. Needy creamy.

The dildo drifted around the bottom of the bathtub, bumping into my thighs–seeking somewhere to go. I must oblige the inanimate cock. I must oblige my cunt.

More earnestly I fuck myself, the rumble closer to my clit, working my folds, opening myself up more and more–I start to work the dildo in. I do enjoy a nice big cock. It feels right and good, I have about half of the cock in squeezing tightly around it, gripping like I wish it were you. Like I would never have to let go of you. Like my pussy could hold you forever.

As I fuck, I notice my mouth dropping open, as it often does when I fuck myself. My mouth wants cock too, my mouth wants your cum.

I rise and stick the suction portion to the bottom of the bathtub, on my knees I lower my cunt to the tip, I slowly take it in, slow sliding up and down the shaft. My mouth still opening for some invisible cock. I ride. I grind. Slow turns to fast. I cram my pussy all the way down on to the cock–it hurts and feels fantastic at the same time.

I place three fingers in my hungry mouth–I think about you cumming, about you cumming in my mouth, my hair, my chin, my tits. And I fuck. In my mind I am devouring your cock with my lips and mouth. Questions and images of those questions run through my head the closer I get to coming.

What is the consistency of your cum?
Would you like it if I filled my mouth with your balls?
How rough of a blow job do you like?
Are you extra sensitive, could I have my way with you?
Do you want to feed me your dick?
How hard could I squeeze your balls?
Do you like it when my tongue slides into your slit?
What does your cum taste like?

I move my fingers from my mouth to the junction between my legs as I grind down and fuck few more strokes–daytripping about you feeding me your cum.  The flickering film in my head has you stroking your cock, pointing it at me, my mouth eagerly drops open, my tongue wagging in waiting. One last grind onto the prosthetic cock and I cum in a gush–I can see the white cream pooling around the clear blue of the dildo from inside my pussy and I see you cumming– hovering over me in bath, one last stroke of your cock–you shoot, gripping your cock tightly making sure I get every last drop I deserve.  Damn I love your cum.

Come on and give me some.

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.

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

NYC is fantastic. Love this city, I am having a blast.

This will only be a brief update.
It has been much food and drink an lots of solid cock. I have worshiped at some lovely well deserving root.

Vacation sex allots the time for slow lingering blow jobs, hour long pussy eatings, fucking like mad until we both cum, fucking all day,  leaving only to refuel and do it all over again. I like long and slow of vacation–the never going anywhere fucking. I like it when you cum inside me and stay in there until you grow hard again, using your our cum as our lube.

My favorite fuck thus far was on the kitchen floor, my ass up for viewing and eating. My pussy open for lapping and drinking. By the time NYC had finished eating me I was a needy slut. Begging for him to fuck me, raising my ass even higher, my pussy trying to find his cock. When he finally did sink into me that rush of the first sex of the day, the morning, that first plunge of cock filling me, spreading my lips open is unlike any other time.

When he came it filled me up, he cums hard–I can really feel it. I have fucked guys who have boasted about being able to feel their hot loads shoot up into me, but I never did. But I certainly did with NYC. I felt his cum hit my cervix over and over. When he came in my mouth I felt it hit the back of my throat as he spurted into my grateful hungry mouth. 

On my drive to work the other morning, listening to NPR’s Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me I caught Bettye LaVette on the show. I am always happily surprised by the guests and their personalities in this completely away from their personal venue setting.

Bettye LaVette said something that sparked me…

“I’ve done things people have dreamed of, with people who they’ve dreamt about.”

Of course I imagined her getting down and dirty–moan that moan of hers–with the most amazing musicians alive, after nights of playing into the wee hours, drinking and smoking and then fucking.

Then I began to drift into my own down dirty life. While I maintain the stance that I will find the one, that one love for me, the one who helps kill my lonely, the one who takes me for me and all past that makes up who I am now–the crazy slut filled with fire that has been known to expresses itself in any number of inappropriate ways–road rage, tech rage, incongruous use of foul language to those in roles of authority such as cops and my boss, bouts of alcohol and drug misuse, random hunts for cock–the usual misadventure of modern woman.

But it is also this fire that makes me crazy in a good way, an adventurist. I know I am–always have been. A leaper, a runner with the resilience to keep fucking going–even with a black eye and a car that wont go in reverse. I am impetuous and my cunt is insatiable– and maybe I fuck it up along the way, make the same mistakes a few too many times and then do it again, but never giving it up. Even when I make the wrong impetuous decisions–that have often ended in frustrations, anger, pain, heartache and nights of drunken tears. I really wouldn’t have it any other way–nor do I plan to change changing my crazy ways–doing things that your friends and colleagues never would, and some even dream about, but still love me because I do.

Tonight aboard the red eye to NYC my adventure begins. I have never met this man, never kissed his lips, never tasted his cock and cum. But I’m about to. I feel–charged and wild and hesitant all in one. Sexcation. Fuckation. I dig the risk involved, that thrill, for me it is like Craig’s List on a grander scale. All the thrill of the unknown cock hunt, the random online fuck but getting to go on vacation at the same time. I really think I’m on something with this, perhaps I should start a business for sexcations.

I am all packed. It was hard to decide what panties to take, a woman must think about the setting, location, time of day. What will this man I’ve never met in the flesh like covering my ass, my pussy? Then the stockings. Which stocking go with which skirt or which are going to be worn in turn–just to ripped off? I had to narrow down what toys to bring. Should I bring the bondage tape, and if so the red or the the pink? Did I remember to pack the strap on? enema, anal beads, jeweled butt plug, the Hitachi…the possibilities are fascinating. Did I get the flip cam, the charger, the cameras? Will I need that lube? What will he bring? What will that first taste of his cock be like. I want to take his so slow and savor every bit, sucking and licking, rolling my tongue around to fat tip, begin to understand what make him twitch–serious cock devotion.

Yeah, I am wearing the biggest Vixen smile and soon I will be hitting the friendly skies, soon I will be parlaying some vacations sex–devouring food, drink and cock.

Should I wear the ass plug or the smart balls on the flight? The decisions never end.