I am fortunate to work in a field that promotes freedom and dissemination of information and ideas. It is quite possibly one of main reason I love my job so much. The SFPL is vehement on the topic and will go to the end fighting for it. Information is for all and we in the library world are there to help you find it.

The SFPL Mission Statement:

The San Francisco Public Library system is dedicated to free and equal access to information, knowledge, independent learning and the joys of reading for our diverse community.

Intellectual freedom is a human right, as defined by Article 19 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Article 19 states:

Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers.

This of course includes the glory that is smut, sex, art of all kinds, erotica, filth, bawdiness, burlesque, X-rated material, X-rated film, adult material, dirty movies, sexual publications, sex workers, hard-core pornography, indecent material, obscene materials, porn, porno, porno film, sexploitation, sexually explicit material, soft-core pornography, bondage, BDSM, LBGTQ, rope work, dildo play, anal play, fetish art, sexuality, sexual health, and of course that sweet elusive love– can all found in my stacks.

Smut is wonderful and to be a well educated practitioner of smut is even better. Come let your local librarian help you become more informed, enlightened and feel that solid foundation that only sweet intellectualism can provide.

For more information about Intellectual Freedom in the library check out the American Library Associations Office for Intellectual Freedom.

Have a spectacular Independence day and come find some sweet freedom in my stacks. Also don’t forget to check out the Tumblr today, all images will be in honor of freedom and boundary pushing.

love,
Vixen

Today I was writing a piece about porn and the sharing of porn with those you play with and love and realized I had never posted one of my favorites from wayback on the blogspot days. So– from February 18, 2009 a prelude to sharing porn.

The sweet and low down dirty dirties

We exit out the side door of the theater into the dark alleyway. It is one of those alleys’s that has a locked gate to prevent public foot traffic from entering. It’s surprisingly clean, for an alley; you can tell the employees of the film house and of the adjoining restaurants take their breaks back there.

Two hours of Japanese campy soft core porn, with our hands all over each other, had turned us into two, very hot messes. We seem to be at animal state, just ready to fuck and blur everything else into non-existence.

He is East Coast and blunt, using terms like “sweetie, honey and sexy bitch” with that rough East Cost inflection and it sounds hot. He reminds me of a great white shark, capable of counter-shading his real personality behind some Cali vans, rolled up jeans and an adorable smile. He reduced the ease of detection and I was unable to tell he was a predator. Behind this camouflage lay a beast.

His cock is fat and sizable in all ways. When I slid my hand across it in during the film, my cunt instantly melted, clinched and soaked. My thighs stayed spread for the entire double feature, with the East Coast shark’s coat laid over my lap, his hands and mine, all over my thighs and pussy. I did my fair share of feeling on his cock, my hand barley leaving his lap or that growing package. Removing it only periodically to feel myself, to feel how wet I was, and to suck on his fingers after they had been exploring my soak. Forty minutes into the double feature I was hungry.

The cold, wet air hit us and his hands are already hiking my cute little skirt up. I resist at first.

“NO WAY! We are in an alley,”

but sharks are persuasive. We walk further back and he locates a spot between two buildings that is obviously cleaned and maintained well, for an alley. We have to step up on a side wall to get to it. As graciously as an East Coast Shark can be, he spots a folding chair, pops it open and helps me onto the sidewall and then follows…we disappear between the two buildings.

We feel each other out and up. He bends me over, gathers my skirt around my waist, yanks my panties aside and firmly pinches my lips together, not viciously or rough, but good and hard, then releases and rubs and pats the full plumpness that they have become. His fingers have no trouble sliding into me, as I am dripping girl gloss. My hands search him out. When I do meet his throbbing cock, I almost feel like shouting to the Gods; thank you! thank you!, bells and whistles, jackpot noises, angels singing the whole bit. I cannot resist a taste, I turn, squat and slide the tip in. His cock proceeds to split my lips wide, as saliva coats his shaft. The public porno continues as I work to devour the shark.

Pulling me up and turning me back around, again fully rubbing my twat with fingers and palm. Then with one solid smack to the ass, that scrumptious dick slides into me and I am being fucked naughty, dirty, and just down right nasty in between two building in an alleyway. I am plummeted, plunged, fucking taken. My ass meeting each thrust like the vixen slut I am.

The crazy train has left the station.

This week, I have been back to my frisky, good natured, helpful library girl self. Most of all– my smile is back and when I smile, I flirt.

My confession this week–I have been playing on Craig’s List. I have refrained from such behavior since December. That was a long stint away from the instant gratification Craig and List can provide. I posted an ad and I responded to an ad. There is just something about getting a shit ton of email from eager dripping cock that make the days at the library fly by and it has seemed to keep me in a state of perpetual horny–ok so it doesn’t take much, but this week has again proven–my pussy is insatiable.

At my library this week, rather than the drug addict homeless population we normally serve, there seemed to be a slew of hot city boys, in all shape and form in need of service. So many adorable, sizzling, time on their hands, lost the library city boys. Melting from my pussy out, at the thought of all those men milling about aimlessly, in need of cute librarian help.

“How may I help you,” and you, and you…?

I am the kind of woman that can find attractiveness in all. I love brains, brawn, brutes, gangsters, scientist, underdogs, and nerds. While you may not be physically the most handsome, or your cock might not shatter in girth and length…you are still a man with drive and desire; and it is this, which propels my urgent pussy to be a flirt.

The multiplicity of men that came in this week set my mind on wanderlust. I started to imagine one of these boys could be you. Then I thought, well– I better be on my best behavior, just in case you ever do stop by. I want be on my game, my best vixen conduct. Sweet, helpful, deliciously teasing am I, lead by my insatiable cunt.

Flitting around the men in the room, I slowly shelve lowering my body here and there. Feeling the heat of yours next to mine. Is it you? As I bend at the waist, to slyly place an item on the shelf that your lower body is blocking. I offer a gentle touch on the shoulder, a secret rakish smile…
“excuse me—no…no, your fine–stay where you are, I can work around you.”
Lowering myself toward the shelf, my cheek getting closer to your cock. Do you twitch? Do I fluster you or do fluster me?

The contemplation begins…the taste of you, of your reaction as my hand slides over your thigh across the progression developing. What would the removal of your pants be like? Teasing? Slow, as my hand explores what is about to be reveled? The unbuckle, that anticipation, the sound the metal makes as you are about be released and realized. The pulling out of the strap from the loops one at time builds to the beat of my cunt.

Thoughts start circulating more than the library material. Will your eyes close as my mouth lowers towards your throb, will your head sink back as my lips pass over? Or will you watch every lust filled move I make? Will you let a soft moan escape as I breathe in the scent of your boxers and cock? The smell of clean laundry and sex encompasses. Will your hands grasp my head or will your fist tangle in my hair as I lower the fabric from your body?

The thoughts begin to make me pulsate and I sense the wetness beginning to materialize between my thighs. Here I am again, wet a work, my daydreaming becoming reality, as my panties get damp. Squatting, in my tight little corduroy skit with winter thigh high socks, shelving on the lower unit, I spread my legs apart slightly. I can see the point where the socks end, thighs begin and can smell the mild scent of the subtle whore I am.

And I drift…
How would it feel if your fingers slid through the slit of my lips?
Would you create even more of the sticky gloss to flow?
As the crown of you dick brushes my lips would I liberate my own moan of want?

Originating a pool of saliva my lips finally slide around your tip, as my hand reaches around to grasp fully at your base, cradling your balls, anticipating the downward sink of my mouth around your beam. The place I want to stay. Your cock lodged in my throat, actions that can seem so aggressive and violent turn to utter tenderness and purity, as I slowly rise back to the crown and then–right back down.

As the cock strolls in and out of my little wing of the library, I ponder each one. Would your cock be too large for me to take or would I be able to devour you with ease? Would you idle and let me worship or would you impel my mouth on to your pounding substance? Face fuck. Do you moan, grown, howl, breathe that heavy breath of yearning? Do you command me with words? How do you thirst for your cock to be sucked?

My wants range from swallowing and gulping your substance as it glides down my throat Swirling it around, keeping your still twitching cock between the tight grip of my lips. Do you want to pull it out and cum all over my civil servant face, my glasses, breasts, belly? Maybe you want me to bring you to the point of almost bursting, stroking as my eyes glue in anticipating of your spurting all over me, leaving me a messy sticky girl.

“How may help you, Is there something I can do for you”

or you, or you, or definitely you?

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Did you ever have one of those days where you can never come enough? Well I do and I did yesterday.

There was this angst electricity to my day right from the beginning, from the moment I lifted my head off the pillow. I was in a mood–amped, annoying, that all to familiar feeling of too much energy and absolutely nowhere to place it. Plus I was trapped at work.

What is a girl to do?

I spent a lot of time in bathroom three. In my locker at work I store three little vibrators–I like to be prepared. I stopped by the locker when I first got to work, slipping my lilttle chroma into the back pocket of my jeans, knowing that by the time I was ready to hide away into my favorite bathroom, the heat of my ass cheeks will have warmed up the cold aluminum surface of the toy. I love this sleek quite multi-powered rod.

The first time, I took it slow, lingering, did my usual set up– took my jeans off folded them neatly, placing them on the ugly orange chair, sat down on top of them, propped my feet on the wall, turned the ear buds up, a slink into the chair, tilted my  head back, and road myself to a long solid straight from the core–from the inside out–creamy cum.

The second time I was in more of hurry, I chose the little magic bullet vibe. There is not much this toy. One speed, hard and fast. I was in bathroom three for its intended purpose. I sat there feeling the liquid drain out of me, it feels good to pee. The build up and the release are similar to orgasm. With my pussy open, my pants dropped to my ankles, my pink panties being stretched by my legs– I turned the magic bullet on. Wasting no time I placed the tip of the vibe directly on my clit–I can feel it now–a forced fast come. The kind that strains every muscle in your body, the kind that makes me leak fluids, the kind that make my face contort as images of your cock sliding in and out of my throat flicker past my mental movie screen. I come, I hear my ejaculation trickle into the toilet–I continue, I ride the come and force another one. My feet raise off the floor and my toes twist and my neck tightens–I want to scream bits of joyous anguish–but I must be quiet. I come again—hard hard hard.

When I stand up I am flying, soaring, high, I cannot scrape myself off the ceiling. I wash up–myself, my fingers and the toy and walk out of the bathroom. I notice my neck is stiff and tight from the intense strain I put into coming and I seem to be floating down the long hallway–like I was on roller skates in a dream fog.

By midnight, after having made myself come several times throughout the day, I started on some smut harvesting–which always leads to clip watching and more clip watching. Why the hell did I watch the Kim Kardashian sex tape. Boring.  Although her man did have a beautiful large cock–from what you could see–but he could use some serious pussy worship lessons. That did not last long, but I did, at a very timely manner, get a email clip delivery. Oh so delicious curvy London Andrews, fucking a nice cock with beautiful tits, lovely pussy and dirty filthy mouth.

I took my  time, lay the towel down on the chair, grabbed a few different toys. I needed a fill that the other comes throughout the day did not provide. I needed a fuck. Having watched the few clips prior, I was already nice and slick, ready to go. Fingers sliding around inside of me, sometimes my pussy almost feels like I am feeling it for the first time, the inner walls different at different times. Last night I was open and tight simultaneously as my fingers were being pulled by my pussy I could feel every spasm and pulse allowing me to drift into that space of freedom and release.

Being open and receptive my cunt easily took in the prosthetic cock–but not much, two inches and I wanted to come, a slow drawn come. I allowed myself to do so, while I watched and longed for my own cock to ride. Two inches became three, four. At the point of orgasm my pussy pulled the whole cock in, grabbing like an animal–clutching , clutching, clutching. My thighs jerk and the smile floods my face and body.

I watch the rest of the scene with my thighs splayed and a small pulsing vibe riding on my clit–waiting for the come splatter scene– so I can come again. As it gets closer I grind a bit more on the vibe, turn it up and change the mild pulse to a steady stream. I grind my pussy, rocking steady on top of it–sitting up and directly on it. He pulls his cock out and slides it past her lips. She loves the taste of  her own pussy–I can tell.  When he strokes his own cock I know it’s time, I lean back awaiting the shooting across her tits. I know I have told you how much I love watching a man stroking his cock to cum–I do the come tilt and pelvic thrust and time it with him.

Cum on my tits.

My tongue pops out, as usual, like I am really about to taste come, I imagine your cock sliding in my mashed tits, so willing to taste you, eager to see you shoot –and I watch as he shakes his cock all over her, trying to spray her with his come, then I come and leak onto the towel, and I continue to come feeling myself  drip to my ass.

I am floating on the ceiling again.

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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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My favorite online crush likes pictures and I like showing him my ass…it’s a good fit. Sometime there are requests, sometimes just whims. He likes stockings. So…Sunday night before going out I set the camera up to take shots of me getting ready, my ass, tits, legs, big thighs. Shot of me putting my stockings on, clipping them to their belt, crawling across the floor, my fingers exploring my pantie patch.

I left, but always take my camera with me. Not long ago my crush requested some peep shots from inside my car. So I took advantage of this night out to shoot those too. My dress lifted, ass up in the front seat–I took a series of snaps. Close ups, odd angles, spilling cleavage, the pantie patch with its triangle of forming wetness. I took shots while I drove, feeling myself, stroking my full lips over the fabric. I started my night out kittenish.

It was one of those classic strange San Francisco nights–full of carnies, gypsies, misfit cabaret barflies, big thighed broads’ in short short skirts with eyes of glazed glass. The music was off—a weird mix of eccentric gypsy, Eastern Euro, bizarre. I felt like I was stuck in some David Lynch fucks Fellini as seen through the librarian’s glasses. It was pure oddity. I found myself becoming light headed on heavy beer, the infamous tamale lady looked more like a bearded lady, there was a strange dancer that looked like sherpa with a hospital band around his wrist–who claimed not to want to marry, but just dance with us. Dance. The saxophone player from the second band had me wanting my pussy licked and worshiped ferociously like the musical instrument it is. Lapping at my clit like a reed. I felt myself get wet and stay that way, sticky even. He was all oral, a definite pussy worshiper, I imagined his beard covered in my liquid love. The cast was a strange mix of misfits that had wandered in from the streets, but all somehow belonged together.

We, the librarians, fit right in. Misfits of the book, guardians of the strange.

When I got home, I was sort of high on the night; I turned the yellow hued light on followed by the blue glow of the computer screen.

I watched your cum spurt out and land on your belly, streaming and streaking in white, landing like electric spittle, dripping from your tip. It made me jealous of something and nothing tangible at the same. I want to fuck you with your glasses on–I want fuck you with my glasses on, two overly educated people fucking like animals with none of that education at work, critical thinking skills have no place here. I lifted my dress, unhooked my stockings from the buckles, pulled them down, spread my thighs wide, and pulled my panties to the side. The smell wafted up into the air, creamy excitement from thinking earlier about my cunt being worshiped. Vanilla yeast. My pussy was full ready to be stroked drained, sapped of it sexual build up of the night. I put the Friday playlist on even though it was Sunday and slid my fingers between my folds, wet pages opened up.

Dripped.

Hitting the record button, on the split screen was you stroking your thick cock, coaxing your love and me caressing my pussy. I watched both of us. Watching as your cock grew in girth–creating that ache of longing from the core of my insatiable cunt.

Simultaneously we virtually fucked each other. When you sat up, directing your beam at me, inviting my lips to taste, to feel you grow further inside my mouth, for a split second you are really passing my lips and I could smell you, and I can taste you. For a split second you were mine.

Envisioning the way I would slide onto you–your round substantial head teasing my slit, seeping into me. Gradually my cunt devours every inch of you. Spreading myself open–slow grinding onto my fingers, the silver bullet rumbles on my clit, two fingers lost inside, my flesh fully concealing their movement. I am fucking you, arched teetering on that pain consumption of the mind and pussy. Coming, I close my thighs around my hands, fingers and toy.

Sitting up from my orgasm slouch, my hand still slipping in between my pages, I lean forward, my pussy off the chair, but my ass still on it. Fucking myself harder, thinking about you coming inside me, squeezing your cock, draining you. Faster my hands plunge and flick, the bullet circling my button. I thrust and drove onto my already buried fingers and I begin to drip, the camera catches it all, the trickles dropping between my legs to the floor below, the elation of me coming and the gush from inside surrounding my fingers as I come hard for the second time. Stars flash that magnetic white light then fade.

I hit stop, save, and strip my way to bed.

originally posted Tuesday, July 14, 2009

The morning sun flows through my bedroom window, that ocean air cooling my sleep hot body. Teasing my clit with my fingertip– waking my sex up before my eyes even open. Drifting into thoughts of what your tongue will do to me, how it will wake me up, how the light and the air will creep on to our bodies–what the photographs will look like. I think of spring and summer, it still gives me this fever–this I am about to explode fever. Bicycles, Popsicle, Lollipops, Lick em’ sticks–springtime. The tip of your dripping dick passing my lips, in the sunshine and shade, under a tree, the taste of sunscreen, lemon, salt and cum lingers.

My little clit gets hard and pops. I am so soft in my touch, no rush, just teasing, little flicks–no cumming, just keeping me on an electric spark of wanting to fuck. That is how I want to stay all day. On the edge of fuck me.

I am off to fantastic start, my pussy is full engorged with blood and flesh and base want. I am in this mood of freedom, I am free for the moment, my ties are unbound–I feel loose and wild–and sometimes that can get me into a bit of  naughty behavior. However, the NYC sexcation is right around the corner, I am trying to keep my legs closed to random bouts of cock until I get the cock I want in NYC.

That springtime, fuck me cock. Thick and heavy– for who? For me, not just for pussy, but for my pussy. Oh…the way I am going to sink on to you–every action, slow motion verb you can think of.

Cock daytripping.

Wearing my smartballs to work all day proved to make me beyond insatiable and crazy. It has made me a very wet kitty.

As I moved, shelved and squatted the balls within the balls rumbled inside me. We were short staffed at the library, which means for me, more reference desk hours than usual, which means more internet access for large blocks of time. I logged on to find a steamy email from a man who fancies the idea of his hand striking my ass as I grab a hold of the shelves while reciting those filthy odes I love so well—“do you need you mouth and cunt and ass fucked like the filthy little slut you are?” Alluding to my ultimate library fantasy, of cock buried in my throat while his hands grip the back of my head–semi hidden from eyes, but not really. Adding to my larger fantasy– he includes another woman and him in between the stacks of books, words, pages–her licking my honey salt pussy and he fucks me from behind as I drip into her mouth, she is drinking all of me in and loving every bit of it. Bit-o-Honey.

As I read the email, I grip up the balls, squeezing them tight. My inner flesh grabbing them like they were a cock. I grind my ass onto the seat pressing my full lips into the cushion. I wiggle my ass a little, crushing my full lips as the balls press into my g-spot filling me up.

Another email, from a friend who would like to bend me over the sorting table, hike and yank my skirt up, his hands discovering my body, my curves—what makes my breath rapid, what makes me pant like an animal, whimper and beg. Reaching between my thighs, kicking my feet apart–his hands searching my ass, my cunt, my slit. Slipping two fingers in he discovers how wet I am, he feels the cord of the smartballs.Pressing his two fingers into my dripping pages, he pulls my head back by my hair and whispers in my ear “what a little slut,” as he yanks the balls out, his words still lingering in my mind, I ooze onto them and into his hands, he lifts the balls to his mouth and licks them clean.

On top of these sweltering emails is the young, too young, boy who has been relentless in his pursuit. While I have been resisting because of our age difference, damn! he is really turning me on. He wants my mouth and lips around his cock, he wants to meet me in a dark spot and get some car cock worship (one of my favorite places). The smutty decadence he delivers to my text message has my box dripping. As I am squatted shelving I feel my phone vibrate, pulling it out to read one of the many texts about his throbbing cock, I spread my legs wide the balls inside drop a bit, and I can easily smell myself, the wetness, the sticky sweet slime leaving it’s traces behind. The physical scent of fuck me–fuck me–fuck me drifts up from my pussy into the air.

I am beyond insatiable now. I am ready to slip away and take my much needed break. I text the young boy back telling him I am about to go stroke my pussy, he asks for pictures. “Sure why not, I love photographing my own antics.” I open then lock the bathroom door behind me. Wash my hands, standing in front of the mirror I unbutton my jeans and slide my fingers into my panties, I smile to myself at how incredibly wet I am. What a wonderful slut. I close my thighs around my finger and hand wiggling them in my tight rainy cunt. I pull out the phone and snap a shot of me in the mirror with my hand down the front of my pants.

I am passionate, ardent, oh so horny. I slip my pants off, folding them and placing them on the chair cushion (yes there is an ugly orange vinyl chair in the bathroom), I sit with my ass at the edge of the chair, my pussy hanging over and my feet propped up on the toilet seat in front of me, knees bent. As I slide my fingers into my panties I snap another shot. Leaning back in the chair I stroke and please with more cadence, It feels good, my pussy so ripe and ready to be fucked, I melt around the idea. Not able to take it any longer I sit up and pull my panties to my knees, when I do this I drip onto the tiled floor below me, I just shake my head at the insatiability of my cunt. The puddle grows larger. I fish out my mini vibe from my jeans pocket, and proceed to stroke and fuck my self in the work bathroom. The hours of emails, texts, smartballs and my own delicious filthy mind have me soaking. Right as I am about to cum, I pull the string on the smartballs, as I pull–I resist with my muscles, like I am trying to keep your cock in me forever…one pops out, pain and pleasure merge, I press the vibe hard on to my clit. Holding it there for a moment, my abs tighten and my pussy clinches around the remaining ball. I let the vibe go and rub my clit and cream with my fingers I pull the second ball out –despite my cunts refusal to let it go–when it pops out I gush and come at the same time, the floor, the seat and my panties soaked. My thighs are shaking and my breath is not mine. The balls are covered in me, my fingers are covered in me. I lift them to my mouth and snap a shot of my fingers sliding down my throat tasting my own.

I sit there a moment–regain my wit. I get up rinse the smartballs off and put them back where they belong. When I go to put my panties on I realize they are too wet to wear so I slide them into my pocket, button my jeans and go back to work satiated and my pussy still full and many ways.

My tits are heavy today, they are always heavy, but when I am bleeding they are even heavier. I like to give them a little bounce with my palms and feel the weight fill my hands up as thy bounce up and down. The nipples covered in layers of fabric can still not be hidden, reaching out for my fingertips to stroke, roll and pinch the thickening skin.

Men know when I am on my period. Maybe they do not know directly, but they sense some female sexual activity. Feelings of procreation perhaps. Dicks of all variety swaying in my direction. My own biological procreation answers their sways with a smile on my face and a pulsating wet slit in my jeans. My clit and puffy full lips desirous, my brain if given half chance would beg for bevy of dick. Reflections of two cocks, three–his and his, maybe his, and definitely yours. A brief notion of the librarian being gang banged in the darkened corner of her library passes my eyes–men standing over me–cock everywhere, bouncing and throbbing red–being stroked, bobbing in anticipation of my wetness.

At the bus stop, secluded and alone, sitting there thinking about my day–the words that have passed, the flirts that spread and boil in my body making my essentiality drip, I can feel it, sure to be leaving the tale tale crimson stain behind. My blood not only flowing, but filling my cunt with want. Tightly I ball up my little fist and cram it between my jean clad thigh, deeper, I feel my pussy–my knuckles circling around, a combination of blood and my own wet excitement has made my pussy a slick creamy consistency, the friction between knuckle and folds of swelling sex makes me want to cum.

The vibration of my bus ride home exasperates the longing, that need to be released. Wasting no time, the moment I get in the door, ok the window–because I can’t find my keys, everything sheds, the bags drop, the coat, the shoes, the day–I am in my own, my place, I am in me. Unbuttoning my jeans spreading them open, the thoughts of all the cock I fantasized about throughout my day flashes. My mouth indicatively drops open at the thought of your cock filling it. Standing in my semi-dark kitchen my fingers plunge into my slippery cunt, I wanted a feel, just a test–to see how wet I really was, but I could not stop. Looking out my tiny kitchen window–down onto the street, my fingers fuck, my clit on fire.  I can’t stop, I must cum. Swelling. Harder. I release, bracing my other hand on the counter, my breath heavy–gone, my thoughts rapid, a thumping in my skull and my fingers red.

Yesterday was a long long day. 5 am and not home until 11PM .

My days have been consisting  of that sweet spring fever, walking and driving around in a cock drifting haze. The hum and vibration of my vee dub igniting my pussy as I zip around, all those city boys catching my eye. When we get sunshine in SF– it makes every one giddy and happy and shed clothing. Today for me, it is those boys/men in suits–or partial suits riding bicycles. They look so good.

By 8 I was at the yoga studio, class starts at 8:15. I change up put my stuff in the locker, checking out all the beautiful girls of all shapes, size, ethnicity–flavor. I like flavor.

I check the phone one last time, because yes I am slightly addicted to it–and I have a few minutes before start time. I see your email…I only breeze through it–cannot really read detail on the phone, but yet it still makes me grow wet and only mildly jealous. Rereading a few parts over, I ponder. Then slam the locker and go claim my spot on the floor.

We start. Breathing. I am good for the first set.
Then it starts– the mind wander. I think hmm what did he expect to see underneath her soft powdery blue cami thing? Then I wondered, did she have small tits, why was she so anxious for easy access? You must have had her worked up. I snap out and focus on instructor. Somehow we have moved 3 poses down, and i had not even noticed.

I stay on my game for awhile then I start drifting again.

I think– was he fingering her asshole. Oh that is hot. I am already sweating because it is 104 degrees in the room but now I am flush and hot  because I am drifting thinking if you had your thumb on her puckered little star giving a little massage make her clitty pop even more.

Fuck! focus.

I snap out of it. I work hard for the remainder of the standing series then we move to the floor work…

Once on the floor though, it’s  all over, I drift away and think about her having your cock in her mouth. Jealousy or envy or both. I wanna be the girl to put you in outer space–I want to be the one that makes you see stars, that makes you slouch back in cock sucking ecstasy. More than anything– I want to be the one who make you sigh, moan–maybe even growl with my cock loving lips.

Focus Focus Focus!

Back to the yoga, it is time for bow pulling pose, on my belly feet and arms stretched behind me–hands pulling legs toward the sky–rocking on my abdomen, my pelvis, my cunt. It throws me over the edge, I am in a full on cock fantasy. I think about how she leaked her gloss all over you leg while she had your cock in her mouth.  Your curve was just so good to her mouth and to her pussy that she wanted to grind and cum while she thought about it, as she worked you with her lips. Maybe like me, she was imagining being fucked by that cock, while she sucked that cock.

During Savasana on our belly, I cannot resist shoving my hand, my balled up little fist deep between my thighs directly into my full of life pussy lips and grind into my self–I can tell I am slick not with just sweat but with a definite lusty want for cum. I was no longer in the yoga studio, but lost in the thought of…

damn your cock must me DELICIOUS…