To the Hilt

My favorite cock for sucking is a bubblegum-pink soft silicone unit I picked out of the bargain bin at some dime-store porn shop. It's very porous and I don't dare use it without a condom, and it's a bit too soft for fucking, anyway--but it's fabulous for sucking. Firm enough to present a challenge, but yielding enough to make it a little easier for me to push myself with it.

I was ridiculously horny this weekend. Spring has finally arrived where I am, and the warm weather has awakened my libido in a big way. I lured Boyfriend into the bedroom yesterday with my ass in the air, taking a hard vaginal fisting that had me clutching at the fitted sheet and crying into the wad of blankets under my face. Twenty-four hours later, I was half-naked in the car, caressing myself provocatively while occasionally reaching over to stroke his upper arm in that special place that drives him wild. He thought he was going to go straight home from running errands, but instead, he ended up taking a small detour to my house.

I was really hungry today. I wanted my mouth to be thoroughly used. I couldn't get enough. Boyfriend stopped at the bathroom, and when he came out, I had the harness and the silly pink dick all ready for him and he knew what I wanted. He barely had it buckled in place before I jumped on him, condom in my mouth, and slid my lips over the shaft.

I tried kneeling between his legs, then moved to the floor with him at the edge of the bed, then back up between his legs, and eventually I scooted around so that my pussy was next to his face. That turned out to be the magic angle: next thing I knew, I was sucking that cock into my throat all the way down to the ring. That's about six inches of silicone down the hatch.

I haven't quite defeated my gag reflex yet. I'm not sure whether I want to... having a strap-on-wearing sadist grab a handful of my hair and force me to gag on his or her cock again and again is pretty fucking hot. In this case, I gagged so many times that I finally lost the battle and tossed my cookies. But I can get that whole cock down my throat, at least for a few seconds at a time, without gagging. I just haven't figured out how to move once it's down there without tripping the reflex.

Boyfriend is nasty as they come. He didn't shove my face into the stinking puddle of vomit on the sheet, but I know he thought about it. Eventually he got up, rinsed off in the shower while I stripped the sheet off and threw it into the washer (that'll teach me to suck cock without putting a chuck down first), and came back for round two. He wasn't done using my mouth, which made me happy as a pig in mud. He lay back and spread his legs and I dove in hungrily, covering my face with cunt-juice from eyebrows to chin and sucking his clit and labia in, feeling his clit get bigger and bigger under my tongue. Periodically I let go long enough to make filthy comments about his bulging cock, encouraging him to imagine it as such, until he exploded with it clamped firmly between my teeth. Boy, that's gotta hurt afterward.

There was a bit more to our afternoon escapade, but the part I most wanted to tell was the bit about swallowing that silly bubblegum cock all the way down to the ring.

Handball As A Contact Sport

I was lying on my right side with my left leg in the air. The dozens of clothespins on my breasts and labia hurt, but I barely noticed them because every iota of my attention was focused on my asshole. That was where the Boyfriend was directing his attentions--his right hand slathered with Crisco, shoving more and more of it inside me, slowly working his fingers in past the inner sphincter. I wanted to rub my clit, but I couldn't get to it around all the clothespins, and anyway, my left hand was busy holding my leg up and my right hand was trapped underneath me. My eyes were closed and I wasn't seeing anything but swirling colors, my own private light show broadcast on the backs of my eyelids.

Every time I thought I couldn't take another moment of it, he'd back out just a little and then I'd be begging him to come back. I was moaning and and writhing under his hand, my breath coming in jagged little gasps, wanting this to be the time that his fist finally slid into my ass. Periodically he'd rotate his hand so that he could wiggle his fingers against a different bit of internal geography and I'd scream.

I don't know how long we were at it; we'd already been playing for an hour or more and I was so wet, I could feel my inner labia sliding together, all slick with my juices. Suddenly I felt his hand slide in just a tiny little fraction more, and just then, I was sure it was the moment of truth and that he was going to slip past that thumb knuckle and I'd feel his fist pressed up against the wrong side of my backbone--and I was terrified.

"I'm scared! I'm scared!" I opened my eyes and sought desperately to connect with his for reassurance. He slid his fingers back out and immediately I missed them and wanted them back, even with the tears sliding down my cheeks.

He fucked my ass a while longer, eventually bringing out the big black cock that always takes so much warmup: it slid right in without the tiniest bit of resistance. He told me afterward that he hadn't been anywhere near close to slipping the last knuckle in when I'd gotten scared, but it doesn't matter. I'd sure thought he was right on the brink.

Someday, maybe.

Butt Seriously

The blood on the toilet paper doesn't scare me anymore. It used to. I remember panicking more than once, sitting home alone, afraid, wondering whether I should go to the hospital but worried about embarrassing myself. Wait a little while, I'd tell myself, and if it gets worse then go. Words like perforated rectum and peritonitis and horrible death would run through my head. In the end, I'd always fall asleep eventually, and by morning there would be no more blood and I'd feel sheepish but relieved to realize that it was nothing serious.

I've been sticking things up my butt for as long as I can remember. In childhood, anything from a Q-tip to a pencil to the handle of a pair of scissors was fair game. I didn't know there was anything unusual or taboo about it--I just knew it felt good. As a teen, deeply embarrassed about my sexuality, I tried to force myself to stop... but within a week, or maybe two, I'd always end up giving in. It was like a compulsion.

As an adult, immersed in a sex-positive culture, I'm not shy about most of my proclivities anymore. Oh, I have one or two that I'm not ready to shout from the rafters, and I'm sure they'll find their way into this blog eventually, but I no longer hesitate to tell people I like it in the rear.

I've been awfully horny lately, and today the magic 8 ball in my brain kept turning up anal. I couldn't wait to get home. I daydreamed the workday away, rushed impatiently through errands, and finally found myself at home, alone, free to indulge my desire.

There's this thing that I do sometimes, when I'm by myself and the the mood strikes me. Partnered sex is always more self-conscious to some degree, but solo I don't have to worry about what anyone else thinks of me or the mess that I make. I like to lay out a big towel and a lot of toys, grab a bottle of baby oil or a bowl with a big gob of cold Crisco, and see just how far I can stretch that little pink pucker.

The more I play with my ass, the hotter I get. Tonight I started with a little acrylic dildo, slim and slick, baby oil squirted along its length. Once things were slippery, that toy practically fell in all by itself. I moved from that to a string of anal beads, then to a larger rubber dildo, then to an acrylic bloopy toy, then back to the first dildo, then to a glass Coke bottle I perverted years ago. I filled the bottle with two inches of baby oil and tried to pour it into my ass, but the oil stayed stubbornly in the bottle even when I upended it entirely, so eventually I trotted to the kitchen, where I found an empty plastic soda bottle. I poured the oil into that, stuck the neck up my ass, and squirted it in. Feeling the cool liquid fill me, I nearly came right then.

Suffice it to say that I made a hell of a mess. I was at it for an hour and a half, and by the time I was done, the towel was smeared with baby oil and shit and mashed banana and perhaps even a trace of blood--and so was I. I was slippery and smelly from my tits to my ankles and I didn't care. By the time I finally allowed myself to come--clothespins on my nipples, a two-inch-thick wooden truncheon up my ass and cradled between my feet, a vibrator on my clit--nothing nothing nothing else mattered.

A long, hot bubble bath, a book, a bowl of spaghetti and a lewd phone call to the Boyfriend... it's been a very nice evening. I may have to produce an encore before bidding this night adieu.