Tag Archives: kissing
Spin the bottle – how many kisses is enough?
“I know I’m married,” she tells me. “But I haven’t snogged enough people.”
“How many people have you snogged?”
“Ten.”
“And what would be ‘enough’?”
She thinks for a bit.
“One more.”
On short sex stories
Hotness doesn’t always come in movie-length bursts. Short sex stories and tiny elements of the bigger picture are usually the things that kick off a more solid fantasy. If you’ve ever spent the morning after a great night being ambushed by images and snapshots of the sex you had just hours before, you’ll know what I mean. Filthy memories and stories pop up in small bits – like the sliver of a song that goes round in my head, sometimes I’ll remember just one tiny element of a fuck that’ll leave me frustrated and wet for the rest of the day.
That’s why, when BeingBlackSilk posted a miniature erotic short story earlier this week, I nearly cried with delight. She wrote a tiny tale of filth on a post-it note, and by limiting the tale to 55 words managed to capture exactly that horny kick that I get from flash-memories of times gone by. This idea isn’t just up my street, it’s straight up my garden path, halfway in the door and fucking me naked in the hallway.
So here’s mine – a tiny story from a long time ago.
You know where
I want to leave a plaque: “It was here – the first time I almost…” Next to the fallen tree, hidden from view of the road by broken fencing, the place I first got wet. Where your trembling hands squeezed me and you gasped as you felt my nipples grow hard. Where I panted and thrilled at the feeling of slick lust dripping into my knickers. Where I gripped your tight, twitching dick until you were wet with pleasure too. That place where – half a lifetime ago – I was far too shy to fuck you.
Plenty more sex stories where that came from…
If you’d like some more substantial sex stories, check out the filthy stories section on this blog, or head to the audio porn hub to hear sexy stories read aloud…
On typical sex
I’ve been having a lot of typical sex lately. You know, the sort of sex you have when you just fancy some sex but have no particular desire to put a cherry on top. Basic sex. No-frills sex. If exciting and boundary-defining shags are the equivalent of a twelve-course tasting menu, then what I have been doing is eating cheese sandwiches for breakfast, lunch and dinner for a whole month.
And guess what? It’s brilliant.
I love cheese-sandwich sex to almost exactly the same degree as I love twelve-course fancy sex.
My typical sex
It starts with a suggestion by one or other of us. Not a gentle touch or a barked command, or anything designed to elicit a specific sexual reaction. I’ve had shags that have started with playful sofa-fighting, and ones which I’ve kicked off by simply pulling my knickers down and offering my naked arse to the gentleman in question. Typical sex isn’t like this, it begins much more simply.
“Fancy a shag?”
“Yep.”
There’s a pristine beauty and simplicity to it. It’s not overworked, which means that if the second person doesn’t fancy one they’ll know it’s not the end of the world to decline. Nor is it overly-prescriptive. “Fancy a shag?” leaves you open to developing a particular type of shag if you like. I could respond with “yes, will you fuck me over the bath?” or “no, but I’d love to suck you off while I rub my clit through my knickers.” In short, ‘fancy a shag?’ tells me that you’re horny, and asks if I am too. All the rest is up for grabs.
Once it’s been established that both of us fancy a shag, we touch. Although I’m generally a fan of variety, in this specific scenario, when I am in the ‘typical sex’ mindset, I get off on the predictability of it. He grips me around the waist and immediately slides his hands down to my arse. There’s a delicious familiarity there – the exact size and shape of him is satisfyingly unsurprising. The exact degree to which he squeezes me has been carefully calibrated over years of ‘a bit harder’ and ‘oh God yes that’s it’ until he’s got just the right pressure to get me dripping.
The same familiarity comes, of course, from his dick. I know how quickly it gets hard, what motions will best help it to get there, and exactly how to open this specific pair of trousers (seducing someone new is great fun, but I never seem quite as suave as I’d like because I fumble with unfamiliar trouser openings). His dick has a very specific weight in my hand, and I’m an expert on just how to hold it and squeeze it to ensure that the typical fuck takes its course.
There’s no detour here for blow jobs – I’m describing my typical shag. And typically I don’t have time to take him slowly into my mouth, because we’ll both be too keen to start fucking. So fuck we do.
And the best part is that as soon as we begin, it’s all about the end. This is an ‘everyday’ fuck – something at least as fun and functional as masturbation.
He’ll fuck me with quick, efficient strokes – touching the bits that give him extra shivers through his dick. I’ll push back and squeeze around him so I can feel as much as possible inside me: so that every atom of my cunt is pushing into part of his cock. There’s no pretense that we’re trying to impress each other, or even making an effort to get each other off: we’re doing it because we need to, and because each of us is as keen as the other to feel those first twitching waves of orgasm grip us in the pit of our stomachs.
‘Typical sex’ doesn’t mean ‘boring sex’
It’s a fuck you have because you both need it. It’s even better than wanking because it’s a mutual pleasure, and is therefore sociable: like monkeys picking fleas off each other or you scratching an itch that I just can’t reach on my own. And the moans and ‘oh yes’s and sighs at the end don’t just signal joy or sexual ecstasy – there’s a definite tone of relief. We’ve soothed and satisfied each other.
That’s why I love the everyday fuck. I love it easily as much as I love the special ones, the exciting ones: the ones with extra people or special toys, or words that make me growl with lust. Because while twelve-course meals are undoubtedly exciting, sometimes you just want a cheese sandwich. Something you eat while standing up in the kitchen, dropping crumbs onto the counter and forgetting to put the butter back in the fridge. It’s everyday, it’s typical, it’s nothing fancy, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t delicious.
Someone else’s story: the lost art of kissing
I’m an impatient sort of person – more interested in shagging than seduction. But I know I don’t speak for everyone, and I also know that there are disproportionately good pleasures to be had in the little things. When I stand still and keep my knickers on for long enough to enjoy the build up, I occasionally find the build up itself pretty erotic, and occasionally quite charming. The following blog on the art of kissing was offered to me by a guy who’ll be known as ‘Digger’, who’d like to remain anonymous (hence why there’s no link!) and it’s all about kissing. It’s lovely.
On public displays of affection, and getting a room
If we’ve all been taught one thing about relationships and affection, it’s that although it might be fine to snuggle your favourite person behind closed doors, doing it in front of others is as rude as blowing your nose at the dinner table. And yet they’re everywhere – these happy, affectionate couples – snogging and touching and holding hands and occasionally forgetting they’re in public and referring to the other one as ‘babycakes.’ Public displays of affection are enough to make you either vomit or masturbate.