Tag Archives: oral sex
Someone else’s story: Antici… pation
As I might have already explained, I’m deeply impatient. So impatient, in fact, that if foreplay lasts longer than ten minutes I am liable to cry. I was once mocked by a guy, who was far keener on build-up than I was, because apparently the only thing I ever said in bed was “pleasepleasepleaseplease.” I don’t know what he was upset about – it’s certainly better than “mehmehmehmeh.”
Anyway, because I love guest blogs, and particularly guest blogs from people who have a different perspective to me, the following excellent post by Helz captures perfectly her delight in making someone wait. And wait. And then…
Antici….pation
Okay, yes, I did steal this title from a Rocky Horror lyric. Shoot me. It’s very apt though.
What is almost better than a conquest is the magnetism, the frission, leading up to it. It’s something organic between two people that can’t be forced, you both have to want to rip the clothes off and melt into each other so badly and you both know it. No one has made the first move yet and all you have is heavily layered conversation where you can barely focus on the words because even talking to each other makes you wet, and you’re zoned in on her mouth, her lips…her skin and her eyes, boring into yours and you both know that you’re going to see a lot more than each other’s eyes later on… but not yet. That anticipation, that mutual magnetism, is pretty rare yet so delicious. The excitement, and the wonder that you might be mistaken, that she might not want you and it’s all in your head and the electricity that zaps right down through you at the thought of her is what makes the whole exchange magical.
I like to, whilst making out with someone, draw back. Make them wait for our lips to meet and shrink away from their touch. Soften my gaze and my body, make it look completely touchable, mutely draw them in with my eyes, then refuse them. When your lips are centimeters away from mine and you can actually feel my warmth, but you’re unable to touch me because I keep drawing away… I know that you really want me. I like making you want me. The frantic, hot, hard kisses and touches you give me after that after being denied for so long show how much you crave this, crave me…
Before I eat out a girl I like to make her anticipate it for a very long time. I love the downy inner thigh which leads up to your cunt, and I love to linger on it for as long as I possibly can, giving your butterfly butterfly kisses and softly kissing, licking and stroking your thighs, occasionally giving your lower lips some very, very light touches or kisses, and I do this until I know that you are biting your lip to mask your croaks and moans, so hard that it could draw blood, until you’re dripping with ladyjuice and until you’re rolling your eyes upwards, as if you’re praying to some Sapphic goddess. I know you’re tingling with desire all over and I kiss your lower self harder and harder and slloooowwwly work my way to your cunt and start very gently, just when you think you’ll get some form of release I stop and kiss your pelvis and your stomach, then work my way down again until you quiver and your knees buck…
You like the anticipation, sometimes, more than you like the actual sex act, and the fact that you want it, me, so much makes me horny as hell and gives me almost as much satisfaction as if you were giving it to me.
Then it’s my turn.
On why driving is sexy
As ever, I’m giving directions.
“Straight on here,” as we hit the roundabout, and he follows. A quick check in his rear view mirror to see whether anyone’s behind us. They’re not – it’s dark, late, and a much quieter road to the ones we’re used to. He lays a hand on my thigh, pushing my skirt up, never once taking his eyes off the road.
I love watching guys drive
Despite being so old that my fascination with it is bizarre, I find driving incredibly sexy. Not when I do it, of course. On the rare occasions I get behind the wheel it’s less of a journey than a slow, arduous panic-attack from A to B.
But the teenage girl I wish I still was loves watching boys drive.
The physicality of it is hot, naturally. Driving involves lots of showing-off of hands, one of the sexiest physical features. Gripping and releasing the handbrake, curving a hand around the gearstick, gently flicking accelerators and letting the wheel slide smoothly through their palms.
Not to mention that driving, much like playing Xbox, is an activity that requires so much concentration I am barely a distraction in the corner of his eye.
Most importantly, the driver is always the most powerful person in the car. The one who chooses the music, decides when you can stop, tells you to stop mucking about. The driver is the person who decides to pull over.
We’ll get back to that sexy bit now, shall we?
He flicked the indicator when he spotted a layby – behind a row of waist-high bushes, just enough for some vague cover but not quite enough to make me feel wholly comfortable. He parked the car and undid his seatbelt, reaching over for mine at the same time.
I grinned, and looked up at him in the way I imagined I would if I were genuinely nervous. I shifted in my seat, pulling my skirt up further so my naked cunt touched the seat.
“You’re a good girl,” he said, and pulled my face towards him. He was grinning too, not quite happy enough to take the power seriously.
“Do you want to show me your cunt?”
Yes. Always. I lifted my skirt higher and he pulled me forward, pushing my head into his lap with his right hand (his steering wheel hand) while his left snaked down my back and behind to squeeze me. I fumbled with his belt, feeling him rock solid through his trousers, straining to push through the zip.
“Good,” he gave me a hand with the zip, squeezing himself tight as I leant forward to suck him. “Good girl.”
Again, that power, the feeling of his hands all over me. The click as he moved his seat back to give me more room to work on him, to suck him. He wasn’t making me, but he wasn’t asking me either. This stop was just an extra bit of the journey, something he got to decide, in the same way as he’d decide the route or choose when we stopped for a piss.
Bucking slightly against the seat, he gripped the back of my head with controlled hands as he twitched mouthfuls of spunk into the back of my throat.
On the way back, we were quiet. My occasional directions half-whispered as I tasted him in my mouth, and the giggling teenager in the back of my mind squirmed with pride.
“My boyfriend’s hot. My boyfriend drives.”
On CFNM (clothed female, naked male)
You’re hot when you’re naked. Not quite as hot as when you’re semi-naked, of course – we’ve discussed that before. But there’s something deeply satisfying about your nakedness against my clothes. Me, in jeans and a soft jersey, sneaking into bed and pressing the whole of myself up against your sleeping flesh.
I’ve had a few people ask me to write about CFNM (it stands for Clothed Female Naked Male – presumably there’s also a CMNF, but that might have to wait for another day). For some people it’s a very specific fetish, and they can’t get off without it. For me, it falls into the same category as most fetishes: I’m not obsessed with it, but I can more than understand why other people are.
It’s often a FemDomme thing, a submissive guy bares all but is denied the pleasure of seeing tits in return. I certainly know a few submissive men who like the idea of being stripped bare and used by a clothed, powerful woman who answers only to the name of ‘Mistress’. But I think it’s more than possible to get tingling hot feelings the other way round too. Whether I’m on top, on the bottom, or floating lazily somewhere in between, having a naked guy between my jeans-clad thighs is a very hot thing indeed. I’ll show you what I mean:
CFNM (Submissive girl, dominant guy)
If you’re naked and I’m not none of the usual things occur. You can’t squeeze my tits or bite my nipples as you call me a dirty girl and ask what I’m hoping you’ll do to me. There are fewer words. Naked and needing release, the only thing for you to do is push me down onto my knees, hold my hair and smile as I suck a fresh erection into your waiting dick.
If you’re naked and I’m not then as I wet the tip of your cock I’ll spread my legs wider, letting the seam of my jeans push tightly against my clit. I’ll hold my hands behind my back so that my tits stretch out my top. And I’ll feel the wetness soaking into the crotch of my knickers.
If you’re naked and I’m not I’ll feel dirtier than I would naked. Because I can’t shower off whatever you cover me in.
I’ll feel the wetness in my knickers, and feel ashamed. If you hold my head still and fuck my face, the spit will run down my chin, my neck, and onto the front of my shirt. And I’ll cross my fingers and will you to call me a messy girl again.
Other way round (Dominant girl, submissive guy)
I like to curl up behind you in the morning, when you’re still asleep and I’m awake and dressed, and fit my body neatly behind yours, my thighs touching the back of yours, my tits squashing against you through my t-shirt. It’s CFNM, but with a different tone to that above.
I like, as you stir ever so slightly, to slip one of my arms under your head and around your neck so that I can pinch your nipples and stroke your chest, the reverse of what you do for me when we go to sleep.
I enjoy the moment as you wake up, roll over and see me there – wide awake and eager for you.
When you’re naked and I’m not I have more of the power. I like being able to look at you exposed and cold, and take my time to run my palms over all of you. I like taking your flaccid cock in my hand and squeezing gently until you’re semi-hard.
But best of all I like to keep my knickers on – sliding them just far enough to one side that I can sit slickly down onto your dick while you place your hands behind your head and wait for me to come.
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Someone else’s story: sex work
Despite occasionally behaving as if I know everything there is to know about sex, there are loads of questions to which I am desperate to know the answers. Usually these are questions like ‘how does it feel for guys when they get a boner in their jeans and it gets all trapped and swollen-looking?’ or ‘does your own jizz taste better than other people’s?’ and, frequently, ‘how does it feel to be the dude who plays Jesse off of Breaking Bad sitting naked in front of a mirror, frantically masturbating onto one of the pictures of my tits that you have politely requested I stop sending you?’
In short: questions to which there is no right or wrong answer, just a fascinating insight into how one other individual feels about sex. The best thing about doing the sex-blogging thing, apart from the vast sums of cash*, is that sometimes I get my questions answered.
*that has so far failed to materialise
I recently got an email from Jo, a sex worker who said she might fancy blogging herself. This was an excellent opportunity to ask one of the questions I always want to ask sex workers when I meet them: do you ever fancy your clients? Do any of them do good (by which I mean sexyhot) things for you?
Below is a super-hot story, by way of introduction, and her own response to that question. Over to Jo…
“The Whore”
I felt like a dirty, brazen, wanton little whore.
Which I am, of course, but that’s hardly the point right now.
His name was John. Or he said his name was John, anyway. He walked in the door exactly 7 minutes and 34 seconds before he walked right back out of it again, £80 and one load of hot, foul cum lighter.
I was just idly sat there thinking I could really do with a half-way decent fuck when he called. “I saw your ad, what do you do?” he gruffed down the phone at me. “Anything but hardsports and kissing,” I replied. He asked if I could be ready in 20 minutes and I said I would be.
When he arrived, he asked if he could use the bathroom… I heard him piss and flush, whereupon he immediately came out. I asked him for the money and straight away his hands were roughly in my pants, before awkwardly trying to wrench my top off one-handed. When he saw my tits, he was like a man possessed… he shoved me to my knees and barely grated out “do you swallow?” before his thick load was filling the back of my throat.
And then he left.
And I still need a fuck.
Fuck.
Behind the Scenes
So, you’ve just finished and have entered that awkward stage where you’re not sure whether to chat, or to dress and leave. You settle for a compromise… you talk while you’re cleaning up. “Do you enjoy this?” you ask as you’re wiping your cock and trying not to look me in the eye while doing it. “Yes, of course I do,” I answer with a smile, as I always do.
I know what you really mean when you ask if I enjoy it… your question is more complicated than that, as is my answer. You want to know if I actually wanted the sex I had with you, whether I fancy you and whether I enjoyed the things you wanted to do… if you’re the very rare and particularly sensitive man I get once in a while, you’re probably curious about how my needs and desires fit with this line of work, too.
Well, here are the answers I’ll never give you to the questions you’ll never ask.
My sex drive is a bit of an odd one, in all fairness. Most of the time, it’s rather dormant and then all of a sudden, BOOM! I’m so horny I’m rubbing myself against a door frame. I’m sure you can appreciate that this doesn’t always marry up very well with when you want to see me, or when I’m available to see you. I’m fortunate enough to have a live-in boyfriend and a lover or two scattered about the place to take me in hand when this happens.
It’s infrequent I see a guy who’s so hot that the very sight of him makes me weak at the knees – those guys very rarely have need of my services, I’m sure they’re busy throwing smouldering looks at women in bars and scooping them up as they swoon into their arms. For me to really fancy you, I need to be attracted to your mind… closely followed by your scent, with your looks trailing in at a limp third, at best. Unless you’re rather well off, it’s unlikely I’ve spent enough time with you to genuinely fancy you, but, trust me; you’re at least acceptable enough for me to smile and enjoy our time together. After all, you’re only going to be here for an hour or two… sometimes lying back and thinking of England is a necessary part of any job.
After all this, you might be wondering why exactly I enjoy sex work at all! Whilst I do generally identify more as a dominant than a submissive, I do experience an enormous amount of pleasure from pleasing others and a visceral sense of satisfaction when sucking your cock. There’s something about having a man’s cock in my mouth, hearing their breathing deepen and feeling their thighs tense and twitch under my hands that transcends any attraction I do or don’t feel towards you. Your cock is in my mouth and you are helpless in my power. To blow my own trumpet a little (after I’m finished blowing yours), anyone who’s had one of my blowjobs will testify to their awesomeness and that makes me very proud.
Also, being a bit old and jaded at the grand old age of 24 (well, that’s how old I’ve told you I am, anyway), I’ve tried everything I know I want to try and experimented to a greater or lesser degree with all the things I’ve fantasised about. There’s no particular one, or even several, sexual acts that really really gets me going. These days, I mostly get my chills and thrills from fulfilling your fantasies and making you writhe and groan with pleasure…
So, in answer to your question, yes, of course I enjoy it. Not always in the way you might think, but on so many levels you’d probably never even want to hear about.
As I’m sure you’ll agree, that was amazing. I (and Jo) would love to get your thoughts in the comments below, especially if you’re a sex worker or a client. As ever, though, any comments/thoughts/unanswered sex questions of your own are especially welcome and encouraged on a guest blog, to make guest bloggers feel at home and show them how genuinely lovely the people who comment on my blog are.
On what is about to happen
I’m sitting on the sofa next to a boy who is playing Halo 4 on the Xbox. This is almost the best way to spend a Sunday. I write, he stares in deep concentration at the TV, running his fingers quickly over the controls, occasionally murmuring ‘shit’ or ‘motherfucker.’ It’s fantastic -relaxing and horny at the same time. But it’s not quite as good as what’s about to happen.