I Made Her Cum

So last Friday was the first time I texted with the girl I’m going out with this coming weekend. We chit-chated throughout the day while she was running errands and into the evening.

Later that night, once I was snuggled up to M in bed, I get a text: “U still up?”

“Yep.”

One thing leads to another and she tells me that she hasn’t gotten off in over a week. Now, for me, a girl who gets fucked just about every day and still manipulates a little bit of “me” time to rub one down, I was astonished. I questioned her. She tells me she her man hasn’t had sex with her all week.

I laugh. “Honey,” I say, “you don’t need sex to have an orgasm…” This causes the conversation to take a bit of a turn. We start talking about masturbation. I end up telling her that I came thinking about her twice that very morning.

“Tell me about it,” she asks.

hehe. Okay.

I tell her how I thought about touching her, running my hands across her soft skin. About how I want to be buried between her legs, her hands wrapped up in my hair as I take her clit between my lips, my fingers dipping into her slit. How the sounds of her moans makes me wet.

I tell her how I want to be underneath her, her legs on either side of my face, my hands on her hips, forcing her to ride me harder and longer until she can’t handle it, until she cums in my mouth.

I ask her to get her rabbit.

She does.

I describe taking her nipples between my lips, playing and pulling with teeth and tongue. I tell her I want to make her cum this way, from nothing but nipple play. I tell her how I want to make her squirt. How I want to fuck her with every toy I own, until she can’t see straight.

I detail our bodies pressed together, naked and moist with sweat. My fingers buried in her pussy as I slid my leg between hers, making her ride me until she cums again, juices dripping down between us.

I tell her how I want to fuck her with a strap on. Feel her ass against my thighs as I bury myself in her wetness. How I’ll lean over her, teasing her clit with gentle touches while I slid in and out, making her clamp down on my “cock.” I tell her how right before she cums, I wrap my hand in her hair, pulling her head back, while I whisper dirty words into her ear. How I want to wrap my hand around her neck, holding her in place while I push her past her orgasm, forcing her to fall into it deeper, making her see stars.

She gets quiet. Tells me I’m amazing. Sends me a picture of her wet cunt, dripping with her juices, her fingers pulling her lips far apart so I can see it glistening across her skin.

Fuck.

She thanks me. “No thanks needed,” I say. Asks if she can return the favor. “Not tonight,” even though I’m soaked and throbbing.

It seems there is some sort of exaltation with giving someone pleasure. Some sort of high. Did I want to get off. Fuck yes. Did I want to fuck her. Yes, yes, yes. But I didn’t want her to do it, I could take care of it myself. I just wanted to bask in the afterglow of making her cum, of her pleasure, her breathlessness.

Shit, fuck, damn. There is something about making someone cum that I just can’t get over.

 

Forced Orgasms

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

 

Exxxotica 2009 . Day 2 486 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

I never thought I’d be into forced orgasms; hell, I cum all the time as it is, why force it? Well… after last night, I have become enlightened.

 

 

 

Sir and I were in bed, and we’d played, and we’d fucked, and we were playing some more. I’d already cum literally about 20 times and soaked two different areas of our bed. M took a break and went downstairs to the bathroom. Alone in our room, I reached over and picked up my Wand and my Cush. I know he loves to watch me masturbate, so I thought I’d be ready for him when he returned.

 

 

 

Starting with just the Hitachi on my clit, I was already on edge when he returned to bed. With a smile on his face, he settled down between my legs, giving himself a front row seat to watch as his hand fell to his own cock, stroking it as his eyes fell to my cunt.

 

 

 

Soon I’m panting and ask him if I can cum. With my Cush buried deep inside me, he grants permission and I’m cumming and squirting all over myself.

 

 

 

“Again.”

 

 

 

And I do it again, this time pulling the Cush out when I cum, allowing my juices to spill over my thighs. M moves up the bed towards me and places a blindfold over my eyes. I lay back, never taking the Hitachi from my clit. Soon, my orgasms are  raging through me and I’m cumming closer and closer together, getting lost in pleasure and the excitement of being watched.

 

 

 

“Roll over. On your knees.”

 

 

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

 

 

I roll and arrange myself, both arms reaching through my legs, one holding the wand, the other the dildo. My senses become more heightened, knowing now that I’m on full display for him, my legs spread wide, my lips stretched around the Cush , my clit out and swollen. I start cumming again, the fluid splashing down my thighs and arms.

 

 

 

The Cush is in and out of me so quickly, each orgasm coming quicker than the next. It gets to the point that as soon as I insert it, my spasms are pushing it back out again with another orgasm.

 

 

 

Soon, M takes over with the Cush, and I position myself so the Wand doesn’t  move, staying directly on my clit. M increases the thrusting, and now I’m squirting so hard, my juices are soaking his arms and chest, expelled at a rate I’ve never experienced.

 

 

 

My orgasms are now blending into one another and I find myself in a constant state of cumming, just a withering mess of nerves and spasms. Although I’m not really moving, my body is covered in sweat and I’m crying beneath the blindfold, overwhelmed with what is going on with my body and mind.

 

 

 

I think I’m begging him to stop, although I don’t safeword. Perhaps I’m not actually saying it out loud, the “Daddy, please, it’s enough, please” never leaving the space of my mind, incapable of forming words in my state of disgrace. I can’t catch my breath and my heart is racing, beating out of control as my body dispels fluid at a rate I can’t comprehend.

 

 

 

How long we are like this, I don’t know. By what I remember seeing on the clock, I’m thinking I was straight orgasming for over 30 minutes. When M pulls out the dildo and replaces it with his cock, my body collapses underneath him, still quivering from the never ending vibrations.

 

 

 

How long he fucks me, again, I don’t know. I know that I continue to cum, but with breathing space between the orgasms. When he pulls out and his cum coats my ass, I go limp beneath him, falling onto sheets that are so wet, they could literally be wrung out. Even with no stimulation, my body still convulses.

 

 

 

Later, after he hold the cup of water to my lips, we laugh at the bed. King size sheets that are literally dripping wet, too wet to sleep on, and not enough dry space anywhere to be found. He removes my new leather collar, and as he lays it beside me, I watch the moisture form into droplets that run down the length of it, evidence of the pleasure and strain that define this experience.

 

 

 

I now understand it, the draw of forced orgasms. I now know what it is like to experience ecstasy for lengthened periods of time. To be in a head space so intense, tears and sobs were the only thing capable of leaving my lips. I can’t necessarily say that I like it or that I don’t like it; the severity of the pleasure so agonizingly wonderful, that it was painful, in the same way that intense pain often leads to pleasure for those of us that walk that path.

 

 

 

Shit. Fuck. Damn.

 

 

 

Today, I am exhausted and dehydrated. And I’m a little sore, but who knows if that’s from this extreme event or the fisting that occurred an hour afterwards. But even with the two hours of sleep, the sweat and the cum, M says I’ve got a “glow” about me today…

 

 

 

*hugs and kisses* y’all. And keep on cumming.

 

 

 

Shame on Us, Ladies: 2013 Sex Survey

So my idea was to do a post on the iVillage 2013 Married Sex Survey but I seem to have gotten all distracted by this specific result and I wanna bitch about it. Don’t worry, I won’t be offended if you don’t read.

 

Here it is: 79% of married men think their partners are satisfied with their sex life, while only 61% of the woman reported being so. But wait, it’s not done. Only 55% of women think their partners are satisfied, when in reality 79% of the men are cool with their sex life.

 

Arrgghhh!! This makes me frustrated on so many levels. I’m going to try and organize my thoughts here, so please bear with me…

 

ABC News 2004 “The American Sex Survey” results on faking orgasm (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

• I guess I should just start at the beginning. Women, you need to speak the fuck up! Don’t let your man think it’s all good when it’s not. Don’t fake orgasms and don’t tell him it was fine when you really wanted something more. Obviously, we are not putting off the right vibes if the difference is 18 fucking percent! Even with a +/- 5 percent margin of error, this is still way too high. And yes, I understand that men sometimes don’t hear what we are saying. And yes, I know it’s sometimes hard to say what we want. But come on ladies, this is fucking ridiculous.
• And ladies, maybe you need to lower your standards a little bit. You husband/boyfriend/lover is not fucking Christian Grey. You want to know why? Because he doesn’t exist. And if you think he does, well honey, you’ve got a lot to learn. Men are not going to always know how to touch you and you’re not always going to see stars when you orgasm. Get in touch with the fact that good sex isn’t always earth-shattering and sometimes, as much as it sucks, you just might not get off. That’s life. That doesn’t mean your sex life is bad.
• And then, to make matters worse, we underestimate our guys’ enjoyment. Maybe it’s because we’re overly worried about our love handles. Maybe we think he didn’t moan enough when we were sucking his cock. Maybe we think because he doesn’t stare deep into my eyes after he cums, it just wasn’t that good. But girls, your wrong. Guys love sex, and if they keep coming back and wanting more sex, then chances are they enjoy sex with you. Too many of us don’t take the credit we deserve. Gain some confidence and fuck your man like you know he’s going to love it. Believe me, he will.
• But you might not be sure. You think you’re style sucks and you can’t deep throat and you don’t like to have anal sex until you’ve had a few bottles of wine. That’s okay. Really. Men don’t expect the world from us. I once heard a saying, years ago, that sex is kind of like dinner. Most nights, a normal meal is fine, but its also okay to run through the drive way once in awhile, and just as important, sometimes you need a fabulous 5 course gourmet meal. For real, girls, just look at the number. 79% of men are happy with their sex life. Nearly 25% more than we think. *sigh*

 

I think the where I’m getting stuck the most is that sex is enjoyable. I think guys get this. They know if feels good, they know its fun. Fuck, even bad sex is better than no sex. But us girls… We think too much. We analyze, we rationalize, we obsess over stupid little things. Don’t say you don’t because I’m sure you do. We all do. I do. And because we do this, we get caught up with little things that don’t really matter. And then we think about them. And then we worry about them. And then pretty soon we’ve created an ocean out of what was truly just a mud puddle to begin with.

 

But ladies, sex is fun. It’s enjoyable. Take it for what it is. If you both collapse, exhausted when it’s over, and there’s a smile on your face, then you know what? The sex was good. Be happy with it.

 

And a few bits of advice for the men out there, in case you’re still reading.

 

• Make sure you tell your girl, at least once in awhile, how good it was. And if dirty talk isn’t your thing, that’s fine. How about the morning after, while you’re moving around the kitchen, you come up behind her, wrap your arms around her waist, lean in and whisper into her ear, “That was great lovin’ last night.” Then give her a quick peck, and maybe a quick slap to the ass and move on with your morning.
• Listen. I know you think you do, but honestly sometimes you don’t. Sometimes we are going to speak in riddles, which truly does suck for you, but try to see what we’re saying. And if you’re not sure if you got it right, ask her. Ladies, if he asks, don’t become a smart ass and shoot off something snarky and sarcastic. It defeats the fucking purpose and it’s a bitch move.

 

Thank you, dear reader, for letting me indulge in my little rant. *hugs and kisses*

 

And remember, take it as it comes…

 

 

Self-Indulgent LSAM Stats History

So, I’m trying to get back into blogging, and it seems to be starting to flow again.

Eros Galicia – Sensual caricia (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s been awhile since I’ve actually been active here, posting erratically, not looking at new blogs, and, fuck, there is a good percentage of my blogroll that are completely inactive or not even there anymore.

In lieu of this, I have started to make some changes and upgrades here at LSAM. New WP theme, some new widgets, blah blah blah. I’m also working on updating my blogroll and redoing my categories and such, as being that they were decided upon at the beginning, they no longer seem appropriate. Or perhaps I’m trying to avoid working on a new novel. Regardless, the goal is to try and make LSAM a bit more user friendly (**sidenote: I use the phase “a bit” all the time: “I’ll be there in  a bit,” “Give me just a bit,” etc. And every single time I say or write it, the feel of a plastic rod between my lips and teeth comes to mind. Every single time.**).

This project has got me looking as things, and surprisingly (**I’m going to brag a little bit here so give my ego some leg room**), I am proud to say that I’m astonished at what has happened here at LSAM.

This past Friday marked 14 months of blogging for me. It was also the day that I crossed the 150,000 views threshold. Now, I used to be a stat whore, but I really don’t give a shit about that now (well, maybe just a little; after all what is a writer without a reader?), but I had a look around on my stats page, and this is what I found…

• This is post 181, sent to nearly 328 followers.
• November 15th, 2012 was my best hit day ever, with 962 views. 
• Making Her Squirt the First Time is my top hitting post, coming in with over 30,000 views.
• The Perfect Blow Job is next, with nearly 9,000, closely followed by  A Guide to Female Masturbation, Nipple Play and Fundamentals of Nipple Torture, and Swallow, It’s Good For You: Health Benefits of Semen, which google must be liking as it is moving up the ranks fairly quickly.
• I get the majority of my hits from google, but many of you throw hits my way, with Jake coming in first, followed by Molly and Hy.
• And it seems I send most people to My Sex Life With Lola, Confessions of Your Husband’s Mistress and Accidental Masturbator.
• The most commented on post is Random Rant: Imagining I’m a Man, which I was surprised by. I thought it would be I’m not a Feminist, which comes in third.
• For Most Liked post, we’ve got a threeway tie: Good Intentions, The Hike and The Struggle.
• And my favorites: A Rant on Being Hyper sexual, Thoughts on Girl-Girl Sex, and the best piece I think I’ve ever written, Enjoying a Blow job: A Female’s Perspective.
• And in case you didn’t catch it the first time around, check out this Kinky Walrus. It’s well worth it!

So, thank you all for my self-indulgence. And thank you for listening. And reading. And commenting.

And here is a new song I’m in love with… *hugs and kisses* y’all.

Rules and Obligations

English: Picture of User:Lady Byron wearing a BDSM-style collar (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As many of you may know, over the past four to five months, M has become my Sir. And while I’ve shared many of the ups and downs of us embracing our dynamic, as well as some of the fantastic sex, I haven’t really touched on any of the behind the scene things.

So today, that’s what I’ve decided to do, share with you, dear reader, the rules and obligations that are upheld in M and I’s bedroom…

• As common in many D/s relationships, when referencing M as Sir, either here, in email, letter or text, it must be capitalized. I’ve been trying to capitalize the pronouns that refer to him as well, but I struggle with this, simply because typing is automatic to me, and it’s hard for me to break 20+ years of muscle memory. But I’m working on it, that’s the point I guess.
• M is to be the only man I reference as Sir, unless it is an expected title in a formal situation, such as with a police officer or something. This came about after a conversation with a friend, who was scolding me for texting and driving at the same time. He was telling me that I shouldn’t do that and I jokingly said something along the lines of ”Yes, Sir, I will.” My friend, also aware of the dynamic between M and I, commented upon me calling him this, so that evening it was decided that M is to be my only Sir.
• When we are alone in our bedroom, after the children have gone to sleep, it is expected that I be in my panties. Depending on the shirt I’m wearing, it may or may not be able to stay on.
• It is expected that I sleep at M’s side with my head on his chest, curled around his body, unless I’m informed otherwise.
• A booty picture, either through email or text, every work day. Even those days when I don’t feel sexy, a picture is still expected. (“Toy, you are always sexy, whether you feel like it or not,” he says one day, come lunch time when I hadn’t sent him a picture. It made me blush.)
• And our newest rule, a poem written by me, to him, delivered by Wednesday to his inbox. This is a hard one for me, as poetry does not always flow from my hands the way prose does. No, sometimes it feels as though it must beripped from my mind and soul, syllable by syllable. But I do enjoy it, challenging myself, in a way bettering myself (okay, that might be a stretch) for my Sir. **This started after I completed a writing prompt, calling for a poem with a specific 7 words. M liked it so much, it has now become an expectation.** Here is yesterday’s poem…

Your voice saturates my thoughts

     until every word, every letter, revolves around you.

The sound in my ears

     tears down my walls,

     leaving me vulnerable,

     open to your discretion.

Your hands penetrate my body

     until every nerve, every cell, vibrates around you.

The feel on my skin

     breaks through my barriers,

     making me weep,

     longing for your consideration.

Your soul transfuses with mine

     until every thought, every moment, spirals around you.

The love in my heart

    swells through my body

    leaving me breathless,

    praying to be saturated by you,

    penetrated by you,

    transfused with you

    once again.

English: Her punishment will be his pleasure (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Those are my basic obligations to M, but here are a few other tidbits, for your reading pleasure.

• The belt is withheld for punishment, for rather severe misdeeds, as it is not my favorite instrument of pain, and I am rather fearful of it.
• For minor infractions, in our “outside the bedroom” life, I get a solid hand smack, against the skin (unless I’m wearing jeans or something that my bare ass is not easily accessible from), intended to cause pain, not pleasure. Although I must say that I often do find these enjoyable.
• I -normally- do not need to ask permission to cum *Thank you, Sir* as I am very orgasmic and often reach the point where orgasms are out of my control.
• M and I often discuss our dynamic outside of play time. We talk about what we’ve really enjoyed about specific sessions, things we want to try, etc.
• I’m spoiled. Absolutely 100%, a spoiled sub. I cum so much that my pussy is often sore in the morning and I feel dehydrated. M pampers me in the bedroom and makes me feel as though I am his goddess. He touches and caresses me, then fucks me, pulling my hair, pushing me, whispering dirty, nasty things in my ear (a sure way to spur me into an orgasm, btw). He will withhold his own release for hours on end, simply to fuck into an oblivion, where I become nothing more than an orgasmic quivering mass, whimpering, screaming, and crying into the pillows.
• Even through all this pleasure, there are times that I just want/need M to use me. I want him to forget my pleasure and use me as the cum slut I am. Fuck me, not for me, but solely for him, as his tool to get off. While he sometimes does this, I do wish it was more often. Because being used for his pleasure is one of the greatest things I know,  and perhaps one of the greatest gifts I can give him as his toy… As I am his, only his, and he claims me in this way.

And I’m sure I’ve played this song before, but I it’s one of my favorites, and fits this post well… This is the “official” video and has an intro, so give it a chance…

Good Intentions…

Masturbation Month (Photo credit: bjo_)

So, I’m trying, truly I am.  Every night this week, I’ve thought about sitting down at the computer and writing and posting.  But one thing leads to another, and when I’ve got to choose between blogging and sleep, well, sleep tends to win over.  But this morning, I had some great thoughts for a few posts.  And I got up shortly after M, and had a little morning lovin, had some coffee, and after M left for work, I had an hour to spare.  So I get the computer, and I go to bed, and sit down to write.

And then I see my wand laying beside the bed.  And my body instantly responds (damn conditioning).  And visions of last night blur through my mind.  M’s cock in my mouth.  His mouth against my smooth lips.  His cock, cumming inside me.  His hand, buried deep into my cunt.  Me, soaking the sheets and bed.

And then my hand, instead of wandering over the letters of the keyboard, wanders to between my legs, where I can still feel M’s cum from this morning’s sex, now mixed with the new wetness of my own, caused by the memories swimming in my head.  And there was no hope of writing what I planned to write, no matter how good my intentions were, my body was demanding release.

So instead of wordpress, it was youporn.  And instead of constants and vowels, it was “mmm” and “ohs.”  And thirty minutes and four orgasms later, I’m writing this, instead of the piece I was planning, because that is all time allows, before the duties of work demand my attention.

So, again, the intention was good, but the orgasms were even better…

Good Morning…

The unwoken (Photo credit: dhammza)

First, I must apologize before I get started here.  I’ve been über busy lately, with work and new projects and such.  If I could only find a way to stop time for only a bit…  Or find a decent coke dealer (just joking… sort of).  Anyway, it seems I’ve got quite a few writing projects going on, so I may not be around LSAM as much as I’d like, but alas, thus is life…  And, now, on with the show.

……………………………………

I’m not a morning person.  I don’t like getting out of bed, and often I’m whiny and bitchy about it.  When M gets up, I like to roll over into his spot and lay in the remnants of his body heat.  I like to curl around his pillow and breathe in his scent.  But I’m torn, as I love to spend early mornings with my Sir as well.  To get up, when the birds first start chirping, before the cacophony of children and work and life invade the peace.  To sit together on the back porch, and simply be, together.  Well, as much as I like that, I’m also a night owl, and get me on the computer or with a pen in my hand, and I’ll lose track of time and soon it’s early morning.  So, needless to say, getting me up is not always easy.

This morning was no different.  M got up with the alarm somewhere between 5 and 5:30.  He asked me if I was going to join him, and I mumbled some sort of affirmative response, although I was simply trying to get him to go downstairs and stop talking, so I could roll into his heat and curl back up under the cozy blanket.  And you know what, he did.  He started a pot of coffee, but soon, he came back upstairs.  I rolled over onto my belly, and my sweet dear M started to rub my back.  I’m sure I moaned my approval.

“LSAM, it’s time to get up.”

“But Daddy…  I don’t wanna get up…” as I buried my head in the pillow.

But my sweet man is persistent.  He continued to rub my back, and I soon relaxed under his ministrations, closed my eyes, and started to drift back to dreamland.  “No, no.  That a bad girl.  It’s time to get up.”

“But Daddy…”

And crack, his hand swiftly came down on my ass, firm, but not too hard.

“Mmm…” and I believe I arched up, making my ass a more prominent target for his hand.

“Did you like that?” M asked, now his hands on my ass instead of my back.

“Mmm-huh.”

And then M, the kind Sir that he is, slipped his hand down between my thighs and ran a finger along my slit and onto my clit.  In my sleepiness, my body responded quickly and within moments, I was cumming.

“Goodness, Sir…” I said, stretching, again pushing my ass in the air, back arched.  And this time, he plunges a finger (or maybe it was two) into me, and again, I’m cumming before I anticipate it.

Well, this led to a few more orgasms, causing me to whiter on the bed, panting and dripping.

“Roll over,” he orders, and I obey.  His knowing fingers push into me again, this time expertly finding my G-spot, as I edge closer to the side of the bed, where his hard cock is bobbing, eagerly waiting.  As I feel the next orgasm approaching, I wrap my hand around M’s cock, and guide it to my mouth.  As he thrusts deep between my lips, I feel the pressure building and soon I’m gushing around his fingers, no longer able to pay attention to him between my lips as he buries himself deep into the back of my throat.

Within a few minutes, M pulls out of my mouth, and I gaze up at him.  “Come here.”

And I move to the end of the bed, legs hanging off.

“Roll over.”

And I do, pulling my knees up beneath me and dropping my shoulders to the bed.  His hard cock is deep in my pussy with one thrust, and again, I’m cumming, juices dripping down from us and onto the sheets.  I arch up, lifting my head, and M’s hand finds its way to the middle of my back, between my shoulder blades and pushes me back down  to the mattress as his pace increases.

“Fuck, Sir,” the words slipping out of my mouth between ragged breaths, as my muscles clamp around him.

His hand leaves my back, and wraps around my hair, holding my head down, as he fucks me even harder.

“I’m cumming,” he says and I feel his cock pulsing inside me, moments before he pulls out, cum spilling across my ass.

“Well, good morning, Sir,” I say, as I roll over onto my back, stretching and smiling at my sexy husband.

“Good morning to you too, love,” he smiles down on me.  “Ready to get up?”

“I suppose so…”

What a beautiful morning to start a beautiful day…

A Rant on Squirting: Once it Starts, There’s No Stopping

I was rereading some of my old posts today, and I came across a comment by Little Miss (Hi dear), stating that she wanted to learn how NOT to squirt.  And, I remember thinking at the time, “What the fuck Little Miss?  Why would you not want to squirt?”

And, now don’t get me wrong.  I love to squirt.  I beg M, quite often, to make me squirt.  And once I’ve had a few squirting orgasms, they begin to erupt from me, with no end in sight.  Fuck, I soak the bed, through the sheets, on the mattress.  If my panties stay on, I can literally wring them out like a wet towel.  Not too long ago, during a rather intense night, I was squirting so much and so hard that both M’s chest and my tits were covered in my cum.  Once I’m out of control, just the touch of M’s tongue to my clit, or the penetration of one finger will have me erupting like Mt. Saint Helens.

And I wouldn’t give it up for the fucking world, but there are times when it’s not convinient.  Like the other night, M and I went for a walk at dusk.  We ended up in a local cemetery.  One thing leads to another and soon his hand is down my pants and his thick fingers are in my cunt.  He starts his manipulations, building me up for a gushing orgasm, and I say, “Sir, please just remember I have to walk home in these pants…”  And he laughs at me.  Or last week I met him on my lunch break, in the parking lot of Lowe’s.  We end up in the bed of his Semi, and there I squirt all over the place, and have to wear wet panties under my dress, concerned I reek of sex and cum for the rest of the day.

Again, I’m not complaining.  Not too long ago, I could only squirt once in a while (Thank you, as always, my dearest Hyacinthia), and after learning a few tricks (bear down ladies), I gained better control of these orgasms and leaned how to induce them, for lack of a better word.  But, silly me, thinking I had the control of these beautiful experiences.  Silly, silly me.  Because you know who has the fucking control of them?  Come on, I bet you can guess.  Yep, that’s right…  M.

And M, well, he doesn’t give a fuck if my panties are soaked.  He doesn’t give a fuck how wet the bed gets (fuck, I’m seriously considering buying rubber sheets to protect the mattress).  He doesn’t care that I don’t want to soak the seat in the van.  Because, what it comes down to is he wants me to.  Therefore I will.  Simple premise.  M wants.  M gets.  LSAM cums.  A lot.

And it fucking pisses me off.  I can make myself squirt.  But it takes a lot of orgasms and a lot of porn, a Hitachi wand, and quite a bit of time.  I can’t do it manually, no matter how hard I try.  But M, he can have me from talking about what dishwasher we are going to buy to cum running down my legs in under five minutes.  I guarantee it.  And, what makes me more angry than anything else.  There is nothing I can do to stop him.  Oh, I can fight it.  Try not to cum.  But the sensations become overwhelming.  I may try not to, but I can only take so much G-Spot stimulation, so much licking of my clit, before my raging orgasms overtakes my self-determination, leaving it standing in dust with cum dripping from it.

So, I guess my point in all this, is I have no fucking clue on how not to squirt.  Sometimes, I wish I did, just so I could be a brat and hold out my orgasms from M.  I don’t know why I would want to do this, but for some reason, it sounds like something I would want to do.  Because, perhaps, it gives me a bit of control.  Perhaps it’s because it’s my body, and I want it to listen to me.  Perhaps it’s because I become a blithering, panting, beast beneath his hands.  Who the fuck knows.

But, even as I write this, I’m shaking my head.  “You’re a little fucking liar, LSAM,” my self-talk says. ”Your orgasms belong to M.  They are his.  YOU are his.  And you wouldn’t have it any other way.”  And she’s right, you know.  But fuck, what I wouldn’t give to simply have a shred of self-control when it comes to M and his fingers and his tongue and his cock…  Shit.  Fuck.  Damn.

The Hike

Yesterday, for a multitude of reasons, M and I left all the children with my mother for the week.  Leaving them there was bitter-sweet, as they will be missed, but it is almost a mini vacation for us…  Upon returning to our displaced housing, we decided to go for a hike and I thought I would show M the waterfall that sits about a half mile or so back in the woods from my father’s place…

We hiked back, and I showed M this small piece of majestic landscape, although the lack of rain makes it more a trickle than the raging beast it normally is.  Moving back towards the top of the falls, we find ourselves talking of sex.  And it’s a shame that the folks are home, as we are childless at the moment…

We reach a little knoll near the top of the falls, that sits a good six to seven feet below the surrounding areas, and the one side is lined with what I refer to as “glacial rocks.”  It’s sweaty and humid, and M takes off his shirt, hanging it in a nearby tree.  I, jokingly at first, bend over one of these rocks, leaving my jean covered ass sticking out for his enjoyment, while he lights a cigarette to keep the bugs at bay.

I drop my jeans to my knees while he watches me, and assume my positioning again, black lace and satin panties shown off to him against the white of my thighs.  “That’s lovely,” M says, reaching for the camera in his pocket, brought along to snap photos of the falls.  He stands back a good 20 feet, taking pictures of me, bent over the rocks.  Moving closer, he continues snapping and I feel myself becoming wet…

“So lovely,” he says, this time reaching out to touch me.  “I hope you are getting excited,” his hand dipping between my legs, “because my cock’s already hard.”  He pulls back his right hand and slaps my ass, the sound echoing through the woods.  My hips begin to move on their own accord, pushing back against his exploring hand, as I lay my head on my arms, lowering my torso, arching my back, pushing my ass higher into the air, an offering to the man I love.

His hand slips into my panties, first to feel by bare lips, then to begin manipulating my sex, already wet for him.  My panties come down next, where they rest mid-thigh, inches above the jeans that keep me from spreading my legs as wide as I’d like.  “Christ, LSAM,” M says, running a hand down from my neck, along my spine, until he reaches my ass again, then another slap, this time on the other cheek, making them match with red handprints.  His fingers slip into my folds, and he can feel my wetness, ready for his cock.

Gripping my hips with both hands, M moves closer to me, and I edge forward, just a bit, raising myself up to line my pussy up for his cock.  He runs the head against my slit for a moment, while I push back against him, eager for him to fill me.  Suddenly, he pushes himself into my pussy, and a deep moan escapes my lips, as he begins thrusting into me, not wasting time on slow and gentle, but fucking me hard as soon as he is encompassed in my heat.

Within moments, I’m crying out with my first orgasm, hands clawing into the dirt around my head, looking for something to grasp on to as my pussy convulses around him.  M grips me harder, and increases the tempo of his thrusting, sending me into another state of bliss before the quakes from the first have subsided.  He slows, allowing me to grind my ass against him while my orgasm peaks, then dips, releasing his hands from my hips, and smacking my ass again, this time right where it meets the top of my thigh, my “sweet spot,” causing me to moan his name between my panting breaths.

Another orgasm or two, and I’m withering beneath him, unaware of the movements my body is making, clawing at the ground, and pushing back against him, not being able to control my body’s desires or verbalize my needs, the thoughts running through my head are simplistic, animalistic, full of nothing but needs and wants:  cum, cock, cunt.

M pulls out, and takes a step back, hitting me one more time, leaving a fresh, red imprint of his hand.  I turn my head slightly, to see what he’s doing, and I see him standing there, watching me, cock in hand, gently stroking himself, with my cum literally dripping from his cock onto the forest floor at our feet.

“Sir,” I say in a whisper, and before any other words can escape my lips, he is back, filling me, pounding into me.  He growls, and one hand moves to my ponytail, wrapping my hair in his hand, as he pushes my head down into the rock I am laying across, cool and hard against my sweat covered cheek.

“Fuck, Sir,” the words slip unknown from my lips, “I’m cumming again.”  He begins pounding my pussy even harder, my head moving back and forth across the rock with the strength of his thrusts.  His free hand is between my shoulders, pushing my torso hard against the rock beneath me, while he pulls my head up and back with the hand wrapped in my hair, forcing me to arch my back even more.  And here, held in this position, I cum again, my pussy squeezing against his cock, and a low sound spills from his lips as his thrusts increase.  He holds me there a moment longer, before releasing my hair, and I fall to the rock, breathing labored, arms and hands reaching for something to grab on to.  M again grabs my hips, this time moving my body against his thrusts, making his cock slam against my pussy with every movement.

I feel my orgasm start, and my cunt clenches against his cock.  “Sir, can I cum again,” I ask, pussy already dripping my juices.

“Yes, my little cum slut,” he responds, tempo building.  Another minute at this speed, cock and pussy both trembling, and I’m cumming again, this time with him.  Moments before his orgasm, his hand is back into my hair, this time pushing me down.  I cry out just moments before the words, “I’m cumming,” slip from M’s lips.  Another wave of hard, fast thrusts, and we begin to slow, his hand loosening in my hair, and gently running down my sweat covered back.

I turn my head, laying my other cheek against the cool rock, as M stills inside of me.

“Well that was fun,” he says after a moment, and we both chuckle, as he steps back, withdrawing from my pussy, a mixture of juices spilling down my legs and onto the foliage beneath me.  “Ah, and look,” he says, pulling out the camera again.  “Your ass is still beautifully red.”

I laugh, letting him snap a few more pictures, before I pull up my panties, then my jeans, as we begin our hike back home.

9 Weeks: Week 5

Ok…  So it’s been awhile since an update with the 9 weeks thing.  I think I’m bored with it.  I don’t

Fellatio (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

know.  But, as I started it, I figure I best finish it…  Maybe it’ll end up smoking hot, with sex that leaves me hanging, exhausted from the ceiling.  Well, let’s hope anyway!  Week 5 of 9 Weeks to Better Sex is called “Sex is more than…”  Let’s just jump right in…

Erotic Education

• Sex Without Intercourse:  Basically discusses that when most people say “sex,” they are discussing cock in cunt (which, btw, is one of my new favorite expressions.  Be prepared to see it often), penetrative, vaginal sex.  To me, sex is so much more.  Sex is sharing an orgasm, touching feeling, tasting.  Oral sex can be sex, but it doesn’t have to be.  Sometimes it’s just fucking.  Sometimes it’s just one way.  Anal sex is typically sex.  Mutual masturbation can be sex, especially when it’s all sweaty and touchy and sticky.  That’s when it’s my favorite!
• Also had articles on sex toys, oral sex, and anal play.  Pretty basic stuff, how tos, and what nots, etc…
• And fuck, they had this oral sex quiz, and I only got a 62%!  What the fuck!  But it wasn’t about the how to, more about random information.  Like, did you know that only 2-3 men out of 1000 can give themselves head?  I didn’t.  I guessed 2-3 out of 100…  I guess you’ve got to be pretty flexible and have quite a big cock to do it yourself, maybe I’m giving you guys out there more credit than you deserve!!

Getting Your Hands Dirty

• Sexual Touch:  A fun little adventure, where you touch your partner all over, but without sex as the goal…  Although, put a naked man under my hands for an hour, with a little bit of lotion and, let me tell you, there is going to be one hell of an orgasm by the time it’s said and done.  But it was interesting.  Taking the time to touch your partner, slowly, watching for their responses, finding new, hidden erogenous zones… Definitely worth the time to play.
• And then, this week as well were a couple more how to guides.  There is how to use sex toys, how to talk dirty, and how to have anal sex…  All there guides kind of relate back to the above mentioned articles as well.  Maybe they were bored during week 5 as well.  Who knows.  And while they presented decent reads, I didn’t learn a damn thing.  As a matter of fact, I think these posts are more interesting, if I do say so myself:  Talk Dirty and A Quick Rant on Anal.

And what’s to cum…  Week 6 looks exciting (but will probably take me another fucking month to get to, because M’s a little squeamish about fucking at my dad’s place.  I tried to explain that I’d done it there for years, but that only added to the difficulties of getting laid!).  Role plays, anal play on your man, a bit about Tantric sex…  Maybe that hanging from the ceiling sex will be coming my way soon!  Peace out ya’all.

And the song of the day…  Not my favorite LoA song, but it’ll do…

Lords of Acid