Feb 282011

My teenaged kids have a running joke about things I like. It goes like this: “Mom gets off on sparkly things, cute packaging, Jimmy John’s subs, high heels…” You get the idea. They just add things on as I express excitement about, admiration for, or the desire to own something. It’s an ever-growing and completely random list. They think they’re funny. Sometimes they are.

Every time I hear this joke, I think “OMG, they have no idea!!” What mom GETS OFF ON are things like…well yes, high heels, but even  more so when they’re pushed back over my head; I so get off on having my ass spanked. HARD. I’m into sex blogging & sex toy reviewing, looking at naughty Tumblr porn, and sometimes watching really, REALLY DIRTY hardcore porn…like girls-choking-on-cocks porn. I especially like this porn while I’m on my knees sucking/choking on Whitman’s cock (so in THAT case, HE’S watching really dirty hardcore porn. I’m just an accessory). I love being on my knees, and I love being an accessory, actually – just used as a sex object, a fucktoy, a hole or two (or three…).

I get off on him choking me, slapping me, sitting on my chest with his back to  me and forcing me to orgasm repeatedly with the Hitachi and a crazy attachment, or torturing my nipples. The list goes on and on…

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Seriously. They have NO. IDEA.

Feb 252011

I was at the gym today, doing girlie gym-things like cruising on the elliptical machine while listening to Eminem, when even over the music in my headphones I heard what sounded like a woman GIVING BIRTH. I looked in the mirror, and sure enough I could see the woman behind me working with a trainer. She was just GRUNTING and GROANING, and MOANING. She REALLY sounded like she was birthing. This was (not surprisingly) the same woman who I’d heard a few minutes earlier loudly whining and begging while running on the treadmill. (THAT incident made me want to laugh out loud, by the way…)

“Is she serious?” I thought. Why would someone do something so personal (or something that SOUNDS so personal) in public? I started thinking about the things I’d rather do in private that involve grunting, groaning and moaning, as well as whining and begging:

  1. Birth. Private.
  2. Embarrassing-noise-inducing exercise (girlie exercise doesn’t count. See above.)
    Definitely not in public.
  3. Sex. Sex noises. Embarrassing sex noises. I like to keep them to myself.

Public sex? Not me. Maybe this is part of the reason that (even though I REALLY DO live to please sexually) I’ve never really been that into group sex…because other people ARE THERE, watching and listening. I want to give myself over to the moment with complete abandon and not worry about who’s watching or who’s listening. My focus is on ONE PERSON. For the same reason, I’ve also never really thought the idea of sex at a swingers’ club would be that fun. I know Whitman wants to try it…he wants to try EVERYTHING, and I’m game to try EVERYTHING with him. Hmmmm…

I guess when the time comes, I’ll just have to BE QUIET.sex in progress

Feb 232011

So, “What’s up with this “naughty spot,” you ask?

If you have kids or were a kid, you surely know about ‘the naughty spot,’ or ‘the time out chair,’ or ‘the naughty step,’ or whatever you call it. (Whatever happened to the classic: “GO TO YOUR ROOM!?”)
Maybe you DON’T know about ‘time out’ – maybe your parents BEAT you. Hopefully not. Anyway, THIS blog is like THAT spot.TimeOutChairPic

It’s the naughty spot for a couple of naughty bloggers. We have SUCH a naughty, delicious, sexy, and juicy story to tell, and were doing a pretty nice job of telling it, I thought…but things sort of got derailed. And now, after all the drama-dust has settled, here we are, in the blogger equivalent of the time out spot, even though I’d REALLY prefer a good spanking.

Feb 212011

… I want to masturbate while you watch.

Feb 192011

Some years ago, I was a young(er) male, locked into a supposedly committed relationship. My company, like so many others, “offered” me a trip to Las Vegas to attend a trade show as part of a group of companies. So I heavily contemplated this for about the length of a single heartbeat and responded, “Yes it would be an honor to represent my fine company in Las Vegas for as long as is required.” I had never been.

A few weeks later, I find myself in a Las Vegas hotel room with 4 other men in the 25-35 age range. One is flying through the phone book calling each strip club with the same question, “Do you have full nude”? Over and Over. Eventually we settled on a club in the center of a very touristy area. Fortunately for the rest of us, one of the men was very religious and he turned down this adventure. This immediately made him in charge of all of our presence at the trade show the next day, should the evening last into the morning. That left me and three others to find the Sin in the City.

Now I had only ever been in a strip club once before, and that is a whole other story. I was a bit apprehensive about the whole thing. Not knowing what to do, what not to do, imagehow I’d react to semi-naked women wanting my money. That and the other men were more experienced in gentleman clubs and I hate looking like a fool.

As the four of us entered the club, I was immediately beckoned by a very thin blond who wiggled a few feet above me on the low stage. One of my compatriots said “Give her a dollar man,” which I pulled out of my wallet and held up, as if I expected her to grab her purse and put it in. She instead leaned forward and squeezed the bill between her breasts letting my hand feel her warm skin as she pulled back. I was home.

As we were all standing in the center of the bar, simultaneously admiring and wondering, a perfect-ten D-cup blond walked up to my friend and offered him a lap dance. He countered saying he wasn’t feeling well and thought he had a cold coming on. She spent the next ten minutes telling him he needed chicken soup and rest, all while topless, surrounded by our 8 leering eyes.

I was able to look away for a moment and saw this woman, (this girl?) approach me. She looked about 19, with long brown hair, deep eyes, lovely and perky B cups, all in a package that couldn’t have been more than 115 pounds. Her stage name was Cheyenne and this was her fourth day as an “adult dancer.” She started talking to me and before I knew it, I was sitting in a chair at the edge of the room while she waved her body before me, sliding up and down my chest and pants, letting me inhale her entire being. All in the space of 3 minutes and $20.

And that’s when things changed. She kept sitting with me. And we talked. There in the money seats. I wasn’t paying anymore. She wasn’t dancing. It was really, like a date. Except that she was topless and we were anything but alone. We talked though 3 or 4 songs before another girl commented that she better get back to a more income-producing mode.

During our conversation we somehow came upon the fact that I had never been to a certain burger chain restaurant only found in the West. So she offered to meet me for lunch at said restaurant, right off the strip the next day. Soon enough, my friends and I had either run out of money or tired of enduring non-stop erections that had no satisfying end in sight, despite the view, and the night ended. imageSo the next day, facing that ever present challenge of hope versus reality, three of us drove over to the restaurant. Not one of us really expected the stripper to meet the customer for lunch the next day. And there, in the restaurant, wearing a snug tank top and very short raggedy cutoffs, she stood, smiling as she saw me. I’m not sure how long it too my friends to pick their jaws up from the floor, but they left as she promised to take me anywhere I needed. Oh God, yes, please.

After lunch, we went to a small bar and had a drink or two. Okay, it was 2 pm or so but I was in Vegas, and she was a stripper. What would YOU have done??? We left the bar and she asked me to drive her car. I had asked her what her real name was, and she told me it was Mona Lisa. And I’m thinking, “This girl has two stage names and no real name.”  At which point she picked up a letter from the floor her car, addressed, yes, to Mona Lisa. Last name withheld because no way I can remember what it was anyway.

While I was driving, she offered me a bag of Cinnamon Red Hots, those tiny bright red spicy candies. She held the bag in her lap and I reached over to take a few. Due to either my imagesubconscious desire, or her intentional desire, I clumsily let a large pile of Red Hots fall from my hand, and right Into her crotch! I looked at her, and she looked at me, and said, “Go ahead.” So my hand was soon digging past the spicy candy for a far better treat. With a stoplight, my mouth went down too. Soon her pants were at her ankles as I drove her car and brought her to orgasm with my wet fingers.

Here I made a crucial mistake. I asked her to show me her breasts, since “you do that all the time now at the club.” In that instant I immediately went from ‘fun sexy guy I like hanging out with and will probably fuck,’ to ‘slimy guy from the strip club.’

She dropped me off back at the conference center, where I met the challenge of “No you didn’t!” with “Oh, yeah? Smell my fingers!” At least, for a while, I had found the Mona Lisa in Las Vegas.

Feb 192011

We were snuggled up in my bed, on the verge of sleep. It had been a long and exciting weekend of traveling, eating, drinking, and sexy sex, and we were totally exhausted, physically, emotionally, and sexually. Finally, we were comfy and relaxed in the dark after a bottle of wine. I was on my back, and he was on his side, with his arm across my chest. “I sort of feel like masturbating,” I said. “Mmmmm, go ahead if you want, I don’t mind,” he mumbled through sleepy eyes and lips.  I was gently touching myself with two fingers, just enjoying the feel of skin-on-skin. After hours of car travel wearing blue jeans, the touch of my fingertips on my lips felt like the sweetest caress ever. His breathing grew heavy near my ear, but not from desire. It was heavy with sleep. He was almost snoring, but not quite, and somehow the sound made me INCREDIBLY HOT!

Within a few seconds, I was feeling the need…the need to cum, not just to tease my lips. As I started rubbing my clit faster and harder, his breathing was heavy, but as I got close to climax, he stirred. He DIDN’T WAKE, but his breathing became more regular, and his hand that was gently resting on my far shoulder began to move, ever so slightly. His hand moved to my throat.  He squeezed my whole neck slightly, then adjusted his hand to get a better grip on my trachea. I could still breathe, but DEFINITELY knew there was a grip on my airway. I came, breathing heavily, shuddering, whimpering, spasming. His hand relaxed. I wanted it again. I revved up the stroking again. And  once again, his hand clamped down on my neck. The fact that even in his sleep, he could reach out and control my breathing, that he could know what I needed even then…??
How could he??!! It didn’t matter, it made me cum even harder.
How could he?? Because I’m his.

Feb 192011

I swear today was National “Get In An Argument” day. I argued with everyone I know, and everyone I know argued with someone else. What the hell?

I’d rather be fucking.

Feb 192011

Fuck me, now, and often, please.

Feb 012011

This is our inaugural post. We will spend some time adjusting and tuning this blog to our particular desires.

Posting will start soon.

WE can’t wait. Hope you can’t either!