Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Room 3.

Our intent to find a rustic cabin in the Poconos for the night wasn't to be. Settling ourselves for a motel, we found listings for a lakefront site that sounded particularly appealing. Ski season still being two weeks away, we were pleased to find that Lake Harmony was quiet yet full of anticipation, and after a pleasurable dinner at Shenanigan's, we found ourselves laughing with the somewhat drunken keeper to the Harmony Lake Shore Inn. We checked in, then off we were for drinks and dessert at Nick's Lake House before settling back to our room.

There are times when the ambience of a motel just hits the spot. Provided the place is clean, there's something pleasurable about an old, or even seedy, atmosphere that adds to the sexual tension much the same way a forbidden kiss does. Maybe its the sense of availability, or the instant gratification it seems to offer, or the undercurrent of tawdriness. Motels can be slutty, whorish, flagrantly sexual places. One can't enter a small room with its uniform sheets and wonder how many sexual escapades have taken place, how many involved money, how many involved young lovers hot for one another, how many involved inebriated adults who decided to toss the better angels of their nature aside for a night of sheer, naked fun.

Our kisses began lovingly, the softness of our caresses contrasting with our urgency. We stripped one another slowly as we warmed ourselves under the sheets. We held one another, squeezed one another, our hands upon our asses as we lay side by side in our embrace.

"How would you feel about... spanking me?" she asked, the grin clear in her voice.

And that's how a possible night of tender vanilla lovemaking radically shifted into one of the most vigourous spankings she's received from me yet. My arm coiled itself around her as she half-lay beside me, and I slowly pulled her closer until she was upon my lap as I sat on the bed. She gripped the sheet and arched her naked bottom for me. With my right arm cradling her hips, I couldn't see her head, but knew for a fact that as she stared at the headboard before her, she was silently preparing herself for a resounding spanking.

We had the entire motel to ourselves. No other guests had any other room. I had no need to worry about noise. Not that I would have anyway.

Her bottom was delightfully warm, and as the faint light cast shadows upon her seam, I marvelled at how well sculpted she looked at the angle of having her over my lap. I caressed her bottom, teasing the seam, darting a fingertip across her rosebud from time to time as I started to slap. My hand, cupped to grasp her as I landed my smacks, squeezed her lovely ass gently as each stroke was finished. I could have easily gone on like this for hours, but the knowledge that no one could possibly hear her at all encouraged me to be all the more delightfully savage.

And that's when my hand began to rain down upon her wanton flesh, upon her lovely ass, this ass to this woman who had so endearingly requested this treatment with that hint of seductive playfulness to her voice. My Grrl is such a slut when it suits her, and when it does it always suits me as well.

Soon, her delicious ass was red and tender, so much so that even the slightest touch sent her shivering. I alternated my strikes with teasings at her wet clit, and it wasn't long before her first orgasm overtook her. I marveled at how her flesh took my strokes, how her bottom cheeks moved in tight waves with each smack, and how her cloying heat burned my fingertips. In a moment of readjusting ourselves, her hands found their way to my cock and balls.

"I love how hard you get when you spank me," she said. At that, I turned her face toward me so as to kiss her, my hand gripping the short hairs at the back of her head, but she moved further to take my cock deeply into her slutty mouth. Bobbing her head, she sucked me expertly, her lips tight and wet around my girth. Soon she was stroking me with her fist as she suckled and bobbed, and I could feel myself thicken even more. I love having my cock sucked, but I was impatient to fully have my way with this wanton wench of mine.

Grasping her hair again, I savagely spun her around until her feet were upon the floor and she remained bent over the bed. A few more smacks upon her tender ass, a second grip of her hair, a guiding hand at her pelvis to tilt her just so, and soon I was parting her drenched folds with my angry cock. She felt so good, and she gasped even better as she felt me decidedly take her, use her, own her. I yanked her head backward and bit at her ear. I fucked her harder, and soon I pushed both of my fists over her shoulders and into the bed as I focused on driving my cock as deeply into her as I could. By the time my hands were holding her hips and tugging her ass against me in quick smacking successions, she was telling me that she wanted my cum inside her. I gave her what she wished as my grip returned to her head of hair and my chest pressed against her back.

We gasped together as she took me. I kept thrusting as the waves overcame me, feeling myself widen and explode with release. I love how she moans when she feels my scalding cum.

We held each other and enjoyed the night.

Friday, November 18, 2005

An epitaph for Heidi.

The Fates have an interesting way of interweaving places, experiences, and time. Lately, I've found myself driving in various areas of the Annex where, seven years ago, my life and world were very different. This, plus recent unrelated discussions with some of my friends, have been reminding me of Heidi.

While not my first long-term real-relationship partner, Heidi did become my first and yet-only wife, if only for a few years. There was a time when she meant the world to me.

I met her when I was first visiting Canada to conduct some workshops and lectures. She came to me, starry-eyed, to show me some related projects she was working on and asking for my perspective. She would later tell me that throughout my lecture, she was constantly checking out the outline of my cock and balls as she sat on the floor of the crowded room. She was involved with another man at the time, but soon she told me that that had ended, and soon after that, we were exchanging hot and tawdry emails and long, latenight sessions of phonesex. I would read erotic fiction to her. Soon, she visited me in New York.

At the time, Heidi could be best described as having a classical bodytype. She was tall with broad shoulders. Once a contender for the Canadian Olympic swimming team, she retained her strong thighs and legs that permitted her larger bottom to stay rounded and firm. Her body was almost squarish, and when she was at her peak physical shape, she easily reminded me of a Roman statue of Juno, or of Gérôme's Galatea.

After picking her up at the airport, the sexual tension in my car was deliciously palpable as we drove along the Belt Parkway. Our first time together was at a swanky New York hotel near the Metropolitan Opera House. The room was ridiculously small, but we laughed about it as we greeted each other, nude for the first time together, in the shower.

I should have heeded the Fates' warning when, in the hotel lobby, I clumsily dropped and shattered the bottle of the wine I had saved for the occasion. I also remember that the sex wasn't quite was I had hoped it would be, although I have a nice memory of her casually sucking my cock as I reclined in the overstuffed chair next to the bed.

The sex seemed to get better after I started to visit her in Toronto, and one afternoon of having her bent over the dining table remains a nice memory. The table shook uncontrollably as I took her from behind, grasping her strong hips and pounding myself into her as she clutched, scratched, and screamed over the table. Evenings on the livingroom futon in that tight, narrow house with its unfinished wooden flooring were also fun. Eventually I took the plunge and moved north. This is how I came to Canada.

I was the first, and perhaps to date the only, man to take her ass. A lot of patience, gentility, and attention was given her over several weeks, and since she was already enjoying stimulation at her rosebud, I rightly suspected that she harbored fantasies of being fucked in her swimmer's ass anyway. I still remember how and when she was overcome with the change in sensation, when her sense of cautious acceptance at feeling cock in her tunnel shifted into a sudden wave of wanton craving for it. She was gasping at the time, clenching her fists, when at once particular slow-but-firm thrust she went over the edge of discomfort into ecstacy. She howled about how incredible it felt for her at that moment, her voice full of surprise. For days after, she was sexual putty in my hands, eager to re-experience my thick cock taking her that way. She was like a puppy who wanted more of a new toy. It was fun.

We moved from Toronto to a suburb. Bigger house, chance for a better life, lovely things like jacuzzi and inground pool. We got married: my first and her third. Yet another warning from the Fates that I foolishly left unheeded. Things degenerated from there.

It had been years since I had good opportunity to engage in bdsm play with a partner, and Heidi had expressed enough desire in it that I felt I hit the jackpot with her. After long discussions about desires and limits and experiences, I quickly learned that our interests weren't terribly compatible in this spectrum of our sexuality. She enjoyed spankings, and we did this often enough, but most other activities simply brought up enough other alarm bells inside her that I simply couldn't see myself pursuing more advanced play of any kind. I accepted this, tried to be good, giving and game, and as a result I shelved my bdsm self for a long, long time.

We experimented with polyamory; I was the one with more experience in it, and she expressed eager interest. On two, otherwise tender and enjoyable occasions, we did some limited group play with two other couples who were friends of ours. With both Phoenix and her husband, and Kelly and her partner, we enjoyed evenings of sensual games and oral. I regret to say it, but neither Phoenix nor Kelly seemed expecially talented, although I remember having a great time with these evenings overall. Sometimes just the pleasure of being in a sensual, shared space can be enough for me to have some fun.

Soon, however, it became apparent to me that for Heidi, polyamory was just a means to legitmizing an end that she already had designs for. As our relationship degenerated over a year or two, the sexuality became dangerously pathetic. I kept my patience because I was committed to making the marriage work... it was, after all, my first and after many years of me telling myself that I would never likely marry until I felt absolutely ready for it. But I was using a squirtgun on a burning house.

Events and experiences made it clear to me that, as a lover, as a sexual being, Heidi's primary fetish was illicitness. Not content with 'mere' fantasy play, I eventually learned that Heidi's sexuality fundamentally depended on her consciously pursuing activities that, in some way, could only be best described as inappropriate while in a healthy relationship, regardless of how open or adventurous.

Like most couples, we had certain fundamental rules to our "polyamory", such as it was. Most of them were reasonable conditions that she herself insisted upon, such as not taking a secondary lover into our bed, effective communication with each other when we were potentially interested in someone else, and not doing anything with anyone else while our own relationship might be having trouble.

And then I learned that she had not once, but twice, brought a mutual male friend of ours into our bed, without any prior discussion with me, during periods when we were having problems. I learned that Heidi made sexual boundaries to restrict and control her primary partners, not to maintain healthy dynamics in a relationship.

Not long after, I learned how she had always done this sort of thing in every relationship she had had. I learned that her relationship with the man she was with before me was not over when she and I met, and that this poor man had discovered our tawdry emails on her computer and was crushed by them, that when she visited me in New York she had lied to him to say she was visiting a female friend. I learned that she had done virtually the same thing with the man she was with before this man, and on and on throughout her sexual history.

I learned that she was sexually pursuing a man while we were allegedly working on our marriage, and not the one she had already taken to our bed. This person was, and remains, in a federal prison, convicted of murder and drug trafficking, and supposedly was part of a support program we both were involved with at the time. Prior to our divorce, she acquired conjugal-visitation privileges, and on several occasions had trailer visits with him.

They say that conjugal trailer sex with a convict is not unheard of as a sexual fantasy for some women, and that supposedly the sex can be pretty intense, given the character and living conditions of the man. I'm confident that she had a blissful time, if only because I've experienced her passion when she was knowingly lying to one man and enjoying her illicitness fetish with another. I suppose, had it not been myself who had been played the fool of by my then-wife, I'd think it was pretty goddamn hot. Especially when, later, I heard stories at how he had passed her around among his buddies. Yeah, it an entirely different context, I'd agree that it's hot. But, hey.

After our separation, that her sexuality was founded on illicitness was further demonstrated to me during a phone conversation were were having. She was missing me, she told me, and that if I wanted, I could come over and fuck her... if I had fifty dollars.

I didn't go.

This post isn't about the failed love that was there, or at least that I seem to have thought was there. This is simply about the sex because this journal is about sex. As a lover, Heidi was passionate and zealous and experimental, but only so long as she felt she was maintaining a level of deceptive control and consciously lying to her partner at the time. Heidi is the ideal lover for a man who doesn't care about anyone, including himself, and I'm certain that many men in the world would leap at the chance to be with someone like her. As a sexual partner, as a sexually ethical being, Heidi is a complete failure, and in any context other than illicitness, her sexual prowess is limited at best. Fun to be with for an evening maybe, fun to objectify as a fantasy persona if one were so inclined, but completely toxic and damaging to any self-respecting safe, sane, and consensual person. I'm confident that she has personality disorder.

Sometimes I think about her, and I wonder how she'll manage when what sexual prowess she has finally eludes her entirely. The better angels of my nature want to hope the best for her, but the deeper truth is that I'm so much happier without her now and sex is so much better these days.

Sunday, November 13, 2005

Her goodnight kisses.

I had had an absolutely brutal, 16-hour day at work. She greets me as I come in, and immediately I feel the tension start to drift as her arm coils around me. Her kisses are lovely, and soon I'm relaxed enough to attempt some sleep. I tell her that should she come with me and bring her nude self with her, I wouldn't mind it at all.

She undresses before me, nonchalantly, as I pet the cat. We slither under the covers together. Embracing me, she's twisted herself so that my hand is happily upon her delightful bottom and she's facing me, kissing me more. She's caressing my ass and strong thighs, and I groan into her when her fingertips teasingly dart near my own rosebud. Her breasts are against my ribs, and it isn't long before she's caressing me along my legs and chest. Our kisses become more passionate, and soon she's making that soft noise she makes when she's hungering to have her breasts in my hands. She moves to her back.

We're moving slowly, sensually, and I'm throughly enjoying how she feels in my hand. She shakes a little as I gently pass my fingers across her nipple, cupping her, and brushing the nipple again. Her hand has moved from my chest to my balls, and she's groaning quietly as she cups me. My cock is straining against the sheets as she lays me back. She wraps her warm hand around my girth, her kiss becomes firmer as she feels me, and she begins to stroke my gently.

"I love to hold your cock," she whispers in the dark.

Cupping my balls again, she's sliding a firm finger between each nugget, enjoying how full I feel. Her hand is warm, and I'm completely enjoying how intimate this is, how sensual it is, to have my full sac encapsulated with her palm and fingers. She starts alternating between my balls and my shaft, and soon she's stroking me in earnest. Her hand is firm and smooth, and I'm enjoying the tease... what I'm wanting now is to have her lower her head and slurp me into her wanton mouth, but she's intent on doing this. As her strokes liven up, she's whispering into my ear about how good my cock feels in her hand.

When she cups my balls again, I reach downward and grasp the head of my cock myself. She's squirming against me now, telling me that she enjoys knowing and feeling me do this in tandem with her. Knowing that she's enjoying this turns me on all the more. That, with the primal urge to feel her mouth still ringing in the back of my head, with her rapid strokes as she jacks me openly now, is just about enough for me to feel the broiling in my abdomen. I'm tensing, arching my back, and she's moaning quietly into my ear as she rests her head on my shoulder. She knows that she's going to make me cum, and when I do, when the thick ropes of me burst from my widening head, she's gasping. Her fingers get drenched, and her strokes are even better with her hand completely wet with me. I burst some more, and she's running her thumb across the head to feel each one.

She slows her strokes as I lay, spent, my body throbbing. She tastes me. I hear her tongue on her fingers, her swallowing me. She tells me how she enjoys my cum and we hold one another in the dark.

Friday, November 4, 2005

Half-hitches down her arms.

Our lives become so busy, sometimes it feels like forever between moments of walking on the street together, arms entwined around our backs. It felt good to be together.

We had already shopped for lingerie for her, where she teased me with views of her breasts while comparing various elegant tops. A sumptuous a la carte dinner of oysters, sliced pork in brandied white sauce with sangria, and completed with banana crepes with chocolate and ice cream followed. At home, small glasses of Frangelico awaited us, along with my collection of rope.

She changed when we got home, and reappeared in her lovely striped black teddy with gloves, fishnets, and her high, hard leather boots featuring an endless ladder of silver hooks. I mused how perfect her ensemble was for when we visit the New York clubs during our coming vacation. I mused how perfect her delightful ass looked as the teddy draped her skin.

We began playfully, me smirking as I experimented with various ways to bind her wrists. The white ropes looked striking against her gloves, and it wasn't long before I knew her leather boots would looked even more so after her ankles would be bound. Bringing a wooden chair into our playspace, she mewled her disapproval for placing her virtually bare bottom against the hard, cold wood. I was unconcerned, and knew that discomfort would soon be greatly overshadowed for her.

After securing her ankles with coils finished with square knots, I brought her arms downward and against the frame of the chair, her palms inward and almost under its seat. Half-hitches down the lengths of her arms secured her in place as she spoke of how much fun she was having. The knots looked delicious against her skin. I blindfolded her.

She gasped tenderly as she felt my kisses on her shoulders, the nape of her neck, her face. My tiny bites and soft whispers had her shaking. Her legs had parted and I learned that no panties could be found under her teddy, and saw the clear and moist evidence testifying to how much fun she was having. Her inner thighs were wet, either sides of her legs connected by spiderwebs of glistening juice. She shot her head backward and sucked a lungful of air when my fingers began to softly explore her tender, reddening pussy.

Repeated knots in the center of another length of silky rope made for a perfectly enjoyable gag, but when I first moistened the center knot with her juice and slipped the knot into her mouth, it was just that much more fun. In this condition, bound in the chair and tasting her own arousal while being deprived of sight, her hearing assailed by the strains of the Berlin Philharmonic, she was now my toy.

She received my caresses, my kisses, still. She received my nails gently scratching across the top of her chest, and downward as I cupped and stroked and pinched her breasts. Bites on her earlobes. The occasional dribble of Frangelico on the knot in her mouth, or slowly dribbling on her skin. My hands grasping and smacking her thighs. Her teddy being tugged from her bottom as she sat in the chair, the material set aside and draped into the chair frame in such a way that I could enjoy teasing the soft seam of her ass with my fingers. A fourth length of rope coiled around her breasts, held in place with her own teeth. The wooden clamps at the edges of her breasts. The tiniest, cute marks they left when removed. Her squirmings. Her yielding. Her shaken spasms when I deigned to flick a gentle fingertip across her engorged clit. How puffy her labia had become for me.

My leather slapper, loud and insistent when meeting naked flesh, teased her drenched inner thighs into opening ever wider. Her leather boots creaked against the ropes securing them. Her folds opened like an orchid, and they widened even more after experiencing the slapper's kisses upon them. Her juices drenched the black leather, and I smirked as I dried my tool by brushing it against her face. She had been brought to the edge and pushed away from it several times by now, and was desperate to have a release.

You need permission, she was told. Her impertinence, normally a natural and endearing trait in her, lasted very, very briefly as she tried to remain silent. But her orgasm was at stake, and she knew it, although she hasn't yet discovered the full extent of my wrath when pushed by too much impertinence.

Slowly, she began to ask for permission to cum, but forgot something most necessary. Repeating her words back to her, she received a sound smack on her thigh from the slapper with each word that came from my mouth.

"May. I. Please. Cum," I repeated to her, adding with a final and firmer smack, "What?" Her breathed deeply, embracing another important step in her submission. She finished the request properly.

"Sir," she whimpered. "May I please cum, Sir?"

Rewarded with a kiss, I then pressed the slapper against her folds, swirling it slowly, alternating with gentle and rapid smacks, until she quickly began straining against her bonds and shaking uncontrollably. I held her head to my chest as I stood beside her, feeling her gasps against my skin, continuing to use the slapper on her flesh until she was spent.

A repast. I remove the gag, and bring the crystalware to her lips and give her a generous mouthful of Frangelico. She swallows gratefully. I increase the volume for the Philharmonic, adjust her bonds so that she kneels on the chair now, and toss the teddy's material over her spine to reveal her ass in its sensual completeness. For my own entertainment, I proceed to spank her firmly, patting and caressing her between rounds of echoing slaps. She's moaning now, and her juices have soaked her legs. Her rosebud is crinkling as she yelps.

The slapper against her ass echoes even louder, and her skin is reddening. By the time I move to the small wooden paddle, she's about as tender as she's experienced yet, and even the slightest smack has her quivering. My toy is ready for me to finish our little game.

By now, her boots must be straining her ankles, so they're removed as are their bonds. I replace the ropes with a handsomely thick set of leather restraints that will snugly and comfortably keeps her ankles close together. I untie her arms from the chair, and reaching for the decorative chain around her neck, set her on her knees on the pillow on the floor. The blindfold is still on. She knows the pillow rests right before my seat. I am certain that her instinct has clued in her in to what will be coming next.

Grasping the chain, I sit down and relax, tugging her gently and silently downward. My tip of my hard cock brushes against her face, and I'm reaching for my own crystalware and sipping liqueur as her licking moves on to hungry, sloppy, wet sucking. Her mouth engulfs me, and she whimpers as I urge her on with softspoken commands to service me. Her gloved hand is holding my sac and pumping me as she fills her mouth with my thickness and swabs me with her saliva. Her enthusiasm shows me how much fun she's had thus far, and how deeply her need to submit rests in her otherwise sarcastic soul. I'm feeling the back of her throat as she bobs her head, her lips tightening around me, her tongue coiling around the head as she sucks. I enjoy my drink, the strains of the contralto and bass as the opera proceeds, and I enjoy the wet, naughty slurping that my lover is making between my legs. I'm caressing her head, spiraling strands of her short hair between my fingers as I feel my abdomen tighten, and she knows that I'm about to cum. When I do, I hear the metal clasps to her ankle restraints, her muffled moans, her suckling, and feel her accepting my essence with passion.

She continues nursing on me for a while, and soon her head is in my lap. We caress. I tell her how I love her. She tells me how she loves me, and how she enjoys how I taste. The Berlin Philharmonic concludes the allegro.