Women of the dorm.

Sunday comics.

Sunday comics.

Dress code.

"If you're going to be teaching me about how you like your cock sucked," Kara recently said to me, grinning, kneeling, her mouth still puffy and wet from sliding on my dick as I hoarsely whispered instructions down to her, "then maybe I need a schoolgirl uniform."

The thought hardened me more and had me thrusting deeper into her mouth, feeling her widening lips closer to the base of me as my fingers tugged the back of her shorthaired head. Kara, the high school teacher in a schoolgirl uniform. Just the idea made me laugh from deep in my belly, definitely causing my cock to twitch and swell even more in her sensual, soft, wet, suckling mouth.

While cosplay as a hobby is far more sophisticated and imaginative than its psychosexual dimensions alone, when it comes to fetish play, French maid, cheerleader, and schoolgirl uniforms are so de rigueur to dominance fantasy that one can easily find cheap imitations of these costumes at any party supply store during the Halloween season. And how interesting it is that it is these costumes which are so easily obtainable from non-fetish-specific retailers, packaged and promoted virtually for the power-exchange vibe that people have instilled in them.

Schoolgirl uniforms are totally hot. Both they and French maid uniforms share a sensual undertone that bespeaks submission, obedience, compliance. But unlike the maid, the schoolgirl adds training and corrupted innocence to its vibe, which may also explain its prevalence in spanking and other corporal discipline related fantasies.

And God knows I love corrupting innocence.

I love to bend my pet over, slowly hike up her tartan, and reveal a crisp pair of white panties tightly framing the pert and vulnerable target of my attention. It's a unique, elegant, powerful moment to gradually bare your pet's delectable ass, drawing out the energy and the anticipation and the consensual shame and the frail sense of exposure to inspection and scrutiny before the raining of wrath. Mmm.

Here. I'll say that again. "To gradually bare your pet's delectable ass, drawing out the energy and the anticipation and the consensual shame and the frail sense of exposure to inspection and scrutiny before the raining of wrath."

Aaah. Thank you. Detention, anyone?

Shayne looked adorably cute in the uniform that her training began in with me. Diva, my first partner whom I introduced to kink, had later fashioned one for herself after we parted.

And now, as she bobbed her gorgeous head below me, here was my amazing Kara softly moaning around my girth and picturing herself in wool tartan, bright white shirt, smart little tie.

Someone's been reading the blog, thought I to myself. Someone smart who's learning what Daddy likes. Good grrl.

So imagine the small wince on my face when, over my tea, I read in today's paper how my local Catholic District School Boards are seriously considering shifting from tartans (skirts) to pants. It seems that the sassy li'l ladies, the real schoolgirls, have this habit of hiking their skirts so high to the thigh that "disproportionate amounts of time is being spent addressing the issue with students." Fifteen centimetres above the middle of the kneecap is the rule.

Why, those little hussies.

Some parochial schools have already changed uniform policy to pants, and others have adopted a so-called "x-kilt," which features bullt-in shorts under the regulation length. I wrinkled my nose at these when kinky, supportive, incredibly generous and understanding me purchased Shayne's.

Nice to know that some parents and students are aghast at this dire turn of unfashionable events, however. Tartans may be declining in sales and not as "in line with Catholic traditions and values" as pants (an historically debatable point) according to local retailers, but that's certainly not going to stop the students from desiring cooler clothing in summer, or the parents from wanting to perpetuate a charming life niche many of them remember from their own days at school.

Or prevent safe, sane, consensual kinksters like me from enjoying adult playmates in charming attire as we bare their wanton bottoms for palm, cane, lash, or throbbing, lubed-up cock.

Yes, Kara, you'll get what you want. I will dress you in a cotton shirt with emblems and stitching over the pocket, a handsome matching tie that I will use to bring you to your bare knees and bobbysocks. You will feel the sway of coloured wool around your tiny waist as we stroll through the crowd at the playparty, and you will feel this same as you find yourself bent over a table, swallowing hard as my strong hands hold your hips. Cool air will breeze across the back of your upper thighs... far, far higher than fifteen centimetres from the middle of your knee... as your exquisite, pert, round, firm and lovely ass gets revealed by the slow raising of it. Bare, or framed in panties, I will enjoy your bum as your man should. I will spank you. I will fuck you hard and deep.

Both the nature of your garments and the ways you are taken will have you understanding more of the deliciously submissive parts of you, and you will know how tenderly, how assuredly you are Mine.

Meanie.

I'm waking up, nude, enjoying some organic chai tea and catching up on Twitter. I run into my sassy sexblogging colleague, the Collared Coed. Some of you may remember how she received caning discipline upon her tender, submissive ass in support of a charitable cause. Such excellent servitude.

collaredcoed i'm not submissive because i'm Asian. i'm an Asian girl who happens to be submissive.

UrbanRoguery What is it with me and schoolteachers now?

UrbanRoguery @collaredcoed And we love you for it. Now get back on your knees, wench.

collaredcoed i'm mad because i read a comment on a BDSM blog that says "i think all Oriental women have to be submissive." who even says ORIENTAL anymore?

collaredcoed @UrbanRoguery are your extracurricular activities getting you into trouble?

UrbanRoguery @collaredcoed Silly frosh. I'm the one who makes the trouble. Now bend over my desk while I select a cane.

collaredcoed @UrbanRoguery straight to the cane?! i don't get the wooden paddle first? you're a meanie! -pouts-

UrbanRoguery @collaredcoed My, you're an impetuous one. I said I was -selecting- a cane. And you had best look to the floor when you speak, if at all. Now strip.

I'm lovin' it.

The scene:
A trio of uniformed, brunette schoolgirls at a downtown McDonald's.

Girl #1: Look at all this waste! This is, like, so many trees.

Girl #2: You know where else you can find a lot of wood, dontya?

Girl #3: (giggles) Gym!

Girl #2: (giggles) I love it when guys say, "Knock on wood!"

Girl #1: All the guys I hang out with...

Girl #2: ...are dirty.

(giggles)

Girl #1: No, it's, like, everything I say, they say it right back, like...

Girl #2: ... but dirty!

Girl #3: Knock on wood!

B.J.'s BJ.

Teasing my sexblogging colleague, Debauched Diva, about her chocolate cravings over Twitter this evening, curiousity found me peeking online for references to foodplay just for fun. Because, you know, I'm online at home again. Yeah.

Sitophilia. Vore. Nyotaimori.

Hey, I love sushi...

But apart from teasing so-sexy-Shayne once about what I'd do to her with five pounds of strawberries (which are still in my goddam freezer), it had me thinking of real events in my past where I've used food during sexplay. I had poured Frangelico into The Grrl's mouth (and along her lips) when I had her tied up... I'm certain there was at least one time when I had painted my Diva's breasts with Nutella and feasted from her nipples while we were on the waterbed... And then there was the huge May Day party I had hosted years ago that featured goofy and ribald games among the guests, including blowjob simulations with peeled bananas and cunnilingus simulations with halved Twinkies, fifteen or so couples lined up in a row (and no one with their respective partners as one saucily held the food object before the other)...

And then I remembered B.J. Yes, that really was her name.

We were friends in high school. Barely more than acquaintances really, the sort of 'friends' who found themselves riding the subway together with the same pack of kids but were never in the same classes because I was in a grade ahead of her. B.J. was a quiet, thickly curvaceous, wavy-haired blonde Latina with a pleasant wit. We would hang in the school cafeteria amongst our mutual buds, sometimes skipping classes together when our shared pack made excursions into Greenwich Village or Chinatown.

But, in those days, dating was a new and weird phenomenon. I was drooling over other girls at the time, and had had sex with very few. B.J., barely known to me at all, never really registered on my radar.

But I guess I registered on hers... because then she took me home.



I had come from tae kwon do practice when I spotted B.J. hanging outside the school with a few other girls. Since we were accustomed to riding the R train together to and from school, she approached me and asked if we'd go together. Sure, I shrugged, and it was probably one of the few times that we actually talked, as it was after hours and we were alone while strolling toward the subway, backpacks on our shoulders. I'm sure we continued chatting during our 30-minute train ride, and she asked me to come with her to her place when we reached her stop. Maybe she liked something I said...

I thought nothing of it, really. As far as I knew, I was simply getting to know more about her and in the most platonic way. If she had been flirting in my direction, I was clueless to it. What did I know? I was a kid. And I certainly didn't sense anything would be up once we got there, where I met her father, who was busily practicing on their large, loud, upright piano in the main room of their Brooklyn apartment.

She said her quick hello to Daddy, he greeted me in cordial but broken English, and then he returned to the ivories as we scooted to her room. Perfectly normal. B.J. and I talked about homework. Perfectly normal. Homework shifted to smalltalk as we sat on her hardwood bedroom floor. Perfectly normal. B.J. suddenly leaned close and kissed me, full on the lips, open-mouthed and steamy. Whoah.

My head raced to catch up, but by the time I realized what was happening and was just beginning to wrap an arm around her back, she stood and excused herself out of the room. For a few moments, I was left on the floor, blinking my eyes in stunned perplexity, my eager teenage cock having a much clearer idea of things than my head did. The piano playing stopped as I overhead B.J. and her father discussing something in Spanish. It started again as she strode back into her bedroom, closed the door, and opened the jar of honey that she had collected from the kitchen. She dropped herself into my lap, held my head, and resumed her passionate kisses.

Clearly, my high school friend had something on her mind.

Her warm and searching tongue probed my mouth, darted across my teeth. I held her tight, still completely surprised by it all, but now also aware of the heat coming from my hardening shaft as it lay pressed firmly along my bare thigh under my tight jeans. B.J., being a pleasantly thick girl, had firm and very large breasts under her top and bra, and my adolescent heart thundered in my chest as my hands explored them. She, in turn, reached down to my waist, and her breathing quickening into a gasping in my mouth when her fingers found and started petting the length of me from over my jeans. She felt my heat, my girth, and she started to shake as she gyrated her hips on my lap. We were fully clothed and very hot, all the while the apartment echoing with her father's piano playing two rooms away.

B.J. slowed down and started to pull away, telling me she was getting nervous about being discovered. Instantly, I realized something: so long as we heard the piano, we knew where her father was. At that, her eyes widened gleefully, her kisses resumed again, and she started pawing at my crotch for true.

She lay me back onto the floor. She dropped her weight on top of me, my legs pinned by her thighs at either side. She panted as she started to unbuckle my belt and unzip my jeans. My chest was shaking, my head spinning, completely disbelieving what was going on. We listened to the piano.

She undid my pants and yanked them down my legs. I reached down and under her shirt to cup one of her large tits. She squeezed the length of my dick from over my boxers. We listened to the piano.

She bent herself over, still kneeling on the floor and pinning me in place as I lay there, and tugged my boxers off of me. My cock sprang free before her reddening face, and without a moment's hesitation, she engulfed me with her panting mouth. We listened to the piano.

She reached for the jar of honey and, scooping a glob of the golden thickness onto her fingers, she started coating my cock with it. It was cold and sticky and actually somewhat uncomfortable, tugging my skin in ways I wasn't entirely happy with, but soon the excitement of it all got the better of me. There was no piano.

We froze. She spun around to look at her bedroom door and was about to leap off of me when... it started again. I tried to keep from laughing out loud, but I faked "real conversation" with her during the moment of silence. Sneaky, naughty me.

Soon, teenage B.J. was giving me a honey-dripping BJ on the hardwood of her room, the bobbing of her head slightly slowed by the thick stickiness of the sweet goo she had almost completely covered me with. B.J. lapped at my cock, feasting on the sweetness, feeling my thickness pushing past her full and honey-drenched lips. I taught her how to stroke the base of me with her fist, and I relished in the weight of her impressive breasts on my legs. Her long, curly hair teased my thighs. Reaching down some more, her young breasts spilled out of my hands.

She repositioned herself to grind her jeans-covered crotch against my leg, and I could feel her seething wetness and womanly heat. My head filled with thoughts of how drenched, how steamy, how tight, how hot she would feel if I could fuck her, feel my balls against her plump ass while her legs reached high into the air... and by then, she had consumed most of the honey from my cock and I could feel her sucking mouth and strong tongue more firmly. The sudden sensation, with my mind's eye hungering to fuck her hard, sent me over the edge as I exploded stream after stream of my cum into her honeyed mouth.

I can't imagine how much of me she tasted, if any at all. But she sucked me, swallowed me, and her mouth lingered with slow slurps as she slowly came down from her high. Her face was bright red with passion and exertion, and when she sat up again, her lips were puffy and swollen, slick with honey or cum or both. Her hair was wayward. Her top, halfway undone. The crotch of her jeans darkened with her own musky cum.

It was late. Her father pleasantly said goodbye to me as I gathered my things. B.J. and I talked in the apartment building hallway for a while before I turned to go home. The piano continued as I caught the elevator.

We never hooked up again, and I have no idea of what's become of her. But no one else has ever used honey on me.

A long wait.

An attractive brunette woman passed by me on the street today, and for some reason the way her wispy, dark, straight hair caught itself behind her ear caught my attention. Several short, swaying strands peeked from behind her lobe as she casually strutted down the street, and while she walked by, I also noticed the full thickness of her dramatic eyebrows above her dark eyes.

When I turned away, the distant memory of Danielle suddenly awakened in me.

Blake, Danielle, and me were almost inseparable friends during my junior year of high school. Danielle was Blake's girlfriend, and then as now, she remains one of the quietest women I have ever known. She was friendly, smart, and articulate when she actually said something. She had a radiant, friendly smile that would warm your heart, even if only for having broken through her shyness. Danielle was, in a word, sweet.

Of average height, she nevertheless had broad, strong shoulders and impressive arms. In sharp contrast to her vibe, she was built like a wrestler with a thick but firm midsection and trunk-like thighs on her strong legs. A plain-faced brunette with shoulder-length wavy hair, her voice was deep and resonant (when she used it), her eyes dark, her brows thick, her jawline strong and chiseled.

Despite being seventeen or so and only fairly recently having had my virginity taken, I still could sense a sexual tension between us. I never acted on it. There was one afternoon when the three of us hung out at Danielle's parents' house in Staten Island where the tension thickened enough that Blake was hinting about (what would pass for, in our high-school libidos, as) a threesome, but it never went past the wink-wink, speeding-palpatations, what-if-what-if stage.

Blake and Danielle graduated. I stayed in school for a few more months because I had been academically naughty. Blake followed in his father's footsteps and became an actor. I'm not quite sure what Danielle did. My plans to enlist in the U.S. Navy fell through and eventually I began working the renaissance festival circuit, meet Diva, and start a new life. The three of us gradually lost touch.

Fast-forward by ten years.

I've moved from New York to Massachusetts to New Jersey, and I'm on the campus bus while attending university. Things with Diva and I have ended, I'm newly-single, and I'm finishing up my last semester before planning a trip to Canada. It's a bright spring day, my backpack full of anthropology and medieval art history textbooks is killing me, I'm thinking about this paper I have to write about German mythology, and I look over my shoulder only to spy... Danielle.

She hadn't changed a bit: still shy, still quiet, still built like a killer wrestler, and still possessing that same radiant smile when she realizes who's staring, open-mouthed, at her as she rides the bus. I take over the seats in front of her and we begin to catch up in the way old friends are suppoed to do. It's very cool. We exchange numbers. Later, we talk, and we set a date to go for drinks and hang. Drinks become dinner.

We talk about the time she, Blake, and I were in high school drama class together. We had an improv assignment randomly thrust upon us by the instructor: "The three of you are on the subway when one of you begins reading a pornographic magazine." Before the class, the three of us sat side-by-side with me in the center. We rocked and jeered to the movement of the "train" as I "opened" the "magazine." Blake acted like an exhausted office worker, his head lolling side to side before eventually falling to my shoulder as he snored. Danielle behaved demurely and shocked as I leafed through the "pages." Catching her glimpsing, I offered her the "magazine" itself, which she rebuffed dramatically, only to snatch it from my hands and "drool" after I reached the "centrefold page."

That memory brought us to that afternoon in Staten Island. I felt our long-lost sexual tension rebuilding. Our night was ending. She had taken us back to the house she was sharing with some other women.

No one else was home when we got there. We went immediately to her appallingly tiny room. A desk and a bed.

I had my hands in my pockets, leaning against a wall, and was staring at my boots when I opened up about how that tension left me feeling when we were in high school. She grew quiet again, looking at me from the corner of her dark eyes, trying to hide a faint smile. She nodded silently.

The pit of my stomach was tight as I leaned closer and kissed her. Her eyes shut immediately as she leaned against the opposite wall. Her round breasts were firm and full against my chest as I pulled her closer, her tongue tentatively darting across my lips.

It had been a while since I had enjoyed a lover, but I sensed that it had been even longer for her. Her breathing deepened as she began to pant, her body vibrating with the low moans inside her throat. She was shaking slightly, and it wasn't long before thick, dark nipples were straining past her bra and poking through her white Tshirt. As I caressed her strong torso, I slowly tugged the shirt from out of her dampening jeans, clutching her sexy tummy in my fingers as my other hand drew the cotton upwards and over her head. She slipped out of her bra as I pulled her desk chair under me, holding her hips as I brought my face to her warm and taut stomach.

I love raining kisses on sexy tummies. My hands explored her warm chest, her strong back, her denim-covered legs and ass as I pressed my face into her. She undid the elastic that held my hair tight on my scalp. Her face yearned with desire. Her panting became louder when my fingers began to undo the snaps of her jeans while I looked up and into her eyes.

"I've wanted to do this for years," I said, slowly lowering her pants to her ankles. Her panties were plain, white, modest, and so very in character with this quiet, shy, reserved old friend of mine. On her, its plainness was perfect, like her un-made-up face, her Converse sneakers, her functionally simple bra, her basic Tshirt. Danielle was a woman without pretense, without ego, without statements to make or attitudes to project. She was simply herself, fully fundamental, completely free.

And so it was no surprise to me to discover, after I set her against the edge of her desk and pressed my face firmly to the dark mound under her panties, that she was completely unshorn, copious, and natural. I sucked in the air through my nostrils as my mouth opened against the cotton, and her feral, clean musk filled my lungs and made me heady in ecstacy.

Her scent was clean but deep, full and spicy, and somehow I knew that hers wouldn't be a polite, pink orchid but a textured compote of opened dates and split mulberries drizzled in dark, raw honey. The cushion under her panties told me that hers wouldn't be a bare peach but a wild, frenzied, lush forest keeping its tender treasures from easy view and access. I would have to earn my way to her secrets. I started to lower her plain panties.

She bent down to kiss me again. "What are you doing?" she asked in a fast whisper. I stopped.

I licked my lips and smiled. "I'm want to taste you, Danielle. Is that ok?" I kissed her thigh. I bit her playfully. Her eyes widened, her face immediately flushed red, she started panting more, and she breathlessly clued me in.

"No one's ever done that to me before."

Positively criminal. If Blake were there, all these years later, I would have smacked him upside the head. I settled in for a long ride.

"Are you ok?"

She nodded rapidly, her eyes as wide as plates, her face as red as candy. I licked my lips, closed my eyes, tilted my head, and brought the cotton to her calves. Looking into her face, I held each thigh in my hands as I parted her legs. She leaned back to the wall behind her desk and lifted her knees. The lush and feral darkness that she revealed to me left me staring for a full, cock-thickening moment, and then I pressed my mouth to her core.

I was surrounded in her heady scent, and my slowly exploring tongue searched through her tight and dripping curls. My face was immediately wet, and she began to shudder even before I found her clit. Pressing my tongue against her mound, I caressed her thighs as she arched further back and brought her feet to the desk. Her legs tightened around my head, holding me in place while my tongue discovered her long clitoral shaft. It fit easily between my compressed wet lips as I gently moved my head downwards and upwards, tilted, flicking my tongue at either side of it and occasionally taking it into my mouth for a tender suck.

I swabbed her dark pussy with the fullness of my tongue, feeling and tasting her contours, swallowing the wetness that seethed from her depths. Soon, her hands were through my hair, and I had a moistened fingertip gently probing around her backdoor while I flicked my tongue rapidly against her. Her panting remained loud and heavy as she squirmed and yelped and gasped. She cried out to God. She cooed. She screamed when she came, and her face was now as red as a beet as I slowed down and eventually pulled back, my face drenched.

Her small bed creaked terribly, hysterically, when I was inside her. She clutched me tight and held me with her wrestler's legs as I felt my balls slapping against her ass. She was so drenched, and so tight, that I stopped several times to make certain that the condom was still in place because she was feeling so right. My fists were above her shoulders and she was pressing her face upwards and into my chest when I burst, dropping all of my weight to her thighs as I drove my cock as deeply as I could. It was my turn to be panting.

After the night ended, I could still taste her even after washing. I could still feel her wiry and soaked pubic fur against my face as I walked home.

I felt like something had come full circle, like something that was intended had finally been completed. I could never explain the reasons for the sexual tension between us when we were kids, but it was there, and we both had remembered it. A decade and a lifetime later, both of us out and then back into school again, we found ourselves on the same bus and by the end of that week were finally doing what we had wanted, but never spoke of before. Danielle and I finally fucked, and it was good.

We got together two or three more times after classes wound down. We never really dated. Perhaps it was my weird headspace at the time, still fresh from my seven-year relationship with Diva having just ended, or perhaps it was Danielle's conversational timidity, or both, but we never really talked too deeply about what we were doing. I was already visiting Canada for camping retreats, teaching workshops, and hanging with travelling friends in a band. My life was shifting, and over time, I lost touch with Danielle.

Another ten years has since passed by. Blake's father did a few films, some stage, and several episodes of Star Trek. Blake did a few films and some stage acting, but apparently ended his career for whatever reason.

I don't remember having the opportunity to say goodbye to Danielle. She may have never known that I moved from the States. I still regret losing the chance to make some closure, especially since her friendship has an important place in my young adulthood. I hope life has treated her well.



images Hairy Pussy Cuties

Her dirty little secret. My weird little adventure.

Sometimes Aphrodite's gifts can be pretty interesting.

Last autumn, completely on a lark, I posted on Craigslist. I wrote seeking to exchange body massage and possible oral with a laid-back partner whose schedule was as crazy as my own. I wasn't really expecting a response. A long while later, I got a response from Stacy. We arranged to meet over coffee.

We never got to the coffee.

Stacy came to my place to see me three times during this past winter, and I quickly figured out that things were going to be a little weird. We would only meet when she contacted me first, and that could be on the spur of the moment. She didn't tell me her last name, or even her age, until our last meeting. She was very hush-hush about most of her life and world. Generally, I was encouraged to not call her, but textmessages and emails were fine. By our second meeting, I figured out that I was supposed to be her Dirty Little Secret. She agreed.

As it turned out, Stacy was a grad student with a very troubling life. She was living with the after-effects of beating a major illness. She lived with terribly ill parents, had a workday full of crisis and strain, and grad school. Stacy responded to my ad because she sought straightforward, no-strings-attached escape. She wanted to fuck, pure and simple.

At age 29, she was almost totally sexually inexperienced. She had never had an orgasm. I know she came close at least once when we were together, however. I would have enjoyed ushering her through that completely.

During our first time, she showed almost no interest in kissing. She enjoyed my oral, and I enjoyed the sweetness of her completely bare pussy. She eagerly sucked my cock, but her technique was mechanical and dispassionate with one very bizarre exception.

Apparently Stacy really wanted to learn how to deepthroat dick. However, her way of accustoming to the technique was by forcing herself to take as much as she could, reach the point of gagging, push a little further... and then suddenly leap off me and speed herself to a sink where she would spit and probably puke. And then she would come back for more. Over and over again.

Now, maybe with thanks to pornstars like Anastasia Blue and sites like Throat Gaggers, "forced blowjobs" seem to be a thing. (Shayne recently told me about an encounter she had with Don, a Top who did the whole fingers-in-mouth, gag-on-my-dick thing with her, and apparently she found it really hot.) Me, I appreciate how that kind of rough cocksucking fun could have a place in d/s play, but as far as being blown is concerned, the act of having one's cock sucked, the sensation isn't anything particularly special.

Give me wet, wanton slurping. Give me intense suction. Give me your moans and groans. Tell me how much you're liking it. Grasp my shaft and stroke me while you suck. Hold and caress my shaven, full balls. Caress my legs. Let me tap my cockhead on your face, making your face glow with your spit.

But have me actually try to gag you? Hrm. I'll experiment with Shayne (hear that, baby?) sometime. All in the interests of science, of course.

But when Stacy repeatedly forced herself and ran off to puke, it kept me from enjoying her sucking enough to cum. I just don't respond well to start-and-stop nonsense. Then she'd get frustrated because I hadn't filled her mouth with my load. I'd be frustrated too. This is all a big real shame, because she otherwise really enjoyed sucking my cock, and I love it when a woman really enjoys sucking my cock.

I gave Stacy her first anal fuck during our second time together. To my amazement, she took me in with much less preparation than I'm usually expecting to give an anal virgin, and she was both confused and thrilled that she liked it so much. Her ass was exquisite. She was full, very round, and while she was a little (and charmingly) self-conscious with how big it was, she was shaped in such a way that it was a beauty to behold. A real booty. Her anus was delightful to see: crinkled and pale, readily winking at the slightest touch. I'd really been looking forward to fucking her lovely ass again.

She opened up that she had rape and bondage fantasies. We touched on this during our last time together, with me hoisting her wrists far above her head in my grip as she stood against the wall, her toes barely on the floor.

"I've been watching you," I whispered huskily into her ear. "I see your comings and goings. And I know what you're really about. Everyone else thinks you're this prim and proper woman, this sweet grad student, the perfect daughter... but you and I know the truth about you... that you're really a dirty, whorish little slut who craves sucking thick cock and getting fucked in your tender little asshole. Isn't that right, you little skank?"

She would swoon and nod her head.

"I'm going to fuck you. There's nothing you can do about it. Do you fucking understand?"

She got very wet.

"You have only one decision to make, slut. Am I going to take you hard and rough, force you and leave you bruised and battered? Or are you going to be a good little cocksucker and yield to me? Either way, your fate is sealed: I will fuck you, no two ways about it. Or would you rather accept your fate and start sucking my dick like a good little whore?"

She dropped to her weak knees then and started sucking. But, again, something intangible was amiss.

I'd like to say that sex with Stacy was the hottest thing ever. It had all the hallmarks of a man's fantasy: a young, very attractive, very inexperienced but eager woman with a fantastic body seeking no-nonsense NSA sex. But the truth is: it was an effort, and sometimes my gentlemanly skills had to be called into play. Stacy approached sex like she had something to prove and had to do it this instant.

Maybe it would have been better if I were an uncaring, inconsiderate prick and just fucked her senseless without regard for her. Great fantasy and d/s play maybe, but you know, so sorry, just not my style.

I did everything I could to escort her through a rewarding experience, but somehow I just couldn't overcome the fact that her inexperience and lack of sensuality kept me from my orgasm. Part of the challenge was how our arrangement was so skewed, with me almost being expected to drop my world to be available for her, or how she always seemed to be in a huge hurry to fuck and leave. Positions happened staccato, rather than fluidly and with shared pleasure.

Sometimes sex with Stacy felt like what I'd imagine sex with a hooker would be like, dependent on my pleasure but also hurried and without sensuality, except that it was free.

In the end, the fact I hadn't had an orgasm with her distressed her so much that she would email me to cancel our occasional get-togethers. To her, that I hadn't cum indicated that something was wrong with her. In her mind, a man should be able to get it up and get it off in no time, no muss, no fuss.

Maybe when I was 18 that could happen, but that wasn't because I was more of a stud then than I might be one now. It's because I didn't know better, because I was less sophisticated about my sexuality, my cockwants, women's bodies.

While she definitely had some issues, I also think I could have nurtured her more, and certainly could have shown her more about what it takes for get a man to cum. (Like, stop hurrying. Like, have some fun yourself, dammit.) It's unfortunate because I had begun to plan something more no-holds-barred for her, but hey.

Sometimes I associate certain drinks with specific lovers. Shayne is dirty martinis and Wiser's whiskey. The Grrl was Frangelico. Diva was Bailey's. Stacy introduced me to frozen Limoncello, which I would later discover was even better with a fresh raspberry. It seems fitting to me that as I write this entry, I've taken the bottle of Lemoncello from my freezer and nursed it. I had saved it mostly for Stacy's visits, but now it's appropriate that as I conclude this, it, this post, and my fucking Stacy, is finished.

An autumn morning in Pennsylvania.

Alix: Wanna play now? lol
Me: Yes. Now. I want you with your jeans and panties around your ankles. Now spread em and bend over this table. I'll be kneeling behind you. Give it to me. Yield.
Alix: God you are hot...
Me: Does that mean you'll enjoy my tongue at your delightful, crinkled anus as my fingers twist in your beautiful cunt? Let me suck you.
Alix: How could I not? I am damp and swollen thinking about it. *sigh* you are far too far away
Me: I enjoy swelling you, making you flush and throb, from this other coast. One day, we'll see each other again, and when we do, I'll expect your cum in my mouth.
Alix: Over and over again. i miss sucking your cock!
Me: Mm.. I'd love to be tapping it on your face. Have you any idea how sexy you are? Mmmeow... I have nice memories of your mouth. That's so rare.

It's interesting how the Fates weave their skeins. More than fifteen years ago, Alix was with Mike and living in a rustic county of Pennsylvania. I was with Diva and living in New England. Now we're on seperate coasts, mostly with entirely new people in our lives. The internet gods saw fit to reconnect us in the past year or two, and while we almost caught up with one another during a flight layover as she made her way to Italy, we haven't seen each other in a long, long time.

I was the best man at her wedding to Mike. I received a wonderful Edinburgh crystal brandy glass that I treasure to this day.

Her blowjobs were among the most memorable I've known.

There was a time when our circle of friends was a deliciously scandalous group. The lot of us, dispersed as we all were over several US states, were an in crowd of sorts, the kind that becomes the subject of jealous rumour and nasty commentary from the secretly envious. We weren't all swingers exactly, and this was before "polyamory" became a sophisticated word, but among some of us there certainly was some excellent, enjoyable fucking going on in addition to whatever else we were doing. For some of us, playfully consensual between-friends sex just sort of... happened.

It was very nice.

With our respective partners, we were attending a weekend gathering of close friends in rural Pennsylvania. It was October, and the coloured leaves made for a sensual, musty scent in the chilled air. There had been a feast one night, with those of us who stayed over "puppy puddling" on the various floors or bedrooms of the house. Most of us woke late, groggy, groaning in that morning way. Autumn in the country makes me incredibly horny.

I'm usually an early riser, and had already spent some time tiptoeing among my more comatose friends, or spending some moments of meditation on the dewey grass outside. I had secured some coffee, and when I knew it wouldn't disturb people, made my way through an empty bedroom to the private shower stall adjoining it.

I had been in the shower, my coffee on the sink nearby, for only a few minutes when I heard a knock on the door. Alix poked her head in.

"Hey," she said, beaming a smile. Her short black hair was tousled from waking. "Can I come in and pee?"

I laughed, turning away from the clear glass shower door. Of course, I replied.

"Nice ass," she said. "Can I have some of your coffee?" Of course, I replied.

We chatted as she shamelessly checked me out when I faced her again. I had just finished scrubbing my cock and balls, and was holding myself as the steaming water cascaded down my body.

She smirked. "How about some company?"

I smirked back. Of course, I replied.

She slinked out of the thin bathrobe she had worn and pulled me close for a kiss as she came into the shower.

Alix was one of those women who truly wore her body weight well. She was thick, but toned and strong, and her short stature made her just that much more sexy. She was like a fire hydrant: short, wide but consistent, and hard enough that you'd hurt yourself if you poked her the wrong way. Her confidence exuded in her fiery wit and rapid gestures, and when she didn't speak in quick machine-gun utterances, she slurred her sentences like a purring lioness. Her face was so expressive; she had mastered the eyelash-fluttering Who, me? look, easily shifting it to the You know I want your dick, don't you? look.

Her kiss was deep and passionate, and she groaned in that way that instantly makes me hard. We held each other's asses as we came closer in our embrace, the steam filling the room. I gasped when she casually, but confidently, reached under to cup my sack in her small hand. She squeezed me gently, making me groan in reply.

And then she was on her knees. I pushed the showerhead to the side to keep water off her face and leaned against the tiled wall. Her eyes were closed and her mouth slightly open in pleasure as she gripped me by the base and rubbed my cockhead against her lower lip. She looked up at me with her dark eyes and licked my frenulum. All I could do was submit to her ministrations.

Her mouth suddenly engulfed me then with an audible gulp, muffled as her lips wrapped tightly around me, and then she slid her mouth lower. As she bobbed her head slowly, she strengthened her suction as she pulled upward. Feeling heat, moisture and her tongue as she took me in, suction as she withdrew, I screwed my eyes shut and enjoyed her.

I love caressing a partner's head when she's sucking me. Unless I'm dominating, I'm not much of a tugger. Feeling her bobbing head, the way her cheeks hollow as she slurps, the widening of her lips, the hair at the nape of her neck all excite me in resonant ways. I did all this, and her groans and moans told me how she enjoyed my touching her head and face as she blew me.

Taking me from her mouth, she tilted her head to rub her lips on the length of my dick. Her face glistened with water, but I could see how her mouth was surrounded by her saliva. Gripping my shaft in her fist now, she looked up at me as her mouth covered my head and she simply sucked on it, jacking me off. I started to get close. She could tell.

It was probably my gasping as I looked down at her that cued her when to resume sucking my shaft. When she did so, she met her hand to her lips and pumped me simutaneously, slurping and snaking her tongue at my cockhead while she did so. For me, it was just a matter of time.

I was holding her head in place and fucking her mouth fast when I felt my cum build. I held it back for as long as I could, building pressure, and when I let loose I'm certain that she felt me splash the back of her throat. She groaned, gripping my thigh with her nails as her other hand continued to jack me in her sucking mouth. I saw stars. I felt my dick throb with my heartbeat, pulsing in her fantastic mouth as she completely drained and swallowed me.

Every shower should be like this.