From the Tip of Your Tongue, Mercy Awaits


His hands slide up my hips, beneath the silky fabric of my panties and he hooks his thumbs into the waistband before dragging them down, past my thighs, my knees, my calves, letting them tangle briefly in my toes before finally ripping them from me. I move fast to cover my nakedness, to tug my dress down to hide my body. I cross my ankles and he tuts at me. My panties are against his face, and he inhales deep, smelling me; my anticipation, my desire, my apprehension.

He throws the cloth down on to the bed and wraps his hands around my ankles. His index fingers stroke the bones there before he rips my legs open. I whine. I struggle. He slaps the insides of my thighs until they are stingy and red and hot. Until I stop struggling.

“Lift your dress back up.”

I blush. I giggle. I close my eyes.

“Lift your dress up, girl.”

The word strikes a chord in me. My fingers wrap into the fabric of my dress, circle and knot until my hands are covered in the fabric, and all at once, I yank the dress up, over my breasts, letting the fabric loose to rest on the crest of them. I peek at him, watch his eyes as he looks me over. I’m wearing the lace bandeau bra he enjoys, black and so see through. I know he can see my nipples perfectly, pebbling beneath the soft cloth.

He presses his hand over top of my mound, heel of his palm putting a pressure against my clit, long, sinuous fingers tip-tapping against my pelvic bone. He presses and motions for me to scoot back, to wiggle until  I am nearly at the headboard. He climbs in between my legs, on his knees, lets his hand slide to wrap around my thigh, the second one follows. His thumbs stroke that soft, sensitive place where my legs and pelvis meet and I shiver for the first time.

His fingers dig into me, and he pulls me up by my legs. I yipe in surprise as he lifts my hips up and leans down simultaneously. I squirm in his firm grasp. The way he holds me leaves me helpless and vulnerable. I am wide open to him.

He breathes against the core of me and inhales deeply.

“Daddy,” I whisper, in a trembling voice.

“Mmm?”

“Don’t…”

“Oh? Don’t?”

My entire body is covered in a blush. He can taste the lie in the scent and sight of me. I say nothing.

“Don’t you want me to eat you, baby? Don’t you want me to lick you? To suck you? To drink down your sweet, sweet girly juices? Don’t you want to come on my tongue, Pooh?”

I moan at the last, unable to help myself. My fingers rip into the sheets and hold there, anchoring me.

He dips his tongue between my folds, tasting the sticky sweetness he finds there. I bend to his will beautifully, twisting and writhing beneath him as he laps at me, as his tongue circles the powerful ring of muscle, the entrance to my body. His tongue slips inside of me and I can feel my cunt spasm around it. He groans into me, and it reverberates through me. His powerful arms pull my legs to his shoulders as they snake around my hips, palms resting flat on my abdomen. He creeps closer to the bed, burying his face against me, nuzzling in my slick juices, my warmth. My thighs squeeze, trying to pull him tighter to me, force him deeper.

I lose control like I never had any to begin with… and truthfully, I did not. I come undone beneath him. I can barely recognize myself in the sounds that leave my lips. I am desperate. I am needy. I need him like this. I can feel my body reacting, throbbing, pulsing, gushing. I am a trembling, crying mess. The sweet torture makes me sob softly and his fingers tighten around me.

His tongue cups and strokes my clit, and it aches beneath the tender ministrations. I want more from him, but he’ll have what he wants of me first.

“Please,”I begin to whimper. “Please… no… no…”

He growls from between my legs and I can feel him grow hungrier. His touch becomes savage as he digs into my hips with one hand, the other slips in beneath his lips and presses against me. Three fingers push inside of me and he strokes my inner walls before building a rhythm. My cries grow loud, uneven. I fight him now. I struggle. My legs shake. My toes stiffen and flex. My nails dig into the mattress.

I don’t know the words coming out of my mouth. I am talking in streams of consciousness. I am begging for him to stop or for him to never stop. I’m not sure which. My eyes are closed tight. I cannot take the arresting, erotic look of him between my thighs.

A flip in me switches and I can feel the heat coursing out from the center of me, warming my blood, making my skin flush. Something in my movement, or maybe something in my voice, my taste… something sets him off. He knows. He picks up the pace and I writhe beneath him as I fall over the edge. My tears flow freely as my body gushes around his lips. He replaces his fingers with his tongue, and, as promised, drinks me as I come. His groan sends me shivering again. I can see the universe behind my eyes–bright and dark, all at once. I am panting, and trying to ward off the little hiccups and tiny tears. My lips are trembling.

He slides my legs from around his shoulders and I feel his body crawl up against mine. I roll into his arms and regroup there. Trying to find myself behind the roiling of pleasure and of emotions. He kisses me on the mouth, and I taste myself there. I marvel at the intimacy I feel in this moment with him, as we breathe for each other, lips locked, the thick taste of my orgasm shared between us.

When our kiss breaks, he nuzzles his cheek to mine.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

I can only have this with him.

Follow Where Your Daddy-O’s Leading

I shower with the lights off, my eyes adjust quickly to the deep darkness and the water is hot enough to make the mirrors across from my shower steam and cloud and swirl, making my reflection nothing but a featureless specter in the night. The water beats against my back and I tilt my head back to soak my long locks till they melt against my skin, reaching past my hips. My body aches. My muscles are stiff. My skin is bruised. I can be satisfied, but never sated, and I feel the stirrings of desire rising up from my toes, climbing my thighs, beating in my chest; I can taste it on the back of my tongue.  Continue reading

Past All Thought of If or When, No Use Resisting

It is 4 am and I feel the warm cascades of sleep threatening to envelop me, but so too do I feel aroused, in need. We’ve talked all night and it’s miraculous that I’ve kept my hands to myself until now. I am feeling pliant–no, more than pliant, I am feeling subservient, submissive. How strange the subtle difference between being willing to be used and wanting to be of use. Not just to be of use. I want… pleasure. Of a kind that only he can bring. Like reading my thoughts, maybe reading the tension, reading me, suddenly warm and fidgety and doe-eyed, he speaks up first.

“What do you want, baby? Anything your sweet little heart desires.” Continue reading

Look but Don’t Touch

He breathes against my mouth. Our lips are a hair’s breadth away from one another, mine parted, aching, throbbing, with longing. Kiss me! I want to cry out, but this is not part of the game. He breathes against my mouth, and our eye contact is intense. I can feel the heat of his body, a long line of heat, so close to me, so near to me. I want to envelop myself in him. But this is not part of the game.

Take off your dress, he whispers into my mouth.  Continue reading

Give as Good as you Get

“You see, I’ve had something on my mind, and I simply can’t… finish this conversation till I alleviate my poor brain.”

“Oh? Go for it,” he says, and I can see the hint of a smirk at the corners of his lips.

But I know he doesn’t know what I’m about to do, what’s been on my mind for days now. I fall to my knees in a kneeling position and push my way between his legs, my open palms stroke the tops of his thighs and I look up at him with a cheshire cat grin.

His eyes grow dark.

“Oh,” he murmurs.

Continue reading

TMI Tuesday: Sex, Sex, Sex

Welcome to a new week and a new TMI Tuesday. Up this week…

Sexual Practices

bug sex tmi 7-29-2014

1. How much sex is too much sex? Explain.

No such thing. Honestly, if I had no other responsibilities, I’d probably die in a bedroom from dehydration and exhaustion and be happy about doing so.

2. According to the Kinsey Institute, 18-29 year olds have sex an average of 112 times per year, 30-39 year olds an average of 86 times per year, and 40-49 year olds an average of 69 times per year (how appropriate!)

a. Which group of averages would you prefer to belong?

I prefer to belong the first age group.

b. Based on your age (if listed), find your group above. Would you say you are well below, pretty close to or high above your group’s average for having sex per year?

Oh… 🙂

3. Swinging (defined here)–have you tried it? Will you try it? Do you hope/wish to try it before you die?

Honestly, by those clearly defined terms, I’ve never been a swinger. I’ve participated in three ways and orgies, and polyamory, and I had a partner of mine, not a boyfriend, just a consistent sex partner, and we went to a swinger’s club a few times to pick up another couple, but that always ended up being a foursome more than a swinging situation.

4. What is “having sex”? According to YOU and prior to this TMI Tuesday did you consider:
– Masturbation as having sex? Yes or No
– Performing oral sex as having sex? Yes or No

When I masturbate by myself I don’t think I am having sex… but I am engaging in sexual activity. When I engage in mutual masturbation with a partner… hmmm… same thing I think, though it can become “having sex”–foreplay is a part of “having sex.” But I do think Oral sex counts as having sex.

5. When was the last time you received oral sex?

Hmmm. The last month or so is kind of a blur in a lot of ways, so I don’t actually remember the last time I received it. I’m not big on asking for it. It drives me batshit crazy with pleasure and is something I am only just learning to handle. I love, love, love it, but normally I’ve got other things on my mind. Like giving him Oral sex (because I fucking love it). I would blow him every single day if my schedule would allow it.

Bonus:  What is it?

what is it July 29, 2014

La poire. A Venus or Woman of Willendorf, it looks like, especially given the prominence of the breasts and vulva.

————

How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

Happy TMI Tuesday!