Take me inside and let the honey slide...

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Glucose Challenge

It was the same as it always is: I opened the door, we kissed - his familiar sexy lips - his hands straying down inside the top of my underwear, his fingertips brushing against the ends of my pubic hair, that touch that always sends a frisson of excitement running through my body - but it never lasts long enough - he started finger-fucking me, then he undid his jeans so I could suck him and make him hard enough to fuck me, but he already was, he bent me over and ripped off my underwear. "God, you're so wet," he said as he thrust his cock into my pussy, fucking me like that for a while before pushing me back onto the sofa and mounting me, kissing me while he plunged his cock into me. I was distracted, every time I heard footsteps on the stairs outside I thought it might be Magic coming back to check on me, after the incident that morning, but somehow the fear - the thought that this might be the last time! - excited me further, only not so the Professor - perhaps my relatively subdued nature unsettled him, for he stopped and said, "I think you need to suck me some more," sitting back on the sofa while I got on my hands and knees and sucked, and his cock was just right for sucking, hard enough to turn me on, yet not too hard for me to feel it growing harder in my mouth as my lips closed around the base of it and I ran my tongue up and down the shaft and over the swollen head.

Then he got up to go to the bathroom, and I just sat there on the sofa for a while thinking about things, and then I followed him into the bedroom, where he found me waiting for him on the bed when he emerged. "That's it, get on all fours," he said, dragging me down to the edge of the bed as I wriggled into position, and then holding the back of my neck with his hand and fucking me 'til I came. Exhausted by the strength of my orgasm I collapsed onto my stomach, but he hadn't had enough of me yet, grabbing my ass and pulling it up towards him so he could fuck me more - harder - hitting my swollen, post-orgasmic G-spot with every thrust, 'til all my nerves seemed to ring with the intensity of it, and I clutched the pillows with both hands and buried my face into them to keep from screaming as I came so violently I could hardly bear it.

And then when he turned me around to fuck me more I was limp and unresisting, my pussy slack and wet against his cock as he thrust into me faster and faster, finally pulling back and grabbing my head to bring my mouth to his cock to receive his come. I did as he had instructed me the day before, sucking each long spurt gently, and then as they started to slow, sucking harder to get every last drop of his come into my mouth before I swallowed.

And then he showered and left. I don't think I spoke a single word the entire time.

In my heart, it was so real.

The thing about carrying on an affair with a married person is that not only will that married person never choose you over his/her marriage (this is common knowledge, I don't think anyone could be stupid enough to have any illusions about this), but in actual fact (and this may not be quite as clear), your whole affair is probably completely insignificant to the other person involved - a flash in the pan, easily forgotten like yesterday's news about someone being stoned to death in Iran. And really you can quite easily see why this would be - it's because the end of the affair changes nothing whatsoever in a married person's life. Whereas the end of a marriage... now that's a whole other story.

And this particularly holds true for men, because they're all homebodies at heart. It's a myth, in my opinion, that men are the ones more interested in sex. They're just less fussy about whom they do it with - but if you think about it, that's quite possibly because they're actually less interested in it. They value it less. Less than work and money and companionship and home-cooked meals and blah blah I can hardly stay awake long enough to finish the sentence.

Of course, they'll tell you all sorts of lies for as long as they actually are still interested, but I personally don't believe this should be held against them. Everyone over the age of, let's say, 20, ought to know that these are lies. Or not even lies as much as, let's say, fleeting truths. But what a downer it would be if everyone felt the need to put words to the unspoken asterisk at the end of all that heartfelt hyperbole. Mood-killerrrrrrr, as Cybersex would say.

And on top of it all, not only is love by its very nature fleeting and a love affair totally meaningless, there's also the fact that the very things you love about a person are inevitably the first things to disappear once you actually enter into a relationship with that person. For instance, one of the things which attracted me to the Professor initially was that he was so forthcoming. He told me everything. Now, talking to him is like talking to a (fire)wall. I programmed a bot at university which was more communicative than he is. Man, I know deaf-mutes that talk more than he does. Not really. I just wanted to be politically-incorrect there for a second. Actually, not really that either - I just wanted to point it out afterwards in a self-referential and bloggishly whimsical manner.

Of course I could replace the Professor in the beat of a heart - an aching, overworked heart. It's just a pity that good looks and personality seem so rarely to co-exist in a person. I know of only a couple of instances where they do. I mean, literally a couple. Of course, one of those is Magic, and yet his is a personality which most people, if not everyone, would find horribly abrasive. But then that's the thing about a personality, it can be quite an unsettling thing to discover in a person. One is so accustomed to its absence. Sort of like a shot of rum in one's Coke. It's a little shocking at first, especially if all you were expecting was a refreshing and sugary drink. But then after a while you get used to it and even start to find it quite enjoyable. Only that's generally not long before the point where you throw up all over the place and vow never to touch the stuff again.

Kind of like love, don't you think?

Pristeen

Oh man, I don't know what has happened to me, I have become a sex demon again.  I would've thought that by the third trimester this would be over.  I must have some sort of hormonal imbalance or something.  (I actually went once to get my testosterone level measured, thinking my sex drive could be the result of some abnormality - but no, everything was completely normal.)

After bragging about how I was by no means slipping once again into the underworld of pr0n addiction, I actually found myself with two separate videos playing, one on T.V. and one on the Internet, at the same time.  Though this time it was a slightly more legitimate activity as I was supposedly watching in conjunction with Magic.  I say "supposedly" because in fact watching pron with a man is a distinctly one-sided experience.  By that I mean that it is generally the man doing all the watching while I spend the entire pr0n sucking cock and not getting to watch anything.  (Though in this case that was no great loss as the film in question revolved around a series of medical experiments gone horribly wrong, with the blonde bimbo doctor forced to fellate the victims to make up for her mistake - actually it sounds pretty hot the way I just told it, but take my word for it, it wasn't really that hot.)

What struck me about this incident, though, was the rather frightening realisation that I had been sucking the Professor's cock for so long that I had completely forgotten how to do it for Magic.  All I could remember was that he likes it an entirely different way, without being able to recall, of course, exactly what way.  See, this is why I have my doubts about all the online tips one can find on how to give great blowjobs - not everyone seems to like the same things.  So anyway, I just tried to make sure to check myself every time I found myself doing something which I remembered the Professor specifically saying he likes.  And then since Magic is a sex fiend like me, the two of us are always trying out new things on each other even after ten years of marriage, so I figured even if I made an unrecognised move it shouldn't sound too much alarm.

In fact, I was the one alarmed when at first it seemed that even Magic wasn't getting quite as hard as usual, but then I remembered that at a certain point in the course of a blowjob he inevitably needs to switch to the supine position, as that, for him, is the coming position (at least as far as oral sex concerned).  Yes, some people can actually come from oral sex.  Though I should think that for most people, like me, it should come as more of a surprise to know that some people can't - but indeed some can't.

It is my secret dream, though, to make the Professor come from oral sex.  Not that I actually believe I have any chance of making this happen.  Who am I to think that I might succeed where all others have failed?

Lessons on Sexiness

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Lunch

Everything was conspiring against me - the long black hair his wife had found wrapped around his cock the day before, the conference call I was supposed to have with the Zonglets at 1:30, and Magic's deathly cold which meant that I wasn't actually sure he had left for work that morning.  A few frantic text messages later I confirmed that he had, but was planning to return "in an hour or two".  Every extrasensory fibre in my body screamed at me to cancel... but the sensory fibres won out in the end and I didn't.

In fact I raced home so quickly that I got there with more than enough time to rip off my dress and high-heeled shoes and stand by the window anxiously awaiting him in a black lace camisole and thigh-highs.  Well, the moment I saw him walking across the courtyard I felt my wetness spring forth and no sooner had he entered the door than I attacked him, my lips glued to his as I unbuttoned his shirt and he fumbled to untie his shoelaces and undo his belt before finally presenting me with the swelling erection which I took into my mouth as deep as I possibly could.  I felt his cock hit the back of my throat as he pulled down one of my camisole straps to pluck out my right breast and rub the nipple in time to the strokes of my tongue on his cock.  I was so turned on I felt my thigh muscles stiffen and tighten and almost thought I might come then and there.  But at the same time I somehow began to fear that he wasn't as hard as he should have been, and so I sucked him deeper and harder but still couldn't shake this new and nagging paranoia that I might not turn him on as he does me.

Finally he said, "Enough of this - I want pussy" - normally he fingerfucks me a bit first, but even though this is his speciality, it suited me just fine to dispense with the preliminaries, for I could hardly wait as it was, bending over and spreading my ass cheeks with one hand so he could more easily slide his cock into my pussy.  He fucked me like this for a few minutes,  my excitement mounting to a crescendo, only to suddenly stop and hold back coyly, waiting for me to whimper and wriggle my ass back towards him in desperation, begging him to fuck me more.  Which he did, of course, 'til I cried out and my legs stiffened and trembled, and then he had me lie back on the sofa so he could mount me, my whole body tense and quivering.  I clutched him to me as he thrust his cock inside me, my pussy beginning to clench around it almost instantly as I came and came again, moaning into his mouth as he kissed me.

"I'm so close to coming," he said, pausing all of a sudden as if he really were on the brink, but I knew better than that, I knew it didn't even mean he would come at all that day.  And of course time was of the essence - Magic might be home any moment!  So I shoved my hips up against him, writhing around his cock and squeezing it with my pussy 'til he started to fuck me again, faster, while I tried to hold still and stifle my cries so he could concentrate on coming, squeezing his cock every now and then with my pussy to help him along the way.  "Oh but I want to come in your mouth," he said, pausing again, then suddenly he began to fuck me harder, so hard that my whole body jerked back and forth to the thrusts of his hips - gasping, powerless, I was like a rag doll impaled on his cock.  I felt the tension rising in me, I couldn't stop it, couldn't even think of his orgasm or the urgency of the situation any more, and then all of a sudden he drew back, his cock still deep within me, looking down at me as he climaxed inside me.

Forty minutes later I was sitting in my boss's office, helping to translate both ends of a conference call with the Zonglets as the come oozed from my pussy down the sides of my thighs and onto my chair.  Even my boss looked hot to me then...

They can have their diamonds and we'll have our pearls...

I'm depressed because I can't seduce a girl.

Coming (Back)

Well, it turns out I didn't really have to worry about my growing sex obsession - it has all but drained away after a mere half an hour with the Professor.

As is often the case when I haven't seen him for a while, my excitement was such that it seemed to override all mental function, resulting in an utter lack of self-consciousness rendering me incapable of executing any of the contrived guiles I had devised in my mind for our next encounter, and also, unfortunately, a startling dearth of distinct memories (well, it isn't really that startling to me any more, of course).

However, I do remember thinking, after the Professor had pumped me full of come (that being as always an exceptionally memorable event), that a man's orgasm seems to be so much more remarkable than a woman's.  The build-up, when I feel him swelling harder and somehow tighter and tenser inside me, seeming almost to transmit a booster shot of arousal and excitement to me through my walls of my pussy, and then the pause, as he hovers on the edge of coming, which this time seemed to last even longer than usual (to the point where I was unsure if it would really even happen), and then the burst of release, flooding me and filling me with waves of sensual pleasure.

But then maybe it's just that my orgasms don't seem to be as distinct during sex as they can be from oral or manual stimulation, though they can often be more pleasurable as the after-effects last longer - I've never felt like I've been drugged through oral or manual stimulation alone.  Though in my younger days I was, in fact, a "femme fontaine" - yes, a squirter - but I learned how to control that involuntary reflex action after much embarrassment (not that any of my male partners ever contributed to this embarrassment - well, at least Magic didn't, being the only one of the two people who'd ever made me come, at that point in time, to have that particular effect on me).

Turning Japanese

I have decided to break my addiction to Internet porn.  Partly because I think making oneself come four times in one day is too much, at least for anyone over the age of 15.  But mainly because if I see another semi-erect penis entering a waxed asshole I think I will die of boredom. 

And also because the growth within me is starting to respond to the cries of fake arousal on YouPorn...  

Have I Gone Too Far Inside My Mind?

I have begun to sink into a deep depression and/or sex obsession, to the point where I am forced to consider offers from bisexual girls, sadomasochistic couples, and gangs of black men.

 Believe it or not, the gang of black men is actually currently in the lead - you can probably see why, from the picture, but aside from that, they seem pretty nice, for a troupe of marauding gang-bangers.

Oh Yes

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Anniversary

It's hard to write this post now that my torrid love affair with the Professor is a distant memory.  But then, my memories do tend to distance themselves with great speed.

I came to work on Wednesday morning dressed in a slinky black skirt and tight silky top, straight-haired and waxed for my date with the Professor that night.  And then I received this off-hand message :

[...]

No, not literally that.  Why can I find no trace of it in my records?  Ah yes, in a fit of pique I kept no records that day.  But the gist of the message was that his father's train was not at 18h49, but at 22h00, and this meant he could not see me that night after all.

Shocked and disappointed, I dashed off a line or two about how he was killing me, replete with broken-hearted and pouting emoticons, and signed off, resigned to my fate.  However, alone with my thoughts, I found myself entertaining unaccustomed suspicions. 

First of all, what kind of train leaves precisely at 22h00?  None that I know of, and certainly not the Eurostar to London.  In fact, the last of these, if I'm not mistaken (and I'm not, because I checked on their website), leaves the Gare du Nord at 21h13.  This was a lie if ever I've been told one.

Inclined as I may have been to panic, tear at my hair and rend my clothes in my distress, I attempted to compose myself with the reminder that, after all, the Professor doesn't owe me his fidelity, there's nothing I could do to enforce it even if I wanted to, and tearful accusations would only result in the kind of perfunctory and empty reassurance they deserve.

So I went out for a dismal drink with friends that night and returned to work the next morning fired with resolve - to avoid the Professor at all costs.

Of course, that didn't last.

A few tearful accusations and perfunctory reassurances later, I suggested that since the Professor had fucked me on his wife's birthday, it was only right that he should fuck me on my wedding anniversary.

Naturally, he asked when this was.

I told him, tomorrow.

"That can be arranged!" he said.

So the next day, Take II.  I spotted him on the train on my way home at lunch, in the reflection of the train window.  Though I couldn't see his face, I knew at once it was him.  I kissed him passionately on the escalator going up towards the exits.  "Kiss me like that again and I'll fuck you before we even get to your place," he told me.  I've never known it to take so long to get home from the station.  I was so wet and swollen, it hurt to walk.

I attacked him as soon as we got to the courtyard, he plunged his fingers into my aching pussy, dripping wet with excitement.  I fucked myself on his fingers for a while until he made me turn around and go inside.  My legs were weak and trembling as I climbed up the stairs, barely able to see where I was going, my vision so clouded with lust.  As soon as we got inside I sank to my knees, undoing his belt and taking him into my mouth with one hand as I removed my skirt and began to rub against my wet pussy with the other, inserting first one finger, then two as I moaned with my lips around his cock, hot with desire.

I was so swollen and slippery, though, that I could barely feel anything.  I needed him inside me, filling me up and stretching me out with his cock.  Finally he pulled me up and told me to turn around and bend over.  As soon as he entered me I felt the first waves of pleasure hit me.  Moving back and forth on his cock and grinding against it as he fucked me from behind I wanted him deeper and deeper inside me.  His fingers were dripping with my tart wetness as he grabbed my face to pull me back harder onto his cock, and I sucked at them hungrily, running my tongue around his wedding ring until I could no longer taste any trace of myself.  Finally my legs trembled and went weak at the knees and it seemed his cock was the only thing holding me up.  He lay me down on the sofa and climbed on top of me, thrusting into me and bringing me to orgasm again and again as I cried out in pleasure.

Eventually he extricated himself from me, spraying me with droplets of sweat from his hair as he got up to go to the bathroom, while I just lay there, helpless and unable to move for a few moments, I was so well fucked.

Once I had regained my composure somewhat, I followed him into the bathroom where I went down on him some more, once again enjoying the taste of my hot pussy on his cock, while he forced my face towards the mirror to make me watch myself with my mouth full of cock.  Then he swung me around and bent me down over the edge of the tub to fuck me again, pounding into me until I could barely keep my balance.

After that he asked me to get on the bed, on my hands and knees, so he could fuck me on all fours, eventually pushing me down onto the bed and lying on top of me, with my legs held together between his so he had to force himself between my thighs to penetrate me.  I was moaning and whimpering when he pulled himself off me, begging him to fuck me more, but he had to shower and get ready to go back to work.  I managed to suck him a little more in the shower, upon which he naturally had to fuck me again from behind, with my legs spread wide apart this time, it was so intense I could barely stand it, and in fact collapsed on to the floor afterwards in a sexual daze, my limbs like jelly and my entire body quivering as he extended a hand to me to help me up.

"Happy anniversary, darling," he said. 

Come on Eileen

I wasn't expecting to see the Professor on Monday.  I thought he'd still be in Brittany with his wife and kids.  He never tells me anything.

I wore my blue striped dress, the obscenely short, transparent one I can't wear without underwear.  And tights.  And even so, Magic commented on the hostile stares directed at me from the women I passed on the way to work.  I love it that they hate me.

So I get to work and there he is.  Well, a couple of hours later, and online, complaining about tiredness.  But I'd spent two hours the night before making myself come thinking of him and I didn't care, I begged him to come over after work and let me blow him in the bathroom of my office building.  Still, I didn't know if he would come.

He rarely does.

He texted me at seven, to say he was outside.  I ran down in my transparent dress, stripped of tights and underwear, and when I saw him across the street I couldn't, I couldn't hold back... I was all over him as soon as he got to the door.  He had to unentangle himself from me to suggest we take it inside.

We went into the bathroom and I couldn't even wait to close the door, let alone get into a stall.  Luckily he had the presence of mind to get us into one - the same one we'd used the last time.  He took off his rucksack and placed it on the toilet lid - there wasn't a lot of room in there.  As soon as he'd unzipped his pants I had taken the length of his cock into my mouth and was sucking like my life depended on it.  I couldn't get enough of him.  He grabbed my head and moved it back and forth over his cock, fucking my mouth deep and hard.  I didn't even care if anyone came in and heard me gagging on his thick hard cock.

"I want pussy," he said, pulling out and swinging me around.  I steadied myself with a hand against the wall and bent over to let him lift up my dress and plunge himself into my wet and swollen pussy, fucking me hard as I gasped in excitement, pushing my ass back against him to get as much of him into me as I could.  And just when I thought it was too much to bear, he swung me around again, pushing me onto my knees and shoving himself into my mouth again for me to lick and suck my tart wetness off his cock.  At the same time he slipped his hand inside the top of my dress to grab my right breast.  Now I don't know why but my breasts have been feeling extra sensitive lately and the feeling of my new C-cup fitting so snugly in his hand and his fingers rubbing against the nipple with my mouth full of cock was so incredible that I could have gone on like that forever, but he turned me around again and fucked me some more, and this time I was even wetter, his cock was sliding in and out of me and I began to come, my legs trembling and my cheek brushing against the top of his rucksack as he continued to fuck me, ruthlessly, holding my ass open and rubbing my wetness over my asshole with his thumb.

"I should just fuck you in the ass," he threatened, inserting his thumb ever so slightly into my sphincter, driving me crazy with excitement as I moved back and forth on his cock, still supporting myself with my hands on the wall as I pushed myself against his cock and thumb!

I felt like I was almost on the verge of passing out when he stopped, pulled my head towards my cock and told me to get ready to receive his come.  I closed my eyes and felt the first hot spurts hit my face as I opened my mouth to suck the rest of it from his pulsing member.  And honestly I think I've never been happier than I was at that moment, with his thick hot come all over my face and tongue, and it was so sweet, so warm and sweet, I didn't want to waste a drop of it, eagerly lapping it off his fingers as he caught the drops spilling from my chin and cheeks and held them to my lips.

Love?  Or just a lovely blow-job...

What is the Product of Demented Sex?

How does one get from this:

...to this?

Seaside Town

I knew this had to be the first of my retroactive sex-and-love-log posts. It was one of the happiest days of my life.

Often, one does not identify the happiest day of one's life until after it is already over, or almost over. And this was no different.

I was a mess of nerves for days beforehand, wondering what to wear, how to avoid getting caught in an elaborate lie, and whether I would be able to make myself seem interesting to him for such a long period of time. In fact I was busy messaging the Clone that very morning debating how long it would be before he pulled over and asked me to get out of the van!

I pretended to go to work that morning, only to turn around halfway and come back home, where we had an hour or so to kill before the van was ready. Sadly I can no longer remember the details but I believe it ended with his come in my mouth.

That taken care of, we made our way to the Gare de Lyon, and the car rental place. Watching him at the desk, filling out the forms and dealing with the car rental people gave me an indescribable thrill. I felt privileged, to be a part of such a mundane activity, and yet at the same time a voyeur, witnessing aspects of his life which I had no right to see.

We sat down at the little cafe opposite for a coffee while we waited. We talked about holidays, he told me about his honeymoon. I was so jealous.

The van was ready, we went out to pick it up. It was smaller than I knew a van could be. But I knew I would be uncontrollably turned on to watch him drive it. In fact, I couldn't take my eyes off him, from his impatient fidgeting and tapping of the steering wheel as we inched past the street market at Daumesnil to his look of steely concentration on the open highway - even when I was writhing in my seat with his fingers in my pussy (though not so much with his cock in my mouth).

We must have tried every pit stop between Paris and Calais in our quest to find somewhere to consummate our love. But even the most secluded and promising spot would suddenly reveal a harried family picnic in progress, a somnolent trucker reclined behind the wheel, or a motorcycle gang passing jubilantly through.

Eventually we decided to satisfy a different sort of hunger, and stopped at a nondescript place offering sandwiches and french fries (and, I discovered inside, a buffet of hot food - but this was no time for gluttony!). He suspected the woman behind the counter might have taken it upon herself to toast a couple of jambon panini for us - indeed she had. Perhaps if I had been someone other than a finicky vegetarian we would have just had those. But he corrected her mistake and we had goat's cheese instead, as we discussed the convertible we had spotted in the parking lot outside, and the boring banker types who eventually returned to it. He commented on my delicate manner of eating - all an act for him, of course.

We got to Calais eventually, driving through crowded streets where he made me come on his fingers, to a parking lot in the centre of town. It was cold and windy, and there was no-one around, so he took me in the back of the van, bent over, in the dark, and then my shins rubbing against the dusty floor as I straddled him. I was worried about my stockings, until we discovered that I could rest my legs on his arms, and, in fact, he could use them to help rock me back and forth with his cock even deeper inside me.

We emerged cautiously for a stroll around town - a short stroll, for, as became apparent from the way he was hopping from foot to foot in front of a statue of King Edward, he needed to use a restroom, badly. (A circumstance which I found unutterably cute.)

And yet I can't remember exactly where we found this restroom - did we stop somewhere for a drink? I think perhaps we did - we must have - yet where, and what, escapes me.

Then followed a long, cold, windy walk to the beach, queried for directions by a couple, roughly the same age and ethnic make-up as us. (I wondered if this had predisposed them to us... and also if they noticed, and what they thought of, our passionate embrace under a bridge a few minutes later.)

We got to the beach, and it was just as a beach should be - cold, windy, deserted. But not deserted enough for him to take me, as I coyly proposed, in the narrow space between two changing cabins, for we could see a group of intrepid youngsters playing in the sand behind. So we kissed for a long time, but nothing could warm me, not even his amorous hands on my cold body, so eventually we were drawn to the relative shelter of a dismal snack bar, where we purchased two insipid waffles, liberally doused with candied sprinkles, which even I could not bring myself to consume.

Back in town, after a brief stop in the van, we found a nice place to have dinner, and freshen up. I returned to my seat, somewhat self-conscious under his gaze. "See?" he said. "How every man turns his head to look at you as you walk by?"

The day was ending. We drove out to the other part of Calais, where I would catch my train back to Paris, and parked outside the station for another interlude in the back of the van, where by now it was really completely dark, and I only knew he was coming when I felt his hot semen shoot into me, and then stream down my thighs as I lay there, utterly wasted.

However we still had some time to kill before my train, so we sat in the front necking until a car pulled up beside us - the police! They made us dismount and interrogated us. All this only added to the fun! But when we'd finally gotten rid of them we decided I had better check in, and he left me at the gare.

Sitting in the train, leafing through a magazine article on Jarvis Cocker, I was already crest-fallen. It had been one of the best days of my life, and it was over, and I knew nothing like it would ever happen again. He had fed me, and fucked me 'til my pussy felt like it was gaping open and dripping with come, and yet I felt a hollow emptiness, where he should have been, and wasn't.