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?