Handy

"I want you to turn toward me," I said, my voice husky with sleep, "I'm cold."

I buried my face in his chest, and scissored our legs. Our arms thrown over each others' hips, my fingers running lightly along his spine.

I traced up and down, swirling fingertips in lazy circles. I'm tactile, I touch--sometimes without even realizing it. His breathing changed and became deeper as my fingers stroked absentmindedly. That's when my breath caught in my throat and I felt the heat rush to my cunt.

I shifted, letting him roll onto his back and slid my hand down to his dick which was, as I surmised by his involuntary grunts, already hard.

"Nice," I said, running my fingers from behind his balls to the tip of his cock. I rolled over to the night stand, flipped the lid on the massage oil and poured a bit into my palm, grinning as I returned to my place. He hadn't moved and he had a goofy smile on his face.

Last night I had come to bed, crawling toward him in my bra and boyshorts. "What's all this?" he smiled.

"This is me, and this is what I've been wearing under my game day shirt all afternoon."

"Goddamn, baby. You look gorgeous," he was staring at me, looking me up and down. "This is all for me?"

"Of course, it's for you. But these panties aren't coming off."

I was sitting above him, his hands were on my hips and he sat up halfway, tracing the top of my black demi cups with the crocheted lace. I put my hand behind his neck and kissed him.

"Why not?"

"Girl thing," I whispered. I kissed his mouth, sliding my thigh between his legs.

We don't have sex, Joe and I. I mean, we have sex, but there's no penetration. Okay, his hands and tongue penetrate my cunt, but his penis has ever only been inside my mouth. We have dates, we go out, we stay in, cook and watch movies, I always sleep over, sandwiched between him and his cat. We like each other a lot.

But for whatever reason, we don't ride the wild pony.

It's cool. It's great, actually. So many people think that fucking is essential. I happen to find it very hot that we don't. Fucking can get boring, and my standards are very high. It's rare to find a person who's good at it all. And Joe's good at making me come without his dick.

He lifted each of my tits out of their cups--"like dessert cups," I'd laughed--licked and sucked and bit them in turn. I moaned loudly, that direct connection between my nipples and my clit brutal and excellent.

He threw me onto my back and kneeled above my chest. I raised my head and sucked while his hips thrust into my face and he came on my belly.

He washed me. I let him. I smiled at how much fun I was having, but it was 4 AM and I needed to sleep.

"That was awesome," I said.

"You are an amazing woman," he sighed.

The next morning as I massaged his hardening cock I thought about that comment. Am I "amazing" because I enjoy blowing him? Because I don't expect anything from him emotionally? Because I come like a flood? Because I like smoking his cigars? Last night my focus was him. The last thing I'd wanted was to be concerned about myself or how I could get off. I'd had an insanely busy day, been awake for 24 hours by the time we went to sleep and all I really wanted was to do something nice. To me, that's hot.

I was grinding my panty-covered pussy against his thigh, hot and swollen as I jerked him. The harder he got, the wetter I got. He would come soon, and I wanted his dick in my mouth before he did, wanted to close my lips around it and pull on its hard smoothness with the spongy strength of my tongue.

He came, silently this time.

I showered. He made coffee.

We watched SportsCenter. I drove home.


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"...I'm From Buffalo" on Playboy Radio

Meme of Dirtyspoke read an excerpt from this post on Playboy Radio this morning. When she emailed me last night and mentioned she was planning on reading that post I thanked her and thought, "Good luck with that!"

It's not the easiest prose to read aloud, especially when you're not the author. Meme feels badly that the reading went less than smoothly. I haven't heard it, and I'm wondering if she'll post the audio at all.

Not easily discouraged, I saw a chance to rectify the situation: I could record the post myself. Click below to listen. Yeah, that's my voice. You like?

Nah, That Ain't Me, Man, I'm From Buffalo

My fingers reached for his right nipple and gave it a tweak. He growled and threw my legs up over my head, diving in with his tongue. He doesn’t give the best head in the world, but he is earnest. He is, I think, a little obsessed with making me squirt, and I need more than two minutes of stimulation before that pulling and milking becomes a fun thing to do.

I kept his face there, showing him how I liked my clit played with–how the flicker-fast, barely touching hits of myfingerhistongue make my eyes roll back and my hips push up.

Finally I let him put his fingers in me. Just two. Or maybe three.

“God, I love that sound.”

He was up to the third knuckles on his huge fingers and I was growling, opening.

“Rub my. . . my. . . my clit. . . with your. . . uh. . . tongue”

I meant to say “thumb.”

He plunged his face down excitedly.

“No, no, no, I meant your thumb. Like this.”

He got it. Hallelujah.

“Shit, baby.”

I spread my knees wider and grabbed my tits as my back arched. His hand, wet with me, slid up my thigh, over my hipbone and all the way to my mouth. I took the fingers, one by one, sucking them clean.

“You do that so well.”

I was on my side. He was on his knees. It only followed that I curl underneath him and suck on something else.

I took his cock between my lips. I nursed on it like a baby. I slid it to the back of my throat and licked the underside up to his balls. I gurgled and he sighed. I looked up at him, blissfully watching his cock slide into my mouth as I grinned.

I think that often people misinterpret what constitutes a good blow job. I think people worry that they don’t suck cock fast enough or deep enough or porny enough. I’ll fess to head-shaking, ass-fingering, spit-sucking face fucks and gagging on a certain cock while its owner holds my skull flush with his groin until I pound the mattress and blow snot. But here’s the thing: I like long, slow, deep, soft wet blowjobs that last for three days. Enjoy that reference if you got it.

That’s when I’m in control. I let him fuck my face, but I made him do it slowly. I put his cock down my throat. I made his breath shake and his dick throb and his balls pull up and his mouth gasp, “Unnh, baby, I’m gonna come.”

“You’re going to come on my face,” I hissed, my hand on his shaft, thumb milking his dickhead as he covered my cheeks and hair.

Peep Show

You always knew I was sweet and gooey and virtually imperishable, now here's proof.

I'm on 25peeps.com

Go check it out, and click on my photo:


The more clicks that photo gets, the longer this peep stays on the front page.

Come on, it's dorky but fun and marshmallow-y good.

Just in time for Easter.

(Peeps image via Poplicks.com)

That One Thing

That afternoon--our last afternoon--was hot.

We sat in our lounge chairs reading, our fingers brushing occasionally on their paths between our lips and the beer cans between us.

Jefferson's kids and their cousins had gone shopping with their grandparents. My children were taking a break from the water and watching television.

As I sat and read I felt his eyes on me. I looked up, smirking.

"So, what do you want to do now?" I asked, half-chiding.

Then, without pause, as if he'd been waiting for an invitation, "Nap and a blowjob. Not necessarily in that order."

I stood and held out my hand, "Come on, then."

I checked on the children when we got to the top of the steps. They were out cold in the main house, SpongeBob in the background. I used the restroom and went out to the porch. It was late afternoon and the sun was brutal. I carried bottles of water and opened the door to the guest house.

He was lying on top of the quilt.

"I thought you might be thirsty," I locked the door behind me and set the bottles on the nightstand.

"Aren't you thoughtful?"

I smiled down at him, glancing down at the hem of my suit, which he was absentmindedly tracing with a finger. The light was dim, making his skin look almost tan. I looked at my thighs as I straddled his hips and adjusted myself above him. This was going to last a nice, long while.

The room was silent.

I'd taken my top off, letting my nipples graze his as I gently kissed his eyelids, forehead, cheeks, mouth. He was relaxed and had closed his eyes, his slight smile amusing me, goading me on, inexplicably making me want to take a bite of his face and swallow it.

I moved my body down, tracing his nipples with soft fingertips and my tongue, smiling when an involuntary gasp jumped out from behind his teeth, causing his cock to jump up from behind his trunks. I slid my finger inside the waistband and pulled them down, my forearms dragging along his thighs.

My skin was much darker than his and still radiating heat from the day's boating and swimming. The freckles on my arms made me think of chocolate, when a stray fleck lands on your skin unnoticed until it melts and you lick it off. The contrast of my tan with his rosy tint was pretty. His creamsicle freckles. My chocolate ones.

I nuzzled my face between his legs and for once, he just let me. Gave me control. Let me do what I wanted and didn't rush me. I did notice that he kept his trunks within arm's reach, just in case we were interrupted.

His hands were in my hair, sliding down to my jaw and around to my neck. I wanted to stay there, rooting in his hair like a newborn, inhaling the salty musk, my mouth watering. By then his cock was stiff and insistent and getting in the way.

When I finally took it in my mouth we both moaned.

I looked at his face. He was watching me, head cocked to the side, a finger on my temple.

There was that moment of telepathy that happens between lovers, when you want to speak but you don't because you'll never be able to phrase things properly and anyway, you both know what it means.

It was one of the times in my life that I'd like to have been watching us--seeing how we fit together, the way his body writhed under mine, his legs thrown over my shoulders and my hands pressing into his pelvis and chest as my head moved slowly up and down his cock--I'd like to know what that looks like.

I know he's had faster blowjobs, louder blowjobs and pornier blowjobs (I've seen them and given them), but this one was different.

What do I look like swallowing the dick of a person who adores me and whom I adore? When I am focused on his pleasure and receive so much of my own; is an adoring blowjob different from any other blowjob? Of course it is. It feels different. It must look different.

It may even end differently, but the cocksucking is the thing.

We put our clothes back on and unlocked the door, napping together on top of the covers until Lillie rushed in to show us her booty from "the Wal-Mark."

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