|
|
|
|
|
Just a little spot for me to place my sexual ideas, adventures, and issues. I don't expect many to read, but, hey, even shouting in the wind can be fun, though not as good as screwing in the sand.
|
|
As The Soft Blue Light Highlights You
|
Posted:Jun 6, 2011 2:13 pm
Last Updated:May 9, 2024 6:32 am
7485 Views
|
You sleep nude and without sheet or cover
The tepid night enshrouds your smooth skin
Congruent and unbroken
My blanket holds me down or I float away
My chest needs to feel that shield dividing
Between me and the all
As I gaze on you silent I feel jealous
Not of you and your freedom and comfort
But of the presumptuous night air
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
So, vahlkyrie, what's it like being tied-up and fucked?
|
Posted:Feb 14, 2010 8:26 am
Last Updated:Jun 4, 2011 12:26 am
7586 Views
|
K: So, what's it like being tied up and fucked?
V: I don't think you and I knew how turned on I was until I was allowed contact with your body. Then all bets were off.
It's pretty freeing actually, to know that I could be as primal as I want while strapped to a chair. I think the blindfold has a lot to do with losing self-consciousness, like turning the lights off. Freeing me a little bit more.
I think the frustration of being tied down and not getting what you want immediately is a much stronger turn-on then I knew.
K: How's not being able to touch yourself?
V: Well, I'm still actually wrestling with wanting to be free. Heh-heh. But I think that if this was so good, maybe if I wait, I just want to keep myself turned on with out that release today.
V: What time is it?
K: You have five minutes.
V: Fuck.
|
|
|
1
comment
|
|
Back home, back home
|
Posted:Dec 2, 2008 4:26 pm
Last Updated:May 30, 2011 6:46 am
8404 Views
|
Well, is sounds like we'll be vacating the DC area in seven months or so. This is saddening news; I feel the town offered much more than I was able to take it for. With a little luck, I'll cut looser and see some sights during these remaining weeks.
No extra playmates for a year now. In fact, between some arthritis and the stresses of applications, fucking and loving has taken a backseat to stolen moments of pleasure late in the night or in the morning. I'm not happy about that development, but I can take comfort in the knowledge that is is an exogenous anomaly.
So, if possible, it would be wonderful to find a few more outlets during these next few months. There's an on-premises club here in DC that I think we would be remiss not to at least peak into. I also know that I'm a stranger to all the other bars and clubs in town. Finally, this site is not the only game in town (nor is my standard membership status), so my options are not as thin as they would appear.
We'll be heading back to my hometown for the holidays. There, deep in suburbia, await a pair of gorgeous bi-ladies who have always had a flame for my girl and I. I expect to flirt some with both of them, but we Midwesterners always tend to be too subtle for our own good. Still, it's good to start laying the groundwork for additional Christmas treats to unwrap.
|
|
|
2
Comments
|
|
Songs To Fuck To
|
Posted:May 14, 2008 5:15 am
Last Updated:Jun 4, 2011 12:26 am
8521 Views
|
What does it for you? What's your soundtrack?
Yes, everyone likes those slow, smooth, songs. Leonard Cohen and Barry White, with their deep, rumbling bass voices channel pure sexuality. That careful mix between love and sensuality. It's like choir music for the body. Roses placed fireside. Oils and silk. Fine, everyone likes those, but it's a very distinctly adult form of sexual music.
And I'm not talking about love songs, either, like Iron and Wine, where the music and soft gazes make you one. Soul stirring hyperbole borrowed earnestly from Romeo and Juliet. Treasured, but not the topic here.
What do you like to FUCK to? What do you like to get RAW to? What's the beat you slap that pussy to? What's in your ears when you clench your jaw?
For unkali, it's Nine Inch Nail's Closer. Yes, it's the zenith of fuck songs, with a steady beat, refrain of "fuck", lyrics about being IN, DEEP, NEED. Desperate and ANIMAL. It's so important, I'll say it again. ANIMAL. Play that song and she's graphically wet. Uncontrolled. It dredges up high school fumblings, hormones, power. There is no bottom to that song. Not whips, nor wax, nor , nor tears.
In fact, most of Reznor's singles will do. "Bite The Hand That Feeds." "Survivalism." "Sin." Manson can do n a pinch, but the boy is just a little to obvious sometimes. Doesn't feel natural. His cover of "I Put A Spell On You" is an exception here: an outro of screaming "FUCK, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU!" works just fine, thank you.
I'll also take Bloodhound Gang's "Bad Touch", though the lyrics are a little to boyish.
Techno, house, trance, all that goodness almost works, but I find it a little too up-tempo and a little much on the high-end. Fucking is about bass, not the tweeter. Your mileage may vary. Some industrial will work, but I like my sounds distinct, not just a slurry of power chords and stomp boxes. Some of KMFDM ("Ultra") can do up right.
The best, though? For kink? For "for a minute there, I lost myself" fucking? For a morning with welts and scratches?
Beethoven.
|
|
|
3
Comments
|
|
Time enough
|
Posted:Apr 22, 2008 8:39 pm
Last Updated:May 2, 2008 5:40 am
7784 Views
|
No great thought here tonight. I was thinking about trying to compare good fucking artist "Basquiat", but I'm a little tired tonight, so consider this a "tredding water" post.
School and tests are winding down, so I expect more free time. Whether or not that time is put to good use remains questionable.
Tried having a cup of coffee wtih a young woman in a class of mine. She's nice, but hard to peg down. Anyway, I thought I crashed, or at least I didn't get the feeling that she walked away soaked. Either I'm losing my touch, or never had much of one to begin with.
Looking at another online profile of a friend and one-time fuck, her easy sexiness almost bothers me (that stupid jealousy boiling again). For a moment, I am amlost angry that she seems to be able to turn the animal on and off almost at will--when we were having long coffees, I doubt she felt the begger as I so often do. But tonight, another part of me realizes that she must just place her intentions out there more than I. When she wants to fuck, she'll lay it on strong--I, like I'm sure many others do, hate that oddly vulnerable position. Of course, though, it's only vulnerable if you invest yourself in some kind of meaningful success--if playing a sport, missing a goal only hurts if you are always thinking that you're in the championship match. If you're just tossin' it out for fun or practice, missing is all part of the fun. Fuck. I wish I had more time--I don't like sports and loathe analogies like that.
There will be more sexiness later, dear reader. I just need to walk around the bedroom floor to work blood back into my feet after so long a slumber, though I envy the dancers I see in the morning who never stopped the night before.
There--that was much better!
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
I love getting jerked off.
|
Posted:Apr 5, 2008 8:12 pm
Last Updated:May 2, 2008 5:40 am
8444 Views
|
I do.
Now, I love a proper fuck, the tight natural feel of cunt, or raw ass. And unkali can suck dick to the point of near embarrassment. She's so good, I have to give her a no hands handicap just so I can last long enough to enjoy it. But it's not just her. I love the unskilled, slightly unsure head from the lesser experienced.
But I love getting jerked off.
And I suppose I've figured out why. It's because I jerk myself off. Often. Shit, I get bored really easy, so I probably wank myself more than a little often.
I'm really good at it. I know just the right tempo. The rhythms and their purposes. Rubbing 'round the head, just a holding pattern to cool down and look for some better porn. The long, full strokes; that's the main course. And, when it's finally "go time", the rapid rolling of loose skin over my ridge until the cum pooled between my thumb and finger let me slick my hand over the skin. Fuck, I'm the God King of getting myself off, and nobody nowhere knows me like I do.
But that's why I love getting jerked off.
Because her hand is always at a slightly awkward angle. Because she doesn't have quite the right squeeze. Because she doesn't know how close or how far. Do you roll the skin? If it stretches will it hurt? How far up? The skin gets so hot, almost raw, when rubbing around it. Does that feel good?
The feedback is limited. A groan, grunt, shift of the hips. Harder panting. It's like a miserable (in the most wonderful way) game of "hot and cold". For the giver, it's frantic. Finding that right spot, that right way. I've been there, too, bitch, and I love the panic you must feel trying to make me feel good. The way you just want to beg, "How's this feel?" But, Christ, the reward, almost there, making them cum. You did it. You just need to find it.
But even below, being worked on, pleasured, solved, the pleasure is enhanced because of its amateurish deminishment. That speed that is just a little too slow or gripped just a little too hard makes the pleasure ticklish, like a beautiful scent. Instead of giving yourself the pleasure, you are hunting it. Hunting it with the help of someone else, inside your body, inside your cock, watching, begging, hoping inside that she solves you. That's what being jerked off is. It's begging to be solved. Demanding to be served. Hoping to be heard. All before that cum, that strange, pure, animal reward, elicites that gleeful, slightly smug look on her face, watching in lustful wonder the act of cumming. Love it.
I really do.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
She jumped on me this morning.
|
Posted:Mar 28, 2008 8:27 am
Last Updated:Jan 18, 2013 1:24 pm
7968 Views
|
She woke me up this morning, dripping from her shower. "I'm running late," she said, toweling off. "I need you to do something for me."
"Take the out?" I asked.
"No. I have three minutes and I need you to lick me," she demanded, running her finger along her closely trimmed bush. Laying down, she ordered, "Kneel off the bed."
"Sounds good." I slid off the edge of the bed, trying to wake-up quickly.
Spreading her legs, I could see that she has shaved her legs and pussy, her silver ring laying on her clit. I dove in, licking broadly along her lips, pressing deep on her hood. She moaned, bringing her knees further up. Glancing sidelong at the alarm clock, she panted, "Fingers."
I felt her wetness between her lips, working two fingers into her pussy, feeling them become wet and sliding easily. Noting that I was watching myself play with her, she admonished, "Don't be lazy. Fingers and tongue." I pushed my mouth upon her clit.
Pumping my fingers in and out, feeling her characteristic muscular vaginal ring, I licked harder. She grabbed my hair with her hands, pushing my face harder into her. Spying the time, she stopped.
"Do you think you can cum in four minutes?" she asked, weighing her schedule.
"I can try," I said, working my hands on my semi-hard cock as she turned over.
She reached to the condoms at the bedside and said, "Just fuck to cum. Don't stop. Just fuck to cum." She lowered her face and shoulders to the bed, her ass angling upwards towards me.
I slid into her, grabbing her hips, pumping hard. The lack of foreplay slowly woke my slightly numb cock. After two minutes of steady pounding, I could feel the intensity building in my swollen head. Part of me wanted to slow down, let the feeling relax as the intensity and heat was nearly uncomfortable, but I resolved to continue.
The red, glowing numbers turned over again. I was pounding hard, but I didn't know if I could make it. Spitting on her ass, I pushed my thumb into her asshole, but the awkward angle of my elbow made thrusting more difficult and uneven. I growled, "Roll over," and pushed her onto her back, her head over the bed. She grabbed her thighs and held my gaze. I grabbed her by her waist again, and began fucking her, fast, staring intently at her bare cunt and my cock darting in and out of her.
As the five minute mark passed, I could feel the base of my cock tighten, my balls growing warm. She tightened her face, and I could feel her cunt tightening all around me, gripping me, nearly pushing me out each time I pulled out. Grabbing her hips, I thrusted in her, cumming, grunting, then slowly, gently letting her pussy work the last of my climax from my body.
I collapsed on the bed. Businesslike, glancing at the clock, she said, "You better be glad I'm nice enough to spot you an extra minute."
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
Flity McFlirtingstein
|
Posted:Mar 27, 2008 3:14 pm
Last Updated:May 9, 2024 6:32 am
7550 Views
|
So, I've started working my way back into "the game". My life should be slowing down in a month or two, and my flirtng always seems to hit a fever pitch in the second half of the semester.
unkali had been pouring over profiles, setting up (but not able to keep) dates, chattin' all the day long, but I don't think she's quiet "Thundercats are GO!" about anything yet.
Overall, though, I find flirting to be a wierd, tricky business. I guess it's from my Catholic upbringing, but I've never really been able to assume that other people like fucking, too. When it comes to jump, it always feels like I'm begging or swindling something from 'em, which I think is where a lot of Leonard Cohen's early work comes from.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
It's in the eyes.
|
Posted:Mar 13, 2008 12:38 pm
Last Updated:Mar 15, 2008 5:05 pm
7834 Views
|
Without doubt, it's all in the eyes.
You can see it online, anywhere, everywhere, the positive and negative examples are ubiquitous. Hundreds of thousands, millions, maybe, of pictures hoping to allure you, entice you, draw you near. An unending stream of waists, tits, pussies, asses, cocks, balls, and chests. Dozens of video clip websites shot by amateurs (in a literal sense-"lover of") with handheld digital recorders. The camera bumps around, trying to focus on a centered cock sliding in and out of a smooth, round, out-of-focus ass. Perhaps a lower-back tattoo, perhaps not.
But it's the eyes, every time.
Smiling, playful, devious. A wisp of hair hangs across one eye, making you notice its playful absence. If the eyes are attending something besides the camera, you wonder what is so distracting. Was this an interrupted laugh? An ironic demurity? Without a hint of grin, eyes locked forward, the intensity is frightening, and you wonder if you can keep up, measure up.
The eyes are truth, which is why I don't enjoy professional porn. The moans, motions, words--they are, to a small degree, fake and distracted, yes, but the real sin is that they are forced. In life, many of us can tell the difference between a good lover, one who is enjoying the moment, clumsy or skilled, verse a lover who is trying to be good, trying to impress. The difference between someone who loves to dance, feel the rhythm and motion in every joint, against those who want to be watched, the cooling hint of calculation.
But the eyes are truth, even when they close in intensity, face screwing up in concentration, engulfed in feeling, grasping, hunting, chasing a hard cum, or, just before the "little death", they seek the ceiling, unfocused, grasping at nothing, like clenching fingers and toes.
I'll take the eyes, every time. I'll take a wink over a brush of hair. I'll take a stolen glance over a dance-floor grind. I'll take a portrait over nude breast. And I'll take that overpowering, swallowing mid-coital stare over anything else the world has to offer.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
It was that kind of fuck.
|
Posted:Mar 7, 2008 6:42 pm
Last Updated:Mar 15, 2008 5:08 pm
7802 Views
|
The kind of fuck that makes you smile about it, bathed in its memory. That kind of smile that comes about when you suprise yourself.
She was younger than me, more open and friendly. She had tried starting something years earlier in her careful way, but, at the time, had stopped herself when she heard I was with someone else. Years later, we met again on campus. This time, I let her know that unkali and I were cool.
We flirted some, went out for drinks and dancing. She incorrecly assumed that I needed a few drinks before anything would happen and when she made a move like she was going to ask for another round, I got up for the dance floor.
The club had three dance floors. A small corner by the entrance with a DJ spinning house. A main floor where the local Rage Against The Machine or Bob Marley cover bands would play. A smaller, floor were all the black would dance, grinding in near darkness. There, we rubbed up against each other. I breathed heavy in her ear as she spread her hands across my chest. "You're so fucking hot," she said as she took of my sweater. She flashed her mystevious smile and looked at me below her eyebrow piercing.
Back at her place, we watched a few comedies, trying not to be loud such that we would wake her flatmate. All the while, we'd carress each other, slowly striping, hushing each other, laughing. Reaching my limit, I stripped her bare, exposing her breasts, wide hips, and her flowing pussy. Her skin was near ivory in the soft light of the TV, and I've no words for the level of wetness that hours of teasing had created.
Hungrily, I ate her, and her urgent, loud moans still echo behind my ears. "Oh! Oh! Owh!" she'd cry, loudly and deeply as she squeezed at her nipples. She mounted me, seperating her fleshy thighs so I could be in her deeper. She rode me for a while, but her eagerness left her bucking patternless, grinding atop me for a time before laying low on me, bucking arhythmicly.
Ultimately, I sat up, supporting her back as I laid her down. I crouched my body low over her, fucking into her. I began to bring my knees ever deeper under her thighs until her weight was largely supported by my groin and cock, her sholders against the wall and my arms under her back. Thrusting madly, I felt myself near the end. Seeing my face tighting, she said, "I want you to cum on my tits." I pulled out, ripping of the condom, and stroked myself over her as she touched my balls. Arching drops dripped from her hair down her sholder, tits, and stomach. Smearing it across her cheast, she laughed as I caught my breath.
Of course, that night was years in the making and occured in spite of, not because of, me and my shyness.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
Fear the weekend job!
|
Posted:Feb 23, 2008 5:29 pm
Last Updated:May 9, 2024 6:32 am
7735 Views
|
So I've been working every weekend, bright and early, along with having pretty full weekdays. While there are a number of cute young women about, I feel little urge to really chat them up--after all, I'd not be able to offer anything to 'em. No Saturday night dancing or Friday sushi. Hell, I barely have time to help keep the apartment cleaned up. Even unkali feels the sting, I'm sure. While we have our fantastic fucks and sanguine love at a regular basis, we're both often too exhausted for a frentic four-hour brusing kink-fest.
We did manage to work around it one day, though. Before I left for work, I left my little slave- a list of "chores" to be complete while I was away. Find a certain number of this or that fetish video. Trim this way. Have the lights on that way. And, when her man returned from work, I'd find her standing, made-up and ready with leather crop between clentched teeth, in the middle of the living room, wet and waiting for the evening. Even the term "wet" is a horrid understatement for her level of readiness. "Saturated", mind and body was more like it.
She dreams of women almost nightly, now a days. I'm still suprised she hasn't gone out more. Not as suprised as when I came home to her in bed with another woman, but suprised none-the-less.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
Happy New Year
|
Posted:Dec 31, 2007 9:19 pm
Last Updated:May 9, 2024 6:32 am
7530 Views
|
Unkali's idea was to celebrate the New Year by fucking on our rug as the clock struck.
Well done.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
Away, away, away
|
Posted:May 30, 2007 9:59 pm
Last Updated:Mar 4, 2012 12:45 pm
7922 Views
|
Well, Adieu, Minnesota.
You've done me well, but now I trek away for the next two years.
Larger sites await me, the facelessness of the people in a famous city. There sit countless adventures in Washington, D.C., and it is my breathless wish that I take advantage of as many as I am physically able.
Be well, Midwest. I'll come across you shortly.
|
|
|
1
comment
|
|
To link to this blog (rm_Kallisti_5) use [blog rm_Kallisti_5] in your messages.
|
|
|
| Sun |
Mon |
Tue |
Wed |
Thu |
Fri |
Sat |
| |
|
|
1
|
2
|
3
|
4
|
5
|
61
|
7
|
8
|
9
|
10
|
11
|
12
|
13
|
14
|
15
|
16
|
17
|
18
|
19
|
20
|
21
|
22
|
23
|
24
|
25
|
26
|
27
|
28
|
29
|
30
|
|
|
|
|
