Scintillectually Yours

Once again our dear Ang, the Sweltering Celt, has charged us with a challenging theme. I was lying in bed with a much different scenario playing out in my head but the minute I got out of bed to write it down, lest I forget, I was struck with a very different piece. I hope you enjoy this little lesson in etiquette.

She stood perfectly still. Weeks of training had taught her perfect posture. Head held high, shoulders back. Not a hair out of place; her pearl necklace (a gift from her father upon graduation) graced her creamy white neck; her white blouse starched, one delicate button left undone, her bountiful cleavage chastely covered.

Her teacher, regal in a Chanel suit, knelt at her feet. This was the final test although she had passed her course with high honors. Honors that were rewarded for all of her hard work. Soon she would be feted at Atlanta’s largest Cotillion—her coming out party. But now, she acquiesced to the ministrations of her mentor.

She dared not look down as her slim pencil skirt was pushed up to her waist, her garters securing silk stockings with seams running a straight line down the slender curve of the back of her leg and calf, disappearing into proper little closed-toe pumps. As ordered by the Head Mistress, the girls were never to wear panties. It was the one secret that they and they alone knew. They must be ready for her touch at all times. Her beckon call. And now she felt the white-gloved hands part her lips, already glistening with the illicit intentions bestowed upon her.

Her thighs quivered slightly and her Mistress’ hand slapped her lightly to quiet the small shiver and tiny moan. Her legs were urged apart—she never lost her balance. She remained poised, but her tongue darted out and lightly touched the perfect bow of red lipstick. Her eyelashes fluttered as she felt the woman’s mouth on her most private part. Her clitoris jumped at first touch. She faltered and this time the slap was sharper causing an almost inaudible gasp. The Mistress’ tongue worked fervently and even as she tried to focus her concentration on standing ever so still…she became lost in sensation. Her legs turned to jelly, her wetness poured forth, her muscles contracted and she came with a moan while she bent over, grabbed her teacher’s hair and shoved her face deeper into her raging vagina.

A pure white, monogrammed handkerchief gently caressed her slick thighs. Her skirt pulled carefully down. Her blouse adjusted. She returned to her seat and primly crossed her legs at the ankles, folding her hands in her lap. The Head Mistress dabbed gently at her mouth, smoothed her hair, and turned to the class. “My dears,” she addressed the three rows of young ladies, “who would like to be next?”

…and tag! I’m it!!! The week started with me in a total tizzy when Pleasurists #55 came out and I found I had been chosen by Madame Editrix Scarlet Lotus St. Syr as the Editor’s Pick of the Week. Since this was just the second sex toy review I have EVER done, you can imagine how excited I was! You can also imagine how excited the crew at TabuToys is as well!

Fast forward to this afternoon and I was all agog at the number of hits I had gotten today. Where were they coming from? Fleshbot’s Weekly Sex Blog Roundup!!! Yes, folks! C’est moi!!!

After yesterday’s massive pigout, I do believe my head has now swelled to match my expanding waistline. Good thing mom and dad got me WII Fit for my birthday (at my request, lest you think my parents are handing out hints about my weight!). I’ll settle down soon, but right now I’m reveling in all the glory.

You are watching me dance. I can feel your eyes on me as I lose myself in the frenzy of the music, the hot lights, the sweat soaked bodies around me. I dance with no one and everyone. Now I dance for you. I know you are watching my jean clad ass, my breasts under the light silk cami that now clings to my braless skin. I give myself over to abandon as the bass drums its way into my very groin. Or are those just thoughts of you and what may lie ahead for us?

The DJ switches to crappy house shit and I step off the dance floor and head back to my table. My friends are still dancing and I light a cigarette to keep myself busy as I lean back in the leather banquette to survey the crowd. I see you at the bar just as a waitress comes by with a screwdriver. I start to object but she points back to you and you raise your own glass to me. I understand that this is your opening bet and decide to play it to the end.
I pick up my glass and head for the empty stool next to you, perching myself on it I raise my finger to my lips, gesturing to you not to speak, and then lay my hand across your thigh. I can see that you are packing and the very thought feels comfortably warm between my legs. I take you into consideration with one sidelong glance. You are just my type…taller than me, good looking without being too movie star handsome, cocky. Light hair and amazing eyes, your mouth looks made to kiss me, your hands made to touch me. I wonder fleetingly what drew you to me and then decide it isn’t important after all.
I’m not a big drinker and the vodka is making me slightly fuzzy. I leave the glass half full and take my coat check from my pocket, handing it to you. You understand immediately and I don’t have to wait long by the door before you have retrieved our coats, putting mine around me as you hold the door open for me. I’m starting to like you more all the time. I don’t want small talk and simply tell you that we’re going to my apartment, a few blocks away. There is a fall chill in the air but I can feel the warmth of you as you walk beside me in silence. My breath is already coming faster with anticipation and I hope you don’t notice my hand tremble as I slide the key into the lock.
I start to remove my coat but you have other ideas. The night and the silence have excited us both and you turn me around to face you, pulling my coat roughly down my shoulders, pinning my arms to my side. No. I’m in charge here. This is my game, not yours. I pull away, half smiling and gesture to the sofa. Nice and slow…that’s how this is going to play out. I want this to last, not to be some slam, bam, bang me off the door jamb session. So I take my time lighting some candles, pouring a couple of glasses of wine so I can taste the sweet alcohol on your lips when I decide it is time to kiss you. I turn on the CD player and select the 9 1/2 Weeks soundtrack. Joe Cocker singing “You Can Leave Your Hat On.”
You like to watch me dance? Watch this. With my back to you I start a long, slow strip. I fantasize that I am on a catwalk in front of you and you came to pay to watch me take my clothes off. I take my time coming out of my shirt although I know my sweat-soaked top has left nothing to your imagination. I run my hands through my damp hair, pushing it off my face, my eyes closed as I move inside the music. I never forget I have an audience and I want to play you for all that I’m worth. I want you to really want me. Be hungry for me. I slide out of my jeans and all that I am is ass in thong panties. I bend over at the waist and glance at you through my legs. I can see how much you want me. I see you lick your lips, shift positions on the sofa. Beckon me to come to you. That’s okay now because I can’t take much more myself.
I move over you and admonish you when you try to touch me. You lay your hands back down at your side as I start unbuttoning your shirt. You have a great tits. Amazing arms. You obviously keep yourself in shape. I run my nails lightly down to the waistband of your jeans as you slip your shoes off under the coffee table with each foot. Now I ease your zipper down and allow you to help me slide your jeans off. Calvin Kleins…nice. Strap on…very nice. I nuzzle your neck, your chest, your stomach, then use my teeth to get the elastic of your shorts down around your cock. Beautiful.
Kneeling between your legs I take a quick look up to make sure you are watching me. I need you to watch me. You gasp lightly as I take the head of your cock in my mouth, lightly grazing it against my teeth before I close my lipsticked mouth down over you and back up again. I lift my head and smile slyly as I take a swallow of the sweet red wine. Back down, I swirl the liquid around your stiffness and let some spill down the side so I can lick it up. That’s when I stand up and look down on you and the thick eight inches I want so badly inside me.
You reach up and run your hands across my hips. I let you slide my panties to the floor and part my legs ever so slightly, allowing you to see me in all my glistening glory. I want to tease you so badly and I run my hands across my breasts and down to my pussy. Wetting my fingers I bring them to your mouth and then lean down to kiss you deeply, both of us sucking my own juices off of my fingers. Your hands tangle in my hair and you pull me down on top of you. Again, I’ve got other ideas and laugh as I push you down into the sofa cushion so that you are reclining. Now I turn around and taking my ass in both hands I spread myself wide. I want you to see me.
I lower myself onto your cock and start to ride you ever so slowly. Painfully slowly. I know you can see yourself moving in and out of my cunt. Your cock is wet with me. Your hands are on my hips and you cannot help but move me faster. I can’t help but go with it. Again, I am lost in the moment. Not to music but to the rhythm of our bodies as they slap together, hot, sweaty. I can’t be silent any longer and my cries join your groans as you reach around and play with my clit. God. How do you know exactly how to fuck me? Now it’s time for hard and fast. Harder. Faster. And I know I’m coming in wave after wave of deep contractions as you join me in a mind splintering orgasm.
The night goes on that way and as dawn approaches I doze off as you take your leave of my apartment. We haven’t spoken to each other at all and for an instant I worry that I might never see you again or have you again, but as you lean down for one last kiss you press your phone number into my palm. Leaving the game up to me…again.

I can’t TELL you how excited I am that my review of the LELO Elise Sweet Plum Vibrator was chosen as this week’s Editor’s Pick! This was only the second review I’ve done so I’m purty darn proud of myself right now. Thanks, Ms. Scarlet!

Ah, our dear Ang, the Sweltering Celt, has dealt us a challenge this week, indeed. A little poetry inspired by…

The Caduceus

undercover i slither up the length of leg

rubbing breast and belly to muscular thigh

tense and coiled ready to strike

mouth open sharp teeth bared

descend upon his flesh

with darting tongue and open eye

piercing skin to anguished cry

further rising

stretching

languid

wrapping tightly round the neck

his ecstasy released

i let go my prey

and bade him breathe, breathe, breathe.

“Here we see his full power of transcendence, whereby the lower transcendence from underworld snake-consciousness, passing through the medium of earthly reality, finally attains transcendence to superhuman or transpersonal reality in its winged flight.”

— Joseph L. Henderson, “Ancient Myths and Modern Man” in Carl Jung’s Man and his Symbols

I am going to be 45 years old in less than two weeks. In my family longevity is rampant. Three out of four of my grandparents lived well into their 90s, which means I am, yes…just over halfway through my life barring a fatal step-in-front-of-a-bus accident, a malignant disease, or the end of days in 2012. This post could wind up being a very tangential diatribe on the big giant fuck-up that is my life and if it sounds too horribly depressing you can chalk it up to the fact that I have a whopping case of the flu; just lost my health insurance in favor of paying the (now only two months in arrears) rent so that we won’t be living in a cardboard box on a heating grate in downtown Boston by the time the first snow flies; my parents are coming tomorrow for a week and my house looks like it was recently set down my Dorothy’s tornado; and I have a three pages of copy to write that I’ve been putting off for two days because I can’t organize my thoughts beyond this very tangential diatribe.

Where was I? Oh right. Wallowing in misery and self-loathing. So here’s the thing. We all live in a time of economic crisis. Many people I know don’t have jobs at all. Some work for minimum wage. Many are slogging through jobs they hate simply because they have them and don’t want to give them up. I freelance for a living. I used to be an art director. I worked for huge companies for 22 years. Ultimately, I was making six figures as a designer. Then the market tanked and my services in that area were no longer required. I was an aging print dinosaur in a land of 20-somethings who could do what I did better, faster, and cheaper. My resumé was worth only the paper it was printed on. I lost my apartment, most of my belongings and my car, declared bankruptcy. and was literally standing in line at the welfare office when HTB (remember him? The now former Hubby-to-be?) told me to leave everything, pack up my son, and move into his one bedroom in a sleepy little town a good 45 minutes out of the city.

Now I copy edit and proofread math, computer science, and physics textbooks. Occasionally, I get a medical tome or something on global health that consists of 500 pages detailing the ravages of disease in third world countries. HTB left me early in the year. After a particularly nasty scene that involved police at our door at 3 a.m. I asked him to please pack a bag and leave for a few days. He never returned. I have spent the last seven or eight months in an epic battle with my prepubescent son and my now doubled bills.

I’ve been okay with all of it until this weekend. Well, of course I’ve had tough times…moments where I thought I just couldn’t do it anymore. But I still got up the next morning, found I was still breathing, and set one foot in front of the other (yes, you now have that Christmas jingle in your head and you can blame me for the rest of the day) and kept going. I think my upcoming birthday is having it way with me. Not in a good way. I mean this bitch is fucking me up the ass with a 2 x 4 loaded with rusty nails. So…in light of the birthday cunt that wants to slam me hard…here is my wishlist for the coming year.

1. I get published. THIS is my dream. I always thought that art was my one true talent, but I find that I actually am a damn good writer and I want to be a damn good, getting-paid-for-it, published writer. Preferably for something that won’t give my mother an early coronary and break that streak of longevity.

2. I find a way to coexist with my kid. I’m truly tired of the knock-down, drag-out fights. I’m tired of taking my kid to therapy. I’m tired of being IN therapy. I’m tired of always saying no, of throwing food against the wall when I’ve worked so hard to prepare a meal only to have it wasted by an upturned nose and a plea for macaroni and cheese for the fourth night in a row, of falling into bed exhausted at 8:45 p.m. when I know I have work to do or a Netflix movie that has been sitting on my shelf for four months.

3. I get my finances in order. Steady work throughout the year. Something that doesn’t suddenly drop off in October and leave me scrambling to keep the heat on throughout the winter. Would that I had inherited my dad’s gene for squandering money for tough times.

4. A healthier, sexier body. It’s something I have wished for every year since I woke up one morning in my late 20s and discovered that my metabolism had packed its bags and left for Tahiti in the middle of the night. Obviously, I never get around to accomplishing this goal, but eh, maybe being heavier than ever now will spur me into action. Or maybe it’ll be the WII Fit that I’ve asked my folks for as a Birthday present.

6. Love. Yeah, love. This is a biggie for me. I am looking at nothing but a string of failed relationships with people who were, for the most part, alcoholics or potheads or hey, that four month stint with a heroin addict (gee, that was fun. Can you feel the sarcasm dripping from the ceiling onto your shoulder?). I love HTB. I do. I can’t seem to stay away from him. Alas, he only seems to want to truly be with me when I seem unavailable to him. He’s working on his transition. One more surgery (okay, in three or four steps probably) and he’ll have that long-dreamed about penis and THEN he says he can focus on us as a couple and us as a family. Why is it that someone can’t commit to a relationship with the one woman who was there from the very beginning and has an unbridled desire to be there during the journey? The one woman who isn’t really happy about waiting around until $20,000 miraculously shits itself out of the sky, thus enabling said surgical procedures?

Everyone who knows me knows that I can’t stand to be alone. Until this year I had not been single for more than three months since I was 17. I hear everyone saying that I should wait until I’m okay with being alone and then I can finally be with someone else. Bullfuckingshit. You know what? I am okay with being alone—I’ve been doing it, right? I just don’t prefer to be alone. I want to go to bed next to someone I love and wake up with them in the morning. I want to share the good, the bad, the gorgeous, and the ugly. I want that one person who will look at me and think “fuck me…I found a goddess and I am SO lucky to be the one she chose to share her life with.” Because really? Even given all of the crappiest parts about me (see above), I’m so worth it. I can’t tell you how many men and women have said this to me: you are intelligent, talented, creative, spiritual, beautiful, sexy, great in bed, you cook, you enjoy the outdoors, you do volunteer work, you are a writer, photographer, artist, designer, singer, avid reader, mother, friend…” Right. I’m the whole package. So why am I alone?

Thus endeth the tangential diatribe.

Remember when I said I was on hiatus from relationships? Well, I lied. I know, I know! I can hear my friends railing now about the fact that I jump into things too quickly and yes, she has already moved in with me. But, really, I do think she’s THE ONE. Before you get all hot and bothered, let me introduce you. Dear reader, this is
LELO Elise. Elise, this is dear reader. Elise was introduced to me by my fabulous friends at TabuToys. Our first meeting was a blind date, as I had never had any experience with a product from LELO before, but I must say, no matter how this relationship works out in the long run, I’m very excited for the opportunity to meet some of her ultrasexy friends!

She showed up one day in a knockout little black box. So classy. Gingerly I took her top off and discovered a little black satin number to keep her warm when she isn’t sharing my bed. Then, I turned my attention to my lovely Elise vibrator. 7.25″ tall with a 1.5″ body and curves to die for. What a delicious purple color! I had a hard time controlling myself but I wanted to wait, we had time. Elise, it turns out, is no easy lay—she came to me with an instruction manual that rivals a new video game (giving a whole new meaning to the word “joystick”), a control pad that could launch the space shuttle, and a charger that I keep trying to plug my cell phone into! I could see the future and it has her name written all over it.

The first night we spent together was rather a “dry run.” As an artist, I am a highly visual person and I really do need some sort of foreplay even when I’m going solo. I felt this was a good way to get to know each other. There were intricacies involved with Elise that I had never encountered before. I mean, this baby had range! Once I got the hang of her multiple buttons, I found that we could start out soft and slow and build our way to soft and really going (a little kiss and tell: LELO Elise is NOT a talker. She’s very quiet in bed, but that’s okay, I do enough moaning for both of us). Then came the surprise—she has not one, but two motors—the little minx! One in the tip and one at the base means that she can create five different stimulation modes. My best comparison would be the shower massage where you can turn the shower head and get different pulsations going. I’m not going to get into great detail here, because a girl has to leave something up to the imagination, but I will tell you that I really loved the “choo-choo” method. Okay, so that’s not a LELO term or something from TabuToys. It’s a pet name for the vibration that rapidly cycles and feels and sounds for all the world like Amtrak’s Acela—smooth and fancy,but you know you are on a train headed for someplace exotic. Unfortunately, that particular night, I didn’t reach my destination. I washed her carefully, slipped her into her black satin pouch, and then tucked her into her box for the night.

Our next foray was a little afternoon delight. I prepared myself with an overpriced girl-on-girl action from On-Demand (I really do need to invest in some videos of my own—I don’t think Elise is going to spring for half my cable bill). We got going pretty hot and heavy. While Elise does everything but make my breakfast (actually I haven’t tried, she’d probably whip up some mean scrambled eggs with one of her many versatile moves) she sadly doesn’t have the really focused clitoral stimulation that I need. This isn’t her fault. I need serious “Hey baby, check out the gun show going on over here. BOOM BOOM! Firepower!” But with her curves? I sent her into the front line and let her work on my g-spot to her heart’s delight. This is where her real talent lies. That girl can fuck me into submission! With a little clitoral focus on my part and Elise working her magic on the inside, we were soon making beautiful music together and I was, no doubt, causing neighborhood dogs to join me in howling the praises of my new girlfriend. I’m still waiting for the elusive masturbation-produced ejaculation, but somehow I think that LELO Elise is just the woman for the job. A few more nights together and I could be happily ruining my 600 thread-count sheets. Until then, she gets a very hearty Oh yeah, baby! Sigh…I really do think this is a relationship that will last at least a year—because she came with a warranty. *grin*

Product Details:

• Made from FDA-approved and phthalate-free ABS/ silicone

• Rechargeable: a 2-hour charge provides up to 4 hours of bliss

• The clever locking feature allows you to hold the button for 3-4 seconds to prevent it from turning on unexpectedly!

Oh. Oh…uh huh… Ohhhh! Oh yeah, baby! YES! YES! YES!

This item was provided by TabuToys for my honest opinions. I am not paid for my reviews but I do get to keep the products.

a) I’ve been a the hospital all day with my boyfriend who just had his hysterectomy. Don’t ask. Or do. Whatever. b) I think I’m getting the flu. c) I’ve been so unbearably busy this week I haven’t had time to get half-nekkid for anything so, d) here is an oldie for ya. Go check out people with more energy than me at Osbasso’s site and HHNT!

Flashes of the weekend past flood my mind at random times during the day. They cause a sharp intake of breath and a sticky sweetness that unleashes itself upon the almost nonexistent and already moist lace between my thighs. I think of you easing your hand, slick – cherry scented – into my wide open and willing cunt. The white hot feeling of pleasure mixed with pain that sends a warm tingle throughout my entire body as I relax around your fist. The most exquisite feeling to have you fill me up and join me in the single most intimate act of lovemaking. You, the one I trust to hold me there, to cherish that feeling, to take me to unbelievable heights of ecstasy as I tighten hard around your wrist and come in wave after wave of deep contracted orgasms.

My mouth upon your cock. My tongue playing with the tip, toying with the head, running up and down the length of your shaft as I lick you clean of my own cum. You watch me as I swallow you, my hand firmly grasping the base of your dick. You tangle your fingers in my hair, pulling, pushing. My pace increases with your breathing as I am now acutely aware of your rhythms and know every gasp and shudder as though they were my own.

Turning away from you. Silently, slowly, descending upon you. You can see every move of your cock in my dripping pussy. Always ready for you. Always wanting more of you. You grab my ass in both hands. Spread me apart. I know how much you can see. Everything about your sense of voyeurism and my own sense of exhibitionism turns me on. I become a literal and verbal whore for you. The need to talk comes of its own accord. “Fuck me” “Fuck me harder” “Cum in me” “Cum with me” “Deeper, faster” “Let me be your dirty little girl”. And you do fuck me harder, faster. Slapping my ass with burning pain that propels my senses into overdrive, covering us both with warm glaze oozing from my cunt. More. More.

Dragging me to the edge of the bed my legs against your body, my feet wrapped around your neck you plunge into me. My nails dig into the sides of the bed and I smile as you fuck me. So much passion. You make me feel beautiful and wanted and sexy and I forget that everything that is open to you is bouncing with every thrust of your cock inside me. My nipples hard, I want to grab my breasts…squeeze them, touch them, but I want the leverage to push against you meeting your pounding rhythm until we cum together again on cue.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

NOW. NOW. NOW.

I love the way our bodies move together. I love that we work so well together – an efficiently oiled machine. The time we took to know what each of us responds to and being so incredibly in sync with who we are and what we want. I yearn to learn more, know more, be more. To grow each day with you and to move you to new levels of pleasure beyond anything you ever dreamed possible.

You are mine as I am forever yours. I love you.

Welcome to the first edition of e[lust]! Below is your source for inspirations of lust and sexual intelligence from a wide range of sex bloggers. Want to be included in the next edition? Submission period opens for e[lust] # 2 on November 20th – subscribe to the RSS feed and Twitter for all updates! Check out the submission guidelines and rules of general conduct here.

This week’s top three picks as chosen by fellow e[lust] participants:

At Your Service - His hand pushes on my thigh and I turn away from him, allowing him to inspect my ass. His hands spread my ass cheeks and again I flood with wetness.

Cinderella – “‘I want to fuck you…’ he growled, nipping at her neck and kissing down over her breasts, biting at her nipples through the fabric, making her cry out.

Anal Sex Pt 2: The Ins and Outs of Butt Sex - Butt sex is what you make of it. Enjoy yourselves, be careful, and try everything that looks interesting.

Editor’s Pick:

The Slut Chronicles #5 – The Flight Delay – “When her eye caught his blatantly checking her out, he only grinned wider, with no remorse at all and it was she who blushed furiously.”

A note from the editor: And so it begins…

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days.  Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy! (more…)