Thursday, 28 February 2008

Drowning in Silence

The final night of that weekend is one that will stay with me for the rest of my life.

After the hustle and bustle of our friends had gone, it was just the two of us left in that big house. We are used to being together within the confines of a four-room flat and the volume that suddenly surrounded us was quite strange, especially knowing what we both had in mind for the coming night.

On the first evening, as soon as I saw that shower, I knew that at least one of our fantasies was going to be fulfilled over the following 48 hours. It was one of those big walk-in cubicles and there was definitely comfortably room for two. When Ruf also mentioned how big the shower was, I knew exactly what he was thinking.

I have had shower sex before, I think. In the deep, distant past. I recall snapshot memories of hands and soap, followed by acute disappointment at the discomfort because water and soap are not good lubricants.

So, after snuggling up on the sofa for an hour after tea as we companionably read the Sunday supplements and let our food go down, I was not surprised when Ruf stood up and held out his hand. He pulled me off the sofa and led me up the stairs towards that room.

I was a bit scared to be honest. That tiny snippet of memory kept trying to surface in my head and, after some of the challenges to our lovemaking over the previous few days, I didn't want this fantasy to go awry.

Because this is a big one.

How many times have I stood in a shower, letting the torrents stream over me and imagined his hands washing me. Wanted to feel his body pressed against mine as the water subsumed us. Tried desperately to capture the feel of him inside me, simultaneously filling and immersing myself in heat and moisture.

But this is Ruf. I do not need to say anything. It is as if he knows. As if he senses my dilemma, my concerns. And he treats me as he always does. His lips take mine and he flies me away somewhere else where I no longer have the capacity to think about anything but the passion that he generates in me. Clothes evaporate and there is only nakedness and the sound of the water pattering against the plastic base as he leads me inside and turns me to face him.

So often, I have refused to do things because 'I don't want to ruin my hair' and it must have given him enormous pleasure to push me straight under the flood surging from the showerhead. Hot, wet rivulets drenching my crowning glory, cascading across my face and down my body. Eyes closed as I felt him start to apply the soap. Each centimetre of my skin was gently washed and rinsed as the water flowed over me. My mind engulfed by the twin stimuli of the diluvian downpour and the caress of his fingers, leaving me breathless and longing.

Wanting him with every fibre of my being. Hyperventilating with the intensity of what was happening. I couldn't breathe properly as the deluge gushed over me. With panic in my chest, I gasped and panted for air and looked up at him through the barrier of my sopping fringe. Visibly trembling with the effort of breathing through the overwhelming emotion of everything that I was feeling.

Looking back, I don't think I have ever felt so sexually aroused as at that moment. I am incapable of putting into words the magnitude of the desire I felt. Sheer, unbridled, naked lust for this man. And, from the expression on his face as he looked back at me, I know he knew it too.

Admiring him through the steam and spray as I watched my own hands soaping and rinsing the body that I have come to adore. The stubble of his chin. That dimple. The hair on his chest. The tattoos on his arms. His strong belly and shapely legs. And that cute little butt. Before sinking to my knees to wash the part that so frequently joins us. Cleansing and sluicing as the water spurted around my shoulders and over my face. I pushed back my sodden hair, opened my mouth and took him.

Clamping my hands onto his buttocks, I devoured him as the deluge consumed us. Until he could take no more and dragged me up for kisses, taking me back to that state of intense arousal where I was shivering and panting, the feeling of hysteria not so far away. Pulling away and turning, I bent over so he could take what I so willingly offered. Alternately gripping my ankles and clawing at the tiles, I opened my mouth to scream... and drowned in the heat of him, lost in a world of steamy, wet wantonness.

For a brief moment he left me alone beneath the jets, shaken and very much stirred, as he dried himself. But it wasn't long before he was helping me to step out and tenderly rubbing the towel over every last inch of skin before wrapping me in it as we kissed again.

Just one look into his eyes was enough to tell me that this was only the first instalment.

He took me by the hand once more and led me to the bedroom with its six foot expanse of pushed-together beds.

The night was still young, there was tape to be tied, toys to be tested.

In a big, detached cottage, deep in dark woodland.

Where, best of all, no one could hear me scream...

Double Disjointed with Strings attached

Some months ago, I ran the following poll:

So the Gynae Doc says at my IUD check-up: 'Have you ever actually been able to feel your cervix?' Apparently, if you squat and then stick your leg on the loo, gravity should bring it down enough for you to be able to feel something like the tip of your nose. Well, I'm not sure I ever have... but am I alone?

Yes 18 (43%)

No 10 (24%)

Yes I've felt my partner's 11 (26%)

Nope I've never found my partner's 2 (4%)


It was really nice to know that there were others out there - as I had just spent 15 minutes trying to find my cervix.

'Stick your foot up on a chair,' I was told by the nurse. 'Insert one finger and push it down, back and then up until you reach a thing that feels like the end of your nose. That's your cervix. Now move your finger slightly to the side and feel for the strings.'

Like it was easy peasy! Well, you know what, I still couldn't even find the bit that feels like the end of my nose, let alone two inch-long bits of blue sewing cotton that are hopefully dangling about inside me, signifying that the attached device has stayed where it should be.

I have also never been able to insert a Lil-let tampon. I got a free sample at school and it was the first one that I ever tried to use. I remain traumatised by the memory of that half-an-hour spent lying on the bathroom floor with one foot on the windowsill, trying to press the wad of cotton wool inside me... but to no avail. For, of course, the harder I tried, the more stressed I became and exponentially the more solid became the muscles preventing the process.

About ten years later, I tried again but I was still unable to get the angle of my dangle right in order to push the damn thing all the way in. My fingers/wrist just don't seem to bend or extend to perform the necessary movement. It always got stuck half in and half out, which is not the most comfortable of sensations. I'm sure this most be me because there are millions of sales of that type of sanitary ware every week and they can't all have double-jointed wrists! As a result, I've always been a Tampax devotee - with its cardboard 'applicator for idiots' technology.

I don't know if this is linked but, in the days when heated rollers were de rigeur, I could never put those in either. Sat in front of the mirror, I would end up with hair curled around my wrist, my fingers, the mirror, anything but the damned roller... something to do with spatial awareness and not being able to match the mirrored image to the movements I had to make to coordinate the real one.

Lacking spacial awareness... well I can't park my car either.

(As an aside for all those spelling aficionados - is it spacial or spatial? Afficionado or aficionado? Spellcheck is definitely Americanised and, where once I was exceptional at spelling, I now get very confused because it keeps flagging up words that I thought I knew were correct! The online dictionary just can't seem to make up its mind, so is this an English vs American problem?)

I even got Ruf to try to find the strings... but without success. I tried several times myself - including whilst masturbating to try to make the whole rooting around process a little more enjoyable - each time without achieving either aim! It seems to me that if my fingers are three inches long and my vagina is capable of encompassing a penis that is six inches long, the chances are that I am never going to be able to locate the end of it! Suddenly I have this image of my pussy being like the wardrobe giving entrance to Narnia...

In the end, for peace of mind, I got the surgery nurse to check it for me at three months. She put the two strings together and pulled them down slightly so they were hanging completely vertically and, even then, I couldn't locate them with my fingers... but at least I am reassured that it has stayed put, despite our rigorous testing - which was always open to debate after the doubtful initial insertion process necessitated two attempts.

Still, as Ruf keeps saying: 'That little piece of metal is our friend so don't complain too much.'

Tuesday, 26 February 2008

Where No One Can Hear You Scream...

Fleshbotted

After showering me, he led me into the bedroom and removed the towel. He was laughing because there, on the bed where I had placed them earlier, was the tape and some toys. All our regular ones had been left at his place but these are two that I keep in my travel bag - just in case. A mini wand clit stimulator and a slim vibrator. I'm pretty sure both of them came as freebies or special offers when I've bought stuff from LoveHoney. But the piece de resistance was the tape.

We'd wanted to try some 'proper' bondage for a while. Normally we improvise and use cotton belts but these have a tendency to be uncomfortably tight or to come undone so they are not totally reliable. A friend had waxed lyrical about the joys of bondage tape but, on checking, the stuff he had recommended contained latex. In fact, everywhere I tried, all the brands seemed to have it... until now. LoveHoney stock this as 'lightweight bondage ribbon' and list it as latex-free so I thought we should give it a go.

It seemed a bit too clinical to go straight from the loved-up passion in the shower to the mindset needed for bondage so we started by playing with the toys... well I did, whilst Ruf looked on. Freed from the restriction of worrying about alerting the other houseguests to our activities, I was in my element. Effusive in expressing my enjoyment.

It never normally takes long before he wants to join in and we indulged ourselves with a little doggy, accompanied by a side serving of clit vibration. This, on top of the remnants of arousal from the shower episode, continued the process of stimulation. We have discovered that my orgasms are like tides where, with each ebb and flow, the height of the next exceeds the last... culminating in the massive spring flood. My excited squeals were signalling the first rumblings of a seismic shift that would rock me at the denouement.

As we lay there, snuggling for a moment of refraction, I just drank him in. I love being in this position, tucked under his arm with my head on his shoulder and my hand stroking his chin and his chest - my Sanctuary. It has the most calming effect on me.

It makes me realise how lucky I am to have found him. Tess did a post about gspots recently and said that she would far rather have a man who could find her soul. But what I have found with Ruf is a someone who can do both. A man who makes me feel so beautiful and special that I walk around like the Ready Brek kid with a glowing external aura.

Lying there, thinking about how relaxed I feel with him, about how turned on I was earlier in the shower, I just felt this huge surge of emotion rising up inside me and overwhelming me.

And then he started to whisper. Telling me about what was going to happen next. How he was going to use the bondage tape to restrain me and have his way with me. Reminding me how totally helpless I was going to be... Completely at his mercy and unable to stop him. Ruf at his most dominant.

Lifting myself onto my elbow, he could see the uncontrollable desire in my eyes and our lips met as our bodies intertwined. Two lusts joining and overlapping and consuming us as he pushed me back and grabbed hold of my wrists. Yanking at the tape, he secured my forearms together, just below the elbow and then did the same with my wrists.

At first I thought it wasn't going to work. The tape was like a ribbon, soft and fragile. But I was so wrong. As soon as it was wound around so that two pieces touched each other, it adhered and stuck firm to itself... but not to my skin. I tried to pull my arms apart but I was, as he had predicted, powerless to protect myself. He sat between my legs and lifted one onto his shoulder, resting the ankle there as he dragged my arms up and secured my wrists to the lower part of my leg. Trussed like a chicken and, revelling in my impotence, he took full advantage.

Applying his fingers to my clit, as I bucked and wriggled beneath his attentions, before pressing home his advantage in no uncertain terms as the pressure recommenced its ascent inside me.

Taking me to a point where I was begging for my tulip.

'Can you hold it?' he queried as he placed the stem between my restrained but supplicant palms and watched me bend my leg to apply the buzzing bulb to the specific part. He laughed as the orgasm hit almost immediately. Waiting for the onset of the next, he pulled me towards him and rested my foot on his chest, lifting my pelvis off the bed so that my weight was on my shoulders and upper back. My other leg naturally hooked itself around his hip to give him just the right angle to slide himself in at the optimum moment and start to pump. This is one of my favourite positions for a really strong climax, especially when I've already had several... and it didn't fail me on this occasion.

With no one within earshot to hear my noisy exclamations, I could just let rip and scream as the tension accumulated and compounded to a crescendo of explosive release, leaving me gasping and shaking. And, this being Ruf, he wasn't happy to just finish it there so he continued his rhythmic hip jerks in and out as the tulip continued to wreak havoc with the nerves leading from my groin to my brain, agitating and impatient, pushing out a second and then a third shrieking eruption.

As soon as my brain showed any semblance of regaining its natural equilibrium, he pushed me over onto my fastened knee, insisting that I maintain the pressure of the tulip, despite my pleas that I couldn't turn. He manhandled my body into the position he had envisaged, with one knee up and the other leg long before penetrating me again and riding another wave of shrill approval.

There was no time for my mental state to recover itself before he made use of the final toy. The small vibrating dildo was inserted. First into the sodden gash of my cunt and pressing back against the opposing force of the tulip. Squeezing my gspot in some devilish sandwich of delight until he received his squelchy and vociferous reward.

I didn't even have to tell him where I wanted it next, although he made me plead for it just the same as he teased at the little round rosebud. And then it was inside, the sensory pleasure pushing the pressure higher and higher, until I thought my head would burst open, despite the screams venting the energy from my mouth.

Before long, he was unable to resist the urge to be inside me too. The muscles there had tightened to such a degree that he could hardly make any inward progress. So slipping in and out at the entrance, enjoying the stereo vibrations from the two little helpers on either side, he waited for the moment of release when the screams reached their zenith and subsided; when my rigid musculature relaxed sufficiently for him to push forward and take me back up to the summit again. My body clenching around him, effectively pinning him inside me before forcibly ejecting him and blocking his attempts to regain entry.

Wave upon cataclysmic wave building to a tsunami as my fingers gripped the bedding convulsively, knuckles white with the restrained energy fighting to extricate itself as I yelled and shrieked to liberate the pent-up storm whirling around my body.

And then there was silence.

This amazing sense of complete calm. Total relaxation after discharging all the furious tension that had built up inside me. I don't know how much time passed before I watched him as he gently released me from the tape bindings and noted that there had been no form of reaction against my skin. I lay completely still and emotionless as he tidied up the bed, focussing only on the activity that occurred immediately within my field of vision.

I remember that he asked several times if I was alright but I was incapable of responding. I'm not really sure that I knew the answer.

Everything was in slow motion and accompanied by a soft buzzing in my ears. Like watching a scene through a lens smeared with vaseline, all sort of smudged around the edges. There were half-formed sentences in my mind that my mouth could not begin to utter without the connection. Nothing seemed to matter. Catatonic. Drugged by the excesses of our passion.

Someone later likened it to a mini-stroke but I'm glad I didn't think that then. I just let it have me - totally numb, yet engulfed in this curiously warm glow of satisfaction. As I drifted off, I was aware of him wrapping himself around me and pulling me close. Tucking the quilt in beneath me. Safe and warm, he held me tightly as I slept, exhausted by our endeavours.

Sugasm #120

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #121? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.


This Week’s Picks

The Ache of Desire Unsatisfied “J groaned in my ear, and I nearly pulled down his zipper then and there.”


Unexpected “Tingles of electricity were set coursing up and down that side of my body.”


Part(y)ing shots “I placed both my hands on the tiled wall in front of me, clammy and cold, holding myself up.”


Mr. Sugasm Himself The “Best way to make him felt hot”


Editor’s Choice Who Is A Sex Worker?


More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm


See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday

Friday, 22 February 2008

The Smut Meme

I have seen this on a few blogs but I stole it shamelessly, I mean, copied it from Rups.


You're welcome to post it on your blogs. You must call it the Smut Meme, you must link to me in the beginning paragraph, and you must tag 2 people, and link to them as well. Oh, and you must post this little blurb of instructions at the beginning, as has been done here. The idea is to pick one or the other, even if you prefer neither.


1. Chocolate or Whipped Cream:
Chocolate if I must but I'd really rather have gravy.

2. Leather or PVC:
I like leather but, as Ruf is a vegan, it would have to be PVC or, better still, lace.

3. Outdoor Sex or Indoor Sex:
Indoor - Whilst outdoor can be fun, it is also too stressful and uncomfortable.

4. In the Jacuzzi or In Bed?
Bed. Although I had a lovely shower recently so I'm not ruling out the jacuzzi totally.

5. Bad Sex or No Sex:
No sex. For me, sex is all about emotions and feelings. If I don't feel something for the other person, it will be bad sex and I'd rather have a connection or nothing.

6. Dominate or Be Dominated:
I like to dominate but in a very submissive way. I know, I know! But I like to tie Ruf up and then prostrate myself on my knees and fellate him. There is such an extraordinary power for me in that scenario. I also like it when he ties me and... ah, but I'm sure there's a post in that little story.

7. Thigh highs or Bodystocking:
Thigh Highs with lacy tops. Really pretty with unobstructed access to areas of natural interest.

8. Fast or Slow:
Depends on my mood. Fast fucking but slow love-making - both are equally appealling. If I'm out of my tree with arousal, then I like it fast and rough but if I want to feel like the most special person in his world, then it has to be slow and gentle.

9. Rough or Gentle:
See above.

10. Bite or Suck:
Mostly suck but there have been times of great passion when I just want to be bitten... to be marked.

11. Role play or Reality:
We have a secret liaison that doesn't exist in the real world. So, mostly we make love for real but that doesn't totally rule out fantasies. I would say that it is more likely we would mutually wank by phone to stories about role play.

12. Dirty Talking or Dirty Talking To:
I don't think you've been paying attention! My blog is one long session of me doing the dirty talking. However, Ruf knows exactly what to say to reduce me to a quivering jelly of desire. Mmmm, those F Words...

13. Edible panties or No Panties:
Ripped-off panties. *Note to Ruf, for future reference, at the edge seam please. Giving me a wedgie and then trying to rip them off from there is not sexy, just painful*

14. Spanking paddle or Bare-handed:
Have been researching this recently. Being with a man who knows all about power generation, bare-handed bloody stings!!!

15. Landing Strip or Kojak:
I'm not brave enough for a full Kojak by waxing. And, to be honest, I don't really like the look of it anyway. Too much like a little girl. I think the landing strip looks much neater and I feel like a real woman.

16. Multiple Sessions or One Good Fuck:
I find I get my biggest orgasms after a long session of multiple penetrations.

17. Moaning or Screaming:
I do a bit of moaning but when Im really there, it's loud and uncontrollable screaming that must carry to the entire neighbourhood.

18. Older Men or Young Men:
Ruf is six years my junior but he's not a spring chicken any more. I think it depends on the man but I'd far rather have experience than be teaching all the time. Mind you, I also like enthusiastic stamina so, as I say, I guess it depends on the man...

19. Threeway or No Way:
Never say never

20. Swing or No Swinging:
Very unlikely. I think I'm too possessive. But also because I need to be emotionally engaged to have sex and, at heart, I am a one man at a time type of girl. But, who's to say in the future...

I'm not tagging anyone because I think this has done the rounds but, if you want to have a go, just follow the instructions...

With thanks to Isa for originating the whole thing and then somehow getting mislaid...

Wednesday, 20 February 2008

Sugasm #119

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #120? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.


This Week’s Picks



The Rule of Blowjobs for Women “Tease. Spend time. Don’t just start out like a Hoover on overdrive.”


Commercialising Romance or “I bought you this card now where’s my blowjob?” “If it takes a specific date for your partner to show you he loves you then what do you have?”


Relax “She smiled up at him, from her vantage point between his knees, and continued what she’d been doing.”


Mr. Sugasm Himself Questions…


Editor’s Choice Hazards of the Biz


More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm


See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Saturday, 16 February 2008

Silent Sex

When you have small children, you get used to holding back. To not voicing that last provocative argument which could shift the gear from hissing disagreement into fullscale war. You start doing grown-up things quietly and surreptitiously so the innocent won't notice. Perhaps the worst part is having silent sex. I think it was always part of my problem because, at times of deep emotion, I've often had the need to scream.

Meeting Ruf and being forced to let go of all the constraints that have held me back, both physically and mentally, has propelled me to a much nicer place emotionally. I no longer find it necessary to apportion blame. To make it someone's fault. It no longer sits right. It is better to own up and take responsibility or just mentally move along. There is nothing worse than to sit and fester because with that comes self-pity, followed by tears, culminating in suppression of rage. My biggest enemy.

Of course, a major side effect of this new-found confidence has been my ability to embrace noise in the bedroom. Those little parts of my brain that were always listening out for noises, signs that someone might overhear have been overridden by this deep-seated need to scale the mountain. But without a vocal accompaniment, this becomes so much harder. Requires so much more focus to overcome the boundaries that tie me into the real world and retain me there.

So this weekend was something of a trial. A big house with lots of people I didn't know, a first meeting with my lover's brother and... a rampant Ruf.

The last time Ruf took a woman to meet him, they stayed the night and their noisy roistering was applauded the following day by a comment from his brother admiring his stamina!

I had warned my stallion beforehand that things might be rather difficult. That, despite his 'couldn't give a toss if they hear' attitude, I was a little more conservative, a tad more sensitive to that sort of thing, especially in front of strangers. So we agreed - very reluctantly on his part it must be said - to silent sex.

I'm not sure he realised quite how silent my insecurities would need for us to be. For with every movement, my mind was acutely listening out for any noise - the creak of the bedsprings, the gentle slap of the headboard against the wall, the rustle of the bedclothes, the heaviness of our breathing. But I was still determined that the act itself would take place because it's just so hard to be in bed with that man and not!

And, as usual, it was my body that betrayed me.

It seemed as if, almost every time there was a possibility that I might actually come, as my mind clung on grimly to reality and my teeth clamped together to hold back any possibility of a sound forcing its way out from my mouth, there would be this other noise.

Deep in my nether regions, something was going hideously awry. Whether it was the fear and stress expressing itself through the rather obscure medium of messing up my body's natural lubricant or whether trying to be quiet did something to alter Ruf's technique and allowed the introduction of additional air, I'm still not sure.

But, yes, you guessed it. As soon as there was any possibility that I might get to have an orgasm, we were subjected to the cruel interjection of a very unladylike expostulation from my girlie parts.

Now, stop laughing! It's embarrassing enough when the house is completely silent and you know there are people in the next room and across the landing and in several rooms immediately below and the bedsprings have been rhythmically swaying for quite some time. But how much worse to have the whole triumphal process climax not with the joyful shrieks of a well-fucked banshee but the loud squelchy raspberry of a fanny fart! Closely followed by the pair of us trying to suppress our giggles.

I mean this blog is supposed to be about love, about romance, about wonderful sex which always ends with both of us coming at the same time as we whisper I love you!

I was mortified and every attempt at our normal passionate conjoining concluded in the same fashion. It didn't matter what position we tried... missionary, doggy, standing on my head... the end result was the same and I would push him off and try to hide my blushes under the bedclothes in dejection.

The ignominy, the shame! I'm Joanna Cake, I'm supposed to always have nice, meaningful sex with any messy, unplanned surprises being a welcome bonus.

I had to resort to giving poor Ruf a silent bj in my embarrassment at the failure of my bits to afford him his normal satisfaction.

I'm now going off to cover my face with a paperbag so no one can see how red I've gone.


But, of course, you know what I'm asking... I mean, what the fuck? What on earth is it that causes those excruciating moments?

Blogbunnie

... And in the wee small hours, the Blogbunnie waved a magic wand and the humble cupcake was transformed...

Thank you. I love it.

Wednesday, 13 February 2008

Bloggers for Charity

Photobucket

Peach is exhorting us to write something for charity and here's the criteria if, like me, you want to take part.

We would like you to submit (to us at bloggersforcharity@yahoo.co.uk) a written piece about something you've been through from any aspect of your life that you want to share. It can literally be about anything: your relationships, your past, a road not taken, being a parent, an illness or your regrets etc. We've called it "You're Not The Only One" to reflect the camaraderie of blogging.


Proceeds will go to WARCHILD and, blatantly following in the same fashion as Troubled Diva (Mike Atkinson)'s Shaggy Blog Stories, we will be publishing it through www.lulu.com. This is a no upfront fee internet publishing site who will take £4.70 per book sold if we make it no longer than 200 pages. We're pricing the book at £9 so £4.30 will go to straight to the charity. Because the cost lulu.com takes goes up according to how many pages we want published, we do have to stick to the 200 page limit so we can't guarantee you'll get your submission in for sure and the absolute maximum length for submission is 1500 words (but we’d rather not have too many at that length. In fact you may stand more chance if your piece is on the less wordy side).

WARCHILD is a uk based charity but it helps children all over the world, so we'd like as many submissions from as many places as possible

A small note, we'd prefer it if you submit stories you've not published outside the blogworld, i.e a piece from your own site is great, but not from a previously published hard copy book, lulu or otherwise; that makes this exclusive.

To summarise:



You must be a blogger with a live blog
It must be about something you've been through, amusing or serious or any style you like.
You can submit in your blogname and remain anonymous, or not, up to you.
It can't be something previously published outside the blogworld, but anything from your blog, or something entirely new, is fine.
Try to keep below 1500 words.
You must pimp the book on your site and buy it if you make a submission to be in it!
Please LINK BACK TO THIS POST to spread the word!
DEADLINE IS 29th FEBRUARY 2008 for submissions.
Send your submissions to us at bloggersforcharity@yahoo.co.uk

We’re really excited about this and think, if we get the quality we know is out there, we stand a good chance of getting some great PR.



If it's hugely submitted to, we'll do another one later in the year.... so get writing !


I'm currently feeling exceedingly under the weather with some kind of throat infection but I shall be submitting something before the deadline is up.

Sugasm #118

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #119? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.



This Week’s Picks


An Erotic Story…Samson and Delilah “Now how exactly does one go about seducing a preacher?”



A Kiss “Then, the lulling low roar of your voice falls away and we are both leaning forward, transfixed.”



Clif & Lydia Drop Over The Edge “She nervously giggled and lowered her lashes. ”



Mr. Sugasm Himself The Secret of Playboy Legs



Editor’s Choice The Carnival of Feminists 53: Call for submissions



More Sugasm


Join the Sugasm



See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Monday, 11 February 2008

Sanctuary

Chosen by Sexoteric



When the world around me is exploding and my shoulders have reached the zenith of their upwards progress in an attempt to compensate for the madness in which I am embroiled, my thoughts run to you.

I take myself to my place of safety, where I am warm and cossetted and loved.

I feel your lips gentle against my hair and let my mind recapture the utter stillness of that haven.

Relaxing my body into the circle of your arm as your palm curves instinctively around my hip.

Snuggle into the comfort of your embrace, resting my cheek upon the soft skin of your shoulder and my hand upon your naked chest.

Hear the soothing crackle of the hair beneath the passage of my fingers.

Circle the palm upwards to find the stubble of your chin, the dimpled walnut reassuringly prickles each fingertip as I stroke away the sadness and anxiety of the difficult parts of my life.

Breathing quietly and carefully with each calming revolution: crackle, prickle, around; crackle, prickle, around.

When I feel the stress threatening to overwhelm me, I allow my mind to escape here.

For this is my Sanctuary.

Thursday, 7 February 2008

Exhaustion

Your face as you open the door is a picture. I'm sure I told you I was coming this evening rather than tomorrow but your confusion is apparent... and then the smile of pleasure at my presence.

Our lust meets and joins again and again through the night and the following day until our body parts are no longer physically capable of function even though our minds still desire the satisfaction.

Big Ben finds us trying once more to capture the moment. To bang on the bongs. Attempting to attain yet again the elusive ephemeral bliss that the union of our bodies seems to generate... and failing. But it doesn't matter. We kiss our way into the New Year instead.

A few hours rest and then we awake on that last morning, sleepy and sad and yet unable to resist the thrill of repeated conjoinings until, finally spent, we just snuggle together whispering sweet nothings.

You tell me not to be sad, that my departure is all part of the deal, the trade off for the wonderful thing that we have. How when we are making love, wrapped up around and in each other, it feels like there is only us in the whole world. And I understand completely. That incredible sensation where I don't know where I end and you begin, the knowledge that I am completed by you and we are both made whole.

My hand stroking the soft curly hair of your chest, reaching around and down to the little pod of your belly and then back to the roundness of your buttock, cupping the curve of your hip before filling my palm with your shoulder. All the strong hard circles that make up the body of the man I love. Kissing your neck and pressing my breasts into the hollow where your back tapers down towards your waist and feeling your bottom slip into the concave space between my ribs and my thighs.

Reaching around for your balls, holding both, tickling them and feeling the member above trying to come alive yet again. Lubing up my palm I take hold of my handle and start to caress him as I pretend that you are my Reader and I am telling you a story.

Like Scheherazade voicing her fantasies to save her life, I fight just as hard for yet another erection by recounting the tale of a woman so enamoured of a man that she will drive hundreds of miles just to be with him, purely to be able to be naked with him in his bed. How he excites her with his strong, hard body and delights her with his gentle, imaginative mind.

Whispering about the way he gets hard as soon as she walks into his world and the wetness that ensues when he takes her into his arms. The slick warm slit between her legs moistening at the magic words he uses to explain what he intends to do with her. 'Finger Fuck.' That's all it takes to send her into paroxysms of desire. Shivering and trembling, goosebumps erupting all over her, pointing her nipples skywards as he finds her mouth and kisses her. All reticence is forgotten. There is only him and what they will do to each other.

All the while, my fingers stroke your manhood feeling it lengthen and harden, preparing itself for one last foray before it is denied him for almost a month. Your eyes are closed, listening intently to the story of their desire. To not be aroused would be impossible.

For this is the tale of a woman who was not supposed to stick around, certainly was never supposed to become a permanent fixture. It was meant to be purely about sex. A stop gap. A momentary interlude. A pleasant diversion whilst he searched for the woman who would become Mrs. Ruf.

And yet the man loves her, despite himself and his reservations. For, with her, his life became something more because she quite clearly loved him for everything that he was. It didn't matter that his friends told him he needed a proper girlfriend. Why would he swap this precious intimacy for an intangible permanence that would swallow up their lust in the mundanity of normality. For she was so much more than those friends could imagine and the days without her were like an eternity of loneliness. But when she was there... in his flat, in his bed, in his arms... he didn't want to even think about the prospect of losing that.

Progressing the story to the day they had made love in her car, the force of his passion banging her head on the windscreen and the sound of her climax ricocheting around them. How she had loved it when, having been admired by other men all night, once home, he had taken her and made her totally his possession, his fuckthing. Remembering the numerous other occasions when her uncontrollable screams of abandon had threatened to wake the entire neighbourhood.

Contrasting so keenly with the times when he would gently remove her boots and socks as she pleaded exhaustion from the journey, carefully strip off the rest of her clothing and take her, naked, to his bed. Kissing her tenderly as he felt her reluctantly relax and then joyously writhe beneath the touch of his lips and his fingers. Wonder at the way her legs opened, her whole body parted to admit the hot, hard flesh protruding from his groin. Making love to her and hear her gasping as each centimetre penetrated the tight wetness. Experiencing the sensation of her body trembling around him as it constricted and melted...


'Do you want me, Ruf...? Do you want me like that?'

And with a moan, you roll over, almost scrambling on top of me in your urgency to satisfy the need. Holding my arms outstretched, gripping the palms beneath yours. My legs open and the calves lock themselves around your thighs as you push into the proffered entrance... just as it was in the story. Pressing deeper into the tightness, propelled forward by the liquid of my desire. Pushing me gently to extract one last climax, not as loud or expansive as earlier explosions, but no less sweet.

For as my orgasm rises and falls, leaving me biting at your shoulder, it triggers and overlaps your own. Shuddering into me as you whisper those words in my ear and leaving you spent. Enfolded in my relinquished arms, the fingers of one hand lightly stroking the soft velvet of the back of your head as the tremors of your exertion gradually lessen and you lie quiet in my embrace.

Happy Birthday darling man x

Sugasm #117

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #118? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.



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A Fable “They start touching her, gingerly at first, wondering what magic is in her.”



Fiction: The Island Princess and the Monkeys Who Tie Knots “You naughty, naughty, NAUGHTY monkeys!”



Sexy Is In Your Mind “Sexy is an attitude and really all in your mind.”



Mr. Sugasm Himself Chickipedia



Editor’s Choice Take a walk on the wild side.



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Monday, 4 February 2008

Attention-seeking

I smile at everyone.

Ruf laughs at me when I recount stories of my various flirtations and interactions with males of all ages. He says: 'You'll accept compliments from anyone'. And he's right, I love being made much of, being the recipient of a returned smile or a suggestive comment. In my job, it is a big asset. People of all ages respond in a good way and it makes the time pass so much more pleasantly.

A little old pensioner came up to me a few days ago. I see him every day. He's very dapper, wears a trilby and raincoat and always doffs his cap as he approaches, whilst thanking me for looking after the wrinkly pensioners.

So this time he sidles up and says 'I thought of you on Friday night'

'Oh yes?' says I.

'Yes,' he says. 'I was opening a bottle of champagne'

I start to get confused. 'Champagne?'

'Yes,' he continues. 'I had nothing on...'

He stops and takes a deep breath as my mind starts to turn somersaults wondering if that's the end of the sentence.

'...the television and I had a bottle in the fridge from New Year so I thought Id treat myself. As I opened it, I thought of you...'

And with that, he wandered off, leaving me completely nonplussed and open mouthed.

He must be 65 if he's a day! And from his handlebar moustaches I could have sworn he was gay.

Still, any attention is good attention.... isnt it...?