She threw herself at me

She threw herself at me.

Well, not really -- but it sounds good, doesn't it?

Actually she was standing too close to a tiki torch and when the wind blew the flame toward her, she leaped away from it -- and into me. It was rather nice having my arms full of a buxom blond who smelled like Lolita Lempicka. I helped her steady herself and smiled as she blushed and apologized profusely. The man I was talking to when she stumbled into me made introductions. As we shook hands, I noticed her wedding ring.

"Emily?" I said. "A lovely name for someone so warm and soft and sweet smelling."

The way she looked at me, I knew I'd read her right. Married she might be, but Emily liked girls. And dominants.

Our mutual friend Bruce laughed. He and Emily had a lot in common, apparently. Both were married, bisexual, and submissive. We chatted for a while, and I enjoyed the energy they sent my way. Subs do that in the presence of Dominants--they bend energy our way.

I turned to Bruce. "I brought my Sybian... if you help carry it in, I'll let you choose who rides first."

"Oh!" gasped Emily. "Me-me-me-me."

I smiled at Bruce and he gave his delightful laugh.



He laughed the same way when Emily climaxed later that night, her hips bucking on my Sybian and her eyes wide. She kept saying "OhMyGodOhMyGodOhMyGod" like a Buddhist reciting a mantra that had her on the cusp of enlightenment. And maybe she was. She looked utterly transformed: luminous, uninhibited, joyous. Her hair was a disheveled mess and her nipples, her little pink nipples, were incredibly hard, the large aureoles crinkled up tight.

I had slowly been turning down the vibration on the Sybian as she slid down her peak, looking drowsy and replete, but Bruce gave me a thumbs-up sign and moved behind Emily. He kneeled and pulled her back against him, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and another under her ribcage. Once he had her secure in his embrace, I goosed the power on the Sybian. Emily's eyes popped open.

"NoNoNoNoNoooo," she screamed. "Make it stop!" Her head tossed from side to side.

"Ever heard of forced orgasms, Emily?" I asked her. I knew I had a devilish expression on my face. I love making women cum.

Emily shook her head wildly. She choked on something that could have been a moan or a sob.

Bruce slid his fingers down her belly. I watched him tease her clit as I stepped out of my skirt, leaving a pool of silk on the floor. As I walked toward them, my fingers flicked my right thigh, the thigh that the holster for my strap-on dildo usually rode on. But not tonight. Tonight my tool of choice was the Sybaan.

I stood over them and gave first Bruce, and then Emily, a kiss. Then I took her hair in my hand and pulled it downward until her upturned face left her no where to look but my eyes.

"You are going to eat my pussy, Emily love, and you are going to make me cum. You are going to cum on my clit, making it vibrate with the force of your own screaming orgasms. And only your being limp and senseless will make it stop."

I tightened my fingers in her hair and pressed her face against my pussy. With my other hand, I pressed the control box against my thigh and turned it to its highest setting. Bruce leaned into Emily, forcing her pussy and clit down against the machine.

When she came, it was with an explosion of hot breath against my clit that went off like an explosion in the back of my mind. The keening sounds she made were muffled against my flesh, but the vibrations rippled through me, pebbling my skin with wave after wave of gooseflesh.

So close! I pressed myself firmly against her face until I could feel the suction of her mouth and nose struggling to find air. She sucked pussy juice deep into her nostrils and then I set her free, letting her gasp for air. Mmmm. So close!

I watched as Bruce humped his cock against Emily's ass, a blissed-out expression on his face.

"Finish in her mouth," I instructed him.

Bruce staggered to his feet and moved to stand before Emily while I got behind her on the Sybian. Even without the dildo attachment the vibration of the machine was enough to make me cum. I wrapped my arms around Emily and humped against her and the Sybian as Bruce cradled her head in his hands.

As profane as the scene might have seemed to someone else, to us there was something transcendent and sacred about the giving and taking of pleasure, of the abandonment of inhibitions and fears, and the release of our primal selves in this ages old dance to the orgiastic, orgasmic beat of carnal love pounded out in the drums of our flesh until we fell asleep in a sodden, tangled heap, our bodies imperfect instruments of the tireless, divine spark within.

Pretty Pussy

This essay was published in the Exotica section of Clean Sheets last month.

********

"Take photos of me," she said in a breathily timid and yet assertive rush of words.

I raised my eyebrows.

"I am not all that comfortable with photographing people, sweetie. There is something about the lighting that I don't get..."

"Oh they don't have to be professional. I don't think I would want anyone to see them anyway."

"You've lost me," I said.

"I want to know what I look like... you know... down there."

If possible, my eyebrows rose further. I developed a second hairline just below the first. I think I even squirmed a little. I'm very open and have gotten a lot of requests over the years, but never this one.

"Have you tried a mirror?" I asked.

"Yes, but the perspective is all wrong, and it feels awkward," she was silent for a long moment. "I was hoping I could see myself the way you do..."

And so I did as she asked. She was inordinately pleased to make her pussy's acquaintance. Thrilled, you might say. At last, she could see for herself that hers was, indeed, a pretty pussy. Which started my thoughts down a curious path that I've revisited periodically throughout my life.

I'd gotten up close and personal with her pudendum more than once, and it was the occasion of my telling her that she had a pretty pussy that prompted her to proposition me in that way. You see, a woman's relationship with her pussy is often very complicated, being fraught with unknowns. The territory can be explored, if we dare, but we never really see it -- at least, not the way our lovers do.

Quite often, I think a woman's bisexual curiosity is less about desiring another woman, and more a camouflaged curiosity about themselves, about their own anatomy. Unlike men, we cannot just whip our sex organs out and admire them. We rely on braille and mirrors and craned necks, instead, none of which is a satisfactory, shall we say, definitive view. The first time I came face-to-face with a pussy, I thought "Ahhhh, so this is what mine looks like!" Of course, the second one looked very different from the first. And the third, same thing. After I'd seen a few I came to understand men's apparent fascination with that part of the female anatomy. Men are extremely visual novelty-seekers, and pussies, even more than cocks, have a lot of variety.

Just as cocks look different as they transform from the flaccid stage to the tumescent and back, pussies change with arousal. I love the ones with larger outer labia that completely conceal the clitoris and the inner labia. As the owner of such a prize becomes aroused, the outer labia part. The inner labia unfold, the clitoris begins to protrude, and at some point the pussy looks like a ripe, juicy piece of fruit hanging from the crotch of, well, to use poetic license, a maidenhair tree.

It wasn't until I started photographing my own, though, that I realized pussies change with age. As I've grown older, my pussy has gotten poutier, and--dare I say it--lewder. Its variations in plumpness can be charted with my weight. The outer labia, still pale, have grown darker at the seam where they meet. My inner labia have darkened as well, and they seem, well, longer somehow. The inner pink looks even more vivid, probably because of the darker contrast. And my clit, it seems to have grown. Are clits like men's ears? Do they keep growing as we age? I think not.

Most likely, it has to do with arousal. In my early photos my pussy looks pale and virginal, and scared. Which it probably was. It had never been photographed before. But nowadays, as I set up my camera and take my position, I feel that tingle inside, that exhibitionist's arousal over making a display of myself. My skilled fingers creep inside, teasing out the wetness, making me gleam invitingly.

I like to think my pussy has gotten better-looking with age. And while that may just be vanity, or an improvement in my photography skills, I know one thing for certain. My relationship with my pussy has gotten a whole lot better. Familiarity breeds contempt, they say. I say "they" are idiots. Familiarity breeds prettier pussies. Enough said.