Pushed

(My photo of ceramic artwork by Sher Grotts)
"Enough!" he said, and still I pushed. Not out of perversity, but because I am a woman. It is our nature to push. If it was not, no one would be ejected from the womb.

His eyes flashed darkly and his face tightened. He did not want me arousing him, and he was angry that I had. He needed to focus.

He needed to focus and I'd let him. I'd helped him. He brought his work home all week, and all week I moved around quietly, served dinner up at his desk instead of the dining table, brought him tea made just-so, massaged his shoulders and neck. I urged him to bed earlier than usual, and every night I snuggled up to him, skin-on-skin, and felt the profound rightness of it, of our bodies spooned together, and willed my body not to react to the wonderful scent of him filling my nostrils. Every night I wanted the feel of him over me, on me, in me, and every night I settled for pressing my lips, open-mouthed, to the skin of his chest, breathing I love you into him, holding that space of safety so he could sleep deeply and well.

And every morning in the shower I used the wand to pleasure myself, the pulsating water vibrating my clit bringing me to delicious orgasm, day after day. A week of that and I was quivering with need. Snuggling satisfied the skin-hunger but not the desire for bliss. I wanted more. I wanted to scale the heights of him and throw myself off the edge, to break the surface tension of our separateness and mingle freely in spirit, to know that flashing eternal moment of enlightenment that is orgasmic bliss.

And so I pushed him, woman that I am. I pushed him, and man that he is, he feinted and took hold of me, and bound me. Bound me to my sybian and tormented me with idle movements of his fingers upon the control box, his back to me, ignoring me. I gasped and moaned as artfully as I could, begging him to let me cum, but every time I reached the edge, he adjusted the vibration and the crest receeded. Again and again. I pushed myself against the phallus, eyes clenched tight, focussing on the sensation that eluded me. I can cum almost by wishing it, but so great was my frustration that I could not.

How long I hung in this state I do not know. But at some point he was there, naked and standing over me, his cock erect and his hands guiding my mouth onto him. And oh! I nearly swooned from the heat of him, from the taste of him, from the scent rising from his balls. My hands rose to embrace him and I drew him into my mouth as far as I could, and I sucked and licked as the intensity of the sybian increased until my body could not bear it any longer. I came with such intensity I threw my head back and screamed my pleasure, and his cock jerked and shot me with hot streamers of cum that burned as they slid down my breasts.

He leaned forward, leaned his hands on my shoulders, leaning his weight into me, pushing me deeper onto the sybian. He pushed me down, held me down on it, and the intensity of the vibration set me off again, and I came between breaths, convulsing silently until my body's air-hunger forced my lungs to inflate and then I became some symphonic instrument, part human, part machine, and I sang--oh how I sang--accompanied by the sybian's insistent buzzing.

I pushed him away from me and slid off the sybian. My legs did not work, but it did not matter. I curled myself up and shivered and twitched through the orgasmic aftershocks, pushed beyond endurance. Pushed.

(The audio version of this and other erotic stories can be found at my AudioSensual Podcast, audiosensual.blogspot.com)

Big Wally

She'd been tracking the box's progress from the Midwest. Every time the shipper scanned the package she received an update, and she knew that today would be the day it arrived. She'd taken the day off because she knew the box would arrive in the morning. Special rush delivery by 10:30am--she'd paid extra for it.

The contents of the box already had a name, one she'd given it the day it was ordered. Wally. She was so excited about Wally's arrival that she'd taken great pains to make sure that everything was perfectly arranged. She walked back to her bedroom to check again, wondering if she'd missed something. She'd put her yoga mat on the floor in front of the mirrored closet doors. Nearby was a small stack of hand towels with a handful of condoms on top, and beside it, two bottles: one of water, one of lube. Her eyes caught her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing a short babydoll nightie with a silk robe over it. Her legs gleamed in the morning light, shaved smooth and lightly oiled. And though she could not see it, she knew her pussy was wet and open. She could smell her own arousal.

When the doorbell rang, she wasn't sure how long she'd been standing there, hypnotized by the images playing through her mind, but the sound of it galvanized her into action, and she rushed to the door, her body suddenly on fire with excitement. The delivery man was nice enough to bring the heavy box inside, and when he gave her the slate to sign, her hands were shaking so much she dropped the stylus.

No sooner had she closed the door after her breathy "thank you" than she turned to the box. She had placed a razor knife on a nearby table and she quickly reached for it. With deft, sure strokes she sliced the tape holding the box closed and pulled the packaging out until Wally was revealed.

She stopped for a moment to admire the gleaming black hump. Her fingers caressed it, pressed into it, tested the firmness of the padding. She lifted it from the box, and in her eagerness it might have weighed one pound instead of twenty, for all the notice she took of it. Putting Wally down, she reached into the box and pulled out the attachments and the illustrative pages with the word SYBIAN printed all over it. Her hands tingled, and that tingle spread through her body with such force it made her shiver.

A sybian. Her very own sybian.

Scooping up the fucking machine, she headed for the bedroom. She couldn't wait another minute to give Big Wally a ride.

YouTube: She's got a sybian to ride

I've added it to YouTube. Enjoy

She's got a sybian to ride

I've got a sybian to ride. It is black vinyl. It is horse-shoe shaped and buzzes like a motorcycle. The rubber-like penis attachment rotates, and the ridge of raised nubs vibrates deliciously.

I decided to make it a part of my exercise routine. I go to the gym first thing in the morning, and in the evenings, when I am usually too tired (or it is too late) to go to the gym, there is the sybian. It waits patiently in its place under the antique school desk. It makes a comfortable footrest, a titillating footrest. With my feet resting on it, it provides an incentive to finish up paying my bills or writing my emails. Orgasms await, it seems to say, taunting me, testing my self-discipline, making my pussy wet with anticipation. I dare not use it until I have completed my work, because I know how senseless I am when I am done riding it.

Ah, riding it. As I write this, I am astride the sybian. I have lubed up the attachment and slid slowly down on it, until I am sitting upon it and balancing flat-footed on the floor. This is the exercise portion. I am building up my riding stamina, strengthening my riding muscles, and working on maintaining the jockey position and continuing to post even when I am climaxing. The latter is the greatest challenge.

Shall I turn it on? The control box has two switches and two knobs, one set controlling speed/vibration intensity, and the other controlling rotation.

There.

It is on. A low setting at first--I do not want to come too soon. Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherazade is playing in my ears, loud enough to be heard over the sybian's insistent throb. Up and down I go, lost in my own little world of classical music and modern eroticism.

My nipples are so hard they ache. I can see them all crinkled up, and past them, the bare mound of my pussy pressed against the vibrating ridge as I lean forward to type this. I turn the settings up a bit and enjoy the intense pleasure of my pussy and ass vibrating. The little cock inside me rotates a little faster, hitting my G-spot with greater frequency. I can't help but moan.

When I tire of riding in the jockey position, I rest on my knees. I turn up the vibration and the rotation. This is a wonderful place to be, with the sybian vibrating my inner thighs as well as my pussy and ass. I cannot help but close my eyes. Moans cycle through me with each pass of the attachment against my G-spot. Waves of gooseflesh send shivers through me and the tiny hairs on my body are standing up. It is that intense.

I allow myself a couple of minutes of this and then I am back up on my feet, riding the sybian like a jockey rides a horse. Posting up and down, up and down, stopping every few bounces to grind my perineum against the hard, vibrating ridge.

About half-way through the second movement of Scheherazade I come. Hard. I've been fighting it for a while, trying to hold it off, but it hits me like a rogue wave and I slam my pussy down against the sybian, rocking, rocking, rocking. Such a sweet sweet ride, my sybian. I am more fond of it, even, than my first motorcycle. It certainly takes me places a motorcycle cannot. I have a very strong urge to switch to a kneeling position, but I do not. I remain in my jockey-squat, balancing on the balls of my feet, and jerk and sway through an orgasm that screams along every nerve-ending.

YESSSSSSSSS.

I reach a pleasure plateau and ride the sybian, oblivious to the passage of time until the third movement, Scheherazade's The Young Prince and the Princess. Sweet and whimsical music, teasing. I lift myself up until the rotating attachment is rubbing against my clit. My pussy, empty, opens and closes. My clit sends zings through me. Delicious. Another orgasm, and this one makes me tremble. I slide back down onto the attachment and put my knees under me before I fall off.

Another orgasm as the damned dildo rotates against my G-spot. My teeth clench and my muscles strain like they are trying to keep my body from flying apart. I fall forward and my body presses my clit hard into the sybian. It goes off like a firecracker in my groin and I come so hard my eyes pop open and I scream my self breathless.

Panting now, hands trembling, legs trembling, heart pounding. Sexual tension released. What a workout! I lasted 30 minutes. Mission accomplished.

(podcast: listen here)

A Midsummer Night's Sensual Romp, pt 1

I'm no Titania by any means, but tonight I am getting my faerie costume together for the Midsummer Night Sensual Romp. I'm using a filmy thin fabric, the sort that scarves are made of. Two layers of it, pale jade green, with oriental poppies in soft yellows and pinks. I have bindi in amber and green: I'll put them on my face, neckline, cleavage, and perhaps even my bellybutton. I picked up a wire garland with stars woven into it for a crown, and I've got white flowers to add to it, and I even have a wand. In the morning I'll shave and annoint myself with oils so that I am soft and smooth and sweet-smelling. I'll probably drop my sybian off at B's for him and his wife to use in their own private sensual romp, and then I'll be off to the Romp, where I will dive into the sensuality of the LoveTribe. There is nothing quite like the energy that a gathering of this group of people has. There are all sorts of superlatives to use, but it has to be experienced to be appreciated. This will be the first big LT event I've been to since before Tammy died in January. I'm hoping to see all the dear ones I've missed while I've been away from home these past months -- and hopefully get some serious snuggle on.

Gravity, Energy, and Spankings

I saw my doc on Monday. "Do you understand the gravity of the situation you were in? The illness you had has a 60% mortality rate," she said. "You are fortunate to be alive."

MR's response: "I went too easy on you for that spanking."
The Dutchman's response: "I'll keep that in mind when I deliver my spanking."
CW's response: "I'm tempted to tie you to the mast of the boat and
give you a good whipping."

In cahoots with each other, the Dutchman kept egging MR on with regards to spanking me. One swat for each day I was in the hospital (15) as punishment for not taking proper care of myself. In response, I'd told him "Hey, deliver your own spanking!" So now I've got another one coming. *sigh*

I have learned that just as there are drawbacks to having a high pain tolerance (ie, landing myself in the hospital), there are also drawbacks to knowing the love of a few good men. Like spankings. Which is hysterical, since I'm oh-so-NOT the submissive type. Yet, I found myself obediently (and apprehensively) laying down at the foot of MR's bed and letting him paddle me pink, counting out the swats aloud. He was concerned I would 'enjoy' it. I didn't. It could be because I'm not into pain, or it could be because my libido still hasn't recovered.

I know my libido hasn't recovered because I had actually forgotten about my sybian until I stubbed my toe on it. And while my mind is stimulated by the memories of its use, my body is not following. Ah well.

There is an irony to this and that is that while I feel that my sexual energy is in a lull, others have commented on how being around me makes them think things that are embarassing in public. Heh.

It is going to be very warm today, so I'm wearing my favorite white muslin sundress and flip-flops to show off my new pedicure. Bright pink toenails!

Next week is the Portland Blues Fest, Independance Day, J's going away party, B's chocolate tasting, and B's game night. I hope I have the energy to indulge.