We masturbate with the light on.

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The outfit of ill repute.

I pressed myself against his bare back and reached my arm around to find his stiff cock resting on the mattress.  We’d been cuddling for a while and our new configuration had interrupted my stroking.  I sighed into his back and kissed his shoulder, squeezed the hot thing in my hand.  He picked up his stream of consciousness and I closed my eyes with a smile as I breathed him in and indulged completely my joy of curling around him while sunk deeply into my mattress.

My hand, wrapped around his hotness, lazily moved the length of him and I felt a familiar draw between my legs.  I was surprised; I thought for sure the pounding headache I’d endured all day had surely killed any kind of libido, but no… she was purring just below the surface.  I decided to test it and thought out loud to us both.

“How long has it been since you masturbated?”

“Since Saturday or Sunday whenever I sent you that pic.”

“Mmm,” I replied remembering the glorious cock shot I’d received, all resplendent dark pink skin arched like a dolphin above the surface of his belly.  “I remember now.  Thanks for that.”  I squeezed my hand again and pulled his shoulder toward me to reposition him on his back.

“I want to watch you cum tonight,” I said softly, firmly.  The room was filled with light and an evening stillness, waiting.

He politely declined, but I persisted, perceiving the game.  “It’s so hot when your hand is a blur, to watch you tense your big thighs,” I whispered.

I traced my hand over his meaty quadricep.  “And to watch you shake a little.  To see your arm flex, your biceps harden.  Your little grunts and then you curl.”

“I curl?” he asked.

“Yes, you curl, just a little, like this at the end,” and I demonstrated the little crunch he does during climax.

He moaned a little and took over.  A slight smacking sound from the head of his cock joined the lilt of my story as his hand moved quickly and expertly over his own body.  “Mmm, how could I have forgotten about that sound?” I wondered.

“I want you to cum with me,” he said.  Then added, “Please, ma’am.”

I rolled over and retrieved the Hitachi resting on a nest of tangled cords and put the head over my polkadot shorts.  I lifted my white see-through t-shirt and lay in the bright light, his eyes locked on mine for a moment before we both shifted to each other’s bodies.

The wand seared through me as I watched the blurry arc of his hand.  Words tumbled out of me as quickly as my orgasm tumbled toward its cliff of release.  “I love your cock,” I gasped, “It’s so fucking big.  Look at you: so beautiful, so sexy.”

His body was doing all the things I’d already described.  His legs were rigid slabs of muscle, his chest was taut with exertion, his breath coming fast and in little jerks.

“I can’t believe you put that giant thing in me,” I managed to say and then my orgasm pushed through me like a wave crashing on the beach.  It came so swiftly the second I was done I wanted more.  He was still beating himself with a steady, sexy rhythm.

“You’re going again, right?” he asked, hopeful.

“Definitely,” I confirmed.  “Talking — hearing my own voice say those things — made me cum faster,” I said a little incredulously.  “But it’s hard.  I’m so shy.”  He said he felt the same way when he tried to talk and I felt less silly.

I put the Hitachi back on me and kept talking.  Again, it pounded through me in seconds and I arched and moaned and called out.  He closed his eyes and moved to his own music, his own needs.  His hand moved impossibly fast and his breathing shortened.  I pressed my hand gently on his thigh, close to the magic and waited.

And then he curled a little and spurts of his seed came spilling out to rest on the brambles of his hairy abdomen.  He giggled a little and relaxed.  “See?” I said kissing his shoulder.  “You curled!”  He giggled again and sighed, wiped the cum off his belly with his bare hand.

I took it and licked some off and smacked my lips, rolled back onto my back and quickly had a third orgasm with the taste of his cum on my lips and his mouth latched onto my breast.

“Let’s talk about our feelings,” he joked.  I snuggled down into my nook and kissed his chest.  His arm squeezed me to him and he nuzzled me for a kiss on the lips.

“Ok,” I said.  “I love you.”  He smiled and I got lost in his icy blue eyes, the whiskers he was growing back for me.

“I love you, too,” he replied and I quietly wrapped myself in the evening’s joy as I looked out into the quiet stillness of my brightly lit room, his chest a pillow beneath my smiling cheek.

hyacinthjones_polkadot_shorts

What he saw.

A cuddle is as good as a fuck.

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I finally got to send a picture this morning.

This month has been a weird one.  I screwed up my pills the first week of the pack and got off to a rocky start and this week, the last of the active pills, I accidentally doubled up one day which set the stage for tears and knee-jerk irritations on Monday and a weird sense of disconnection Tuesday.

Monday night as I laid out all the day’s mini-turmoils I burst into tears [again] when I shared with The Neighbor how when my little 8:30 alarm on my phone went off I thought of Peyton.  It’s a thing I started doing recently to ensure I put my little one to bed on time and leave the room at a decent hour.  Typically we do a little dance on our backs and giggle and kiss and fling our arms in the air.  It’s a highlight of my day and on Monday when it went off and I didn’t have my baby with me I instantly burst into tears, the pain of being separated as acute as the first night I ever spent away.

When the tears sprung to my eyes, TN sprung to my side.  It was such a tender move, so kind, I melted into the moment and let his kindness wash over me, so boyfriend-like.  We retired to my room later and cuddled.  He expressed interest in sex, but my heart was too heavy, I felt too far away from myself, and I said, “Not tonight.”

The next night I had no tears, but I felt prickly, like I had this carpet of spines wrapped around me.  TN popped over and I was watching Girls by the fire doing my nails and I honestly felt interrupted.  He hung out for a little while and let me finish, but I didn’t want to stay there.  I felt a quiet frustration at our routine and said, “I want to cuddle at your place.”

“Ok,” he said.

I didn’t think it’d be that easy to convince him.  It’s been months since we spent any time over there.  Maybe since October.  I’ve neatly packed away that fact so it won’t get in my way of happiness, but last night I wanted to neatly step over it.

We walked next door and I smelled the sweet smell of his space, saw the little piles of his life he had on the kitchen table, the dishes in the sink, the glowing computer screen, the messy bathroom.  It felt like walking on the moon.  His room was clean, and his funny bed, the mattress on the floor inside the bed frame, was unmade and piled high with bedding.

We lit candles and laid down close to the ground and talked and cuddled.  I stroked his cock and he ran his hands over my body.  I asked him to not rub his hands near my pubis; it was irritating me.  He pulled me closer and kissed me.

And then he kissed me again and again and again checking in to see if the irritation was falling away.  It was.

He wasn’t trying to change my mind about having sex, he was genuinely trying to improve my mood.

He cuddled me from behind and from the front.  He stroked my face and hair.  He was so inside of me I felt cracked open, happy, a little scared.

Then, with a smile, he said, “You’re going to be leaving soon.”  We laughed our asses off because that’s what he always says to me from the softness of my mattress.  We cuddled some more and I told him I was about to say that myself.  He piled covers on me and loved on me some more and then it was finally time to leave.

He walked me to the door and I passed to mine through the freezing night and walked to my cold, empty bed with the memory of his arms around me and his heart in my hands.

My yellow dress always gets me laid.

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Proof of a good night.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the man wrapped in only a white towel glaring at me in my entryway.  Apparently, Downstairs Neighbor, upon being rushed out of my apartment because I was about to get the shit fucked out of me, had hidden behind the corner and when The Neighbor had single-mindedly tried to span the 5 feet between our doors he’d leaped out and scared the shit out of him.  A cat might also have run outside in all the commotion of TN’s glares and DN’s booming laughter.

“Oh, TN!” I laughed putting my hand on his stubbly cheek, the door tightly shut and locked behind us.  “Don’t be mad!!  He had no idea you’d be naked!!”  He leveled a gaze at me that made me giggle some more as if I’d conspired with DN to humiliate him!

I laughed some more, just simply couldn’t help it, frankly.

I kissed his cheek and hugged his stiff body and to prove his “anger” he let the towel drop and his erection bobbed heavily between us.  I grabbed it and whispered against his mouth, “I swear, DN had no idea you’d be in a towel!  It was just a joke!”

He melted against me with a grin and took my hand, led me back to my candlelit room.  “Ok,” he finally said still smiling and pulled me closer.

He bent his hand and slanted his mouth across mine, long, soft and sweet surrounded by sandpaper whiskers.  I moaned a little as he removed my cardigan.

“You look so hot in this dress,” he said taking a breath.  I swelled with pride.  My yellow dress, the yellow dress.  It always does me right.

He dipped his head back down to the top of my cleavage and I closed my eyes as his scruff left red blooms on my skin.

He returned to my lips and I breathed him in, lost in my love.  Our fingers explored the dips and swells of our figures, my face nibbling on his.

He pushed the little straps off my shoulders and the top of my dress pooled around my waist.  My breasts filled his hands and mouth and we laughed when I needed help pulling the dress back up and over my double Ds.

He grabbed my white cotton panties and tore them off.  “Leave the boots on,” he said lustily and shoved me down on the bed.

I sighed as he entered me and pulled my bottom to the edge of the bed.  My knee-high brown leather riding boots framed his face and he turned into one calf and kissed it.  I could hear him smell the leather.

His cock was enormous and I was wet as fuck.  He leaned down and kissed me and I stared boldly up at him then shut my eyes as he slowly stroked my body with his.

I thought of the strict orders he’d received from his physical therapist to not do any vigorous fucking for a while and groaned.  “Don’t hurt yourself, TN,” I warned as I felt his tempo increase.  “If you do, you’ll be in big trouble.”  I panted the words in time with his thrusts.  He only smiled mischievously at me and kept at it.

I tossed my head from side to side as it all began to feel more like torture.  An exquisite, stupidly hot and wet, torture.

He seemed to sense my agony and lifted me up fully onto the bed and positioned himself between my legs. For a quick 30 seconds he pumped like horny stray dog into me and I came just as rapidly; little bursts strung together by moans, grabbed skin, and warm breath on my neck.

He stopped then, panting.  “Damn you,” I admonished.  “I’m all vibe-y.  Are you ok?”  I shook my hands like little helicopters.

“Yes, I’m ok,” he said. “And that reminds me…” he leaned over, still inside of me, and grabbed my Hitachi.  “Here you go.”  He flicked it on and lay beside me with my legs over his hips.

It took forever and a day for me to spill over, but with the struggle came the reward:  his words, his mouth; he stroked my temple and told me what a good girl I was.  And then we cuddled and loved and talked and I dozed stupidly for minutes on end.

Then he kissed me again and squeezed me, tucked me in, loved on Faisal who’s claimed him for his own, and left quietly.

The next morning I awoke naked and in a sunbeam, my body sore in all the right places.  My boots lay in a heap on the floor next to my white panties, the vibrator lay like a bone a couple of feet away and my pretty yellow dress hung draped over the foot of my bed.

My wonderful, lucky, get-laid-every-time yellow dress.  Thank you, Old Navy.

 

“It’s total perfection.”

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It started out like this.

I’ve become high on love.

I dream about sharing my feelings with him and it’s a long, terrifying jump to crystal blue waters below, that feeling of my breath being stolen on the way down, the slap of wetness beneath my feet, the subsequent rush and rise to the top.

In true 7th grade fashion, I admitted to him that I like him “a whole lot.” You might be rolling your eyes at that, but it was a big deal to me.

And I invited him to spend Thanksgiving with my family on the wings of a prayer and when he said Yes I felt as though I’d won the lottery. I feel blessed, y’all.

But my lips remain sealed. I cannot say the words that boom in my heart. Those three silly little words.

I’m waiting for something. For the universe to tell me I can handle losing him. For that moment when he looks back into my tear-filled blue eyes and says, “But I don’t love you, Hy. This is just a ‘thing’ we’re doing. I’m not going to love you. You knew that.”

When I feel strong enough to weather that, my words will tumble.

But in the meantime, I float along among the clouds anchored by his mighty cock, his sweet gestures, his wise words. He roots me on every professional step I take and supports me as I navigate my tangled and painful relationship with my exhusband. He is my number one fan.

The rest of our lives is business as usual as I keep my secret. I send him a daily pic and sometimes a series if I’m feeling particularly inspired and have the freedom and privacy to do so. The weather is turning here and I recently wore jeans for the first time in months. They were a little loose, but I felt sexy and began to snap away.

Click, click, clickity-click.

I strip-teased my way down to unzipped pants and exposed breasts. He was happy to receive them.

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Striptease.

A day or two later, I dug out my red panties with the peek-a-boo hole tied with a thick, shiny ribbon. I was curious as to what the view was like and twisted and craned my body this way and that to capture a from-behind view.

Click, click, click.

I was pleased and sent those off, too. Again, he was grateful.

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Days changed into nights, cuddles turned into sweet talks, expectations morphed into reality. We tangled our parts less than our hearts. It was sweet, fairy dust; glittery longing with no release.

Finally, finally, we carved out some time to lay down inside one another. Peyton was passed out and The Neighbor was over within seconds of my “all clear” text standing in my candlelit room in black gym shorts. I wore a black spaghetti strap night dress with little sprigs of flowers dusted all over it.

We stood facing each other and he took my hand and pulled me closer, dipped his chin and captured my mouth in a long, sweet song of a kiss. I breathed him in, he inhaled me.

I ran my fingers through his hair and he clung to my bottom and pulled me towards the cradle of his hips. I felt his hardness through the thin cotton of my nightgown; my right strap slipped off my shoulder and I pulled my arm out and let my breast fall out.

We moaned into each other’s mouths and I melted into his warm skin. Every cell of my being sang of love, my pussy pulsed and my breath caught as I realized we were beginning to make love to each other.

He pulled back, breathing heavily, “We haven’t kissed like that in a long time,” he observed.

“No, we haven’t,” I agreed, though I’d argue it was closer to never.

I looked into his eyes shrouded in shadow and then his parted lips and reached forward with my own and sucked gently and slipped my soft tongue to meet his. He removed my remaining strap and I stood only in black, lace panties, then he groaned and bent to free himself from his shorts.

He pushed me down on the bed and dragged my bottom to the edge, licked his palm and rubbed it on the head of his giant erection. He positioned himself at my hole and pressed into me. Nothing happened.

Our eyes locked as we both smiled slyly knowing his first push was always the best, my favorite of favorites.

He pushed harder and I began to spread for him. I gasped a little and smiled more broadly. His mouth mirrored mine and then my eyes fluttered shut as the head entered my body completely and the rest of him eased in as if my body were a hungry constrictor.

He kissed me hungrily as his hips began to move, my body completely lubricated. “You’re not wet at all,” he joked huskily in my ear.

“Nope,” I whispered back with a chuckle, “not at all.”

He kissed my neck and my jaw and sat up and pumped into me, his hands braced on either side of me. Each punishing thrust made my breasts jiggle like bowl-shaped domes of Jell-O.

“Turn over,” he said suddenly. “Flip onto your belly.”

I did as instructed, my feet planted firmly on the ground and he slipped back into me.

“Tell me what you see,” I said thinking of my red-panty pics.

“I see my favorite thing: your beautiful body, your curves, this,” and he ran his hands from my waist to my hips. “It’s total perfection.”

photo 1

I closed my eyes and let him plow into me and light me up from the inside. My heart sparkled in time with my G-spot, our skin slapped and our moans mingled.

We moved up onto the bed completely and he pinned my knees together as he rutted on top of me, grabbed my top-knot bun and growled into my ear and struck my flanks once, twice, three times.

I lost time, wanted to be somewhere else and nowhere else. Then we were spent.

“C’mere,” I heard him as if from far away.

He pulled me into his nook and I lay there feeling more satisfied than I had in days, recalibrated. My thoughts felt like warm honey, my bones willow branches.

“Let’s go out on the balcony,” I suggested. It was in the low 60s, a rarity in September here. We dressed in white robes, him in a long Egyptian-cotton shin-length thing with my name, “Hyacinth,” embroidered on the lapel (a bridal party gift of mine from years ago) and me in a little short white one.

And there, on a balcony chair cushion beneath my knees and the breeze caressing us both, I sucked and loved on his cock, his knees splayed wide and confidently in that way that men do.

It had been weeks since I’d spent any time on him and I was ashamed. I apologized and he told me it wasn’t necessary. I answered with more sucking and smiled around his girth.

Eventually, he called me off, said he’d gotten a little too sensitive. We walked back into my room and shed our robes and laid down beside one another, the ceiling fan puffed gently on us.

The night was still young so I rolled to my side and grabbed the vibrator, flicked it on and pressed it to my bare mound. TN kissed my neck and jaw, sucked on my lips and my nipple. I climbed the rise quickly and as his mouth returned to mine I began to splinter.

He caught my orgasm in his mouth as I whimpered and gasped into him.

I fell limp and he pulled me to him as he rolled onto his back. I surprised him when I grabbed his chubby cock with one hand and turned the vibrator back on while on my side.

It was a swift ride with my ear pressed to his chest as it rose and fell quickly; his cock grew in my hand as my orgasm approached, spilled out onto us and faded away.

In his arms I thanked him for saying all those nice things about me as he was fucking me. He said it was nothing, that he loved the pictures I sent him. “I think it’s especially sexy when there are things left to the imagination.”

“Really?” I said, dancing on the edge of a doze.

“Yeah, like that one in the series you sent me the other day where your pants were unzipped but your bra still on. That was damn sexy, by far my favorite of the bunch.”

I perked up a little at that, proud and pleased in equal measure.

“Well, I’m glad. I try to be sexy and not just raunchy.”

“You do a good job,” he affirmed.

I mumbled something into the warmth of his skin, wrapped in love and kisses and compliments and told him again how much I liked him. He squeezed me and said he had to go soon.

I don’t know if loving him more will make me braver or more afraid, but as I’ve been told recently I need to act like the grown up and share my feelings and I agree. Just a few more nights like this one and I might feel brave enough to try.

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His favorite.

I am not broken.

My tomato red and navy striped sundress swirled about my knees as I followed The Neighbor back to his bedroom, his hand warm and tight on mine. It had been 3 days since we’d been able to touch bare skin, out-of-town friends and wedding obligations having conspired against us.

He pushed me roughly onto his bed. “I think I should take off my shirt,” he said while with one fluid motion he pulled his grey T-shirt over his head. “And of course these, too.” I watched hungrily as he unbuckled brass and brown leather.

His erection sprung free and I growled a little as I grabbed it with both hands, the head neatly available for my mouth.  I tucked it in between my lips and savored its clean taste and warm, smooth head.  He moaned and pressed towards me.

I let my hands slip away to wrap around his thigh with my right hand and the base of his shaft with my left; my face sunk down onto his pole.

I perched on the edge of the bed and the Sunday afternoon light streamed through the slots of the blinds as my neck worked like a strutting rooster.  “I think I should lie down, too,” he said gruffly.

I nestled between his legs, spread his knees apart with my own and fell down onto him.  I moaned and closed my eyes, eternally happy to be lapping at this favorite, magical part of his.  I paused for a second and turned to my right and noticed a mirror propped up on the floor.

I was silhouetted by the window, my breasts swells of light and shadow and my folded knees covered by the dark red fabric.  My arms distended onto something, I couldn’t quite see, but if I peeked just so, I could see the gentle curve of his cock like a dolphin breaking the top of the sea.

“I can see us,” I said and giggled a little.  I moved my hands along his thighs and could still only see my arms moving on something at their ends.  It was arousing to see me and not him, yet feel him so electrically beneath my fingertips.

He moved swiftly then before I could react and snatched up the mirror and gently leaned it above his head against the headboard.  “Now suck my cock,” he said sternly.  I nodded and quickly complied.  “And watch yourself,” he added.  I gave a small shake of my head.  “Do it, Hy,” he insisted.

Reluctantly, I looked up and saw my blue eyes gazing back at me, my mouth stretched wide around the head of his cock.  I quickly closed my eyes, embarrassed to the core.  My jaw looked unhinged, like a snake wrapped around a warm, furry body, and I seemed alien.

“Do it again, Hy.  Don’t be shy.  It’s hot,” he encouraged.

I tried again and giggled and spit around him, pistoned up and down on him hoping to distract him from his intense stare.  It didn’t work.  “Again, Hy.  It’s so fucking hot, oh my god.”  I looked up and saw him looking back at me in the mirror, his neck stretched up exposing a carpet of stubble and vulnerable places.  I contemplated biting his neck for a split second but closed my eyes instead and concentrated on the heat in my mouth.

I sucked and slobbered and listened to his moans for a minute or two.  Without prompting I glanced up once or twice, my cheeks still reddened with embarrassment and lust.  It was naughty.  So, so naughty.

“Do you have panties on?” he asked urgently then.

“Mmmhmm,” I nodded around a suck and pull.

“Pull them aside and c’mere.”  He pulled me up by my shoulders and I straddled him as I moved my black lace panties.

I was sopping wet and he slid in deep and long and without a moment to acclimate to his invasion he began to move, the mirror TN and Hy laid out before me.  “Look at you,” he commanded.  “Look at how fucking hot you are, how beautiful.”

My center tingled and prickled and a wash of heat swept out and up over my shoulders and rolled down to my fingertips.  My breath caught and I whimpered as I watched the woman in the red dress, her large breasts pulled out over her top.  She cried out and pumped on top of a naked man sprinkled with dark body hair, her hands were fists in his chest hair and massaged his lean pectorals.

And again and again and again it washed over her.

So rapidly, white hot, like a slap in the face the g-spot orgasms came and burst down my door.  I begged to stop, yelled out and felt my miscreant tones join the innocence of the chatty birds outside the open window, and again begged to stop.  “Please!  Please!  I can’t!  I’m going to die!”  My dramatic pleas humorous if not also so arousing to him.

He kindly relented and I sobbed half-heartedly with a laugh and slumped over him clutching his shoulders until I finally pressed my body against his, his cock still buried deep inside of me.

“I’m not going to call those ‘things’ any more,” I whispered.  “Those have got to be orgasms.  I’m certain any other woman would call that cumming.”  I panted and tingled.  “That just has to be a g-spot orgasm.”

He gently pushed me off of him and I slumped onto my side.  He curled up behind me naked and warm against my sundress.  I sighed and smiled.  “I’m not broken anymore,” I said.  “I feel like a normal woman!”  I rolled onto my back and he followed me, his face split by a big grin which matched mine.

I don’t know why I haven’t just called them orgasms all this time.  I’ve felt strangely dishonest since they are distinctly different from my Hitatchi-induced climaxes which are body-arching, breath-stealing bastards of pleasure.  These g-spot originating orgasms are more subtle, softer, and a part of a bigger picture.  They aren’t the ending, they’re part of the beginning and middle; they set me off down the river.

Then I said guilelessly, “TN, you just made me cum like a motherfucker.  How awesome is that??”  We laughed and he kissed me and hugged me and pulled me to him, his boyish smile plastered to his face.

“Well, this was a wonderful way to spend a few minutes of the day.”  I agreed and told him I had to get back to home.

We stood and kissed and I felt righted.  When I got back everything was totally alright.   I was a normal woman, the day stretched out bright and long ahead of me, and I had gotten a proper little tumble in with the man who has my heart.