His cock tip at my hand-fucked, stretched entrance, my ankles hooked over his shoulders as we both love, and he's not even entering me. Just making sure he's in the right place, right by my wetness. He's looking right at me and I'm looking into his eyes, turned on and ready and for some reason ashamed and feeling very small all at once. And the keening wail of desperate need that rises in my throat doesn't help matters. He smiles, then. His signal. Pushing into me smoothly, determinedly, HARD. All the way up. Then he stops again. My legs move to interlock my ankles over his back. My hands holding on to his big shoulders and my nails digging into his hot skin. I look up and his dark hair is framing him like a deviant halo, his eyes have changed from soft melted-chocolate brown to midnight black. Black like sin.
He is fucking me passionately, no words between us, not this time. Knowing certain things remain forbidden he exits swiftly and quickly wipes a sucked finger over my ass, that which he likes to do dirty things to, making me an anal whore for him, needing more, feeling like I can cum just from him thrusting into me there, that sacred place.
I know what I want to happen after sex. I want to lay together, body to hot sweaty body, post-sex heat our only blanket, clinging together in glorious love - well, mainly stuck together with the velcro of rapidly drying bodily fluids. I want it to be just like ‘in the movies’ (films, for us Brits). To immediately drift into the deep peaceful sleep of the newly-shagged, in candlelight (without any thought of the fire hazard) and wake up in the morning still clinging together. As if we were Jack and Rose. Only Jack didn't have to die and Rose let him climb on the damn door. My makeup would be absolute perfection through the night, until the sun’s rays gently woke us from nauseatingly romantic slumber. My pillowslip would most definitely not look like a clown’s washcloth. Nor would my face.
I moaned aloud as he took me by the shoulders and drove the full length of his cock deep into my achingly hungry pussy. My slippery, soft labia were spread apart as they massaged his welcome penetration. My head turned to the side, flat on the bed as he pinned it there with his heavy hand in my hair, he rammed his cock into me repeatedly, frenziedly. This wasn't love-making. This was primitive, carnal rutting.
By Cara Sutra: How would you feel if you saw your partner fuck someone else? I guess for many the answer would be colourful variants of pissed off. Catch 5 minutes of a daytime TV chat show to watch lie detector frenzies and accusations of cheating descend into all-out battle. The reality, when we add in consent and pre-discussion, is more complex and nuanced. A partner having sex with someone else doesn't always mean they're cheating on you or that you'll feel betrayed.
By Cara Sutra: How I view myself has a big effect on my libido and, consequentially, on my sex life. Self-perception and sexuality is often discussed in sex advice articles, but I find that the majority of these simply focus on increasing your self-confidence in the bedroom so that you can enjoy sex more frequently, in more adventurous ways or just an improved sex life in general. I wanted to explore something beyond a crisis of confidence. How can the ebb and flow of self-perception alter desires towards and actions within masturbation and any shared sexual experiences?
I found myself wondering what it would be like to have a more adult themed, strictly 18+ ball pool party. Or possibly even take over a play gym/soft activity warehouse for the night with some friends. Yeah, those kinda friends. Bikinis or naked? To add food play or keep it clean, skin to skin? Perhaps just a squirt of lube in the ball pool, help them glide over our bodies, frottaging and enjoying each others hands and bodies, both external and dipping tongues and fingers inside, a total perversion of what would usually be a scene of purity and innocence.
We are together constantly but it seems only a few, brief snapshot moments where we share that intimacy and our carnal needs. When we touch again, he catches my attention with his flesh to mine once more; fingers through my hair, hand on my shoulder or round my throat, pulling me by my hips to sit on his lap or his fingers entwining with mine to give me a reassuring squeeze of his love.
A mord-sith is a member of a warrior group in the Sword Of Truth series. They're all women, and are trained to become mord-sith from when they're young girls. They are captured from their family in order to go through brutal training to attain the title and role of mord-sith.
Moan turned to determined grunt as those well-travelled fingers pushed my hip forwards; the dawn of a quest. Index and middle finger expertly sought out the slippery wetness his attentions had generated so far. My breaths turned ragged and heavy as he slid a finger inside me, probing and testing, then another... opening me up and finger fucking me. My nipples were hard against the covers and his other arm slipped round underneath me, seeking the weight of my breasts to complete the sinful encircling.