It seems like everything is about making lists this time of year: wish lists, gift lists, shopping lists, grocery lists ... the lists go on. But why do we spend so much time anticipating our wants? Here's what we all could use: someone else to do the thinking for us. In today's roundup of some of our favorite moments from the sex blog scene this week, our stalwart Santas have searched high and low to bring you this grab bag of sexy choices. Lights on or off? Cock packed or passed over? In private or for an audience, au natural or enhanced? Here's hoping you get what you really, really want.
Multiple people have asked me how often I pack, lately.
The short answer is: no, I don't pack daily.
The longer answer is . . . I seem to be packing more and more often. Since I got my hands on that fabulous packing cock, it's been easier to pack discreetly and comfortably, so I've done it increasingly.
I used to pack only when I had a hot date and having sex was a possibility; that began changing six or so months ago, when I began packing occasionally when going out, just for the boost of cock confidence.
So last night I wanted to re-live a little of the plain old make-out session time. I hadn't specifically planned anything vis-à-vis the lighting scheme. I had only resolved to leave the rope, the duct tape, the belt, and the kink put away, and just kiss, for as long as I could without leading anywhere else. I wasn't going to resist any advances she might be inspired to make, but I would be chaste, I resolved. Out of the shower, teeth brushed, I killed the distraction of the TV and when I flipped off the bathroom light the whole room was plunged into darkness. Interestingly that seemed to add to setting a new tone. I don't think the lighting level matters in this experiment for a couple, just try something different than you usually do, whatever that is. Unless you are blind in which case maybe write bright or dim slogans on each other in Braille.
Tossing the brush onto the counter I pulled the shower door open, letting a warm billow of steam out into the room, fogging the mirrors. Nothing like a hot shower to set my mood. I slowly washed my hair while the soap bubbles trailed down my body, over my breasts, down my belly, one catching in my navel, another sliding across my exposed clit, over my thighs. Like sensual fingers tracing across my body. Good behavior, Liz, this one needs some easy handling.
I peeled the lacy black knickers off her, and enjoyed the revelation of the pink of her labia peering out from in between the dark brown of her pubic hair, which is strangely straight and soft in contrast to the thick curls on her head.
Immediately when I touched her pussy with the tip of my tongue, Fifi took my head in her hands, pulled me up and with a great urgency said, "uh-uh, fuck . . . " It was like a sudden realization that the thing she wanted most in the world had to happen right away and could only be described by grunts and one-word requests.
I know she sucks his cock on and off throughout an evening together and is happy to be able to fit most of it inside her mouth, but I don't know what particular positions she uses or what combinations of licking, sucking, and stroking she uses with him. I know they have intercourse in a variety of ways, but I don't know in what order, for how long, and how fast or deep he moves inside her each time.
In the bedroom he undressed me slowly, kissing me harder each time, until we were both naked. He licked my neck and his hand went to between my legs, and I sighed as I felt him stroke my clit, the familiar feeling building and me burying my head against his chest asking him to please make me cum. He smiled and withdrew his hand, saying, "Not yet. We need to see the toys."
Perhaps the taxi driver sees women with their nakedness covered by fur coats every day of the week in his cab. Perhaps he meets their eye in the mirror, as he met mine, all the time. It's possible that even if he thought he saw such a woman, he would dismiss it as a trick played by hackneyed fantasy. It's conceivable he knew what he saw, and smiled. He could have done more than smile. I smile now, but with a different pleasure, as I'm rolled onto my back. He could have asked to see, the taxi driver.
I must confess, I'm hoping to have you in my mouth and be able to feel my cunt pulsate and tingle at the memory of a recent cataclysmic orgasm.
Your fingers will have opened me to your probing lips and tongue, and joined them to explore the depths of the inner parts of me that I only show to those deserving. Could you feel how hot I felt? How wet I was? How aroused? Didn't you want to slide your whole hand inside me and mercilessly beat a tattoo on my g-spot until I was the one who gushed forth like an overflowing mountain brook?