Archive for July, 2008

Updated: Showcased on Sexoteric by the lovely and delightfully esoteric Stanley. Here at Smut Central, Stanley is our pin-up boy of the decade. We love you! (The royal we, natch.)

“Tickle your arse with a feather?” he said with an evil twinkle in his eye.

“I’m sorry, what??” she gasped incredulously.

“Typically nasty weather” — delivered in an even tone of voice, as if it were indeed a repetition and not an exchange of like-sounding words intended to shock and amuse.

She looked at him blankly, for a moment, and then laughed.

“I am entertained by stimulation of the mind,” she said. “Stimulate me.”

“Stimulate you orally?” He sounded hopeful.

“Stimulate me orally, but no touchy-touchy.”

“No touchy-touchy?”


“I have to make you come, just by stimulating your brain?”

“Well — I don’t know about making me actually come. Get me as close as you can.”

“Until you beg, and plead, and cannot bear it any long and just have to be fondled and stroked to immediate gushing orgasm?”

She met his gaze, and smiled. “How well you understand me.”

He smiled back at her, and considered the challenge.

“I bet I could make you come. By talking to your cunt. Even better — reading erotica to your cunt. What do you think?”

He leered, not unattractively, and she blushed, but continued undaunted.

“I write with my cunt, via my fingers, you know that, don’t you? In a way, she’s an extension of my brain. So maybe if you read to her, it will stimulate her.”

He paused and considered this.

“So what you’re actually saying is that while men are often accused of having their brains in their cocks, you actually have yours in your pussy?”

“Kinda. Like I said, an extension. An extra room if you like. An annexe, if you really want to stretch the analogy beyond all recognition.”

He paused again, and thought some more.

“And if I’m supposed to stimulate your brain, that means that I have free reign down there — touchy or no touchy.”

He pulled her so she was standing closer to him as he sat and thought, and almost absent-mindedly began to stroke the back of her thigh, as he continued.

“Put it this way. Any activity that goes one between my head and your pussy is bound to involve my tongue. Why not make it reading? Officially, anyway.”

She tried to keep her cool and failed dismally. He could feel her tremble, but pretended not to notice. Instead, he remained calm. Unruffled.

And more than a tad amused at her growing excitement.

He could smell her arousal. He imagined how her cunt was slickening in front of him, imprisoned behind beige satin and lace, but continued to appear in total control.

“You’ll have to concentrate hard. It will probably sound a bit muffled.”

She swallowed, and looked down into his eyes. “I could give a fuck about muffled. Tell me more. You’re making me wet.”

“I’m all too aware of that,” he murmured, and pulled her even closer, so that his face was up against her soft belly. He felt his head spin — her smell was absolutely intoxicating, and he wondered how long he could remain so controlled.

“How long will you be able to hold out on your feet, do you think? How long before your knees turn to butter and you collapse in a post-orgasmic crumple?”

She swallowed, and fought to retain her composure, unaware of how close he was to losing his. This was a challenge as much as anything else; a gauntlet tossed down oh-so-casually, but she’d be buggered if she picked it up.

On the other hand…

His mouth moved against her, and she felt the vibrations rattle through her.

“I want to see how long you can remain standing.”

She swallowed again, clenched her fists, steadied herself, and nodded. She couldn’t trust herself to speak.

The stroking of her thigh continued, and she gradually became aware of a cool breeze as well as the mesmerizing brushstrokes of his fingers. Her skirt was bunched up around her hips, but she didn’t care.

She had to concentrate on remaining upright.

She felt his thumb hook into the elastic edge of her panties, and slide them down her legs. Should she feel exposed, or on display? Or a happy combination of both? Who cares? she thought.

She shifted her weight to allow his closer access, and he slapped her ass, playfully.

“You’re supposed to be standing still,” he whispered into her stomach, “But since that was such a helpful fidget, I’ll forgive you that one time.”

He bent his head so that his mouth was parting her labia, and she could feel his breath on her clit.

“Is it really this simple?” he asked, rhetorically. “I just make my mouth into a small circle around your utterly delicious clit and start talking at it?”

She moaned her assent. This was better than she’d hoped, and she wanted to savour every moment.

She was slicker than he’d imagined. Wonderful.

“Now then,” he continued. “I have no printed smut to read to you, but I wonder if you’ll find my rendition of the daily carbon market assessments as sexy as I do, when I read them with your clit subject to the mercy of my tongue.”

He moved away from her fractionally, and reached down into his bag for his iPhone. He paused a further moment while he surfed and then he returned to his former position.

“The UN system is the second-biggest greenhouse gas trading program, after Europe’s.”

She groaned, and clutched at his hair. The B of biggest, the various S’s — the effect was far greater than she’d anticipated. Who knew that greenhouse gases and carbon emissions could feel so fucking amazing?

“Steady, babe” he muttered, still stroking her thigh as his mouth danced over and on her.

He continued. “EU factories and power plants –”

He stopped. She’d buckled. He couldn’t believe that he wasn’t more than a minute into this and she’d had a knee-trembler.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

“Yes,” she gasped, breathlessly. “It’s the p-p-plosive sound…. it goes straight through my cunt like a really good vibrator.”

“Fabulous. How about this? Carbon emmmmmmMMMMMMmmmmmmmmissions…”

She whimpered.

He put the iPhone down, and slid both hands between her thighs, opening her as much as he could. His thumbs slid straight inside her — goddamn, she was so wet. He spoke, enunciating and over-exaggerating his plosives with as much energy as he could muster.

“Peter Piper picked a peck of pretty pickled peppers.”

She moaned again. Louder.

“A pretty peck of pickled peppers, Peter Piper picked.”

This time, she howled. Her knees were bent and he noticed that her fists were clenched so tight that her fingers looked almost bruised.

OK, I’ve teased you enough, baby.”

She shivered, and pushed her cunt at his tongue. She was only partly conscious of where she was and what she was doing, although she could see herself in her mind’s eye — standing half-dressed and dishevelled, supported by his hands and a pair of increasingly shaky knees, riding a wave closer to orgasm with each puff of breath into her pussy.

All she knew was that she didn’t want it to end. His hands moved again, this time to hold her by the hips and ass. She settled into the comfort of that peculiar embrace, sensing what was about to happen.

“I’ve got you, and i want to feel you come.” Powerful, authoritative, and said with her clit between his teeth.

She’d known she wouldn’t be able to hold out long, but this was surely a record. And he was tempting her beyond all hope of redemption.

“Come for me, baby. Come in my mouth, on my face, surrender yourself. You know you want to…come…. god yes… come, baby…. yes! That’s it! Gush. Come on me, all over me, let me taste you, god yes… holy fuck…!”

As his tongue whispered these enticements, it simultaneously felt the fruit of its labours as she came and came in waves of shuddering soaking sweetness. He held her firmly in place, as he felt her subside, never wanting to let her go.

Such intensity wasn’t new to him as a concept, but this was an experience he’d never forget.

After an eternity of silent subsiding, he released her cunt, and spoke again.

“I knew you wouldn’t hold out long.”

She grinned and gestured feebly at him.

“Who the fuck said I wanted to?”

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So, Sapphire has decided to join the Sugasm.

(Not that she usually speaks in the third person, considering it an affected and pathetic manner of communication. In fact, let’s stop it.)

Yes, I’m joining the Sugasm, which is the best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants.

Want in Sugasm #143? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Interludes – part 3
“He winds the rope around his hands, smoothing the kinks, and I stand there, breathing a little faster, conscious of all those eyes upon me.”

Hurts So Good
“I want you to wear the badges of sweet distress for days.”

Shower fantasy
“You don’t want to admit it, but you want me.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Sugar Bank

Editor’s Choice
Why I haven’t blogged about the Mosley case

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

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Updated: Fleshbotted by Madeline! Yay!

It had never been an ambition of mine to fuck another woman.

Not that I was ever terribly strenuous in my denial of any hint of bi-curiosity, or hetero-flexibility. Why would I be? It simply was not something that had ever aroused my curiosity, never mind any other part of me; sensual or physical. A “no” as opposed to a “no way, Jose…”

I can recall several discussions with various women friends of mine about how I felt. On a couple of occasions, friends of mine expressed gentle regret at the fact that I wasn’t even willing to dip my toe in the water — so to speak. Often they would even offer me a helping hand, not to mention tongue, on my first foray into Sappho’s world.

What they usually failed to grasp was that as soon as it piqued my interest, I’d be ready, willing and able. It’s a question of fore-thinking with me, I’ve always been a bit of a late bloomer. It took me years to try control and submission play, but when i finally did, i took to it like a duck to water. (Especially if the water is ice cold, and there are restraints, blindfolds, floggers and glass dildos involved.)

In conversation with a former lover — actually, scratch that., I don’t think I’ve had even one lover who, either subtly or less so, didn’t encourage me to get it on with another gal. The reasons varied, but the purpose was always the same. It ranged from the pseudo-altruistic “Well, Saph, if you wanted to expand your experiences, i wouldn’t mind…” to the restrainedly curious (read: gagging for it and hiding it well) “Don’t you think you’d like to try an FMF threesome? ” to the blatantly horny (read: gagging for it and not hiding it at all) “I’d love for you and another woman to serve me simultaneously”.

And to all of which, plus the various shades of gray in between, i answered “Er… no, thanks.”

It just didn’t do it for me.

Until, one day, it suddenly did.

I don’t know why or how the switch happened. (Not that kind of a switch. Perverts.) I just knew that when a relatively new lover suggested that I meet him at a friend’s place, with said friend in situ. Oh, and said friend? A girl.

In truth, when he’d made the suggestion, I’d surprised myself by agreeing immediately. And when I say surprised, you know I actually mean flabbergasted. I was strangely unworried by any potential three-way unequal division of attention. I thought about it and considered it, sure. But it didn’t bother me. I also was completely unconcerned about what to do. I mean, no one ever gave me lessons in how to touch, or kiss, or lick a male body. And fuck, did I not own a perfectly fine and in-full-working-order woman’s body? Maybe i already had more of a clue than i thought?

Yeah maybe.

I was actually fairly certain that if i was happy in the situation, everything would just fall into place. And it did.

He’d picked me up after work, and we’d driven to her place. On the way, he sang her praises non-stop.

“She’s the best,” he said. “She’s this lovely sweet person, and she’s nuts about me.”

I chuckled quietly at his egoism. It turned out to be absolutely true, ego or no ego.

He continued. “She’s a big girl, but sexy — hell, so damn sexy.”

“Of course she’s sexy. I’m big and I’m sexy — what gives?” I retorted. He laughed and placed a hand on my knee. “Hell, yeah — you’re fucking sexy.” And as we paused at a traffic light, he kissed me until my head span.

As we entered her apartment, he leaned into her and kissed her in the same way as he’d kissed me. I’m not a jealous person, and as I watched them kiss, i realised how hot it was to see. Strike one for possessive envy, score one for voyeurism.

It’s a compromise I’m happy with.

He pulled away from her, not ungently, and smiled at me. Briefly kissing me again, he put an arm around her and one around me. “Sapphire,” he said, “Meet Jewel.”

She leaned in and kissed me and i found myself thinking back to every sex-blog post I’d ever read about the softness of another woman’s lips, and how very true that was. In the background I heard him murmur something about two virgins. He couldn’t mean her, I thought wildly, this woman had to have done this before. She was so instinctive, so good at it — I was very curious as to what he’d meant.

We broke from the kiss and she smiled at me.

“You kiss amazingly well,” she said.

“Likewise,” I smiled back. “You know that was my first ever time kissing another woman, right?”

“Yes,” she said, “Mine too.”


Then he chimed in. “Yup. That’s what I said before. My two virgins…”

I’d lost another virginity to another virgin — although it certainly hadn’t felt that way. I’d always presumed that virgins were gangly, and awkward. Not she. Anything but. Just by embracing her soft and luscious body I suddenly had a flash of deeper understand why so many men are fans of the Big Beautiful Woman.

I certainly couldn’t blame them.

More to follow…

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A long wait

It wasn’t about romance, that was for sure. Nor emotion, hell no. And feeling — well, only in the sense of gut feeling. That rumble in the pit of your stomach that tells you how much you want someone; how deeply you need them. Physically.

Need. The basest of all human desires. Inexplicable, barely recountable. Indescribable, if you like.

But real. Very real.

Circumstances conspire to keep you apart: you live in different towns, in different areas of the country. You work in opposite spheres. Your private lives coincide not at all. But one look and a few murmured words were enough to convince you both equally of the necessity that you meet, and fuck like bunnies.

And the sooner the better.

Sometimes, however, soon is a relative term. In the geological vernacular, for example, it’s quite soon since the “Big Freeze” of the Ice Age. And that was millions of years before the Common Era, from where the majority of us draw our cultural references. Narrow that down a little further, we mostly shout out to an instance that may have happened a maximum of fifty years ago. Rarely a hundred. Even more rare: within the last two centuries.

Which is about how long it felt between the time we first spoke, and the time we actually made cock-to-cunt contact — but in reality it was only a matter of months.

Urgency builds over time, much like steam in a pressure cooker. Leave aside the double-century that the last few months seemed to cover, and concentrate on the day itself. From car to front door, front door to hall, hall to bedroom — with requisite key fumbling on both the outer and the apartment door, just because god hates me and wants me to have an awful life — took (fumbling included) four minutes, but the metaphorical steam generated made it feel like a year and a half.

Embrace # 1, and clothe-shedding — another year, although with steam expansion, I’m fairly sure it was only two minutes this time.

Stumbling blindly as we grabbed and hung onto each other, our faces a blur, our bodies already close to melding was an indeterminate amount of time that melted into incomprehensible time-warp.

Then we hit the bed, and time ceased to function in any capacity that I could recognize. An instantaneous fuck — literally. Condom unsheathed and applied in nanoseconds. What felt like the longest most languorous fuck in all eternity, but was afterwards described as being “the most powerful two-minute, hard, fast shag [he’d] ever had”.

It’s losing yourself in the moment that makes the wait bearable. In retrospect, anyway.

A moment to recover, that reversed the time-bending trend that had manifested itself thus far, by appearing to be — TARDIS like — far smaller than it actually was. I suppose that in reality it was a good quarter of an hour or so, which at my age is still not that long between bouts of the old in-and-out.

Now time lent itself to a different set of tasks. As i bent to him, so he bent to me — a veritable Venn diagram of mouths and genitalia. As he licked, sucked and swirled, so i sucked, fondled and nipped (playfully). As he caused me to lose my bearings, his cries of exquisite anguish grew higher in pitch, indicating that we were equi-distant from climax. Time lost all meaning as we soared on that particular path, but then, it so often does when someone gives you oral with the skill of the sexually possessed.

Once we’d come and were again lying supine, side by side, panting, his hand wandered over to mine and began tracing hieroglyphics up and down my inner arm. Once again, accurately estimating time became an impossibility. I was floundering under the teasing caress, unable to move for sheer joy and pleasure. Not quite orgasmic, but as close as it gets without actually being so.

I know you know what i mean.

How long i lay there mumbling cries of restrained bliss i do not know, but i did eventually become aware of something hard and cold nudging at me urgently. I’d brought my glass dildo because in our first conversation he’d professed a sharp desire for me to fuck him with something hard and cold.

Apparently i was being hoist by my own petard. Or fucked with it, anyway. Fucked hard. Strong. Fucked to gushingly wonderful new orgasmic heights as i was once again lost to any measurement of time. I don’t know how long my g-spot was stimulated before it convulsed and rained a sweet and pretty shower down onto his hand, but he didn’t seem to mind the effort, and he happily licked his hand clean.

It was all i wanted; all I needed. I’d waited and i’d been rewarded. How long had it taken? In reality, or as perceived by the man in my head? Who cares?

Douglas Adams once said “Time is immaterial. Lunchtime, doubly so.”

You can see where he had a point.

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I’m a switch. I’ve never hidden that part of me.

I have more of a tendency towards sub rather than domme, mostly because i was fortunate and blessed enough to have a dom who knew his onions.

A really good dom knows that while he is ostensibly in control, what really matters is knowing the limits and capabilities of the sub in question, and looking out for them. Allowing them to place their complete trust in him. Dominating with loving care and concern, as well as a heavy hand on the ass when a spank is required.

Like I said, I was very lucky.

But i do enjoy the occasional opportunity to top. It’s all tied in with the fact that I’m actually a smidge too feisty to be as submissive as some. Variety is, after all, the spice of life.

And you know how much I like a little spice.

I like being a switch. I’m not, nor have i ever been a lifestyle BDSM practitioner. And being able to switch affords me the opportunity to further broaden my experience. Which can only ever be a good thing.

Meeting another switch, and being enormously attracted to them, was not something i ever planned for. Although, to be fair, how much of my life can i actually plan?

Initially, there was no indication of anything beyond the mildest foray into anything even vaguely associated with control and submission. Sure, a playful spank or two on my ass — but, as i have been told on more than one occasion, my ass does tend to beg to be spanked. It was when he broke from a kiss, while keeping his lips so close to mine that i felt them move as he shaped the words, that the paradigm shifted.

“Push my head down to your pussy.”

I looked at him blankly, not sure I’d understood correctly.

“You want my mouth on your pussy. Even if you don’t know yet that you do. But you need to push my head down there.”

This was new. And oddly exciting. i felt myself moisten, but remained outwardly calm as I put my hand on his head and pushed down.

“Harder. Order me. Force me.”

Using both hands now, I pushed harder, until his mouth found my slit.

He was right. I really did want his mouth on my pussy.

His arms encircled me and his head buried itself between my legs, as my own head threatened to explode. My hand still rested on the crown of his head, to all intents and purposes, “forcing” him to stay there; although i was secure in the knowledge that there was no element of coercion in his behaviour.

As i lay there, the oddness of the reality in which i found myself wandered through my brain. I have this tendency to part-detach from wherever i am and go off on thoughtful flights of fancy — it’s part of what helps me remember where I’ve been and what I’ve done when chronicling the relevant events here. This, despite the almost-all-encompassing and rising ecstasy which often accompanies said flights.

He wanted to be forced to do what he wanted to do in the first place. The act of my pushing him down towards my slick and hungry cunt aroused him all the more. I loved that. I completely understood the feeling, knowing well the delicious thrill of arousal at a word of praise from a controlling Dom, when an act of submission is willingly and deftly completed. But i appreciated it more, having that other side with which to compare.

Then he slid four fingers into me, and i left my flights of fancy for another time and gasped.

He sucked and licked and generally made love to my clit and labia, with a rhythm I’d been enjoying immensely before he began furiously finger-fucking me. I cried out as his hand thrust harder, adding his thumb to the other fingers.

“You– you’re fisting me? Oh my god..”

And I hadn’t even told him to.

I wondered idly if i could feel his cock with my feet, and edged a hopeful toe in the general direction. I heard him moan as I made contact, and started minutely stroking up and down what felt like a long and hard shaft. (It was. It wasn’t the first time we’d met.)

I moaned again as i felt the familiar pressure prior to a gush of juices.

“Taste me,” I told him, to which he replied with an eager and hopeful grunt. A moment later, and i gushed all over his face, delighting in his pleasure at tasting me as much as my own in achieving such a satisfying orgasm.

He raised his head momentarily and, not ceasing his fisting, albeit forgetting his submissive role, urged me to come more for him.

“Give me your come; let me drink you… you’re gorgeous…”

I obliged. Well, honestly, how could i not?

I thought forward to the inevitable conversation I’d have with my best friend the following day.

“Dude! He gives head like a motherfucker. And he fisted me. I think I’m in love!”

As i finally finished, and lay there recovering, he gradually pulled himself back up to lie next to me. He kissed me, and i could taste myself on his breath, and loved it. I hate it when people shy away from bodily juices after they have fulfilled their purpose — it seems so hypocritical.

We lay in each others arms for a while, breathing, kissing and murmuring sweetly debauched nothings. Suddenly i felt the paradigm shift once more, evidenced by the evil glint in his eye.

“Move your mouth down to my cock. I want to feel your mouth around me.”

Once again, we’d switched.

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I welcome you if you have just arrived.

Sit back, relax, and look forward to the elegnat smut.

You can also find me at Best Sex Bloggers.

Looking forward to seeing you…


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