Posts Tagged ‘coming’

“I cannot think of a poem to recite. Please, please, please may I come?”

He thrust his fist into me further, as my plaintive mew unfurled weakly into the dusky half-light of the evening.


“Rotten, mean, evil sodding cat!”

“Why, thank you!”

This was on the verge of the eighth orgasm of the session.

Number eight followed hard on the heels of the three previous caterwaul-inducing, knee-tremblers — all of which were great, although the one immediately prior to those three was the one which caused a tsunami-like effect on what Purrrrrvert had originally referred to as “your rainforest of a cunt”.

He had a point. After all, it was hot and very wet.

And every single fucking one of those orgasms was earned. Seriously. He started light: ten words for cat. We progressed through the alphabet backwards and other mindfuckable evil missions, until he came up with the brilliantly cruel idea of reciting a poem backwards.

I flailed — physically and mentally.

“What happens if i don’t do it? I cannot think of a poem to recite.”

His eyes gleamed with an evil glint I’d not actually thought possible from such adorably blue and loving eyes.

“Then, my darling bratty pink tabby cunning linguist, you…. get…. punished.”


“Er…” (very tentatively) “What kind of punishment…?”

A turn of his head, and a small cough. (Incidental? Unclear.)

“You do not wish to know. I can assure you. Bratty is as bratty does, but bratty also pays a price.”

I gulped. And then it hit me. Bratty! Of course! Who else, but Lewis Carroll?

“Because he knows it teases
He only does it to annoy
And beat him when he sneezes
Speak roughly to your little boy”


Through my blindfold I could hear the pleasure in his voice as he benevolently gave me permission to come. I could also feel the enthusiasm in his fist as he sent me over the edge into another quilt-soaking paroxysm of ecstasy.

A few moments of warm relaxation, enfolded in his adoring embrace, jointly catching our breath, and admiring my bound, round breasts, protruding from their brisket perma-tie surrounds. And then the whole thing started again.

As you know, he has made requests of me to write for him in the past, and further drilled-down those requests by specifying the number of words in each piece. Apparently, we’d moved beyond the realm of request-by-remote.

“You want to come, kitty-cat?”

A mute moan, and a whimper as I focused my mind on random traffic junctions in order to take my mind off the fact that I was perilously close to climax, but was not yet permitted to let it rip through my body.

Purrrrrvert has but two rules for me — that I notify him when close to orgasm, and that I do not come without permission. Naturally, I obey them both, although sometimes it really is by the skin of my teeth.

“What must I do this time?” I asked as civilly as I could through gritted teeth.

“Write me a piece of… oo, let me see — twenty-five words.”



Which brought me to this.

“It’s twenty-eight words,” I confessed humbly.

He smiled — again benevolent.

“This time, I’ll let it slide. Call it poetic license.”

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Wow. Fleshbotted again by the amazing Madeline. 🙂

She wasn’t a BBW, like myself, or like the first girl i was ever with. She was a hottie MILF: petite, brunette-to-red, sweet-smelling and clean-shaven.

How I like my women, in other words. Although size and shape are never a factor; they’re merely cosmetic. What bothers me is how sweet does she smell, how soft does she feel, and how well does she lick.

It’s zee truth.

The first time — the event was, in and of itself, an eye-opener. It was the advent of kissing and fondling and beautiful big woman, somewhat bigger and softer than I, that helped me realise why the idea of BBW was so attractive and desirable to so many men.

Having been steeped in societal norms for so long, I had become brainwashed into thinking of fat as a less than desirable asset. This despite my constant lauding of myself as a BBW, and all that went with it. (I’m very bad with the denial and the self-hatred — it’s something i work on constantly.) One touch of her downy breast, and the velvet skin on the inside of her thighs and I was hooked.

It’s like seeing something in three-dimensional view when previously all you could see was a flat representation, an image with no substance.  Big is definitely beautiful.

But this girl was not big. Not at all. Slim, proportional, muscley and wiry, but with a softness to her that was dream-like. And she was also beautiful. I refer less to her appearance, although she was, as i have mentioned, a very attractive woman. Her eyes were beautiful when she watched me kiss her husband — because of the joy it brought us both. As mine may have been when i watched them embrace and kiss passionately — immediately prior to the two of them separating, plankton-like, to attend to the opposite ends of me — one for the top, the other for the bottom. Literally. 🙂

She’d positioned herself straddled across my face, and i remember feeling how i first felt (at the tender age of 19) when confronted with a large, smooth, pink cockhead. A mental shrug and the thought of “well, it’s now or never!” accompanied my first blow-job… and so it did the first time i kissed a woman’s cunt.

People often chunter on about how natural it would be for a woman to muff-dive another woman — I disagree. If it were simply a question of licking, we’d never bother getting out of bed. No, there’s a technique involved. It’s not just how you lick, it’s where and when and how often. Speed is a factor. Pressure is another. Does one nip or gently bite, do we suck hard or merely swirl our tongue… and if so, exactly where?

It’s a science, if not an artform.

Plus every cunt is different, and every clitoris a slightly different shape, with many varieties of orgasmic possibility. My (now sadly ex-) Dom once commented on how my clitoris was “an unusual anatomical concept in that it knew exactly what it wanted” and was more given to sensitivity at the top than all over.

Well sue me. I have a fussy clit.

And I made her come. Having had the substantive content of the two previous paragraphs running through my head as i tasted her and tested her reflexes and levels of arousal, i somehow got into my stride. I found her natural rhythm and went for it, hell for leather.

For the first time i felt that all too familiar jagged shaking and shuddering, accompanied by an outpouring of sweet juices, the likes of which i had only ever tasted off my own fingers or a man’s cock before. I felt her hands grasp at me — my hair, my skin, any part they could reach as she peaked and sat atop her own personal apex for however long it was (it couldn’t be too long for me, i loved that i’d made another human being so happy). And then i felt her relax and slowly slide back down until her face was level with mine, and she kissed me again.

We embraced, and i stroked her soft smooth skin, and she took my nipples and pushed them together, teasing them with her tongue — even as she came down and i felt her breath return to normal. Her husband had this enormous smile plastered across his face, and he sighed.

“I loved watching that. Two wonderful women, there’s nothing more beautiful. All woman.”

Too fucking right, mate.

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