All woman

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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Brains in her cunt

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?”

“Nope.”

“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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Switching

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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