The sex party… A work in progress

Strike one: We get too hot just talking about going.

Our first sex party together! We spend the morning in bed, talking about our desires and needs. More turns to afternoon. We also make some rules, like limiting our oral sex partners, since that is generally unprotected. And making sure to have a conversation about status before fucking. Then we get into our DESIRES. K’s absolute top ten favorite word. That’s when it all goes downhill. Some desires: asshole licking, spanking, anal plugs, double pen, chocolate fondue eating (hey, food desires always have a place with sex desires), trains, baths (not showers), being watched, watching each other, slavery, midgets in a cage, jello, fire-play, two girls and a guy, two guys and a girl (numbers negotiable), the French rugby team from that calendar… We literally couldn’t hold off. We’re like “oh. Nice ideas. That’s a wet pussy/hard cock. Ok, yeah, we should wait til later and save it for the party….” And we’re fucking. For like two days.

Strike two: Motha fuckin DRESS CODE. And we are, shall we say, fashionable in more of a couture way…  

Will H and K ever get into the Sex Party??????

Fucking in closets, getting caught, fucking in closets again….

Man, we looooove to fuck. Our sex just gets hotter and hotter. And the theme for this week is: fucking in semi-public spaces.

We had a party at the house for Turkey Day. When we have parties we absolutely love to sneak off and fuck, with all of our friends just in the other room, totally oblivious. We’ve got a record; at Halloween I think we spent equally, 50/50, fucking and partying.

Thanksgiving=a long day of “holiday” time, which= lots of fucking behind the backs of our friends/family. Hey, I’m fucking THANKFUL for that. More stuffing, please.

No we didn’t bother to shut the door.

No, we didn’t have the lights off.

K cornered me at the closet door and lifted my dress, where he started eating my pussy for no less than the sixth time that night. Round and round and round slurp slurp. Then I got down on my knees and took his cock into my mouth (not because I felt obliged to reciprocate, I never feel obliged to reciprocate) round and round and round. I pulled him down to the floor and got on top of him.

It’s so great fucking when people don’t know you are fucking, and especially in places where people don’t expect you’ll be fucking.

He lifted my dress (No I wasn’t wearing underwear, I’m never wearing underwear) which was short and tight, so when he lifted it around my waist it stayed up there. I started riding him up and down and around and around. 

Enter stage left:

It’s my colleague! Yay. He makes no secret of wanting to bang both of us, so its only natural that he should be the one to walk in Not once, NOT twice, but THREE FUCKING TIMES. He was like a ping-pong ball meets a dog chasing its own tail. He was like a cat chasing a laser pointer. Spin moves, starting and stopping and starting again and turning... I’ll have to remember those moves for sex. It was pretty cute, actually.

Once his whiskey fogged turkey wine brain was able to compute that he was looking at fucking, he actually stopped and really really LOOKED. I think he half-mumbled half-shouted “I’m IN!” (his catch phrase.) Not two strokes later and two more of my male colleagues are in the doorway checking out the work.

Most people, on both the catcher and the catchee roles, would be ummm I guess embarrassed? Uncomfortable? Self-conscious maybe. But we were all in luck due to that magical combination of hours worth of food and liquor coursing through the body. Ok at least that’s what we can blame. Annnnd to be honest I’m not sure I possess exactly that whole shame concept… (a lifetime of slapstick and awkward teen years that still haven’t gone away dammit) So they watched for a while.

Now every time I’m late for a meeting with them I say “Sorry, I was fucking in a closet.”

AND being watched even for a slight moment as my ass and pussy bounced on top of my man’s cock and balls (they could see the backside by the full length mirror) gleaned a powerful lesson: I like it when I’m watched fucking. Woo hooo!

The next day as we reminisced we had to duck into a doorway down an ally for a quickie.

Moments later we were waltzing into a five star hotel like we owned the place and making a bee-line for the stairs. We soon found a door marked ‘private.’ Of course, the door was unlocked. We stepped into the dark room. K briskly unbuckled his belt and had his cock in me, and I’m bent over pressed against the back of the door in ten seconds flat. My man’s got the art of a quickie down!

We soon enough left the ‘private’ room (yeah, it was just wayyy too private for us, you know) and found a handicapped restroom with nice full mirrors on all sides. It wasn’t long that K was really banging away before we hear that tell-tale sign of authority: the crackle of a walky-talky. Why as an adult I should still be afraid of that sound has mostly to do with the fact that I still do illegal shit. Why people in 2014 are still using walky-talkies remains a mystery…

“Just keep walking and don’t stop.” Yeah, great advice, K. Way to look casual. Instead I browsed the tourism guide rack in the lobby for a bit. “Oh look honey, we can go on a helicopter tour!” If only all those five-star patrons new that I’d just been on one…. Giggity (:

A black-face ad campaign and fighting and fucking at the airport:

So part of navigating this… whatever the fuck we are, is having sometimes uncomfortable conversations. But, of course, all adult-like and with trust and mutual respect. Right? Riiiiight.

K and I haven’t really had too many awkward conversations where one of us has just been plain pissed-off (other than when I brought that tall blonde guy home on his birthday) and so we aren’t too used to seeing each other angry. BUT (or should I say “and” K, you sonofawhore) however, in contrast, sometimes shit gets said and I get mad. Like at the airport.

Well, we’ve already had multiple rational and all adult-like conversations about whatever the fuck we’re doing (still not an exact science) and have both definitely agreed that we want to be open and bring others into our relationship from time to time. We’ve had a couple of trials and errors (see other posts, such as “Feeeel de Oni” coming soon) and those have been more about sex than any other thing. In my mind, I can fairly easily separate sex from my emotions. Yeah yeah I know what you are thinking, and I’ve thought it too and that’s not to say that I haven’t become emotionally attached to fuck-buddies in the past. But I’ve matured. Now when finding someone I want to use for sex, I go completely on a physical level. The shallowest possible. The less they think, the better. Just so long as they’ve got a great body and can follow directions. Or if they have a sweet car I can drive, or connections to a great bar or something. Anyways, I guess when we’ve had our talks about whatever the fuck we’re doing, I’ve always kinda assumed that K was looking to bring in others pretty much just for sex too. And just on a sexual basis. So, I felt pretty blindsided when, while vacationing and having THE BEST TIME EVER, he casually rolls over in bed and says, “I want to date a second woman.”

Ok, fine. Not immediately mad. Assumptions should never be made when trying to navigate whatever the fuck this is. I ask “oh? Did you meet someone?” His answer “No.” “Okayyy, well lets just cross that bridge when it comes, shall we?” And that was the extent. Two days later and it’s still simmering. And we are at the airport. I’m a bad flyer, it’s fair to mention. Like, I HATE flying. It’s not so much THAT FUCKING LIAM NEESON MOVIE WITH THE WOLVES, but it’s more that I have a fear of spending all that time going through the level of hell that is airport security and then realizing that I’ve forgotten some crucial thing and I CANT TURN BACK. I forgot about that roach in my purse, etc etc. And the hours of boredom, waiting, and line standing carrying heavy fucking bags. So, two days later, airporty-ness sinking in, and I begin to turn over and identify Two Words that fucking pissed me off in that sentence: Date and Second. The context was absolutely horrid as well, which also pisses me off. Mind made up, I’m pissed off.

Nothing worse than trying to be all angry-pants at your significant other and then being shoved onto an air-born tin-can with said other for the duration of a flight. When in a coach middle seat on a budget airline, I want to hate the people sitting next to me anyways, just simply for being there and smelling weird and taking my GODDAMN ARMREST! So, when ‘trapped’ on a plane with someone you are already trying to send hate-rays at (baby I don’t really hate you, it’s just better writing) shit gets kinda intense.

Airplane. Emergency exit row. Middle seat. Put-on seatbelt light ON, remain seated. No moving about the cabin. And he’s dumbfounded and I’m mad. And I’m a crier when I get mad, which just sucks for the other person, not to mention that I really can’t get my point across. Which makes me frustrated. It wasn’t at all the idea of bringing in a third, it was more the unclarity of purpose. Did I overreact? Perhaps. But we agree that is much better than non-reacting. It’s not like I started screaming or anything. Not even close. I just was pissed off at this abstract concept of bringing in another woman, a Second girlfriend, to Date. Who DOESN’T EXIST. Some of you may be wondering, “but isn’t it better that there is no second woman?” Maybe it is in whatever the fuck you are doing, but not for me. If there is an actual woman, she is a person. I can see her, know her, borrow her clothes and potentially shoes. But if there is in fact no woman but the woman of imagination, well there is no gauge with an imaginary woman. She is perfect, the imaginary woman, this Second woman he wants to Date. (Yes, I’m more jealous of fictional than physical, absolutely.) She is not a person. So, I am terrified. Which equals 300000 miles in the air and us pissed off at each other and crammed into little seats hurtling towards the ground.

We land. We’ve discussed our anger. But the energy is still there. Bathroom? Ahh, even better: mommy and baby changing room. Yeah, he bent me over that changing counter and then threw me against the mirrored walls. So that happened. We felt our feelings, expressed them as best we could, and then fucked in the airport.

And what’s with all those Desigual black-face ads all over the place?

Update:  We are assholes.  H suggested posting our FB dialogue will be the easiest way to communicate our assholio-ness.

K hm, didn't i publish your blackface blog?

H I don't know

I wanted a pic of that damn ad to accompany at the end

K ok. no worries. just wondering if blogger removed it...

or if i never actually posted it.

Damn them

H Try again?

K am

H Also, noticed that you've outed our position... Blogspot.com.es

Dot. E. S.

paña

K can't help it. auto corrects.

i published as .com

H Fucking

Balls

You mean if I want to have privacy on the Internet then I can't post stuff??

On the Internet?

K heh

maybe we can post on facebook and mark it private. (;

H PS: playlist is meant to go on your personal blog

And title should be: "NOW that's some fucking bad music, volume 28"

Here's a cat eating noodles

K ohhhhh. i don't want the public to know i get stoned. i'll fight for sex, but not sex and drugs.

ps, http://nypost.com/2014/09/09/antm-model-chantelle-brown-young-is-changing-the-face-of-fashion/

oops. she HAS that MJ skin disease...

H Haha well it says stoned in the opening

Noooo! Nu uh! Get out!!!

Shut up

K yeah....

H Noooo

No way!

Hahahajahaha ha

K will be editing the blog shortly....

H Hahahahaahhashhaaha

Don't edit, just add on a comment

That we are assholes

Hahahahahahahahahaaaaaaa

like it.

Cat in a pizza box eating pizza

Hahahahahahaa fuuuuck

In fact, just publish the contents of this chat

That's the most entertaining way we can show that mistake

Playlist for the Stoned

Ok, so yesterday we got stoned and I started making a list of all the songs that K starts singing. I started at like 5 pm and went til midnight. 


1 Skater Boy
2 I can see clearly now (the rain is gone)
3 I want to stay high all the time
4 Black bird
5 Because I'm happy but with the lyrics because I am castle
6 Dr dre n xibit that ass
7 the real slim shady (guess whose back)
8 Spoon man but moon man
9 I don't wanna wait (Dawson's creek)
10 Yesterday Beatles
11 Cher do you believe
12 Jesus Christ superstar
13 Push it
14 My milkshake

Happiness is balls and an additional woman.

Eye contact with H has never been as sweet and as innocent as in this moment.  Looking past the shaft of my cock mid-thrust while fucking S. from behind, I smile at H.  She smiles back.  Such childlike happiness as H and i enjoy this super sexy lover we just met less than an hour before named S.  H then takes my balls back into her mouth as i reignite the (hip) thrusters.  Thrusters at 40%, let's take it nice and steady.

Approaching warp speed level 6

i'm fucking S faster now and my balls are warm and not as tight as earlier.  H is eating S's pussy as i'm picking up the pace on S's almost-asshole-tight pussy.  That's when i notice my balls.  Them dangly things are just dragging back and forth across H's whole face.  I feel my face get a little warmer and i notice i'm developing a bashful smile as i feel H's nose, then her forehead, then her left eye.  I look down to check.  H is content as a cat asleep in a sunbeam on top of a pile of important school papers.  I let myself go and fuck with abandon.  I won't climax though.  I promised H i would save that for her.

My journey into innocence

Last night I got off the phone with a dear friend of mine, who we'll call Sue.  I spoke of Sue with H earlier in the day when i was on facebook.  I said, "This is the woman who fucked me in the ass."  I realized then i had a lot of appreciations for Sue.  As all good appreciations are best served in person, i did my second best for someone 5000 km away, i called her.  My list of appreciations are as follows:

I appreciate you for

the time you fucked me in the ass.

taking MDMA with me for our first times ever.

taking my cock deep into your throat again, and again, and again.

encouraging me to embrace my dark side.

holding me gently as i let my darkness see the light for the first time.

making me buy you breakfast, and then buying me dinner.

After awww-ing, Sue said, "you sound so innocent!"

"I know! I was just talking with H about how pure and clean i felt after voraciously fucking her. Fucking her with abandon." 

Excuse me?  So what you're saying is that the path to innocence is strewn with anal, throatfucking, and non-gentle fucking?  Yep.  It's about exposing that shit inside that you've buried deep down inside and called bad and shamed into a ball curled up tightly in a dark corner of the closet.  Like Harry Potter being forced to live under the stairs.  He was punished for whenever his magic side, his true side came out.  In muggle world, sex is magic.  And the more you step into your sex, the more you're embracing your true self.

So what happened when Harry Potter unfurled his shamed and berated and abused magical self?  He goes on the journey of a lifetime and saves the world.

My power lies in my innocence.  It just so happens that my innocence is being in approval and loving kindly, my dark and depraved self.  It's who i am and i'm beautiful and powerful. 

R Kelly’s Trapped in the Closet and I want you to Piss on me

K has never seen R. Kelly's Trapped in the Closet rapera (as in rap-opera, not rape extravaganza), so that’s been happening. It’s soooo ridiculously intense, so we’ve sort of been limiting ourselves to two episodes a day. There are 22. If you’ve never seen them before, you MUST. The drama, the drama!

And totally unrelated (though coincidentally not, RIP R Kelly’s career) K asked me to piss on him on his mother-fucking birthday. Birthday is pretty much that one day when veto power is void, and you’ve just gotta oblige your lover. Annnnd I’m up for trying new things. And we have a bathtub. And I really had to pee, or so I thought…

Pretty much the hardest part about pissing on someone is the eye-contact. I can’t regularly pee too well if I’m making eye-contact with someone in general. Sometimes it’s hard for me to even get going in a crowded public bathroom. Or at a party when it’s a really small echoey bathroom and you know everyone can hear you pee… Now imagine that you are balanced one your tip-toes, straddled, each foot placed upon one side of your mini-tub (euro-sized cause we’re in europe) thigh muscles heating up, boyfriend crammed in underneath you, looking up at your face expectantly awaiting said piss upon his chest. Not too easy. And I mean it was a little after midnight, I’d just woken up, I really really had to pee. It was there. I needed to go, urgently, just moments before. I could feel my bladder begging to be emptied. So why Why WHY would the piss just not come? Why gun-shy? Why??
(Had to take a bathroom break while writing this, just the memory made me need to pee just to prove to myself that I could…)

So here we are. I slowly lower my pussy down towards his chest. He’s looking up at me, expectantly. And I just caaaaaaaan’t. So I cover his face with my hand. Still nothing. Then I reach over and turn on the sink faucet. Ok. Deep breath. Annnnnnnnnnnnd: PEEEEEEEEEE!
Finally. I really had intended upon pissing a good five, ten minutes before this. I really had to go. I started getting a good stream going. I moved my hand off his face. I aimed and filled up his belly-button. I aimed and made a waterfall cascading down his happy trail and into his bellybutton. I pissed on my boyfriend’s chest. It felt good.

Happy Fucking birthday Baby!