Well, that sucks.

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Hey, y’all. I know, I know. WTF have I been up to that I haven’t written. Well, the truth is, I have a pretty fucking crazy life at the moment, and it’s even crazier than usual, and not in a good way. Not in the “I’m too busy having crazyass sex every night to sit up and blog for you people,” way. More like the, “I’m too busy working my ass off and taking care of my minions while moving and dealing with a bunch of family crap,” way. So, you know, fun.

And now it’s summer vacation, and with the minions off school for the next year and a half (well, it FEELS like summer lasts that long!), I just don’t know how much blogging I’ll be doing. But, you awesome web dwellers, you deserve more than to have me vanish into the ether, so here’s an little snapshot of Cathy’s World at the moment.

Rest In Peace, Mr. Coffee. Praised Be.

I’m still “seeing” Northman virtually. Things have cooled off between us a bit. I think the novelty has kind of worn off. We’re close. We’re good friends. We have rockin’ Skype sex. He’s funny (not as funny as I am, but you know, nobody’s perfect). We have a solid connection and good chemistry. But the fact is, he’s there and I’m here, and even though we still plan to get together later this year, I’m not so sure it’ll be the fuckfest we had initially planned. Above and beyond all else, we want each other to be happy, and so I’m happy for him that he’s been dating someone who actually lives a car ride (and not a plane ride) away. I’m not even jealous or envious. I love him. I want him to find happiness, even if that means I never get to sleep with him. Although sleeping with him — and let me be clear, I mean fucking him — would be awesome. 

Jerry is still around here and there. He’s still kind of a douche canoe sometimes — so cocky — but he’s also a good guy who’s fun to hang out with. Work is busy with clients both interesting and boring as dirt. My minions are little Fonzies. Coolest fucking people you’ll ever meet, but without the leather jackets. Mr. Coffee died and was reincarnated at Target in a stainless steel body. Penny is up to her usual chicanery, always calling because she’s stunned at the idiocy and inefficiency of the average American only to have me remind her that she’s just so much smarter than average that what seems like common sense to her is Advanced Calculus to a person with a 100-point IQ. She hasn’t made me laugh into tears lately, or you’d have heard about it. But it won’t be long.

Oh, and I did read the new Sookie book, and I thought it fucking sucked. But I’ll live because the new season of True Blood starts in four days. Sookie better get some Northman sex. I mean, Sweet Jesus in Birks. At least one of us should.

There’s an App For That.

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So, I’m sitting on the back porch, sans big, heavy blanket, worshipping Mr. Coffee, when Penny calls. As usual, she doesn’t even say “hello,” but just launches into some random story:

Penny: Dude. Last night, Billy and I had the Best. Sex. Ever.

Me: Hi. Good morning. How are you? Oh, fine, thanks, how are you?

Penny: Dude. You’re not listening. Best. Sex. Ever.

Me: I’m listening. There are just some social niceties that one cannot ignore or the entire fabric of our society will collapse into anarchy, and we’ll be ruled by Emo teenagers wearing Nina Simone tee shirts.

Penny: Who’s Nina Simone?

Me: Someone Emo teenagers don’t listen to either. But they SHOULD.

Penny: What?

Me: Exactly.

Penny: Dude! You’re not flippin’ listening to me! Best sex!! Ever!

Me: I hear a blog post coming on.

Penny: Ohmygosh. Ohmygosh. Oh. Ohmygosh.

Me: Yeah, see, if you said that to me during sex, I’d be kind of underwhelmed.

Penny: Shut up.

Me: I hope this story gets better.

Penny: We tried about 15 new positions in one night. When you’ve been married for flippin’ ever, that’s a LOT.

Me: Ok, I was lying before. Now I’m listening.

Penny: It was unbelievable.

Me: What did you do? Get a Cosmo and take notes or something?

Penny: No! Dude!

Me: Have you been watching Cinemax again? I told you some of that shit is dangerous.

Penny: No! DUDE!

Me: Oh, no. Tell me you weren’t watching True Blood before bed. You’re not a vampire, honey. You can’t bend like that.

Penny: Shut up! I downloaded some free sex apps on my iPhone! Did you know there was such a thing? I mean, seriously, sex positions. There’s an app for that!

Me (almost shooting coffee through my nose): “There’s an app for that.” Awesome. Yes. I did know that, but hearing you say it has me picturing you studying and taking notes before bed.

Penny (proudly): Oh, no, dude. I took the phone with me to bed, and we held it up and followed the instructions.

Me: Ok, that’s a fucked up visual.

Penny: It was freaking awesome! We had to read the instructions for each one and then follow the diagrams; some of that stuff is complicated!

Me (biting lip to not laugh): Uh huh. And how did that work out for you?

Penny: Aside from when I dropped the phone on Billy’s head, it was pretty great!

Me (too late, laughing my ass off): On his head? Which one!?

Penny: Oh my gosh. You did not just say that!

Me: Oh, yes. I did. It’s fine. If you gave him a concussion, I’m sure there’s an app for that.

Note to sex app people: If you’re going to have an illustrated sex app, 1) Don’t use the same artist who does bathroom signs, and 2) Don’t let PAMPERS advertise on your app.

Penny: The sex apps were free. They had these little ads on them, but I just ex’d out of them.

Me: After you read them.

Penny: Well, yeah.

Me: You’re a riot.

Penny: Oh, and then? And then? This morning? At breakfast, my seven-year-old is playing with his iPod and goes, “Oh! You got me some new apps, Mommy?”

Me: Ohmygod.

Penny: Right? I grabbed his iPod so damn fast I about ripped his hand off. Apparently, there’s a setting for “automatically download all new apps to all devices using this iTunes account.”

Me: I’m going to call Northman and tell him all about this, and then I’m going to blog it. You know that, right?

Penny: Whatever flips your noodle, poodle.

Me: What?

Penny: Ohmygosh. I can’t wait for you to see Northman so you can try this one thing. I’m not sure we did it right, but it was awesome.

Me: I’m pretty damn sure any position with Northman will be fucking awesome. And I won’t need a diagram or a damn flow chart either.

Penny: No, you won’t. The chemistry between you two is crazy.

Me (insert stupid grin): I know. I can’t quite explain it.

Penny: Yup. He’s cabbage leaves on engorged boobs. Who the hell knows why, but it just works.

Me (laughing my damn ass off): You did not just say that.

Penny: Oh, yes. I did.

French sayings are weird, but everything in French sounds either romantic or dirty, so it works out.

+++Ten Minutes Later+++

Me: And then, ok, I’m still getting over her hitting him with the phone and almost giving her kid some seriously fucked up sex education with his Corn Flakes, and Penny goes, “Northman is cabbage leaves on engorged boobs. It doesn’t make sense but it just works.”

Northman (laughing): I’m cabbage?

Me: No, you’re cabbage leaves on engorged breasts. Don’t men know about that?

Northman: All I know about cabbage is that I just made cole slaw today. It was pretty fucking good! I’ll send you the recipe if you want.

Me: No thanks, I’m sure there’s an app for that.

Northman: Have fun blogging, mon petit choux.

I Am A Total Douche Canoe.

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In the last 48 hours, I’ve gotten five messages from readers who fall into two categories:

A) Girlfriend: Where the fuck are you? Are you shacked up with Northman and having too much freaky sex to write? If so, yay for you, but you’re a douche canoe for not telling us ALL about it.

B) Mom: Where on God’s green earth are you? Are you ok? Is Northman ok? Are y’all having a spat? Did something happen with your little ones? Did your computer get the virus? You know I know how the computers do that with the Google and whatnot especially with all those dirty pictures you post. Now, whatever it is, you don’t have to write about it, but let us know you’re not lying dead in a ditch somewhere without clean panties or a sweater on for heaven’s sake.

So, first, thanks, y’all. Thanks for worrying about me even if it makes me feel like a total douche canoe for worrying you. And thanks for writing in, which was completely the kick my sorry ass needed to get in gear and explain myself. Here’s the Siri.

(I don’t think we can call it “Here’s the 411,” anymore. Now you go, “Hey, Siri, what the number for the sex store on 4th Ave?” and she goes, “You slut. It’s in your contacts list.” So, “Here’s the Siri,” is way more 21st century than, “Here’s the 411,” and you know I’m aaaall about being up with the times, yo.)

Alright. So, when last we met, I wrote y’all some erotic fiction. Ok, that’s crap. I wrote y’all some smutty porn fabulousness and it was damn awesome and led to some seriously naughty conversations with Northman, so even if you hated it, I fucking loved it, and it’s my blog, so yay for me. After that, I was just waiting for some inspiration because you know, I don’t just write about nothing. I mean, I write about my seriously crazy life and all the weird crap that happens in it. Usually, so much weird crap happens that I have plenty to choose from and I share about a fifth of it with you. But for some reason, early last month, nothing happened. I mean NOTHING.

Nothing funny happened, so I didn’t have any “Donkey Vagina” stories to share. And Northman and I were out of sync for around a week, so there was nothing on that front. Which sucked. Even the douche canoe next door with his fucking motorcycle was oddly quiet. And y’all don’t read my blog for deep introspection, so yeah, I had pretty much nothing to tell you.

After about a week, I sat down and tried to make myself think of something to write for y’all, and I had nothing. Nada. Zero. I started several new drafts and just, yeah, fucking nothing. Writer’s Block. 

So I decided to give it a rest. Here’s where I fucked up. I should have sent out a notice: Hey, web dwellers. I’m not dead. I’m just taking a little sabbatical. Only I’m not getting paid for it like professors do, but then again I don’t get paid for writing my blog, so I guess it only makes sense that I don’t get paid to not write my blog either.

I fully admit to being Cathy: The Asshat Captain of the USS Douche Canoe for the last month.

But I didn’t send out a notice, and so I’m a douche canoe. And I’m sorry. Let’s hug it out, bitches. 

((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((Yeah, I’m sending you a cheesy cyber hug. No copping a feel. Actually, go ahead. I’ll take what I can get these days.))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

Alright. We good? Sweet. So here’s the rundown on your favorite characters who are actual people in my life: 

  1. Northman (obviously): Northman is in my good graces like you would not fucking believe. If my good graces were chocolate, he’d be covered in it like some kind of human Twix bar or something. This analogy is lame, but it also works because you know, licking…biting….yum. Fuck, I’m out of blogging practice.
  2. Jerry (when did we last talk about him?): He’s around. He’s like … well, fuck, y’all. He’s just not that important to me. Don’t know why I made him #2 on the list except that sometimes I think he’s full of #2, which is why he’s not that fucking important.
  3. Penny: Penny. Penny. Penny. What can I say about Penny? (Yes, I did that on purpose, BBT fans.) Penny’s life is so hilarious that I WISH she would write a blog, only she’s a terrible writer, so it would have to be more like a podcast of our conversations so y’all could get some remote clue as to how flippin’ hilarious her life gets. But in the immediate: She’s fine.
  4. My minions (who are always number one on any list except this one because I don’t write about them much): Fucking awesome. 

So, ok, web dwellers. That’s the scoop. I’m off to worship Mr. Coffee a bit. Also, fucking, hello?!!? True Blood comes back on the air in JUNE and there’s a new Sookie “Bad Decisions” Stackhouse book out this week. When I have time to read it, I will tell you what kind of idiotic things she does this time. Also, my favorite blogger, The Bloggess, released a book, web dwellers. And if you don’t read it, I won’t be your friend anymore.

 

My Turn

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Last month, Northman wrote a piece of erotic fiction for your reading enjoyment, and I’ve been wondering whether I’m equal to the task. I’ll let you be the judges, web dwellers. Northman, this one’s for you, darlin’.

I had back-to-back appointments this morning, a lunch meeting with a client, and an endless stream of phone calls. I ran some errands along the way and picked up sushi for dinner on my way home. It was crazy but normal. As I pull into the driveway, I think back over the hectic scramble of the past several hours and smile at the thought of a quiet evening together, of hearing your laugh as I walk in the door, of your hands on my shoulders, rubbing away the stress of the day. I’m already relaxing and I haven’t even shut off the car.

I sling my briefcase over one shoulder and scoop up the products of my errands, grabbing the cooler bag with our sushi and tucking my phone into my purse. As I walk in, I hear you talking quietly and know you’re on the phone, so I take a moment to hang and stow and refrigerate and unpack all my miscellaneous packages and bags. Unencumbered, I walk into the living room where you’re sitting on the couch, the detritus of your day strewn across the coffee table: your laptop, a half-filled glass water bottle, a notepad for your phone call doodlings and notes, a haphazard stack of paperwork, and your iPad.

You’re still on the phone, wrapping up your call as I lean against the door frame and quietly blow you a kiss. You smile at me and keep your eyes on me as I hook my finger along the heel straps of my sandals, each in turn, and set them next to the wall like I always do. It’s a nothing gesture, but you watch and smile, and I smirk at you, pushing off from the door frame with one hand and taking you all in. It never fails to amaze me that you can give me that flutter in my chest, that tightness between my legs, just by smiling at me, and I close my eyes for a moment, shaking my head. My idea about a quiet evening quickly disappears as several fantasies come to mind and my cheeks flush a bit.

I look up, and you have an eyebrow cocked at me, an expression I adore and know well. I mimic you, which always makes you laugh, but you’re still on with your client, so you shake your head at me and smile at my playing. I reach up, taking the pins out of my hair slowly, and let it tumble down my back in a thick wave I know must be a mess after such a long day. I flip my hair forward, bending at the waist, and run my fingers through it, which you love, and flip it back, standing up straight, shaking my hair loose, and watching you sit up a bit and take notice.

I part my lips with my tongue and bite my lower lip as I open the first three buttons on my blouse. I place my hand flat against my upper chest and run it up over my collarbone to my shoulder and neck, rubbing gently and exposing my neck as I do. I glance at you and, even across the room, can see you shifting in your seat, can see how hard you are already. I take a few steps toward you and stop, unbuttoning my blouse to my waist, watching you watching me. I smile when you have to ask your client to repeat himself and shrug my blouse off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

I cross my arms over my breasts and slide my hands down over my shoulders, slipping my red lace bra straps off as I do. I cup my breasts, running my fingers over my hard nipples and watching your cock straining at your fly as I do. Keeping my eyes locked on yours, I reach behind my back and unclasp my bra, taking it off slowly and tossing it into your lap. I caress my breasts, watching you look back and forth between my tits and my eyes, smirking when you gesture for me to come closer. I pinch my nipples between my thumbs and middle fingers, and you give me this plaintive look that says so clearly, “You’re killing me, here.”

I turn away, shake my hair down my back, unzip my skirt, and let it fall to the floor, revealing the red lace thong I’d bought to match the bra. I hear you make some ridiculous excuse to your client and hear the phone hit the floor. Before I even turn around, your hands are on my hips; your left hand wraps around my waist and your right reaches up to my breasts as I lay my head back on your shoulder where I turn and kiss your neck. I lean back into you for a few minutes that way, enjoying the warmth of your rough hands on my body, the insistent pressure of your cock against my ass, before I turn toward you, desperate to have your lips on mine.

You brush my hair back and hold my face as you kiss me, with your palms against my jaw and your fingers below my ears for a moment before you rope your right hand in my hair at the nape of my neck, tight, pulling me closer as you grab my ass with your left. The urgency in your grasping touch gets me instantly wetter and my panties are soaked in seconds. I pull your shirt up at the waist and have it over your head just as fast. Before your hands can resume their positions, I put mine on your shoulders and push you back onto the couch.

Dropping down on my knees in front of the couch, I look up at you, and you push the coffee table away with one foot while you eagerly watch me unfasten your belt. I never take my eyes off yours as my fingers unzip your pants, grasp their waistband along with the waist of your boxers, and tug them down together. You raise up your hips for me, and I pull them off, tossing them aside in one smooth motion. I run my hands up the insides of your thighs and begin stroking your hard cock with one hand while I gently massage your balls with the other.

You sink back into the couch and breathe this contented moan, laying your head back against the cushions for a moment while I kiss my way up your right thigh. I feel your hands in my hair as my lips reach your balls. You brush my hair back and stroke my cheek as I work your cock, my fingers deftly getting you even harder as I lick and kiss your balls and then the base of your cock.

I feel your fingers grip my hair in response as I lick your cock from base to tip, dragging my tongue around the head in a slow circle. I flick the head of your cock with my tongue the way you like, continuing to stroke your cock with my fingers in a tight circle, up and down at the base, and I look up to see you smiling down at me. My eyes on yours, I open my mouth and pat your hard cock repeatedly against my extended tongue before kissing the tip and taking you quickly and suddenly deep until you feel your cock hit the back of my throat. I hold you there, my tongue making the tiniest movements, my breath hot on the base of your cock as I shake my head back and forth ever so slightly.

I reach up with my free hand, gently dragging my nails along your abdomen. You take my hand and pull it up to your lips, kissing my fingertips and palm as I pull back, sucking hard against your cock as I draw my lips up to the head. I work your cock with my lips, tongue, and fingers for a few minutes before pulling back again, kissing the tip, and then looking up at you as I trace circles around the head with my tongue. “Spit on it for me, baby,” you say, “get it wet.” I smile at you, and do exactly as you ask, getting your cock wet before taking it back in my mouth while my left hand continues stroking your incredibly hard shaft. I pull back for a moment and take you deep in my throat again, and you moan. Loud. Your whole body tenses, and you grip my hair, which you know I love.

“You want me to fuck your mouth, you bad girl?” you ask, and my whole body responds. My breath catches, the muscles in my groin contract, and I feel a new wave of heat and wetness course through my pussy. I pull back just a bit, your cock still in my mouth, but enough so that I can look up and see you. I nod a little, and you smirk, “You are such a naughty girl, aren’t you?” Keeping your body close to mine, your cock still in my waiting mouth, you twist with me, so my back is against the couch and you’re standing over me, one knee on the couch, one foot on the floor.

You grab my hair firmly in one hand and support yourself against the couch with the other. You move your hips slowly at first as we find a rhythm we can sustain, and you hold me still, thrusting gently but firmly against my hot mouth, just tapping my throat with your cock. I grab your hip, my nails digging into you just a bit, and your abdomen tenses. You say, “That’s my naughty girl,” and I feel my pelvic muscles contract, my face redden. You know what gets me off.

Your grip loosens on my hair and you pull back. I look up at you and smile, ready to take your cock back in my mouth, to work you to completion and feel you cum, hot in my mouth, down my throat, or maybe across my tits today. The options play out in my mind for a moment, but you reach down, take my hands, and raise me up, my breasts burning a trail up your body as I stand. With your hands behind my neck and waist, you kiss me, long and deep, and we melt into one another for a long moment. My entire day has faded away along with the rest of the world, and I lose track of everything that isn’t you: your hands, your lips, your tongue, your body, your breath, your cock, your words.

You take my hand and walk with me a few steps to the side of the couch, where you turn me away from you and bend me over the arm of the couch. I toss my hair over one shoulder and bend at the waist, my hands on the couch cushion, holding myself up. I feel you tap your cock, so warm and hard, against my ass. I moan something nearly incoherent in my aching desire to feel you inside me, and you laugh that deep, throaty laugh I love. “Not just yet, naughty girl,” you tease, and, bending over me, you reach under my arm to caress my left breast, around my waist to push my panties aside and finger my clit. “Damn, baby, you are so fucking wet,” you say, kissing my neck, “Are you ready for me? Do you want this cock?” you tease me. “Yes,” I gasp as you slide your fingers into me, “Oh, fuck yes,” I gasp.  “Then tell me,” you taunt. “My naughty girl. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” I say, and I can feel your abs move as you laugh a bit because I always say that, and you always say what you say next, “Not enough, bad girl. Tell me exactly what you want.” I smile, feeling your hand leave my breast and slide down my back to my ass, where you give me a light smack. “I want you to fuck me. Hard. I want you to fuck me ‘til I can’t breathe, and then cum with me. Right now.”

“Good,” you say, and I hear the taunting smile in your voice. “But still not good enough for someone who teased me while I was working.” You grab the back of my panties, roughly, which doesn’t help my ability to think, and pull that thin strip of fabric toward you so it rubs against my clit. “Oh, fuck. Baby, fuck me,” I manage, gasping. You smack my ass harder, grab my panties hard, and yank them down to my knees. Fast. You thrust your cock hard against my ass, saying, “Try. Harder. My gorgeous, dirty girl. My sexy, naughty slut. You know what I want.”

I’m losing the capacity for coherent thought. The nastier you talk, the wetter I get, and you know it, so you are far from playing fair. I try to speak and fail miserably, so lost in your body and the heat between us. Your cock is sliding up and down the crease of my ass, and I feel you push my panties off completely while I try to catch my breath, to form the words. You grab my hair in one handful and wrap your other hand around my chest to pull me up so my back is pressed against your chest. You thrust your cock hard against me, pinch my nipple hard, and whisper. “Tell me what you want.”

I take a deep, shuddering breath. “My love. I want your hard cock inside me. I want you to fuck my pussy and feel how wet I am for you.” Your fingers find my clit while I’m whispering my request and I gasp at each word, “I want you to fuck me hard and rough and long. I… I…”

There’s just no finishing the sentence with your fingers probing my pussy and your cock hard against my ass. “Much better,” you say, biting my neck, and lazily but gently pushing me forward, back down onto the couch. I arc my back a bit, pushing my ass out toward you. I’m so ready. I want you so badly, but you don’t move your cock from its current spot, pressed tight against my ass. You just thrust your hips forward and back, lazily, while you work my clit with your skilled fingers, getting me wetter and hotter until I’m panting and gasping for breath. You bend forward over me, and I feel your teeth graze my neck, and you start to kiss your way down my spine. You grip my hips with both hands and turn me around, kissing over my hip and down to my clit. Your fingers, slick and wet, find my nipples as I push myself up on my hands, my ass against the arm of the couch and my legs suddenly around your shoulders as you kneel in front of me. You pinch the nipple of my right breast as you suck my clit in between your teeth and I gasp, “Yes, yes, yes…” searching for some way to tell you how much I want you but finding myself far beyond articulate speech.

Your fingers plunge deep into me, hitting my g-spot as you work my clit with your tongue and I do little else but let my head fall back as I moan your name and beg you to fuck me. “That’s what you get for teasing me while I’m on the phone, bad girl,” you say, and I can’t even laugh more than a short gasp. “Cum for me, baby. I feel how close you are. You want me to fuck you, you naughty girl? First, cum for me,” you say, kissing my abdomen and working your way back down. I’m so wet, so ready, that the second your teeth graze my clit, I feel that surge starting deep in my body.

You work my clit with your tongue, my g-spot with your fingertips, faster and harder, and I push against you with my hips, wanting your fingers deeper, wanting to feel your tongue and lips and teeth more, everything moredeeperfasterharder, and you know me, and you know what I want, and you give it to me. I feel that cresting wave break within me and ripple outward like a stone dropped in flat water. My toes, my neck, my back all arch toward you as you suck my clit through my orgasm, dragging it out for me and intensifying it as I call your name over and over. I melt like a blissful puddle, falling into the couch, seeing stars behind my closed eyes and temporarily losing feeling in my feet.

You come around the side of the couch and kiss my lips, soft and sweet. I open my eyes and smile contentedly, reaching up for you to come lie with me. Instead, you sit hip to hip with me, facing me, and pull me up to meet you. I twist around, swing my leg over your lap, and you sit back against the couch. I work my hips in little circles, your cock trapped against your abdomen, my clit against its base. I get my breath back quickly and lean back, my hands behind me on your knees. You pull your hips back and tap your cock against my clit, teasing my pussy ever so slightly. You press the head of your cock into me, and I move with you just a bit, slowly, just fucking the head of your hard cock, feeling you working slowly into me. You take my hips with both hands and pull me down onto you, sheathing your cock in my tight, grasping pussy where you can still feel little wavelike contractions, aftershocks of my orgasm still coursing through me.

I work my hips in counterclockwise circles, still leaning back away from you so your cock hits the front wall of my pussy, right up against my g-spot. I feel that wave building up inside me again, know I’m going to cum again as I ride you, and I want to draw it out and give you time to cum with me. I shift forward, putting my hands on either side of your shoulders against the couch, and you wrap your arms around me. I wrap my legs around your waist, and you hold me close, quickly pulling me down so I’m lying beneath you on the couch.

You run your hands up my sides, pulling my arms up over my head and grasping both my wrists in your left hand, holding them firmly together. You keep a strong but gentle grip on my wrists as you kiss my lips, my neck, my breasts. You bite my nipples in turn and let your teeth graze my neck as our hips move together in a smooth rhythm. “Keep your hands there,” you say, and I do, wondering what you have in mind next. You put your hands on my hips, slide them under my ass, and run them under my thighs where you push my legs up so I can hook my knees over your shoulders. With one thrust, I feel how much deeper your cock can fuck me like this, and I moan, “Oh, yes,” as you take up my wrists with your hand again and begin working your cock deep into me.

“Yes, what?” you ask, staring deep into my eyes and smiling down at me. “Tell me, love. Tell me what you want.” I look up at you and say what I always say, “I want you,” and smile. You laugh, working your hips into me, and I say, “My love. I want you. I want you to cum for me. Cum with me. Fuck me hard and cum with me now.” You double your speed and I gasp, still fairly pinned down to the couch and getting closer to orgasm with your every stroke. After a few minutes, I’m lost in our pairing, completely focused on your cock and the way we fit together, desperately trying not to cum without you, until finally you gasp, “Yes. Now, baby. Cum with me now! Oh, fuck, yes!” and I let go, let loose that dam I’ve held back, and feel myself open inside as I feel your whole body tense and your cock throb through your own release inside me. My pussy contracts around you and I feel you respond, wave after wave of pleasure as we feed off of one another and melt into each other’s arms.

Legs entwined, your cock still deep inside me, we nestle into the couch, my head on your chest by your shoulder, your fingertips tracing my lips and brushing back my hair. I turn my face to kiss your chest and think of nothing but your heartbeat and the sound of your breathing. You tighten your arms around me, and we fall into a blissful sleep.

Donkey Vaginas

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So, I’m on the phone with my girlfriend, Penny, today, and there’s all this noise in the background.

Not where I go to pick up dinner, but to each her own.

Me: “Where the hell are you, an air show?”

Penny: “No, I’m at Public’s.”

Me: “You’re at Pubics? What is that? A sex shop? Nice!”

Penny: “No, Cathy. It’s PUB-LICKS. You know? ‘Where shopping is a pleasure?’ Don’t you have Public’s?”

Me: “‘Where shopping is a pleasure’ sure sounds like a sex shop to me. And who wants  to shop at a store named after your groin? What the hell are you shopping for, woman?”

Penny: “Oh, good Lord in Heaven. It’s P-U-B-L-I-X. Publix. And it’s a grocery store, and its slogan is, ‘Where shopping is a pleasure.’ I can’t believe you’ve never heard of it.”

Me: “Nope. Never heard of it. And all the stores here are public. And I’m sorry, but if you have your minions with you, shopping is not a damn pleasure, it’s a big ole pain in the ass.”

Penny: “Fine. I’m at the Piggly Wiggly. Is that better?”

Me: “Oh, now you’re just fucking with me.”

This is how our phone conversations go sometimes, because Penny’s lived in Florida for a really long time, and apparently, it’s a big deal there to have public supermarkets. As opposed to private ones, I guess. Whatever. Anyway, so we’re on the phone while she’s in this store that could lose one light in its sign and have “PUB IX” which isn’t really a word but would still make me laugh out loud. Who names a grocery store after a vagina? Because that’s what pubis means, sort of, and I’m pretty sure publix is the plural of pubis. And if it wasn’t before, it sure as hell is now.

So, anyway, miracle of miracles, Penny has no minions with her, and mine are still at Spring Break camp for the day, so even though she’s shopping (And taking some pleasure in it because that’s the rule at the vagina store – they should hand out bullet vibrators when you walk in if they want to keep up the sex theme and really have shopping be a pleasure) we just do our usual chit chat and I ask her increasingly inane questions about this mystery store because it’s bugging her, and I’m a bitch like that.

Penny: “So, this Final Four thing is really cutting into my time with MY Northman.”

Me: “Woman, please. He’s not your Northman. There is only one Northman, and he is my Northman.”

Penny: “Yeah, I was just trying something out there.”

Me: “And how’s that working out for you?”

Penny: “Enough.”

Me: “Ok, fine. What else shall we talk about while you’re at Pube-Licks? Do they kick you out if you don’t have an orgasm when you see their sale prices?”

Penny: “Something’s wrong with you.”

Me: “So? Did you read Northman’s bedtime story with your non-Northman? I won’t use his name in the blog. He won’t like that. Why don’t we call him Billy?”

Penny: “Billy? Like a goat?”

Me: “No, Billy, like, ‘Hey, my name is William but people call me Billy.’”

Penny: “Thanks for clarifying. And no, we didn’t read it together because he’s been overly involved in that stupid basketball tournament and by the time he comes to bed, I’m asleep.”

Me: “Bummer.”

Penny: “And I really liked that story! I thought he would, you know…”

I guess shopping really is a pleasure!

Me: “I wonder if you can buy passion fruit at Pubis. Do you get extra bonus points on your frequent shopper card if you do? Ooh! Do they sell those Durex cock rings like they have at Target?”

Penny: “You’re not listening. I loved Northman’s story. That was hot.”

Me: “This isn’t news. Finding out if your one-stop sex-and-passion-fruit store has cock rings, THAT would be news.”

Penny: “I liked the whole thing except for the um, the fisting part. I’m not so sure I want someone’s fist up my hoo-hah. I’ve already given birth, thankyouverymuch, and it wasn’t sexy.”

Me: “I have news for you, Penny. A fist is smaller than a baby.”

Penny: “Yeah, but … ow.”

Me: “Well you don’t do it if it hurts. Obviously. Maybe there’s some kind of sex manual in the book section there. You need help. Look next to the kum-quats.”

I can't think of donkeys without thinking of Donkey from Shrek. "And in the morning, I'm making WAFFLES!!" I should have asked Penny if they sell waffles at her sexy food store.

Penny: “How could it not hurt? Having someone’s fist up your hoo-hah?”

Me: “Ok, once I can ignore, but twice, no. It’s not a ‘hoo-hah.’ That’s like, a donkey’s vagina or something. Call it what it is, woman. Vagina. Say it. VA-GI-NAHHHH.”

Penny: “I will not say that in the market! And that’s not the point! How could it not hurt?”

Me: “Well, fine, if you want to get technical about it, it happens to you at least once a year. You go to your OB/GYN, and while that’s not sexy, she does tuck in her thumb and reach on up there to check you out. And that doesn’t hurt. I mean, it’s not pleasant, but that has more to do with the latex gloves and the nurse watching than with her hand being—”

Penny (cutting me off!): “What? She does?”

Me: “Don’t you pay attention to what’s happening during your own exam, Penny?”

Penny: “No, not really. I don’t want to know. But anyway, I’m pretty sure mine doesn’t do that.” Then she got all cocky, “Yeah! Yeah! Your OB does not have to put her whole hand in your you-know-what! What kind of OB do you go to, anyway?!”

Me: “Ok, you know, I think this has to do with the fact that you have a really short cervical length, and my cervix is about three feet north of my vagina. So my OB has to get her hand in there up to her damn elbow to reach my cervix, but yours can probably just use a fucking q-tip.”

Penny: “Oh, you know, that’s right. I do have a short cervical length. Huh. So your cervix is that far from your vagina? Or labia, or whatever?”

Me: “I can’t hear you. What did you say?”

Penny (louder): “I said, is your cervix really that far up? You know? From your vagina? From your outsides?”

Me: “I don’t know about you, but I guarantee someone around you thinks that right now, shopping is a fucking serious pleasure.”

Penny: “Ohmigosh!!! I just said that out loud in the market!”

Me: “Don’t worry, it’s half a sex store, right? They’ll probably give you a discount for that.”

A Love Letter From Cathy and Northman

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Dear Readers,

Annniiiimaaaaaaalllllll!!!!

So, today’s Monday. As per usual, I was sitting outside with my Animal mug and my heavy fucking blanket because even though it’s Spring, it’s still fucking cold on my back porch at 6 a.m., which is the only damn time it’s quiet around here with Thing 1 and Thing 2 on Spring Break, at least, the only daylight time. Anyhow… so, usually around that time, I’d thinking of a new blog post to share, trying to think of all the little random things that happened to me over the last few days that y’all might want to hear about, debating which little nuggets to toss your way. But today, well, today was different. Today was easy. There’s only one thing to talk about today, and that is your pal and mine, Northman.

So I knew I had to wait until tonight when the minions were once again in bed so I could collaborate with Northman and write y’all a little love note. So here we sit, (virtually) together. I’m typing this while screen-sharing with him AND while he talks to me via FaceTime on my iPad, so he’s on my computer and on my iPad, so I’m thoroughly fucking distracted. At least he put some damn clothes on. Anyway, I say, “(virtually) together,” and Northman says, “Virtual cock in hand,” and I say, “Shut up,” and he laughs, and now we have to start this paragraph all over again. And he says, “Because Northman’s a brat,” and I say, “Yes, yes you are,” and he says, “So? I’m effin’ Northman! I resemble that remark!” and he laughs again, because he’s a dork, and I shake my head, because I’m an adult.

Back to business. So you liked Northman’s post on Thursday, did you? Considering site traffic the next day exceeded the blog’s previous all-time high (by A THIRD, people) and brought in traffic from all over the damn planet, I’d say we all enjoyed it. I know I sure did. Especially when Northman recited all of the best parts to me via Skype the next night and added some rather fabulous dialog.

I have no idea why this is funny, but Northman says it's perfect, so here ya go.

So, a couple of things. First, we got some fan mail, and we’re here with our Doonesbury Lite version of the MailRoom to answer your burning need to know. The most commonly asked question over the last few days: Is Northman real? Northman would like to answer that by saying, “You’re Goddamn right I am. And if I’m lying, may I go straight to hell, in gasoline boxers no less.” So there. What man would curse himself with permanent fire crotch? Northman corrects me: “Permanent penile disfigurement.” Eww. Now I’m all grossed out. Moving on.

Yes, the point is, Northman is a real guy, and he’s mineminemineyoucan’thavehim. He’s a real guy, and (this was the number two question, but it doesn’t have to do with poop, just number two in order, but that was kind of self-explanatory, but you know, tangent…) he did write the bulk of the article you read sometime in the last few days. It started out as a sexty conversation we were having, and we both thought it would make a great story, which he’d been planning to write for you anyway. Northman says, “a titillating story,” whatever. Anyway, he keeps interrupting me. As usual. The point is, we collaborated a bit on the beginning, but the rest of that nasty dirty fabulousness is 100% Northman. And now you know why I’m so fucking sleep-deprived. And if he were your Northman, you would be too. Sucks to be you, web dwellers. At least I share with y’all.

So now, the second thing I alluded to is this: Where do we go from here? If you’re me, which you’re not, you go straight to bed, get naked, and have more Skype sex with Northman because that, web dwellers, does NOT get old. It’s great having my own personal porn channel. NNN: Naked Northman Network. I need sponsors. Right. Fucking. Now. Northman says, “Tagline: All porn, all the time.” I say, “Fuck that. All Northman, all the time.”

So here’s what we’re thinking. Northman really enjoyed writing his erotic fiction, and I enjoyed the fact that it’s only fiction for now, as we ARE making plans to see one another. I won’t tell you when, except that it will be this calendar year and it’s not for a while because, fuck, you know, minions, work, blahblahblah. Aaaaanywhoooo…I digress. Because I’m picturing him naked. Can you fucking blame me?

Northman is now a full author on the blog. He has his own “About” page, where you can speak to him directly, or you can email him at effinnorthman@hushmail.com. He’ll be blogging periodically, just as I do, and he’ll be doing more “bedtime stories” for you. And me. ALL PRAISE OUR DEAR SWEET MR. COFFEE!!! Ahem. Deep breath. Ok, where was I? Fuck. Ok, wait. Rereading paragraph… oh, right. Ok, so we’ll both be writing now, and up next … a collaborative piece of erotic wishful thinking we’re currently calling, “The Lake House.” So stay tuned, web dwellers, because this is only going to get hotter.

We love the crap out of you, web dwellers!

Cathy and Northman

A Bedtime Story

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We’re at dinner, at that little Italian place I told you about. The waiter brings us a bottle of cabernet from the Anderson Valley, a favorite location of mine. We toast to a fantastic day together walking along the pier, taking a winding motorcycle ride along the coast. We laugh about the message I wrote you in the sand and the things you whispered with our heads close together as we walked. You cross your legs, and I arch my eyebrow as your skirt hikes up your thighs, revealing the thigh-high stockings you promised to wear when we got home and changed for dinner. I put my palm on your lower thigh, and you smile and trace your fingers over the back of my hand. I reach into my pocket and hand you something under the table. It’s smooth, oblong, and blue. You look up at me, about to raise this little object up to examine it, and I gently press your hand back down and smile, shaking my head and showing you the remote in my other hand. I press a button and you feel the little bullet start to vibrate just a bit in your hand. I see your eyes light up with that spark of hungry desire I adore, and I jerk my chin toward the restrooms. You kiss me soft and brief, just grazing your lips against mine.  As you’re walking away, you throw a smoldering glance over your shoulder, knowing that I’m enjoying watching your ass and legs as you walk away.

I wait, drinking some wine and trying not to fidget as a ball of warmth starts to form somewhere south of my stomach. You walk out of the ladies’ room and the manager crosses your path, so you stop and chat a moment. You’re gesturing at the décor, asking some obscure question as usual, and the manager seems excited to finally have someone notice the sconces or whatever those things are. Never one to miss a golden opportunity when I see one, I tap the remote with my finger and barely a half second passes before your face registers the vibration in your pussy and the shock makes you drop your purse.

The manager quickly bends to retrieve your purse and you look to me with an expression that conveys, “How dare you!” and “Give me more” at the same time. But as you’re staring at me, I’m watching the manager appreciate your red heels and your gorgeous legs as he stands back up to hand you your purse. You thank him, and I watch him tell your tits to have a nice dinner as you turn to walk back to me. This will be fun.

You slide back into the booth next to me, closer than before, and I rest my hand on your thigh, a little higher than I should, my palm flat and my fingertips a little further inward than you expect, and you look at me with hunger in your eyes. It’s that “fuck me” look you’ve given me so many times through a screen but that I get to see in person every day now and already know like the back of my hand. I turn up the vibrations on the bullet and watch you bite your lower lip. I think about having that gorgeous red lipstick smeared all over my cock and feel my pants get even tighter. You see the change in my face and take the advantage, running your tongue subtly along the bottom edge of your top teeth, parting your lips with your tongue, sucking in water seductively through a straw. You challenge me with a look, crossing your legs away from me a bit, teasingly out of reach. I see your eyes flick down to my crotch and register how hard I am; you smirk. I turn up the bullet’s vibrations with the remote, and your smirk vanishes immediately. I say, “One point to Northman.”

We tease and play and flirt our way through dinner, you getting increasingly fidgety and me trying to control my hard-on enough to walk out to the car. We’re both enjoying tormenting the other to the point that, by the time I pay the check, we can’t get to the car fast enough. The drive home is short, but you still manage to get in your fair share of torture in the car, propping your right leg up on the dash in your red heels, running your fingertips up the inside of your leg until they disappear and you let your head fall back as you massage your clit and moan softly while I drive. We pull into the driveway and you look over at me and murmur, “I’d say it’s a tie at this point.”

We scamper in the door like trysting teenagers and, grabbing your arm, I quickly spin and press you up against the closed front door, the swollen bulge in my pants pressing into you through the thin fabric of your skirt. I can feel the vibrations of the bullet against my cock and I’m suddenly rock-hard. I reach down to your knee, run my fingertips up to the lace edge of your panties, and slip the bullet out so I can tease your clit with my fingers. I watch your head fall back and kiss your exposed neck.

I run my free hand down the back of your thigh and pull you toward me so you hook your leg around my hip. Your lips are on my neck, your teeth grazing my vagus nerve, making my cock strain against my pants as I explore your body with my hands. I feel your nails pressing into my back and your tongue on my shoulder as I slide my hands under your gorgeous ass, lifting you so you can wrap your legs around me. We rock together, kissing and gasping into each other’s mouths as I press my straining cock insistently against your wet pussy.

Time stretches and distorts, and I don’t know how long we stay there, a tangle of limbs and tongues and sweat against the door, but at some point, we’re on the floor and then on the stairs and then in the bedroom, a trail of your clothing marking our passage. We are standing at the edge of the bed, still unmade from our early morning sleepy sex, and I place the flat of my right palm between your breasts and push you back onto the bed. I slide to my knees and pull you to the edge of the bed, pushing your legs wide. Cupping my hand behind your neck, I pull you up so you’re leaning back on your hands and can watch my face as I bury it between your legs, fucking your wet pussy with my darting tongue. My cock is so hard, the taste and aroma of your sweet, wet pussy fills my head, and I’m throbbing for you.

I slowly push two fingers in and out of you as my tongue swirls in light, slow circles around your clit. I push deeper with my fingers, curling my fingertips upward as I pull out so I can stroke your g-spot. I suck your clit gently as I do this, and then draw back, licking my lips with a wicked grin, and with my left hand I release my belt and unzip my pants.

My right middle finger traces circles around your clit and then suddenly, without warning, I plunge two fingers into you, pressing them back and up. Your whole body lifts off the bed, pressing down into my hand. I press my palm into your clit, fucking you deep and fast, my other hand stroking my aching cock. I press deep and hold there, and you take over, bucking against my hand, my fingers pressed deep into you, fingertips moving in slow circles around your g-spot.

Your head falls back, your eyelids flutter, your breath coming in little gasps, incoherent syllables falling from your lips. All thought, all focus is on the burning, rising flame in your loins, with me at the heart of the flame. I draw back, wet another finger with my mouth, and slide my fingers back in, resuming their deep, pulsating push against your g-spot. You somehow manage to gasp for another finger, for me to fill you completely, to fuck you so deep, and I happily oblige you, wetting my pinky and then slowly sliding it into your tight pussy along with the rest.

I release my hand from my cock, two fingertips slick with precum. I rise to a crouch, never stopping my hand’s insistent press against your g-spot, fingers churning in slow circles around it. A wicked smile again dances its way across my face as I press my free fingers against your lips, and your tongue darts out to taste my essence on my fingertips, mixed with your own. You groan and press your body harder down against my right hand, my fingers buried up to the palm inside you, your tongue working over my left hand, your teeth grazing my fingertips.

“Are you ready to take my hand?” I ask. You nod rapidly, gasping for breath. With agonizingly slow movements, I draw my hand out of you, eliciting a plaintive gasp from your lips. “Shhh,” I whisper, and you quiet immediately. I bring my thumb to your lips, the only digit I’ve not yet fucked you with, and whisper, “Get it wet for me.” You tease my thumb with the tip of your tongue, a defiant and naughty look in your eyes. “Be good … suck it now,” I say. With an apologetic little whimper you obediently suck it deep into your hot, waiting mouth, moving your head forward to take it all in. My cock jumps, imagining your lips around the base of my cock, but I am patient and will forgo the pleasures of your lovely lips a little longer.

I pull my thumb away and you smirk at me, lust filling your eyes like a runaway brush fire. I lean in close and your lips part as I kiss you, your mouth tasting your own sweet essence on my tongue as I sloooowly slip four fingers into you. I rub your clit with my thumb and you moan into my mouth, gasping for breath all over again. I draw back from your mouth, and with your eyes closed you whisper in a gasp, “Give it to me, the whole thing. I can’t take it anymore, I want you to fist fuck me.” I draw back my hand, and tucking my thumb into my palm, I slowly work my whole hand inside you, our eyes widening in pleasure and amazement.

With a long drawn out “Yesssssss,” I feel your body shudder around my hand and a huge grin expands to fill my entire face. Your body shudders again as I experimentally open my fingers and stroke the entire front of your pussy with the tips of my fingers. A low, guttural growl escapes from my throat and my cock is hard enough to knock down a brick wall as I begin fist fucking your pussy, slowly at first, gradually faster and harder, guided by your barely coherent cries for more, faster, harder. I dip my head from watching your beautiful face, contorted from the throes of pleasure you are in, and descend on your clit like a falcon onto a dove, with no warning. Your back arches, every muscle in your body clenches and you crush my head with your thighs as the long cresting wave of orgasm crashes over you, rips through your body, and escapes from between your lips with a ululating cry. I release your clit, inhaling the heady intoxicating perfume of your essence, and it is at least a minute before your body begins relaxing enough to let go of my hand.

I rise on unsteady feet, and to my great surprise, you slide off the bed and down to your knees in front of me almost immediately, a face-splitting grin on your own face. You look up at me under lowered lids, your eyes burning coals now. Still smiling and without a word, you take my cock in your left hand and press it up against my body as your tongue and lips beginning working it, sucking and licking it from base up to the glans, pausing to pay special attention under the head of the glans. I growl again, deeper, longer and more urgent while my hand finds the back of your head. Obliging, you let my cock fall and with one swift movement you plunge it deep into your throat. Your hands move to my ass cheeks, encouraging me deeper. Your eyes lock with mine, smiling at me. I feel you swallow once, twice, three times and your cheeks cave in as you suck and swallow. I can take no more and, with a wolf-like howl escaping my lips, my back arches and I explode. It goes on and on but you never miss a beat, swallowing and sucking me, your breath coming heavy through your nose, blasting hot air against the delicate skin around my cock, and I feel secondary shuddering waves of orgasm coursing through me, obliterating all remaining shreds of thought. I gaze down in wonder and awe and all I can see is your eyes, filled with laughter and joy, smiling up at me as I cum a river down your throat. After nearly two minutes, as the stars recede from the corners of my vision, you let me slip out of your mouth. Your eyes have never left mine and a crooked grin crosses your face now as you first lick your lips and then kiss the head of my cock, eliciting a sharp exhale from me.

You rise lithely to your feet, spin me and perform the same flat-handed push I used on you earlier, landing me on my back near the middle of the bed. Crouching, you crawl up and over me, your legs straddling my hips until you are astride me. My cock, still half hard, starts to stiffen again as you press your pussy against the underside of the shaft, trapping it against my belly. You are wet as a river and hot as the sun, and I marvel at how you are always hot, always wet, and always ready for me. I say a silent thanks to the universe as I draw your face down to mine and kiss you, our tongues and lips tangling in a smiling, joyous, post 1st round kiss. As you finally draw back up to a sitting position you glance down and wriggle your hips in a little shimmy, exclaiming, “Is that for me?” as my cock regains its full length yet again under your carefully calculated ministrations. A smirk and a low chuckle from me, and you lean forward to smother me with your breasts while a giggle escapes your own lips. I inhale deep, smelling your skin, your perfume and your sweat, and I’m again rock-hard, much to your delight. A low purr thrums in your throat as I press your breasts together with my hands and alternate kissing, licking, and grazing my teeth against them, paying special attention to your nipples. Involuntarily you press your pelvis down against me, and your hips begin a lazy circling motion, grinding your clit against the head of my now throbbing cock. “I want to ride you,” you groan, and I reply by pushing you up.

You rise even further until you are standing. With a deft little spin, you are now straddling my hips again but facing away from me. Slowly, teasingly, you shimmy and gyrate, rolling your hips around as you slowly lower yourself. Taking your cue, I hold my cock up at attention, saluting your beautiful ass and legs. You gasp as the head of my cock parts your pussy lips but you drop no lower, just fucking the head. For almost a minute you fuck only the head, alternating short strokes with a pelvic roll that threatens to blow BOTH my heads clean off. When you can take no more, you plunge down onto me, a hiss escaping through your teeth as you do. We sit for several minutes this way, rocking gently against one another while softly moaning and relishing the waves of pleasure emanating from our shared core. My hands find your hips and I lift you slightly off of me. You lean back, your hands on the bed on either side of me, your feet spread wide to help support a position hovering over me. I guide you back down on me and you begin to ride me in long, slow, hip-rolling stokes. You are almost delirious after a while, and I’m nigh on to bursting, but a notion is stirring in me, and I know I must have you from behind.

I pull you down on top of me with a quick yank and you laugh with me as I bury my face in your neck, letting my teeth graze your vagus nerve and enjoying the shiver it sends through your body, all the way back through your pussy and around my cock. I roll you over, coming up to a kneeling position myself, my cock never leaving your grasping, wet pussy. I rake my fingers up your spine, twine them in your hair, and pull you up so your torso is pressed against mine, your head tilted away from me so I can suck on your neck. I snake my other hand around you, sliding it around and down your hip, over your pubic bone. I spread your labia wide as I whisper in your ear, “I’m gonna fuck you from behind. Are you ready to cum for me again?” A low groan of pleasure from you and then, “Oh yes… please… fuck me so hard, make me cum, make me cum for you.”

I chuckle, low in my throat, and push you forward onto your hands. Holding your hips, I drive into you, slowly at first, but every so often I increase the pace and the depth until our hips are slamming together, our flesh slapping loudly as we meet with each stroke. In between gasps for breath, I pant, “Rub your clit, and cum for me. Come for me now. I want to cum with you.” Your hand finds your clit and you shudder, hard. Soon you have been reduced to “fuck” and “oh god,” and I’m not even uttering words anymore, just a guttural, incoherent stream of sound. Your fingers frantically rub your clit and I pound against you like the surf on the shore, but I manage to roar, “I’m cumminggggggg” as the first wave of cannons go off in my whole lower body, and I explode inside you. I feel you stiffen against me, your own voice rising in a screaming crescendo of orgasm-induced shrieks before you collapse forward, exhausted. Not two seconds later, I collapse forward as well.

Five minutes pass before our breathing slows to a normal pace and our eyes open. A wide smile splits both of our faces nearly in tandem, and I pull you close so I can kiss your lips. You snuggle into the hollow of my neck with a contented sigh, and I wrap my arms around you. Within minutes, your breathing begins to slow, but I do not notice, as I am nearly asleep myself. You snuggle closer in, and even nearly asleep, I wrap my arms tighter around you, and a smile dances across my lips one last time before the sandman takes me away. Good night, my sweet. May you have sweet dreams.