Tag Archives: erotic

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.

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

Asking Northman To Dance

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Recently, a reader asked me how Northman and I met, and that led to some great chats with Northman about the good ole days, so I figured I’d share with y’all a bit. To be straight with you, I really wish I had some great story to tell here. I wish I could honestly say that the first time I saw Northman I knew there was just something inherently, magnetically attractive about him, or that we were instantly bonded as soul mates. That I saved him from a charging bull, or he was the first boy I ever kissed. That we absolutely hated one another on sight yet somehow came around to where we are now…wherever this is. But the honest truth is, we were 12 or 13 when we met, and neither of us remembers it at all. We were kids in a big group of kids who ran in the same circles. We liked each other and became friends quickly, but that was about it. I don’t think we really looked at one another as more than lunch table pals until we were 14, and from then on until college, we did this strange little dance. 

Yeah. Just like that.

If you’ve ever been in teenager-style love, you know how all-consuming, passionate, and intense it feels. You need him like air. He’s ubiquitous. You see his face everywhere and want to breathe him in. You can’t possibly have his eyes and hands and lips on you enough because every look, every touch, every kiss feels so new and pure, and you’re absolutely, positively certain that no one on this earth, ever, in the history of mankind, has ever felt what you’re feeling in that moment. I’d say the adult equivalent is massive lust with a good helping of affection and some top-shelf liquor thrown in.

For a teenager, though, that’s love. You haven’t been repeatedly hurt by being “out there” long enough to question his motives, or doubt his promises, or second-guess his answers. You haven’t grown up quite enough to know how much goes into long-term romantic love or what can come out of it. You only know the fireworks and bottle rockets of love, not the slow-burning hearth and glowing embers of deep, abiding affection that come with time, growth, and maturity. Of course, really great love for adults encompasses all of that: The consuming urgency and passionate need for physical, sexual, and emotional contact, as well as the comfort of lasting, profound love that goes far beyond the physical or even the present and reaches into the core of who you are.

I’m not saying teenagers don’t fall in love; just that love, for a teenager, is a very different thing than it is for an adult. In some ways, the teenage version is true love without the complications of adult life; a shooting star moment. But shooting stars don’t last; they burn out. We cannot appreciate them over a lifetime of clear nights as we can a charted star.

Although occasionally I'd be telling him off, and then it was more like this.

At 12 or 13, Northman was neither a comet nor Polaris. He was just a boy I liked as a friend. But somewhere around 14, he became a friend I liked…as a boy. At some point, he transformed in my eyes from this boy I knew into that shooting star. He was a comet with a gravitational force that pulled me to him without, it seemed to me, any effort on his part. I just knew, deep down in this slowly awakening place, that I wanted him and was drawn to him. I found something so inherently sensual about his voice, his body, his laugh, even his seeming indifference to my desire. I realized I didn’t just like him. I wanted him. And the dance began.

I’d also like to tell you that I remember our first kiss, but I really don’t. At some point, we kissed, and that led to other things, as kissing does. What I can tell you is that more than 20 years later, I can still describe every bit of the swirling lust that threatened to crush my chest during the few, brief, intense times we came together. I didn’t have a word for it then. This sensation. This level of intensity and attraction. But I can tell you now. Even as a teenager, to me, Northman was nothing short of erotic. He embodied sex, music, and poetry in a way I could never quantify.

And he still does. And I still can’t.

From time to time as we grew up, Northman and I would notice one another again or both be single at the same time and do our timid forward-and-back dance, feeling one another out for interest and protecting ourselves from rejection. We’d have that massive spark, a brief yet intense time together, and then, just as suddenly, we’d spin away from each other. Eventually, though, we’d dance back toward one another and start again. We orbited one another, dancing with others, finding ourselves, without ever fully letting go of the friendship that drew us together from the start.

Eventually, Northman and I danced off our separate ways to college and on into adult life. We met and loved and married other people, and now we find ourselves both single parents who love, value, and prioritize our kids above anyone else. We live a fair distance apart and we are both trepidacious about relationships at the moment, so despite the increasing frequency of our Skype contact (and our phone calls and IMs and emails and texts), we still haven’t seen one another since we were 17.

He knows.

Northman and I are not in love. I love him, and he loves me. We’re phenomenally attracted to one another. We have fantastic chemistry and shared senses of humor (even if I’m funnier) and mutual respect. We have a great time together, even if it’s not in person, and that connection is a daily pleasure. Getting to know my friend again, starting this dance back toward one another… it spreads a warmth in my chest that is so peaceful and content. 

I must confess, while I enjoy what we have now and am at peace in it, I do wonder if one day we will be in love with one another. I wonder what that would look like, how we would blend our lives, how it would feel to wake up with him each day and feel his breath on my neck at night. How it would feel to come home and hear his laugh echoing across the house, to dance with him in the kitchen while we cook dinner. What it would be to look up at his smile and lay with my head in his lap while he excitedly explains to me exactly how it is that nurse sharks don’t swim while they sleep or how bamboo is a grass that grows differently based on ambient humidity or whatever other tangential factoid has caught his attention that day. I wonder what it would be like to introduce our minions and watch them become friends in their own rights. I wonder, and it’s nice. For now, though, I think I’ll just ask him for this next dance.