Tag Archives: sexy

My Turn

Standard

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

Standard

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 Little Rambling And A Lot of Sexy

Standard

Ooooh, web dwellers, have I got some stuff to tell you today. If there were a contest to find the luckiest girl on the damn planet today, if you’re not me, don’t even bother entering, because I fucking win, people. I win. And you know why? Because Northman sent me a two-part, 15-minute video in which he’s wearing nothing but a watch and some seriously gorgeous ink.

Those of you who don’t like me taking the Lord’s name in vain, gals, if you saw this shit, you’d know I’m not using it in vain. That’s PRAISE right there. If I were a religious woman, I’d be down on my damn knees giving thanks for this. But as it is, I am not, and since Northman’s not here for pretty much the only other reason I’d be down on my knees, I think saying “ohmyfuckinggod” is just going to have to suffice.

Oh, Sweet Jesus in Birks, I am so damn grateful it doesn’t snow by him so it’s warm enough for him to do this. Yes, Northman made me another sex video, and all I can say is that the fact that I didn’t instantaneously burst into flames watching it completely disproves the existence of spontaneous combustion. Seriously. I texted him immediately after watching it (fine, immediately after watching it twice), and all I could manage was this: “ohmyfuckinggod” Yeah. I’m articulate like that. Without exaggeration, I think seeing Northman do ANY of what he did in this video if I were with him in person would reduce me to complete Tarzan Speak.

For those of you feeling bad for Northman that he’s doing all the “work” and I’m getting all the rewards, rest assured, I am reciprocating. First, my responses to his videos get him going. A lot. And second, I’ve been doing some sexy writing for our friend Mr. Northman. And he likes it. Probably not as much as he’d like it if I would send him a strip tease video, but I’m just not there yet, web dwellers. I want to be there. I wish I could be as bold as I tell myself I am and just do it. But the truth is, I’m so critical of my body no matter how much or little I weigh or work out, that I just do not know what it will take for me to truly reciprocate. So I “give back” in the best way I comfortably can: I write erotic stories for him. And I show him my tits a lot.

Watching Northman’s video performance was mind-blowing. I can’t think of any other man in my life who has ever been able to evoke a physical response that intense without even touching me. There is something I find so inherently erotic about this man, my mouth literally waters at the sight of just his bare chest. I won’t even go into what kind of bodily reactions I have to the sight of his bare — yeah, I’m biting my damn lip just typing about it.

Here’s the kicker, though. Northman and I had a few sexy Skype conversations this week, plus the video. Oh, yeah. The video. Mmmmmm…. Where was I? Oh, right. Skype. Anyway. Focus. Skype. Yes. Ok. We Skyped quite a bit, and I have to tell y’all, the honest truth is, while we did have some really fantastic sexiness via Skype, the best interactions I had with Northman this week had nothing to do with sex. Actually, that’s a damn lie. Every interaction with Northman has something to do with sex because I can’t look at him without wanting to reach through the screen and touch him. But you know what I mean. The best interactions were just conversations. We talked so much this week: Hours and hours of just talking about our minions, our work, our plans, our friends, our families. You know… I kind of feel like we’re actually starting to date. Sort of. In this weird, online, not really dating kind of way, true, but still, we’re sort of kind of dating. I think. And I like it.

We talk, each in our own beds, and it feels like this. Intimate. Close. Peaceful.

Northman listens to me. He asks insightful questions. He respects me as a parent, a friend, a woman, a professional, and an equal. He shares with me, and I enjoy listening to him. I like knowing what’s going on in his life and knowing how he takes his coffee. I like that he knows a lot more about some topics than I do and that he can teach me without being condescending; rather, he genuinely enjoys explaining things and takes his time in doing so. He doesn’t rush to answer when I ask him a question, but takes his time and gives the topic consideration when need be, and I like that. Plus, it gives me time to stare at his neck, which I also really like. Yum.

Northman makes me feel this sexy.

Here’s something else I really like, and go ahead and slam me via email or comments or what have you for being unevolved or unliberated or whatever other feminazi name you may want to call me. Northman is a man. He gets it that a man can respect a woman as an equal, enjoy being with a woman who knows more or is smarter or more educated, have a balanced romantic relationship with a woman, and have a completely equal partnership, all while still asserting himself as a man. So many men today seem to think that women are hypocrites if we demand equality in the workplace and in relationships but still appreciate a man who gives up his jacket or umbrella or who opens doors or dashes through the rain to bring a woman’s car around. Men who still do those things just turn me on.

American Gothic, True Blood style. That's old school, new sexy style.

I completely and openly admit that I adore a man who gives me his arm when we’re walking or offers his hand when I’m stepping off a curb. I appreciate a man who treats me like the lady I am and acts like the man in the relationship and not like a child I have to look after. I find men who value both femininity and self-sufficiency in women to be incredibly attractive. I like a man who wants to lift the heavy things, kill the bugs, and fix the clogged drains, even though we both know I’m absolutely capable of doing it all myself. I enjoy those little social niceties, those old-school gender roles. I realize they’re not for everyone, but I do personally like them.

I love that Northman is good with his hands without presuming that a woman can’t be. That’s just awesome. I love seeing him as someone who could protect me, regardless of whether I need protecting or whether I can look out for myself. Call it social programming and gender stereotyping if you want, but the truth is, I just find a capable, strong man really damn sexy. Being with a man like that makes me feel feminine and safe and adored. Maybe that’s just too old-school for some women, but it’s the truth.

The flip side is that Northman, while he is all of these things, appreciates a woman who doesn’t need any of it, regardless of whether she wants it. And I think that’s a lot of why this dynamic works between us (At least in theory. At least online.). Because neither of us needs the other. We just want one another. And I think for both of us, that want, that desire, is so much more attractive than being needed. I mean, good Lord, we’re both parents. We’re already needed 24/7. It’s really nice to just be wanted sometimes. Don’t you think?