Tag Archives: vibrators

Swing Away


I still don’t really get who this bitch is. Why is she famous? For being famous? How does THAT happen?

So Grayce is pretty pleased with herself for her newfound Internet fame, having been mentioned what? Like, twice? In what is essentially one of the least-read blogs on the planet. Move over, Kim Kardashian, Grayce is stealing yo’ paparazzi, bitch.

This also means that Grayce, who doesn’t want to have her own smutty sex blog but does like reading and being featured in mine, has decided to chime in regularly with texts and IMs about what I should write about next. The other night, I was packing my kids’ school lunches for the next day — not because I’m all June Cleaver the Super Mom but because it means I get to sleep in an extra five minutes, and, let’s face it, at 6 a.m., that’s fucking important, people — and I got this text from Grayce: “New blog post: Swingers.” Read the rest of this entry

Angry (Sex) Birds


My girlfriend, Grayce — yes, I realize I’ve been writing about her a lot, but she doesn’t mind being blog fodder, and I’m not one to turn down free material — decided to have angry sex with her husband. Let me back up a sex here. Sec here. Grayce is married with kids. Those of you who are also married with kids know that, to put it in the most absurdly general terms possible, the amount of sex you have is inversely proportional to how many kids you have, despite all evidence being to the contrary. That is, the more kids you have, the less sex you have, even though you’d think if you have all those kids you’re a fuck bunny. There are exceptions to this rule, but I don’t hang out with those women because they’re too busy going to pilates while managing Fortune 500 mergers on their iPhones as Baby #47 nurses in an ergonomically correct sling made of organic fairy hair.

Maybe if Grayce wore this to bed…

At the moment, Grayce’s sex life is vacillating somewhere between Carole Brady and Michelle Duggar, even though she only has two kids. So that blows monkey chunks if you ask me. And if you ask her. Which you can’t, so trust me when I say Grayce  is not nearly as perky about her marital non-relations as those two Xanax Zombies, so mama needs to get some. I offered to give it up for her, but she doesn’t swing that way, and I’m still not so sure my stem-cell-research-based lesbian scheme is going to work out, so it was really just an “I’m here for you, dude,” offer, although she is pretty hot, so maybe. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because Grayce doesn’t want to fuck me. She wants to fuck her husband. But the less they do the dance with no pants, the less she wants to do it because the more she resents her husband for choosing Angry Birds over what would, at this point, be very  angry sex. Read the rest of this entry

Lez-Be Friends


I’m seriously considering becoming a lesbian. Why the hell not? Women seem to be an infinitely better option right now than men. I’ve already got my minions and, even if I don’t like it, I’m pretty good at killing my own bugs, so men are of limited usefulness to me at this point. Let’s ignore for a moment the fact that I am just not gay, as much as I wish I were, and that being gay is not a choice, so I really have no say in this matter. Aside from that, why the hell not?

Let’s take this from a practical, if ludicrously generalizing, perspective (haters, start taking notes here):

  • Women are better at multitasking, so they can, oh, you know, hold babies and text, take phone calls, or poop at the same time.
  • At least real kiwis ALWAYS taste good.

    Women are sexy most of the time, even when we don’t feel sexy, if only because society and marketing have programmed us to see women as sexual objects by barraging us with sexualized images of women 24/7, because “pretty is as pretty does.” Men, on the other hand, look like deflated kiwis that need to go down the disposal when they bend over naked in the bathroom. They can’t all be Northman or Tyler Durden. We can’t all be Cindy Crawford either, but somehow we’re still generally more attractive than they are. Maybe it’s because we aren’t likely to fart, pick our noses, grab our crotches, or be otherwise generally disgusting outside the aforementioned bathroom.

  • Women aren’t as afraid of their feelings as men. They like you or they don’t. They love you or they don’t. None of this, “Well, I really like you, and I want to fuck you, but let’s just keep it casual, k?” crap. The flip side of this has a lot to do with the third-date U-Haul jokes my gay girlfriends tell me. I used to think it meant lesbians do it in trucks on the third date, but apparently I was wrong.  Read the rest of this entry

Mo Dick, Mo Problems


So I’m Skype texting with my girlfriend, Grayce, whom we girls call, “Gray,” because her life is all sorts of 50 Shades, and I’m telling her how the latest guy to catch my attention, Joe, is, predictably, an asshat.

Me: Girl, WTF? Why are men such douche canoes?

Gray: Because they have fool tools.

I added a flower, so it’s not crass. Yes, you can buy this at The Pink Moustachery. I’m all about customer service, web dwellers.

Me: The bigger the fool tool, the bigger the douche canoe.

Gray: Sounds like my ex. Total fool, but what a great fucking tool.

Me: Seriously. Your ex should come with a warning label: Mo dick, mo problems.

Gray: LOL!! OMG, girl, that is the TRUTH!

Me: At least a big dick is a good distraction, if you don’t let it distract you from how big a dick its owner is.

Gray: OMG! We need to put that shit on an e-Card.

Me: Too much work. I’ll just blog it. And I’ll call your ex “Moe” on the blog just because that shit’s funny.

Gray: I’m laughing so hard I’m gonna wake up my kids.

Me: Men are good for killing bugs, lifting heavy shit, and sex. In that priority order.

Gray: Truth.

Me: It’s all shit I can do myself, but I’d rather have it done for me.

Gray: E-card. E-card. E-card.

Me: If prostitution were legal, I would buy a man whore to kill my bugs naked.

Gray: That is a GREAT idea.

Me: The guy would be naked, not the bugs. I mean, the bugs are naked too, but that’s not the point.

Gray: Are you drunk?

Me: And then, after he killed the bug on my wall, I’d be all, “Bitch, go get a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. Mama can’t cum with bug guts on the wall!”

Gray: Must. Document. On. E-cards.

Me: If I ran shit, I would make it mandatory for sex ed teachers to explain to guys WHY a woman should cum first. Divorce rates would plummet. You’re welcome, Entire Fucking Planet.

Gray: So true!!

Me: You want her to do that thing? With the thing? Like you saw on YouPorn? Make sure she cums first.

Gray: LOL!!

Me: And yes, YouPorn is a thing. Thank you, Northman.

Gray: OMG. I can see you lecturing teenagers. You’ll write books.

Me: Yeah, I’ll be “researching” for my book and going, “Not now, baby, Mama’s browsing YouPorn.”

There is so much wrong with this.

Me: Seriously, if they spent half as much time explaining to teenage boys why it’s better for a woman to cum first as they do telling teenage girls not to have sex at all, all would be right with the world. Because you know, when mama’s not happy, nooooobody’s happy.

Gray: So fucking true. Luckily, I’ve never had a selfish lover. They all love making me cum.

Me: Fuck you.

Pause with no response from Gray.

Me: You’re googling YouPorn aren’t you? Admit it!

Gray: Me? No.

Me: No, you’re just on Zazzle or something ordering tee-shirts with “Mo dick mo problems.”

Gray: I was not! I wasn’t!

Me: ….

Gray: I was gonna do it tomorrow.

Me: There it is.

Gray: Well, it’s true! Mo dick, mo problems! Moe was so big, I couldn’t fit that shit in my mouth.

Me: That’s too much dick. That’s like having GGG tits. More than a mouthful is wasteful.

Gray: He is huge. The sex was awesome. Too bad by the time things ended I didn’t want anything to do with his thang.

Me: Dude. If you divorce a man that big, vaginal rejuvenation surgery should be part of the divorce settlement. Be like, “You broke my heart. Fine. But my pussy you have to fix.”

Gray: That could pass here in California. You may be onto something.

Me: Damn straight. Shit. They ruin our tits with pregnancy and nursing. You don’t wanna pay alimony forever? Tack the girls back up where they belong and turn this hallway of a pussy back into a straw. Level the damn playing field a LITTLE.

Gray: That is the funniest thing I have ever heard. Ever.

Me: My brain is all sorts of fucked up, girl. And I know what you find funny, so it’s easy. Mostly it’s the same shit I find funny, because you’re awesome. Obviously. I don’t hang with non-awesome women. They’re intimidated my awesomeness, and they get all clingy and offended by my cursing. I’m like, “You have given birth, woman. And you think some f-bombs are going to scar you?”

Gray: Omg! You are seriously awesome and so fucking funny.

For Gray. Don’t say I never did anything nice for you, you e-card demanding bitch who’s never had a man not help her finish first.

Me: Please. Come see my vagina if you want to see scars. C-sections do not make for good vajazzling canvases. As if it’s not enough to wax it, now it has to fucking sparkle?!? I’m not a vampire.

Gray: Dying. I’m dying.

Me: If a man needs your pussy to sparkle to be into it, he’s gay. Duh.

Gray: Where do you get this shit?

Me: This is my stream of consciousness. Something is fundamentally wrong with me.

Gray: Yeah, but we’ll make BANK on the tee-shirts.

Me: What’s this “we” business?


Donkey Vaginas


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 Bedtime Story


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.

Elf Porn: A Tiny Obsession


Yesterday was pretty interesting. Here I was, just going about my sexy mom business, tweeting and posting and Facebooking for you crazy people in between doing some work I actually get paid for, when all of a sudden, our very own Mr. Northman texts me that he’s made me a new video. A six-part series, to be exact, this custom-made-for-Cathy epic was porntastic, featured every bit of ink on Northman’s rockin’ body, and was complete with a soundtrack including some vintage 70s metal. I could not download this thing fast enough. I started watching the first segment before the other five were even done uploading on his end. Oh, bless you, Mr. Coffee, for giving us the gift of rapid file-sharing software.

Oh yeah, I'm going straight to hell. But so is Northman, so I don't fucking care.

Northman rang me up on Skype so he could enjoy seeing my response to this, his latest foray into sexematography, in which he repeatedly changes camera angles to suit each phase of the scenario, gives some out-fucking-standing product demos I hope he’s getting royalties for, shares his thoughts on threesomes and some positions I’m going to have to start doing yoga to ever attempt, and finishes off with a grand slam of a finale I simply cannot wait to see recreated in person. After about 5 minutes, I was so damn grateful for: A) choosing to work from home for the day and B) having wifi and a laptop so I could move to the bedroom without any disruption.

I tried so hard to watch this whole thing, y’all. But seriously, I was so distracted watching Northman on Skype and seeing how much he liked seeing my (obvious, excessive, feral) reaction to his videos and watching my reciprocal performance as the videos were playing that when I watched it all again alone last night, I realized I’d missed quite a lot of it. What a flippin’ bonus. Holy fucking mackeroley. Y’all, if Our Dear Sweet Heavenly Mr. Coffee is in any way opposed to any of this, I’m sorry, but I am going to hell in gasoline panties. And it’ll be worth it.

When I recovered my ability to speak and had taken a really, really long shower, I got back to work for the day and was on such an endorphin high that I buzzed through the rest of my afternoon like some kind of Tasmanian Devil if those guys could, you know, type and make phone calls. Once the minions were settled in for the night, I checked in on the COASM Facebook page (which Northman says as “Co-as-um,” so it rhymes with “orgasm,” and now that’s stuck in my head because it’s awesome), and y’all were in rare form talking about the list of search terms I’d posted on the blog yesterday. These were the terms people had used to get to the blog via search engines over the past three months, and one of them, “Elf Porn,” was the clear frontrunner for funniest fucking thing I’ve heard in a damn long time.

This lead to a crazy conversation on a couple of posts’ threads (which you can see on the “co-asm” FB page) about cock rings, yo-yos, and elf porn. It also spawned requests for both a post from Northman himself and for COASM merchandising. Because I don’t have enough to do without designing dirty tee shirts and douche-canoe- and elf-porn-themed coffee mugs, right?

I'll post to Facebook and Twitter when the store's open, so be sure you're following the feeds! Links are in the right-hand menu here!

Well, web dwellers, ask and you shall receive. The Confessions of A Sexy Mom Zazzle.com store, aptly titled “The Pink Moustachery,” will be up and running and fully stocked by Monday. If any of you have design, text, or product ideas, bring ‘em on. If anyone wants to help? Yeah, bring that shit on, too.

But the big news is that, while at least one person will be disappointed that he’s not going to write any elf porn, our very own Mr. Northman will be writing a blog entry for y’all. What will he write about? Any fucking thing he wants. You know why? Because he’s effin’ Northman! According to you crazy people, he’s like MacGuyver or Jack Bauer or fucking Chuck Norris. He’s effin’ Northman, and he can do whatever he wants! And, Sweet Jesus In Birks, last night, after that crazyass day, he showed me that what he really wants to do…is me.