It's pretty awesome how a dirty word or a sigh from a pretty girl can stir things up between your legs.
This week, Madeline found some of our favorite sexbloggers getting all descriptive with the sensory experiences. From the way a lover cries out in pleasure, to the smells and tastes of a new boyfriend, these bits had our bits happy and excited.
The piercing clinked against my teeth. When I pulled on it, stretching the nipple out to bite it softly, she made a sound that anyone standing outside the door would have recognized without having to look inside to see what we were up to on her lunch break.
We would pass each other on a Saturday afternoon while making lunch in the kitchen, and I put my hands on her shoulders, forcing her down to her knees as I unbuttoned my jeans. She took the zipper in her teeth and pulled down, reaching between my legs with both hands to pull down my underwear and then took my cock deep in her mouth, her hands now resting on her thighs as she started a different kind of blow job.
I wonder what you'll smell like when I finally have you as mine. Like man I am sure. Woodsy, clean. Like leather. Or earth. Solid. Will you get goosebumps as I work my way down your body, sniffing your skin and tasting your flesh? A lick of your nipple, a nibble of your lip, a bite of your inner thigh. Good enough to eat I imagine.
Your friend says she does it five times a week. Monday's orgasms are good, Tuesdays are amazing, Wednesdays are blinding, Thursdays are multiples of multiples and on Friday her clitoris shook all by itself. Just kept vibrating from side to side.
—-—- Fairy Time
To begin with, she is entirely passive, content to let his flesh graze against hers. Occasionally, the sliver of a sigh escapes her lips, and each time it does, he feels his cock grow fractionally harder. The sound of her pleasure always stirs him to his core.
Most are from his teeth; a sage wreath across my shoulders and in the thin skin covering my collarbone; soft, rosy patches on my throat; washes of lime overlapping on the palest canvas of my breasts. There may be darker, larger smudges from his pinching fingers around the soft swell of my inner thigh and the curve of my waist and occasionally the thin, whip raw lines raised from the circling grip of rope.
Previously: Sex Blog Roundup Archive