Every minute against his skin is heaven. On Saturday, the birthday of my older brother, we and my brothers girlfriend spent the day (And he and I the night) at my brothers house, the sounds of music and two happy couples simultaneously having sex filling the walls with some kind of ecstatic joy. The best sex to date, long, hot, twice, and when the condom broke I promised him and myself I would get the morning after pill and we just kept going...Which made it even better. Flesh unfettered by anything between it, hot against each other, whimpering as the ridges of his cock, barely evident through latex, made themselves incredibly known against my g-spot, delighting in his own gasps and moans as much as he was in mine.
...And then my brother, being finished with his girl and quite the spoilsport, tossed the portable radio in and started talking to us over it. Bigger moodkill than the first time having sex with my best friend, during which three different people walked in. Lame.
There shall be a repeat performance. It shall involve him being tied and dominated, for he has misbehaved today, and I am starting to let out the more dominant part of me, letting it get its own grasp on the handle of the whip. I am rarely so in control that I can actually do anything, for months, years, my natural place has been with my legs over his shoulders and my back on the bed, head hanging off the edge and screaming his name. Well, it's my turn to cause the noise. My turn to dominate.
In related news, my best friend has stated a curiosity about being fucked up the ass, and, while he could always get a man to do it (He does, after all, have quite the fine ass and many a gay man would happily take it), I have harboured my own desires to fuck male ass (And female cunt and ass) for quite the long time - And he trusts me enough to let me do it.
So far, my darling does not know about this - First, my friend and I must discuss it. Then, I'll talk to my darling about it. Then we'll all talk about it. And, if things go well, I'll be picking up a strap-on harness and a few different sizes of dildos appropriate for the job, as well as a good-size package of gloves and even more lube than I already have. I'm definitely hoping for a positive response from my darling - I've wanted this for so long, and to have it present itself, finely uplifted for my appreciation (And slow, moving on to hard and fast, thrusting), is a dream come true.
I also grow progressively closer to my aim of getting my close female friend into my sheets. She and I both want each other, cling to each other lustfully whenever we see each other, seek out each others mouths with no boundaries, but have yet to manage to actually make love. Soon enough there will be a chance though. Oh, yes, there will be.
Now, onto other things...
Blurb from my goes-everywhere notebook...
"The sound the honey bottle made as I attempted to squeeze some into my tea bore great resemblence to the pattern my breathing takes on as my orgasms built - long and deep, desperate, short and shallow, teased, short and deep and quick the closer it gets to its destination, with a slick, sticky, sweet and satisfying conclusion. Note to self - Bring honey into play sometime. Make sure to get it all off with tongue (Getting it in his pubes therefore bad idea)."
And a bit of writing...
"The heat of the room is stifling, but she doesn't leave. She is lost in it, her eyes closed, her mouth open in some silent moan. No matter the crush of people around her, she feels alone, caressed by the music as though it were an actual physical lover. Perhaps it is. The bass travels up her legs, through her jeans, creating vibrations against her clit that no man or vibrator has ever done better then, weakening and strengthening her legs simultaneously, as, even while she wants to just drop to her knees and rock against the seam of her jeans and the beat while fellating the notes as keenly as she would a thick cock. The crowd crushes forward, pressing her breasts against the back of a strange man. The worshippers in a hall of Satan, sex, anger and love. Satan, whom most of these bands - and worshippers - hail in public, if not in private. Sex, which oozes from the crowd and music as much as the anger that mixes together into a hard, rough fucking that leaves even the most staid screaming in ecstacy, and love. Love of the music, love of the instrument, love of the devil, the sex, and the anger that pulse in their veins. The crowd jostles violently, she barely hesitates before slipping her arms around the waist of the stranger, long nails trailing up under the sweaty shirt, unable to see his expression but aware of the low chuckle that rumbles through his torso, loud to her even over the music. She feels wicked. She feels sinful. She feels wonderful. Her hands pause, then, shoving what little morals she has left, slip down into his jeans, slipping below the denim, and past the briefs underneath, to wrap her fingers around his cock. Hot and throbbing in her hand, her fingers barely meet, thumb following the trail of pre-cum."
I got about that far before my inner writer said 'Ah, fuck off, you're too horny to finish this...'
I'll take that as a note that it's time to stop writing and go masturbate.