poeticdesires

Category: Masturbation

  • Drunk Blogging

    [FYI: I’m writing this while tipsy.  My apologies for any spelling or grammatical errors.  Yes, even when I’m tipsy, I worry about these things.]

    I was going to name this blog ‘Size Queen’ but since I’m tipsy, I wanted to keep up with the drunk blogging tradition.  I publish about one or two of these a year.  I wonder if anyone actually reads them.

    A few days ago, a friend of mine got three of their fingers in my ass.  Tonight, at a company holiday party, I bowled with my Ex.  He was on my team along with two other people.  He was the first person to ever fuck me in the ass.  My first ex tried, but he didn’t do it right and it hurt, so I stopped him.  My Ex did it right and fucked me in the ass and it was kind of awesome.

    I want someone else, well actually many someone elses, to fuck me in the ass.  I have this fantasy I might try to make happen at Fusion where many someone elses fuck me in the ass.  They’ll be wearing leather.  It’ll be totally hot.

    My friend who got their fingers in my ass thinks I’ll be able to get a fist in my ass eventually.  I learned two great terms from some of my friends.  ‘The Impossible Dream’ is getting fucked in the ass with a cock or strap-on cock while the cock/strap-on owner is also fisting your cunt.  ‘Bridge and Tunneling’ is getting fisted in both the cunt and ass.  I want both of these things to happen in my future.

    Lately, I’ve been quite ass focused.  It wasn’t til recently that I realized how much I love being fucked in the ass.  In my most recent masturbation sessions, I’ve started with putting my butt plug in, which only takes a few minutes now (pats self on back), and then riding my Hitachi.  I’ve cum harder with just my plug in my ass and my Hitachi on my clit than I ever thought possible.

    Did you know orgasms start from the sacral nerve?  Know where the sacral nerve is located?  Near your butt.

    I already have a Tardis cunt.  I love my Tardis cunt.  And people love fisting my Tardis cunt.  But could I develop a Tardis ass too?

    To be fair, one of my friends already has a Tardis ass.  His anal skills far surpass my current abilities.  I am quite envious of his ass.  But maybe, with practice, I could come close to his level.

    People who fuck me: Please go for the ass more.  I would be so appreciative.

    That is all.

  • Juicy

    I have many different orgasms. Some are similar. Some are very different.

    When I’m in the throws of masturbation, and an orgasm builds, I never know what it will feel like until it happens.

    Often, while I’m cuming, I’ll scream profanities and usually thank my fantasy Daddy for allowing me to have an orgasm (or for giving me one, depending on the story running through my mind as I cum). I’m usually loud, so I’m usually alone in the house.

    Sometimes I’ll play a masturbation game with myself. During the Usher song Hey Daddy (a staple of my masturbation play list), I’ll wait til the line “Daddy’s home, home for me” before I’ll allow the vibrator on my clit. Then I’ll only have to the end of the chorus to cum. If I can’t achieve orgasm, I have to wait until the next bridge. I guess it’s kind of self training, though really I just find it fun and hot.

    On occasion, as I’m cuming, or as the orgasm is ending, I’ll name the sensation I felt.

    “That. Was. Smoooth.” An airy, almost raspy voice.
    “Tickley. Tickley. It tickles.” High pitched and laughing hysterically.
    “Pri-ckle-ly, hey hey hey.” High pitched and giggling.
    “Oh. Yes. Juicy.” Lower range of my voice, as if Barry White has taken over.

    Yes, I named one of my orgasms Juicy.

    My cums vary depending on what implement I’m using. Did I achieve ecstasy just with my WeVibe and my blue dildo? My Lelo with the blue dildo? Did I already switch to the black dildo? What about the Energizer vibrator? The new Hitachi (just picked it up at Frolicon)? Is there no dildo at all? No vibrator (a rarity)?

    Position matters. On my back with lots of pressure on my clit from the vibrator is sure fire way. Also on my stomach, fucking the dildo while rubbing up against the vibrator. Occasionally I’ll use a crotch rope to hold in the vibrator, my dildo, and my sometimes butt plug.

    The sensations racing through my body varying. All of my orgasms start from my hips/pelvic bone. (Thank you sacral nerve.) From there, the pleasure travels. Sometimes it just darts around and around my hips. Sometimes it loops around and then darts down into my thighs. Sometimes it shoots across my abdomen. Sometimes it travels all the way up to my torso, my arms, my tits. Sometimes its fast, lightning sensations. Sometimes it’s a slow rumble across the landscape of my frame.

    And then there are the full body orgasms. The sensation starts at my hips, travels in waves to my legs, my abdomen, my chest, all the way up. My neck gets tingly. My head is swimming. Every inch of my body, every nerve on my skin, is electric with pleasure.

    There is no wrong, no worry, no sorrow. I can think of nothing but now. I can feel nothing but now. There is only yes. Yes. And more, please God more. And a hope, a vain wish, for it to never stop.

  • The Horny Butterfly

    ~ a kinky fairy tale ~

    In the shade of a pop up tent, just outside her cabin, laid a beautiful naked girl. Spread out on a purple and black rug, she lounged, enjoying the warm air and slight breeze.

    As she lazed, relaxing in her non-clothes-wearing-ness, only one thing was amiss. What she wanted, all she wanted, was to get off. Thankfully, she had packed her trusty Hitachi, and earlier ran a power cable to her rug, just in case.

    Grabbing her favorite sex toy, she flipped the switch on, and brought the head to her pussy lips. Her body writhed at the touch and soon she felt her first orgasm growing.

    But, just as she was close to climax, she felt a flutter by her ear. Into her vision floated a pretty pretty butterfly.

    The colorful creature was a vision to behold, but the girl could not be pleased with its appearance. The butterfly had interrupted the girl’s fun, much to her pussy’s disappointment. Softly, she brushed the butterfly away.

    Again the girl brought her Hitachi to her clit, a warm feeling soon rising inside of her. Her breathing turned into pants as her body moved closer to its release.

    But, once again, the tiny butterfly fluttered near her, this time landing on her knee. The tiny tickle was enough to distract the girl, again depriving her from her pleasure.

    The girl brushed the butterfly away once more, now annoyed. But, instead of flying off, this time the butterfly lingered in the girl’s view.

    “Little butterfly, please. I must feed my need. Shoo off, run; I need to cum. This distraction makes my heart bleed.”

    The little butterfly, however, would not go, choosing to land now on her Hitachi. This made the girl wonder.

    Turning on the vibrator, the colorful creature did not move. Guessing its intent, once more the girl brought the sex toy to her crotch. The butterfly remained.

    Writhing her clit against the vibration,
    soon came the girl’s exaltation,
    her ecstasy fulfilled.
    All the while the butterfly
    did not move as she writhed,
    as any horny little creature would.

  • Cage Match

    D3 stripped naked, save for his boots. I wore only a black strapless dress, a cute pair of underwear, and my boots. I told D3 how I like it when people take off my clothes.

    “Mean or nice?”
    “Whichever.”

    He stepped in close. We kissed, our arms wrapped around each other.

    He began punching me. I slowly, blow by blow, backed up into the wall of the cage. I looked into his eyes as his punches landed on my chest, my arms, my thighs.

    He kissed me, turned me, and then stripped off my dress, unzippering the back and quickly peeling it off my body. He left my boots and underwear on.

    He punched my back, my ass. Using the toe of his boot, he kicked my thighs. He swung his leg and landed his boot across my ass.

    Grabbing my hair, he pulled me to the ground. Lying on my stomach, he put his boot by my face.

    “Lick it,” he demanded.

    My tongue traced up, down, and around his leather as he continued to punch my back.

    Using his boot, he flipped me over. He loomed above, stepping onto my body, using the cage for balance until he could apply his full weight. Adjusting his body, he intensified his weight into his heel, down onto my flesh. Turning my head with his boot, he stepped on my chin line.

    Coming down to my level, he chose to sit on my ribs and once again punched my chest. Using his elbow, he applied pressure points to my chest and arms. Pulling out a knife, he glided his steel along my chest and over my face. He made me endure more pressure points.

    His knife away, he leaned down and once again kissed me. He licked my eyelids. As we continued to makeout, he pulled me on top of him.  His body now laid below mine.

    In an instant, the dynamic of our scene switched. I kissed him, teased him.  I danced my breasts in front of his face.  He pinched and sucked on my nipples.  I leaned down and bit his neck. He encouraged me to bit harder; I did so. He moaned with my increased pressure.

    I kissed him more. Without realizing it, I’d begun grinding my hips on his leg. I was happy my underwear was still on.

    Without warning, he hooked his leg and flipped me back onto the mat. Again we kissed. My legs grasped his thigh as I continued to hump his limb.

    He sat me up, crossed legged. He punched my thighs more. Using his lead shot mallet, he attacked my back and thighs.

    And then he asked a magical question.

    “What do you want to do now?”

    I answered bluntly.

    “Fist me or fuck me.”

    We laid down a chuck; he gloved up. I removed my very wet underwear and got comfortable on my back.

    We started slow. I asked him if I needed permission to cum. He said I didn’t. I could have as many orgasms as I wanted. “I love to watch people cum.”

    I orgasmed a few times before his full fist was in.

    Once inside, he used a turning motion to make room, sending my muscles racing. What he thought was to be our final flourish was merely about a third of the way into the fisting. I continued to fuck his hand and cum like crazy, pushing back as he rocked me forward.

    Once, during a rather intense orgasm, I lifted my hips up off the ground, bridging my body high. “That was intense,” he remarked.

    My ass back down on the ground, I hooked my calves around his elbow and squeezed my thighs. I rode his hand as hard as I could. I came so hard, I cried. I asked him to vibrate his hand, and then came again. He tried to open and close his hand quickly. I stopped him, coaching him instead to do it slowly.

    Soon, his wrist tired. He asked me how long I could go. I informed him this was a loaded question, as my record for a fisting was an hour and forty-five minutes with forty-two orgasms (yes, we counted).

    He decided, with his wrist about done, it was time to pull his hand out. There was a final flourish, the delicious feel of his knuckles against my pelvic bone when his hand exited.

    Ungloving and joining me on the mat, we cuddled and kissed, and almost fell asleep.

    He then asked me if I wanted to help him orgasm. I gave a very enthusiastic yes.

    I then gloved up as he laid back. As he masturbated, I massaged his asshole. When he came, I caught his cum in my glove and smeared it onto his lips. He licked off his cum, sucking on my fingers, all the while our eyes locked on each other. It was so very hot.

    Gloves again discarded, we cuddled more before cleaning up.

    When we checked the time, we could hardly believe it was real. We’d started at about midnight. The time had flown by.

    We finished at 2:22am.

  • Release

    Even with the experience of having my boots blacked and blacking another’s boots, I was still antsy. I wanted more.

    I ventured up to my friends’ Black Rage party, named so because the two inhabitants of the room were African American females. Not surprisingly, it was chill and relaxed. But I felt something stir in me.

    Excusing myself, I headed back to my room. For WinterFire, I shared a double/double with Murphy, Slut, and their friend the Elf. However, it was made clear that I would get my own bed. As I walked into the room, a magical thought occurred to me: I was alone.

    Grabbing my toy bag, I pulled out all my masturbation accoutrement. I ran my extension chord to the wall for the “lawnmower.” I set out my other vibrators. I changed into my red teddy. I grabbed my dildos and took them into the bathroom to wash them.

    It randomly came to mind that my next door neighbors, all around, would probably hear me screaming. And then I remembered it was WinterFire, and, if anything, they would most likely cheer me on.

    Then I heard the door open. The Elf walked in. I cursed myself for not setting the latch. I quickly finished cleaning, threw all my things into a bag, and left.  The Elf wanted to take a shower and I was too polite to ask for solitary time in the room.

    I made my way back to Black Rage, now actually angry. As I let out my frustration, a stroke a genius hit. I looked at Tigerwong, and realized his room was free. He granted my request for some alone time, asking that I pull back the comforter and only fuck myself on the sheets.

    Alone, finally, I plugged in my power chord again, pulled out my toys, and started playing. I writhed on the bed, fantasizing about my still unrealized Daddy. I dreamt of beatings and fuckings. I breathed heavy, thrusting hard on my cocks, enjoying each raunchy moment. I pushed myself, holding the lawnmower in place well past my first, second, and third orgasm from the toy.

    As I finished, glowing from my cum high, I got a text. It was from Gray. That was when we set our date for the next evening. Yeah, good timing.

    The rest of my evening was spent in a haze, watching others play. Murphy suspended Tigerwong. Lochai tied up K2 (a scene which I am still fantasizing about).

    I eventually made it to bed around 3:30am, after we picked up the pods from the play spaces once they closed; I was exhausted but smiling.

  • More Important

    Hanging out with the roommates and their kids was more important than writing. I had spent a little time with the kids before work on Saturday, and had opted to fill my unexpectedly free Saturday night with adult activities. I wanted to spend time with them and the roommates. I wanted to hear their stories and see them laugh and watch their creativity at work. It was a fun morning before they had to go back to their other home.

    A hot shower and masturbation were more important than writing. After the roommates and the kids departed, I slipped into a general funk. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with my day. I knew the things I should do, the errands I should run. I knew I wanted to see the best friend, but she wasn’t free. I slowly made my way home with a responsible adult plan of action.

    But, as soon as I walked in the door, a fundamental fact hit me: I was alone in the house. My other roommate was gone.

    The warmth in my abdomen had not subsided since my Friday date with the Gent. If anything, it ebbed and flowed, but seemed to be making it’s way higher and higher up the hill of my arousal.

    I took a hot fun shower. I danced to my music, singing a little. I washed my hair. I enjoyed the smell of my soap, cleaning off the last few days of scents. At the end, I let the scolding water thump against my back, trying to knead some of the knots out. I made a mental note to sketch the view I had of my folded arms accentuating my cleavage.

    Drying off, I remembered I needed to clean my sex toys. The quick chore completed, I prepped my netbook to watch some of the porn N3rddom gave me. I slipped in my WeVibe. I never logged onto my netbook.

    My body was in such a state of arousal that even on its low setting the WeVibe quickly raised me to the edge of orgasm. I closed my netbook and began writhing on my bed. The masturbation music for this session was only two songs: “Tell Me A Secret” by Ludacris & Neyo and “Hey Daddy” by Usher. I repeated the first song over and over, with the second getting the last few minutes of fun.

    I inserted my blue dildo. I fucked myself, screaming as much and as loud as I wanted. My black dildo, my Lelo vibrator, and then “the lawnmower” followed. I screamed, thanking my Daddy wherever he is, and came over and over again.

    Watching football with my brother was more important than writing. I hadn’t seen my brother in almost a month even though he lives less than thirty minutes from me. I texted him before my shower, making sure he intended to view the game. He confirmed, and I headed over there after I made myself stop masturbating.

    Pollard’s assist to Smith’s interception. Pitta’s TD catch. I don’t remember who, but the dive for a TD, football in his outstretched right hand, and the face mask of a defender trying to tackle him in the other. And then Billy Cundiff’s missed kick. All I could do was shake my head to that.

    Running errands was more important than writing. After I left my brother’s place, I swung by Barnes & Noble to return a book. I looked for a new daily planner, and for some odd reason they were out. I went to the grocery store and bought food for my lunches for work for the week. I came home and prepped the food. I folded clothes. I turned on my laptop and it actually booted up. I backed up everything onto my portable hard drive. I put my poster back in the Family Room.

    Watching the end of the other football game with DeepEnd was more important than writing. It was getting late and I knew I still needed to blog, but I was hungry. I slipped downstairs for some food. DeepEnd had turned on the living room television, the only TV in the house with a converter box, and was watching the end of the game. I threw some food on a plate, heated it up, and joined him.

    The game lasted for fucking ever. Overtime. Multiple opportunities for each team to score. And, of course, the team I rooted for lost.

    Processing my emotions was more important than writing. I opened up my netbook, brought up WordPad, and started typing. The words that came were not a blog entry. They were the mind dump I’d been putting off for most of the day. They were my worries, my pain. They were not meant to be read by anyone but me. I didn’t cry, but I came close.

    I let myself acknowledge my pain and all its causes. I read back what I wrote. I saved the file, closed my netbook, and laid back under the covers.

    It was 11pm. I knew I could wake myself up early to try to write. I set my alarm for 6 and 6:30am. I laid down, then remembered to turn on my radio. With music lowly playing, I drifted to sleep.