Repetition

Lean forward.

Trail your finger slowly down your wide collar and brush your top button, flicking it from the grasp of its buttonhole with a deft, imperceptible twist. The satin drapes forward, revealing the delicate curve of your breast shimmering like cocoa butter in the artificial light. I stare at your satin-trimmed cleavage, and you let me, the swell of your soft breast rising and falling as the intensity my wide-eyed stare causes an eruption to stir deep within your core.

Lean forward.

I trail my finger slowly down your spine and hook it into the waistband of your panties, flicking them deftly over your firm olive cheeks, dropping them to your slightly parted knees. I stare at your glistening lips, running a finger across their slick softness, before guiding my shaft deep into you, its thick heat causing an eruption to stir deep within your core.

Communication

She didn’t notice me at first. I stood and watched her for a few minutes until she looked up and saw me staring. I didn’t look away, just held her gaze until her cheeks reddened and she dropped her head back into her book.

A few seconds later she glanced up, and looked surprised to see me still transfixed on her. Her eyes flicked back to her page, but her smile lingered, and I knew she wasn’t reading any more.

I switched off my blackberry, dropped it into my case and walked over to her, noting her eyebrows flicking upwards as she followed my progress surreptitiously. As I approached her table she sub-consciously flicked her handbag beneath her seat with her ankle.

“Is anybody sitting here?”, I asked with faux politeness, a momentary sweep of my eyes across the other empty tables emphasising my deliberate choice of seat.

“Erm, no”, she breathed quietly, still buried in her tome. She paused, and then hastily continued, after considering her words. “Be my guest”, she muttered, barely making a sound. For a second she looked up, eyes sparkling and her pearl-white teeth gleaming between her soft pink lips, and then she dropped back into her story.

I settled in the chair, busily arranging my case, pad and pen, and ordering coffee from the waiter who arrived shortly after I made myself comfortable. I started jotting figures and small diagrams on the page, the nib scratching across the page with little flourishes. She looked, with what she tried to pretend was idle curiosity, and then continued to read.

Then, as I sipped the dark bitterness from my mug, I began to write.

Blonde, short hair.
Pearl beads, multiple loops.

She glanced across at my scribbles, and breathed in, surprised. I continued.

Beige summer dress, red flowers.
Small waist.
Blue eyes.

Her mouth dropped open, and she slowly exhaled, quickly regaining composure. She ran the tip of her tongue across her mouth.

Warm rouge lips.
Freckles.
Slender fingers.

She stole another look, eyes slightly wider this time.

Soft, firm.

Now it was her turn to stare. I carried on scribbling, more slowly, deliberately.

32B, maybe C . . . ?

Pausing between each point, the tap-tap-tap of the metal against the paper, drawing her attention, the sliding curve of the question and the final punctuating stab hanging in the air. I put the pen down, laying the shaft toward her, inviting.

She looked again, unsure, breathing quickly, as I took another swig of hot coffee. Our eyes met for a second, and then she reached and picked up the pen. Her long fingers slipped around the shaft of the Waterman, and she slowly pressed the tip of the nip down, starting a new line.

32B.

The pen dropped from her hand like a hot iron, rolling towards me until I laid my fingers across it. I picked it up, smiling, and continued where she’d left off.

32B. And pert.
Nipples slightly erect.

She giggled softly and looked down at the hard bumps punctuating her breasts through the soft material of her dress. I carried on writing.

Small feet. Brown sandals.
Hem of skirts draped just above knee.

As I wrote, her hand lolled away, the book in it long forgotten. She was transfixed, unsure of what the blue ink would say next.

Long slim legs.
Knees parted slightly.

I put the pen down, and finished the last of my coffee, and she reached over and took it, rolling it in her palm and looking at her crossed legs. She struck through the last line and added to the one above it.

Long slim legs, crossed.
Knees parted slightly.

She put the pen down, and looked back studiously at her book. Without waiting, I crossed through her writing and rewrote both lines.

Long slim legs, crossed.
Knees parted slightly.
Long slim pretty legs.
Knees apart, hem draped mid-thigh.

She peered over her book, and the corner of her mouth turned up in a feint smile.

Putting the book down, she looked me straight in the eye and uncrossed her legs. Looking around furtively, she pretended to smooth her skirts, instead drawing them up her thigh to reveal her silky smooth skin. She reached forward for her novel, twisting slightly toward me, trailing one knee behind until she was facing me directly, knees apart. Her eyebrows raised for an instant, and then the book was up and obscuring her grin.

I sat back in my chair, rolling the pen between my thumb and forefinger. Shifting in my seat, I adjusted the thick erection inside my trousers and gazed down between her legs, savouring the perfect view of her neat white panties.

I started to write again, in larger letters, underlining them with a sweeping stroke.

Underwear

I heard her breath quicken again, and she watched the pen dance across the page.

White bra, lace trim.
Thin straps, left side slipped off shoulder.

She subconsciously reached inside her dress and lifted her strap back onto her shoulder.

White cotton knickers.
Not sheer.
Folded up and placed in purse.

I underlined the last line, just for emphasis.

At first, she furrowed her brow, glancing at her handbag and looking perplexed. She looked around the cafe, sure that we were being watched, but all she saw were others going about their business.

After a short pause she pushed her chair back noisily, grabbed her bag, and headed towards the gloomy rear of the cafe. I sipped the dregs of my coffee, and pushed the mug away.

When she returned, her hips swung with an extra swagger, the folds of her dress swaying around her legs. She sat down, slim legs leading towards me, and dropped her purse onto the floor by her seat.

As I looked her up and down, she took the pen and began to write, slowly and deliberately. I traced the words as they flowed from the nib:

White cotton knickers. Not sheer.
Folded up and placed in purse with bra.

As the last letters slipped onto the page, she slipped her hand over her thigh, trailing her skirt up her soft skin. At the same time she let her knees fall apart, until my eyes were drawn between her slender parted legs, to the soft narrow fuzz of her hair, glinting with a few tiny droplets of moisture.

She paused, as I stared, transfixed again, and she smiled, eyes glittering. She began to write again.

Pussy. Trimmed, soft, hair. Soft pink full lips. Wet. Sweet.

I could feel my cock pulsing with every heartbeat.

She started to write one final line.

Hotel across the square. Room 76.

And with that, she reached down to her handbag, stood up put on her cardigan. Pausing only to pick up the pen lid, she began to stroll slowly and elegantly across the road.

I glanced at the paper in front of me, the words making my heart race, as I began to pack my things away, before setting off after her.

The Disappeared

So where the hell has everyone gone? Cate and Z are amongst the most recent exits, just two in a long line that have disappeared. They’re two of my favourites – who have been with me since the first post – along with the inimitable Ms I, and a few others. Those that are here (including myself) refrain from posting HNTs in the same quantity nor quality. Thursday used to be a wankfest for me, now some weeks are non-events altogether. I wonder if this mass loss of libido is caused by sunspots… or maybe everyone else’s libido is being sated and it’s just me who’s left thumb-twiddling…

My US trip was good, although not in terms of anything I can describe here. My pleading post (my shame at which almost caused me to delete it) yielded no results, as did an entirely frustrating foray into Craigslist. That said, I was roundly entertained by my colleagues, and friendship can go some way toward relieving a lonely heart (although not a lonely cock, it has to be said). There was one small moment that I very much enjoyed – sitting in First, with the economy-class passengers slowly shuffling by, I saw a very pretty girl that I’d been eyeing up in the terminal. As she waited by my seat I gave her my best “I’d like to fuck you” smile (read: inane grin), and to my surprise she shot a wicked smile and twinkly eyes right back at me, holding my gaze until she was out of sight. I thought about hanging around at baggage reclaim when we landed, and asking for her number, but I had other colleagues to contend with and a car waiting. Shame.

The 22-y-o is not starting her job until early next year, so she (and I) will have to wait. So I need to put my energies into something or someone else. I will try to start writing again, but inspiration is hard to find.

It’s tempting to disappear too, but I think I’ll stick around and see what/who turns up..

Help me

I am stuck alone in a hotel suite, raging hard cock in hand. No porn on the hotel TV, and two more nights of this.

So I need somebody to prevent me wasting this opportunity.There must be readers of this blog in the big Apple. Where are you all?

Start The Day (him)

Inspired by my HNT #25, this was written by an extremely sexy reader of mine, blue_eyed_gypsy.

The view from the glassless window is spectacular, like a Hokusai print: rugged mountains, rural village, empty and quiet under a blanket of late spring snow. The light is pale and grey, throwing the whole scene into monochrome, washing through the still partially closed rice paper shutters, around me, into the room behind me. Without turning, I know it is illuminating the details of the woman lying on the futon at my feet.

I feel her hand at the base of my calf. It’s warm against my cooling skin; the temperatures are still low enough that my nipples have puckered and my cock has shrunk as far as it can to preserve heat. The hand traces its way up my slightly spread legs until she reaches the crease where my ass meets the backs of my thighs. Already, my cock is responding, both to the touch and to the thoughts released by it. Her fingers linger at the bottom of the cleft, then drift slowly and agonizingly lightly along the perineum. Her arms are not long enough to go any further from her prone position, and I wonder what she will do next. She has enough height to wrap the tips of her fingers around my sac, and she plays with it, palpating it, stroking it, one finger still rubbing along the taint.

I turn my head finally, my thoughts wholly wrested from rural Japan, and look down at her over my shoulder. My cock is already more than half hard, and I start to stroke it while I watch her. Her eyes are sleep-heavy, looking up the length of my body through half closed lids. They’re opened sufficiently, though, that I can see incipient desire. She looks up into my eyes. It’s enough.

I bring my body fully around, without letting my gaze leave hers. The down kakebuton that has helped keep us warm has slipped down off her shoulders to her breasts, its progress stopped by her stiffened nipples. Her nipples are long and perfect, inviting play and torture alike. Suddenly, I want to see them, erect and aching for my touch, and I drag the comforter down her body with my foot, letting it go when it has reached the top of her thighs, far enough down to expose an inch or two of her trimmed pussy.

She makes a small sound of disapproval at the sudden invasion of cold air. Her nipples are indeed erect, standing stiffly out from the soft, flattened mounds of her breasts. I can see the flesh of her tits contract in the chill, the skin covered in the tiny, fading bruises that are the legacy of passion-induced bites a few nights ago.

Evidently deciding that there will be no more sleep this morning, she raises and locks her arms above her head, and stretches: her eyes scrunch closed, her back arches slightly, throwing her ribcage into relief, her breasts up and her pelvis down; her legs part and extend as far as she can push them, trying to force the sleepiness from her body. This pulls the comforter down further, and her legs flail a little and rid her body of it completely. When she is done, one leg is drawn up and canted slightly outward, and her arms remain raised above her head. She smiles at me, sleep still lingering in her eyes and on her lips. I watch her throughout this short litany, transfixed, and by the time she smiles up at me – no more than thirty seconds – my cock is rigid, pulsing and already seeping, and I can feel the heat coursing in waves through my body.

My gaze sweeps over her, again, as it has countless times in the last several days, and I am still equally confounded and aroused. She is liquid sex, walking sex, dreaming sex, sex personified, sex incarnate. Lying there as she is, physically and mentally primed to respond to whatever I am ready to do to her, I can only think of her as a woman made to be fucked, and fucked well, again and again.

I know her well enough now to know that this is not deliberate, not an effort to seduce and control. She is unaware of just how powerful, how visceral her effect is on me; it is a part of her. Her need to fuck – or fuck me, anyway – is as natural as her need to breathe.

Our Japanese hosts think we are crazy to spend as much time as we do in our room, fucking, when there is all this beauty around us to appreciate. But I have no desire to waste a single minute of our stolen time together, and neither does she, so we spend our time learning each other in mutual pleasure. I move to stand between her slightly parted legs, kicking them further apart, until she lies with legs splayed, the lips of her pussy spread, beckoning. I stoop and pull her leg up so that both knees are now bent, then drop to my knees between her open thighs. When I push her knees even further apart, the deep rose of her cunt is exposed, and I catch the scent of her arousal. “Hot, throbbing cock” is a cliche, but that’s what I am now, all I am now, just from looking at her and from the anticipation of fucking her, hard and long, until she cries in surrender.

My hand finds her cunt, first one, then two and three fingers rooting deep into her, my thumb seeking and finding her clit. It is hard to believe, but she is wet already, slick enough that my fingers can force their way past her tightness without much trouble. She is breathing more rapidly, and her eyes are closed with pleasure. I pause in my finger fucking to watch her. Her hips are flexing, trying to draw my hand deeper, to tempt it to thrust harder and more quickly. Her eyes open and I see that they are almost black, the pupils dilated with arousal and need – mine must appear so to her as well.

I resume my actions, my fingers plunging deep, exploring her. Her little clit is engorged and her cunt is swollen, ready. I can feel her tightening around my hand, her pelvis moving in quick jerks. Her eyes struggle open again. “Oh, God, baby. Fuck me. Please. Please, baby, I want you in me so badly.” The plea comes on a breath, a small gasp. Suddenly, inexorably, I need to fuck her as badly as she needs to be fucked. I need the feel of her skin against mine, of her body moving under me; I need to feel her struggle and acquiesce, I need to feel her submit.

I move up to lie over her, my hands trapping hers over her head. The weight of my lower body pins her in place, and I thrust into her, with no preamble, hard, seating my cock in her fully on that single thrust.

Her cunt closes around me, gloriously hot and slick. No time for a gentle, teasing build up this time: I’m pounding her, plowing that beautiful, needy cunt so hard that our bones contact and my balls are slapping against her rhythmically. She is struggling like a trapped animal between my arms; I can feel her nipples scraping against my chest as she arches and slides. Her hips rise and fall, meeting my thrusts, forcing my cock even deeper.

Suddenly her body stills, and I know she is about to come, so I pump even faster, my own climax imminent as well. When the orgasm overtakes her, her body arches up off the futon, muscles rigid, for long seconds before she starts to buck, But the tight muscles of her cunt have thrown me over the edge, and I explode in her with a grunt, my semen erupting in hot spurts. The dizzying pleasure, the hot satisfaction of taking her, seems endless, my seed pouring into her, filling her and spilling out again to coat her thighs.

As my cock finally begins to soften, I try to withdraw but she tightens her cunt to hold me. She wraps her legs around mine, so that we are entwined from mid-thigh to ankle. She wriggles, and wraps her freed arms around me, hugging me tightly to her. In response, I draw my elbows in, my forearms pressing her ribcage, and I burrow my groin into the softness of her belly. Both of us are breathing as though we had just run miles, and I drop my head next to hers. The skin of her cheek is smooth against mine, and her hair sweet smelling where I am nuzzling against her, perfectly sated.

A good way to start the day.

The Lesson

Inspired by my HNT #12, this was written by an extremely sexy reader of mine, blue_eyed_gypsy.

I don’t like being in a pissy mood, and I don’t like taking it out on you. Guess what? You don’t like it either.

My first snapped answer goes by without retribution, but the second provokes a response. Your hand clamps firmly on the nape of my neck.

“I think we need to get you in a better frame of mind,” you growl in my ear, and propel me towards the bedroom. I wiggle and resist, but you are inexorable, and soon, my knees are against the bed.

I try to escape when you let go of my neck, but before I can really move, your hands are on my shoulders, turning me around to face you. Perfectly amiable but perfectly irresistible, you compel me to a sitting position, your legs trapping mine between them.

Whatever irritations have accumulated over the course of my day are vanishing rapidly. You in a tight white t-shirt and snug blue jeans, solidly sexy; being put in my place, with the prospect of being disciplined but still taken care of…. arousal is dispelling my crotchets, and the stern warmth of the attention, my contentiousness.

Your hands cup my face, fingers threaded through my hair, thumbs tracing my eyebrows, my cheeks my lips. I run my hands up the outsides of your thighs, and slip my fingers into the waistband of your jeans. Your skin feels hot through the thin cotton of the shirt, and my hands find their way to the button. I’m concentrating on unbuckling the belt, then undoing the button and pulling down the zipper; you’re watching me, still stroking my face.

Before I can free your cock, your hands move purposefully down, over my shoulders, down my arms to grip my wrists. You transfer them both to one hand. Though your grasp encircles them easily, I could probably wrest them away if I put my mind to it. My mind, however, is not being put to it; it’s quite overwhelmed with rising arousal and anticipation.

With your free hand,you pull the belt out of the loops, and let it dangle momentarily. I can’t take my gaze off it – the possibilities in that long hanging strip of leather have me riveted. When, finally, I lift my eyes to yours, you smile knowingly.

“Nasty little girl.”

Quite deftly, you wrap the belt around my crossed wrists, securing them snugly. That accomplished, you press me back and down on the bed.

“Put your arms up, above your head.”

I obey, and then stretch a little, trying to relax, still watching you. I can see the change in your expression as my shirt rides up, pulling out of my skirt, and the skirt itself is hiked up further on my legs.

You catch me looking at you.

“Witch,” you say, with amusement. Without loosening your grip on my legs, you drag your shirt off and toss it on the floor. Before I can do more than groan in appreciation, you lean over me, hands on either side of my head, staring down.

From my supine position, you appear predatory and overwhelmingly male: the muscles in your arms and torso bunched, knees bent, jeans gaping open, cock half-hard and swelling as I watch.

You rest your weight on one hand, and with the other, you ruck my skirt up to my belly. Taking hold of my panties, you drag them down my legs to my knees. Stepping back slightly, you allow me to kick them off, then you nudge my legs apart with your knee. As you move between them, they are opened even wider. Still watching me, you cup my exposed pussy.

The sound I make is half groan, half gasp. My eyes close in anticipation and pure pleasure and I stretch again in attempt to burrow more deeply into your cradling hand. In response, you part my labia and your fingers start stroking me.

“In a better mood now?”

Rapid, shallow breaths and flexing hips are a better answer to this question than any words.

I hear your small snort of amusement. Fingers probe my cunt, delving deeply then withdrawing, slick with my wetness.

“Oh, yes, in a much better mood. Shall I stop?”

Surely you wouldn’t? My negative shake of the head is as vigorous as I can make it.

You stand, moving briefly away from me, and shuck off your jeans. Through my half-closed eyes, I take in the beauty of your completely nude and now fully aroused body.

Coming up close again, you roll me over on to my belly. Before I can protest at the awkwardness of this position, you grab my hips and urge me on to my knees on the bed. Truthfully, I don’t require much urging.

My skirt is bunched around mid-thigh, and you pull it up the rest of the way, exposing my backside. Your palms are warm on the cool flesh as you move them in small, caressing circles. One hand comes to rest at my hip. The other encircles your erection; your entire length becomes slick with the moisture seeping generously from the engorged glans.

I turn my head to watch. Your eyes are now shut – involuntarily, I think – and your breath is quickening. Suddenly, your eyes open, and you catch me watching you. With a small smile, you move closer and rub the head up and down my slit.

When, in the midst of my moans, you thrust into me, I’m driven forward. Your hands are gripping my hips and you pull me back against you, hard.

You hold me there, unmoving, but I can feel you pulsing within me. One of your hands snakes around and finds my pussy again. When you feel me tightening around you, your fingertips brush against my clit, playing, teasing, infuriating. Soon this has me writhing, in need, pushing against your groin.

My entire body stills, every muscle taut. You take my clit between your fingers and squeeze, and the climax breaks over me. My cunt clenches around you, all the muscles in my lower body now spasming. Your arm goes around my waist to hold my squirming body in place against you.

As my cries subside to whimpers, you grab my hips again and drive into me. Because my wrists are still tied, I can’t get quite get purchase. It doesn’t matter. You’ve started the final part of this attitude adjustment session, moving me up and down on your cock as easily as if I were a rag doll.

My body shifts back and forth, as you thrust into me, harder and faster. Then, you pull me against you and stop, and I look around quickly, to see you, body tense, back arched, head back, eyes shut. You erupt into me, and your seed comes in hot, thick spurts, spilling out of me, and trickling down my pussy.

Finally, your breathing returns to normal and your pumping slows as your cock contracts. You lean over me, your groin still snug against my ass, resting on your forearms. My face is turned towards you, and you brush my cheek with a kiss.

“Lesson complete.”

Now, where was I?

So, I’ve been kindof tied up for a few weeks, although not in a good way.

Things have been conspiring against me, socially, at work, and with technology. At least I have the latter resolved now, with the added benefit that I can now glibly scatter comments around the blogsphere to my heart’s content. Which is nice.

More importantly, I’ve had a bit of a “why do I bother” moment – both in terms of this blog and life in general. But I think I’m through it now; maybe I just needed a couple of weeks out from this to remind myself of why I need some alternate female attention.

But now I’ve remembered. So if you can be outside my office at 2pm with no underwear, a firm grip and a set of well-lubricated lips, we can get things moving in the right direction again.