A friend of mine forwarded this series of images to me totally out of the blue which were just too sexy not to share. My apologies if you've seen them already. I have no idea where they come from, so I can't give proper attribution.
Step 1
Step 2
Step 3
Step 4
Step 5
Step 6
Step 7
Step 8
Step 9
Step 10
Step 11
Step 12
Step 31
Step 14
"And in the semi-autonomous region of Abkhazia, I think... three regiments should do it." She was on a roll. "Now, turning to Chechnya..."
Her firm breasts, pouting lips, high, proud buttocks... who would have thought she was the most brilliant military mind of the age, perhaps of any age. I longed to penetrate her defenses, assault her rear echelon, ram my offensive column through the weak section in her line. But I was far too stupid for her.
"Sir!" My adjutant broke through the door, as expected, and his voice was shocked, as expected. He averted his eyes as I scowled at him. "Sir... dispatches from the Second Army."
He'd seen her at my desk, leaning over, totally naked. To his eyes, defiantly, she awaited my command. As it should be. As she wanted him to see her.
But once he left, red-faced, she looked down coldly at my hand which lingered on her thigh, though purely for appearances I assured her, and I quickly removed it. "Come, General," she said with a sigh. "Remember the parts we play and when we play them. Back to the map."
I'm trying, I really am, but I seem unable to have any happy endings. I suppose this is happier than sad, but there's limited sex going on. I do love the idea of a brilliant military mind planning her conquests totally naked.
A few things: in case you were wondering what the Hell the title means, BOQ stands for Bachelor Officer's Quarters. I trust you see the connection now (maybe not). Yes, I did only write this because I wanted to write erotica featuring the words, "semi-autonomous region" (hey PB, how about that for a phrase to work in?) and it seemed somewhat more East than West, so I went for Russian problems. Also, I like Russia. Feel free to read two other place names into it if you're so inclined (Mongolia and Korea, respectively, would work for a Far East flavor of apocalyptic militaria). And the phrase... limiting in the extreme. I know I've been told I can dispense with them, but that seems like cheating. Not that I'm complaining, really; this week's phrase gave me pause, that's all.
I've got nothing else to say. I can't live up to the vaunted expectations for my FFF post-game show this week, I guess. For all those looking to read an epic treatment of my mental process, why not try out Flash Fiction Friday next week and write an epic mental process treatment of your own? The only thing stopping you is your lack of participation.
So Kara and Jess posted another one of these silly Q/A things, and because I'm a sucker for them even when all I do is make fun of them and answer questions with more questions, and because it gives me something to post, I decided to steal it. Since they stole it from Sunday Stealing, which in turn stole it from high schoolers, I couldn't resist. I mean, how often do I get to appropriate memes from high schoolers? It's long, since I cut out the middle man and grabbed the whole thing from the high school blog which means the questions are silly and juvenile. I don't do this often. Deal with it.
I saw a video the other day with a creampie (everything's better with a creampie) and then afterward the camera zoomed in and the man instructed the girl to push out the cream. Which got me thinking about the difference between porn and real life, as is my wont.
In real life, I don't push cum out of myself usually. I don't want the cream to leave; it always does, but I don't want to rush it. Sure, sometimes I've done it because I was cleaning up, or because another gal was in on the action and wanted to taste, but usually when that happens it's a collaborative effort; she's eating me out and I'm pushing it out and together we have a good time.
I always thought that guys who want to watch me pushing cum out of myself were missing the point and being stupid. What, they didn't trust me? They thought I somehow faked the whole thing, that my cunt was connected to a vacuum cleaner and their cream hadn't really filled me? They demanded proof that it was still there?
But I realized something; it's hot to watch. I've never seen myself do it, so maybe it's not hot to watch me push cream out, but it is with some other women. Porn tends to show just the business end, which can be hot if the girl has sufficient muscle to really push. I've seen some very attractive pussies (and you can't always say that about porn stars) straining, legs wide-spread, to force themselves shallower and shallower, as cum drools down. I prefer it when the girl is on her back with legs open, or even pulled back; it presents a better picture. Naturally, this is porn; I would never expect someone to do it in real life.
The thing that porn misses, though, is the rest of the body. Watching a woman strain can be sexy as hell, even if she doesn't particularly get going in the pelvic area. I've cum trying to push cum out of myself. There can be this adorable tension in the body and the face. I'm not looking for suffering, but earnest effort. It's like a variation on the orgasm face, except whereas many women get this overcome look on their faces when they cum, when they're straining, they look totally different. It may also have something to do with my impregnation fetish; it's a labor face rather than an orgasm face, I guess.
So I've made my peace with the idea. Life isn't porn, and most times, it's better to just lie with your partner after, feeling the warmth of his cum spreading inside you, his cock still there too, bodies entwined (that is, if your partner is a guy; if not, your mileage may vary). But sometimes, I'm going to be okay with a little show. In fact, I can't wait to try it with Sveta, both of us getting cum and then letting the other watch as we push it back out again (of course, there will be a minimum of watching I'm sure because we won't be able to sit back and watch that for long, at least I won't).
In summation, if you're one of those people who enjoys watching a woman push the cum out, I was wrong. If we ever meet, you need only ask. For myself, I prefer to keep the cum in as long as I can, but I understand now why you feel the way you do. Oh, but one thing; cum that won't come out, cum that was so deep inside me that it takes forever to drip out, that's just incredibly sexy.
I'm sensing something of a theme recently. I think I need to get more creampies right away. Perhaps I'll talk to Mike about upping my dosage.
Mike's back. Not permanently; he's making a layover on the job hunt, which he says is going about as well as can be expected in the current economic climate. I translate that to mean that he's not having a hell of a lot of luck finding anything other than waiter work, and he's not interested in being a waiter. Not that I blame him, with all the high-priced learnin' he's got.
This is obviously a good thing even if it's also a bad things because I love having Mike around and have been reaping the whirlwind of his affections regularly. Sveta is insanely jealous, although I keep hearing hints from her that she's got something I can be jealous about too. She may want to tell me in person. I'm okay with that idea as long as it means she'll be here in person soonest (and also that she tells me while my mouth is full, since I don't want her talking with hers full). Totally selfless, that's me. Mike said he might swing up to visit her when he leaves, and I want to go in the worst way, but I couldn't because that would mean I'd have to find some other way home since Mike won't be coming back. Maybe I can swing it.
Anyway, Mike and I have friends who invited us (and Sheri, actually, but she wasn't available) to celebrate their one-year anniversary with them last weekend with a bunch of other people, house party, swimming pool, all that good crap. They actually rented several houses (cottages really, but with sufficient sleeping space) and although I was hesitant to do it because of the distances involved and my general lack of time to do much of anything, Mike talked me into it. I wanted to go to see some people and to congratulate my friends, but I didn't want to party. Ah well.
Of course, the timing worked out perfectly (for "perfectly" read the exact opposite) and I was ragging the whole trip, which pretty much removed one of my social options right off the bat. As it turned out, the party was large and not my scene at all (I'm not a big party person, really, particularly with a lot of people and nothing to do but drink) and most of the people there were unavailable anyway. I'm getting ahead of myself and I don't want to cast too much of a pall over the weekend.
We did stop at this wonderful little rest area on the interstate on the way up (I'm sounding like a terrible travel brochure now) with a scenic overlook that rather inspired us. I don't like to drive in skirts, but I wish I had because it would have made things easier. As it was, we found a secluded spot, pulled our collective pants down (now there's an idea whose time has come) and Mike fucked my ass a bit awkwardly because our legs were trapped together by pulled-down waistbands. The breeze was cool (thank God it cooled down a bit over the weekend), the sky was blue, the clouds were white, the birds were singing, and the cock was hard and satisfying sliding in and out of my anus, especially after we got into the rhythm and were past the initial awkwardness.
Mike knew I was bleeding, so in the interests of neatness more than anything else (he knows I'm not that big a fan of being fucked while bleeding unless cleanup is immediate and thorough) he just did mostly clit work with his fingers while he took me hard, and I don't know what other people who stopped there might have heard but no one looked at us askance when we came out of the bushes. Maybe they wished they could have joined us. Cum oozed out into my panties throughout the rest of the trip, which started out pleasant but finally I had to pull over again and clean myself up a bit, then despite really, really wanting to, I discouraged Mike from spoiling my clean-up efforts by leaving another load in my ass. That was really tough. Basically, all I'd wanted that day was to stay home and make love in the comfort of my own bed. Ah well. The panties were sacrificed to cum cleanup and wound up in the back seat of my car (where they are still, since I forgot to take them out again at the end of the trip; I don't want to think about how disgusting they are right now). I went commando for the rest of the trip, which wasn't as pleasant as it could have been because of having to sit in the car. One thing panties were made for was car trips. Much more comfortable, at least to me.
We got there, and apparently it was 5 o'clock somewhere because drinks were already being had. Big drinking crowd, this. I had a drink or two because there wasn't much else to do and I was thirsty, plus I kind of wanted to see if maybe getting a bit tipsy might help improve my mood. Sadly, no dice. I was tired after the long drive and I was pissy because I knew I probably wouldn't be getting any. I know, some gals might have taken the opportunity to suck some cock, but I wasn't up for that, even if it had been on offer. As I said, my ideal would have been me and Mike, still at home, still in bed, stuck together by the juices of amore.
There was celebration, but I'll draw the curtain on that because it was your basic party stuff only with wedding overtones. It seemed like all the people there were married and younger than I was, which wasn't true but made me feel old although not in a rush to get married. There were a few singles, but no one for me, plus, remember, the rag. I'm not going to ask a total stranger into the pool if there's red tide in there. My social agenda, therefore, was somewhat stilted. I think it would have been anyway though; I didn't get the real sense that any of the very few single guys were interested in me, and the bi ladies didn't appear to be in attendance at all.
Mike tried to cheer me up, convince me to have more fun, even copped a few feels, but these were not people who knew anything about our family life, so I put the kibosh on that. The only way I was having any of it would have been if he'd come with me to our assigned room, and he didn't want to leave the party. And, to be honest, I wasn't feeling that sexy; I was sober in a room of partiers, I was ragging, and no one seemed to give a shit. I spent most of the time talking to the few people I did know, which was nice enough, but there were too many other people. I'm bitching again. At a certain point, Mike gave up on me and moved on to greener pastures, bu which I mean he got a little drunk and started hitting on this older woman. This older, married woman. Older than me, anyway; probably Sheri's age. I don't have anything against him going after her, really, but it did make me jealous and there was little or nothing I could do about it. Her husband wasn't there and according to Mike she had an "open marriage" so whatever. He's not a home-wrecker, and I would have been jealous if he'd been hitting on a single guy, so I don't even know why I mention her age or marital status.
I went to my assigned bed in one of the cottages at a certain point when the party had pretty much devolved into lots of drinking and not much else because I was just tired and didn't want to watch other people have fun while seemingly being unable to do so myself. It was either be a downer at the party or in my bed, and I chose discretion. About an hour later, as I was falling asleep, Mike and the woman came in, all over each other (Mike was assigned to sleep in the same room, I suppose on the assumption that we wouldn't mind rather than that we'd like to be in the same room for sex). She saw me and said something, to which he replied, "She's asleep and she doesn't care." I almost told him I wasn't and I did, but they had nowhere else to go and while I was really jealous and kind of pissy at this point, I was still polite. So I stayed quiet. Others might judge me harshly, but it was hardly the first time I'd been in a room with Mike while he had sex. Even with another person. Even with someone I didn't know.
I wanted more than anything to "wake up" and offer to join in and see what happened, but I didn't. I was a wuss. Instead, I got to lie there and listen as Mike fucked this woman seventeen ways to Sunday. She was either really into it or faking, and I suspect the former (he's my brother, I have to suspect the former). They tried to be quiet at first but once they got into it, she was moaning every time he thrust. He fucked her once, then ate her out for what seemed like hours, then started fucking her again.
I was insanely jealous of this bitch. Not the good kind of jealousy either; I wanted her dead. In the cold light of morning I don't feel so good about that, but at the time it was a seething pot of jealousy and hatred and intense horniness that drove me crazy. I even rolled over at a certain point, when it sounded like they were too into it to care, and took a look at the action. She was nothing. A bit pudgy, droopy breasts, flabby thighs; not in my league at all. Or so I told myself at the time. It didn't help. If he'd come back alone, I would have cheerfully let him fuck my ass all night if he wanted. But no.
The next day, I was tired (I finally got to sleep while they were still at it by passing out), grumpy, hormonal, and still horny. But I managed to cut off my nose to spite my face by being incredibly cool to Mike, even though the woman had left and he was obviously perfectly willing to help me cope with at least one of my problems. We could have had a nice morning, but instead I was a jerk and didn't talk to him.
Finally, on the drive home, he asked me, "You were awake last night, weren't you?"
And it all came out, all the jealousy and resentment and nerves and all of it. We pulled over (we were still on smaller roads at that point) and yelled at each other. Why rehash the stupid shit we said. I was angry at him for doing something perfectly okay, and he was angry at me because I was angry at him and thus had left him no option but to pursue the thing for which I was angry at him. Mostly my fault in hindsight. Perhaps "mostly" might even be a very charitable understatement.
Then we drove some in angry silence. I think both of us were done being pissed, but we didn't want to admit it. Finally, I asked him, "So how was she?"
"Fat, old, and loose," he said with a slight grin. I could tell he was exaggerating at the very least. Possibly outright lying. While I might have put her down in the looks department while I was mad and tired, I doubt highly that she was loose, and she certainly wasn't old or fat, just a bit more fleshy than perhaps is my taste. But he was trying to make me feel better.
"So why did you fuck her then?"
"To make you jealous." Now he was grinning. I risked life and limb to punch him in the arm and then give him a kiss, then swerved back onto the road. I'm really glad the police weren't watching. And that there were no small children present.
So we made up. And at a rest stop on the way back, we made up properly. I confess I still had a lingering resentment and almost didn't want to let him put his cock anywhere near me until he at least took a shower and washed the bitch off. Not proud of that. Ordinarily, I couldn't care less who Mike fucks. I cheerfully take sloppy seconds. In the end, fortunately, I let him kiss me, and forgot all about anything else, and his cock probed my ass and then slid in. I pressed hard and came on him. It was a pent-up orgasm, like I'd been holding it in, and after it was done the next one was no struggle at all, like I'd worked out something and now could cum easily and freely.
Thus, my weekend trip (in case you were wondering, I had Mike's computer with me and he let me check things on it, which is why I was able to still be connected) was okay, at the end. I had not the most wonderful party on record, but I got to see some people I hadn't seen in ages. And when we got home, the feminine curse had all but stopped to the point where we took a shower (that felt great, just to be clean) and Mike gave my little pink pussy a nice long wash before thoroughly plundering its depths until I was crying his name.
Having spent all that time talking about family drama, I'm not totally sure why I told this story, except that it was kind of sexy and interesting. I've had worse weekends, and I'm not complaining. If anything, I'm somewhat ashamed of my feelings and actions. I try hard not to be a jealous person, which is important in my life, but in this case I failed. Let it be an object lesson to all; even if you're polymorphous perverse (or whatever the hell I am) and don't believe in monogamy, you can still get jealous. Be on your guard. It's not a healthy feeling. But Mike's back and we're not really angry at each other, and I get at least a week before he has to head out again, so in the balance, I could give a shit about the rest of it.
Down there, where the waves meet the sand, they say you can sometimes see her footprints from the night when the bride went to marry the sea god. They say she went naked, but that's the way these stories go. And, if you can believe them, she was beautiful, but after all aren't they all beautiful, the brides in stories?
Perhaps there is a mote of truth to it, a tale buried inside the stories that isn't pure fancy. Perhaps a girl did go to the water like a lover, walking out to be kissed by the spray, deeper and deeper. Perhaps there is a sea god, and they met in the crash of waves, and she was splashed with pure heat as he spent himself on her.
But what do they know? The sea is cold, and what the waves take is lost.
Once again, though I've managed to have a bit of sexual tension, this is rather more wistful than sexy. I would like to have gone with my first impulse, which was to make a joke based on the fact that obviously this girl is a record-breaking squirter, but the preceding phrase was about as far as that idea got me.
I'd like to think that there are two sides to the story: the narrator is obviously jaded and cynical, but the picture is more magical, willing to believe that the tales are true (it really is a beautiful picture this week). Which side you fall on is entirely up to you. I think our narrator would like to believe, but she's seen too much of the terrible side of the sea to think that it might love as well as destroy. She's damaged. Perhaps she once harbored (God, no pun intended, really, really) the idea of going down to the sea herself.
Like all metaphors, it loses something when it's explained, and so I'll let it speak for itself.
Speaking of speaking for oneself, you can speak for yourself by joining us next Friday for another exciting episode of Flash Fiction Friday. Or at least read everyone else's stories from this week. I can't link to them because I'm writing this before the links are up, but you can go to PB's site and find them easily enough. And if you are one of those people who've participated this week, isn't it great? Flash Fiction Friday, I mean, not my particular fictional accretion. Isn't Flash Fiction Friday great? There's a question worth answering.
In keeping with the recent random thoughts and filler, today I thought I'd take up the discussion of semen. Specifically, my feelings toward it, although I'll accept your feelings toward it as well if you want to tell me about them. I'm not calling it cum because I want to differentiate between all the other aspects of that word, and while semen is a more clinical term, I'm going with it.
First off, I love semen (I had to stop myself typing "cum" just now). Without it, many of my favorite things wouldn't be possible (to say nothing of life itself). I can't understand why people are scared of it, but then I guess people are grossed out by snot too. But it seems like semen and snot occupy two different categories of gross; if you've got snot on your nose, that's one thing, but semen is another completely. People who cheerfully hornk snotballs on public sidewalks would no more cum on a public sidewalk than they would lick that sidewalk to clean it. I personally think neither of them is particularly good to do. But blowing your nose and rubbing one out are essentially the same thing to me; one takes longer, but both involve fluids and Kleenex emerging. Enough about semen and snot; I think semen is way better.
I most enjoy semen inside me. I am a huge creampie junkie, as readers of this blog are well aware. There's just something about the feeling of it, when it happens and after, and even if it's such a small feeling that I can't even feel it, I still like the idea. It's a little about pregnancy and femininity, but I would still like to be creamed by a man who was guaranteed to be completely without sperm in his semen. For creampies I enjoy thick, gooey semen more than thin, but thin can sometimes be very nice too, particularly when there's a lot of it. When I get a guy who hasn't cum in ages and his orgasm is both strong and watery, that can be very nice while it's happening. It's just that after, the semen runs out more easily and the consistency isn't quite the same. But that's ideally. In practice, I'll take it whatever it is.
Second to that, I like semen on the lower half of my body, even as far as my breasts. Semen on me is fun too, but it needs to be cleaned up fairly quickly otherwise it gets kind of ookie. Obviously, if a guy is going to pull out and cum on me, I love it if there's another gal (or even another guy who's into that kind of thing) around to clean it up after. But I'll do my own dirty work. Some people have asked me why I prefer a guy to cum on me than to cum in my mouth, and in truth, it's a close call, and that preference chances. It's a textural thing for me, I think; I like feeling it on my skin. Again, thick and gooey is more enjoyable in this case than thin and watery, perhaps even more than with creampies because thin tends to make a mess and is harder to gather up and clean off with my tongue.
I know some guys really get off on pearl necklaces, but I prefer it on my belly or the small of my back if we were doing rear entry before he came. I don't really have the tits for tit-fucking, so there's another reason I get fewer pearl necklaces. And, as I reveal later, there are preferential reasons as well. I'll still let a guy cum wherever he wants, within reason, but if I get asked, I don't go neck first.
In close third is swallowing. I'm perfectly okay with swallowing, and I don't spit if a guy cums in my mouth (except by accident). I've honestly never been able to understand why women spit; if you've got it on your tongue already, just swallow it. If you're not going to let him cum in your mouth at all, that's different, but if you've tasted it, why not just swallow. Of course, there are times when letting it drool out over your chin can be sexy, but you can then gather it up again and swallow it. Saves on towels, for one thing. But it's okay; there are things I won't do that seem perfectly normal to some people. I just don't understand the reasoning.
I enjoy the taste of semen; it's usually fairly mild. That's why I don't understand why people have such a problem with it; it's not like eating shit. There's relatively little taste. The smell does put some people off, and I admit that, of all things about semen, I like the smell the least. And since taste is to a large extent just smell, I can see why people wouldn't like the taste. Still, fresh semen, right from the tap, is usually just fine.
Lastly on the menu, we come to my least favorite (but that's like saying my least favorite gold comes from Peru), facials. As I discussed a long time ago, I must have very acidic tears because semen doesn't burn my eyes as it does with some people, but still, it's not something I want to do. I don't like it when it gets in my hair either, or up my nose. Basically, a facial is just a mouthful of cum that missed to me, and thus I get all the minuses of mouthfuls of cum without the pluses.
When I was younger, I believed (perhaps stupidly) that semen helped my complexion, so I had Mike cum on my face more often than I would have otherwise. I don't know if it worked; I have fine skin today. It is an astringent, I believe. Semen face cream is probably not in the cards however. Plus, it made my face smell of semen, so it wasn't something I wanted to do if someone was going to be smelling my face (unless that someone wanted my face to smell of semen).
I enjoy rubbing semen into my skin, actually, and I do it sometimes when guys cum on my belly or breasts. I don't really know why; it's a feeling I enjoy. Not as much as feeling semen oozing around inside me, but I enjoy it.
The best tasting semen, of course, is eaten out of another girl's snatch. Ideally, you have four people: two boys, two girls. The guys cream the girls, who then eat the semen out of each other, and you've had pretty much all I want in basic semen experiences.
Foreplay is important, but too much blueballing ruins things sometimes. If you commit to enough foreplay, the semen tends to be nice and thick and strong. If you tease too long, in my experience it makes things get thin, and while it may still be strong, sometimes I'd rather have a slightly smaller output with more body. Dad cums once a day, usually, and he can go for a long time without cumming, but his semen output is magnificent. Mike's is smaller, but he can continue putting it out over and over again. I'm not sure which I like more; maybe neither because I don't want to have to choose.
I think the biggest load I ever had literally filled me up and squirted out the sides. It may have been partially me too; I do get juicy at times. But still, this was prodigious. I didn't measure, but it might have been in the multiple tablespoon range. And it was tenacious; I had cummy panties for the next day, even after showering and straining to get it all out again. I could feel it oozing around. Really a great time, and I wish I could duplicate it. Actually, Sheri says I should try this lube she's got which she claims feels exactly like cum, except you can fill up a turkey baster with it and inject yourself with as much as you want. That sounds like cheating to me. Most times, a single orgasm's output from a guy is enough to make me feel pleasantly gooey. If I get fucked with a cummy pussy, a lot of the semen comes out during, what with muscles tensing and penetration and so on, but it can build up over time. Mike has come back multiple times to fill me again and again and it's felt like more each time.
That's about all I've got to say on the subject, mostly because I want to go back to saying "cum." If you've got any responses, I'm happy to host a discussion on the topic, or if you'd like to suggest another for me to talk about, that's okay too. Soon enough I hope to have some actual things to talk about, but until then, I'm just spitballing.
