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Contest

It is the contest that delights us, and not the victory.

~ Blaise Pascal

The stool under The Wife was cold and hard against her, one of the perks of following her rule while wearing dresses and skirts. She liked it – she knew that she would leave behind evidence of her evening if those boys, The Husband and The Visitor, did their job. Each of them was at opposite ends of the bar, no closer or farther than the other was to reach her.

The Wife and The Husband had often played this game with unsuspecting bystanders. He enjoyed watching her sit in her confidence, flirting and touching the men and women that came to show their interest. He took mental notes of what made her smile – they would be useful later. Eventually, he would join her and relish in the knowledge that jealous eyes were watching him take her home. His prize for their efforts.

Tonight was different. He had never played this game with steady, direct competition. He was well-armed with tactics and approaches, but he knew how much his wife had been thinking about their visitor. He knew there had been conversations without knowing the specifics. Had The Visitor learned something about The Wife that The Husband didn’t know? Was there a layer he hadn’t discovered yet?

The Wife ordered a Hendricks and tonic, the agreed upon signal that the game would begin. She chatted with the bartender, playing with her hair and laughing at his jokes. The Husband and The Visitor watched her. Did she know how well she commanded her situation? How drawn everyone was to her? How long would they have to wait before they could enter the game?

The Visitor made his first move. He sat next to The Wife at the bar and ordered a beer. He began as he would with anyone else.

“Vodka or gin in that?”

“Excuse me?”

“In your drink. Vodka or gin?”

“Oh, gin. It’s always gin.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Are you having a good day?”

“I am! I’m hoping that it ends on a high note.”

The bartender chuckled to himself. He had heard this exchange before.

“I can’t imagine that it wouldn’t end that way. You’ve got gin in your glass, a smile on your face, and you look like you know what you’re about.”

The Visitor had opened well, much better than anyone else The Wife had attracted at this bar over the years. Where had this conversation been? They kept talking and drinking. Every few minutes, The Visitor would reach out and touch The Wife on the arm or knee, or move her hair. Each touch sent blood flushing to The Wife’s face. It had been a long time since she felt like this – she enjoyed really flirting again.

The Visitor picked up his glass and left his stool. He thought about touching The Wife again as he left, but decided not to. She wanted it too much.

The Husband waited for a few minutes. He wasn’t used to playing the game at this stage yet. He was used to watching and winning at the end. He hoped he remembered how to flirt with The Wife. If nothing else, this would be good practice for him. The Wife ordered another drink. A beer this time.

She was in the middle of a drink when The Husband approached her. He sat next to her and ordered whiskey, neat. His cologne mixed with the whiskey and drifted over to her. She closed her eyes and inhaled. No conversation from The Visitor could outdo this smell combination.

Hi. Is that New York?”

“Excuse me?” The two conversations felt identical…

“On your arm. Is that New York?”

“Oh, yes. It’s the New York skyline.”

“Are you from there?”

“Only in spirit. I’m from here.”

“Are you having a good night? You seem like you’re enjoying yourself.”

The bartender glanced up at them. The Husband and The Visitor had both been right – she seemed to know who she was and what she would tolerate.

The Wife and The Husband chatted for several minutes. He made jokes he knew she would laugh at, and he began to lose that twinge that he might not have the upper hand anymore. She did her best with side glances to make sure that he wasn’t comfortable for long.

The Wife could feel herself getting antsy and distracted. She had experienced multiple people wanting to take her home at one time before, but this was different. Both of these men wanted her together. It was only about how long she wanted to make everyone wait.

Each trade between The Husband and The Visitor accompanied a new drink, and more touches than before. The Husband would touch her thigh, The Visitor would pull her hair softly, fingers and palms and knees found different parts of each other and by the end of the evening, she was visibly writhing in her seat. Who was leading this game after all? It occurred to The Wife that it was not her.

The Visitor sat next to her again. He didn’t order anything. Instead, his hand found hers and he pulled her toward him. He stopped inches from her face. She could feel his breath on her mouth.

“Had enough yet?”

“Do I get what I’ve been working toward?”

“You get closer. Let’s go.”

He kissed her cheek and led her off of her stool, never letting go of her hand. At the door, he turned back and looked for The Husband. When their eyes met, The Visitor waved him to them with his free hand. The Husband joined The Wife and The Visitor at the door and the three of them left to get into the car waiting out front. The door hadn’t closed yet before each of them had a hand under her skirt.

The bartender watched the car drive away, wiped her spot on the bar, and smiled to himself. Just another Saturday.

~ Carly Simon

She had lived there all her life, but for some reason she couldn’t remember the path to the arrivals gate. Her feet seemed to find their way without her, which she was thankful for. She checked the board.

American Airlines from LGA, 3:35 PM arrival. LANDED.

She checked her watch. 3:40. How long could it possibly take to deboard this plane? Five minutes to wait felt longer than the 8 years they had spent building up tension, exchanging videos and pictures, racy texts, erotica, and shared interest in exploring every part of each other. 8 years was longer than they had known either of their spouses, and although they were each secure and respectful of their and each other’s marriages, she was excited to finally be getting what she had been thinking about.

He was popping down from a work trip, and would only be in town for one night and most of the next day. 36 hours was plenty of time and not nearly enough.

3:43. Why was this taking so long?

The first few people began to trickle out of the secured area and into the main terminal. Not him, not him. Goodness, did she have the wrong flight?

No, she did not. In some kind of cheesy parting of the sea of people, there he emerged. She was almost put off by the cliche way he seemed to appear in the light, but she was so overcome and the excitement welled in her. She watched him move for a moment, observing the way his body shifted – yes, this was the body she had thought of and seen in photos and videos, but it was so wonderful to be able to see it in real life. Was this even real life anymore?

His eyes found her face and he stopped where he was. She was in one of her favorite dresses, but he knew the curves that hid under it. He paused a moment to take her in. She smiled at him and waved. He walked to her, his suitcase trailing behind him. She hugged him when he reached her – it hadn’t occurred to her that he would have his own scent, but she breathed him in with her eyes closed.

The hug broke and he looked at her. He was really in front of her. Her breath caught in her throat and his hand moved to push a lock of hair behind her ear. God this was cheesy – she reveled in it.

His hand found hers and their fingers interlocked, as though they had been connected in this way for years.

“How was the flight?” she asked him as they walked toward the exit. She cared, but really she only asked him a question so she could see how his mouth moved in person. How did his tongue dance around sounds and letters, and how could she use it later?

They turned a corner, into an access corridor from the terminal to the train they would take back to her car. It was empty. How convenient. The opportunity was unmistakable.

She pulled him into a side nook – a forgotten payphone bank from years past. She had never been so thankful for such a spot. She pulled his mouth to hers, holding his head in her hands. She stalled when they met, feeling the pressure and texture of his lips against hers. When she sighed, his arms wrapped around her and they tried to kiss their way through years of flirtation and suggestion. They had said so much to each other over their time knowing each other that there was hardly anything they didn’t know about the other. But somehow it all melted away and they were discovering each others’ bodies for the first time.

Behind a half-wall, they stumbled across the marble floor. She had worn a dress because he knew about her skirt rule, but it became clear that the absence of the barrier under her frock was going to be advantageous much sooner than she thought. They kept kissing, her back supported by the cold tile wall and his fingers caught in her hair. His hips pressed against hers and she could feel his cock beneath his jeans, pressed hard into her, clearly betraying his excitement about the afternoon.

She moved her hands to his button and zipper, and finally she could feel the flesh she had seen only in distant images. It was warm and welcoming. She sank in front of him and pulled him into her mouth. As she did so, she could hear him exhale another held breath of long-talked-about anticipation. She held his cock in her mouth and internalized every sensation. Each feature, each vein, each edge. He began to pump into her mouth and she completed her mental picture as she felt each texture move to fill her up. She moved her hands to his ass and pulled him into her as far as he could go. He sighed again.

“Fuck…”

She couldn’t wait any more. She lost a bet with herself that she would at least make it onto the train. No such deal this afternoon. She stood up, braced against the wall, and slung her legs around his hips with a small hop. He caught her just in time to feel her slide around him, mimicking her mouth. Her juices and saliva mixed as she felt the girth of him slide into her cunt. Her eyes closed and she let out her final anticipatory sigh. This was what she had been waiting for – this was what all those years of build-up had been leading to.

It didn’t take him long. In fact, any other lover would have been embarrassed by the time it took to push him over the edge. But not this lover. This one had been edged for years and never satisfied. This one had been promised and promised, and this was his inevitable release. He felt her feet touch down again, jolted back to reality.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” she said. She could feel the years trickling out of her, running down her legs. She wasn’t even remotely interested in cleaning them up.

“You too. I’m dying for a shower, and then something to eat.” he answered, and smiled at her.

35 hours left.

Sinful Sunday: Paint

Kid-free weekends usually are less relaxing and more honey-do list. This weekend was no exception. Chores, laundry, and some touch-up painting.

Give us a kiss to see more sinning

Sinful Sunday

~ Iain Duncan Smith

It was finally time to put my phone down and go to bed. I put it on its charger, set it on my nightstand, and rolled over toward him to give him a kiss and get some sleep. Somehow, in my reading, I hadn’t noticed that he had prepped his side of the bed with a towel and positioned his favorite glass dildo (unwarrantly appropriated from *my* Regulars stash, ah hem) and some new lube we decided to try. Clearly, he had more in mind before going to bed.

The phone rang. It was a former lover of mine who I have remained friends with over the years.

“Who’s that? Is it important?”

“No, just [friend] probably calling about a date he had.”

“Answer it. Let’s see if I can be quiet.”

I answered the phone. As I suspected, my friend was slightly tipsy and wanted to gab on the phone about a date he had just come home from. After making sure that this was just to shoot shit, I decided to play along.

He stroked his cock next to me and I could see it twitching, pulsing, and growing as he did so. I always love this time with him – the process of him getting hard and ready. I never know what he’s thinking about and it really doesn’t matter. Watching him work himself into a state where I know everything I do will tingle through him is one of the hottest parts about our sex life.

I watched him start to reach for the dildo. Obviously I couldn’t play with him with just one hand, so I put the phone on speaker and set it on the bed. I grabbed the bottle of lube. The cap snapped open and I stopped for just a moment to make sure that the sound hadn’t carried through the phone. I watched as it slid out of the bottle and dropped onto the head of the dildo in a perfect, gooey mound. I pushed his hand aside, bent up one of his legs, and used the dildo to spread lube around his ass hole. As the cold hit him, he closed his eyes and I saw a corner of his teeth sink into the corner of his lip. I put my finger to my mouth.

“Shhh” I mimed, and pulled the toy just out of reach.

He nodded and looked at me to put it back. I complied.

It didn’t take long for his cock to be full and hard and for his ass to relax enough to get the first bulb of the dildo inside. As he closed around the neck again, I saw his head tilt back and he let out a sigh. His hips rocked as he started stroking his cock with more purpose this time.

My friend on the phone was talking about a restaurant, I think. I made sure to give non-committal answers to him every now and again.

Bulb by bulb, the dildo made its way into his ass. Once all the way in, I spun it around so it curved to put pressure where I knew he liked it. And then I began to slowly pulse in and out of his ass as I watched him jerk off. Every now and then, when it was my turn to be silent on the phone, I would help him by teasing his balls with my tongue.

I could tell he was close. His breathing became heavier.

“Don’t you make a sound” I whispered.

I fucked him faster with the dildo. His stomach clenched and his shoulders lifted off of the mattress. I could see his forehead holding every noise he wanted to let go, eeking out soft, uncontrolled moans and sighs. Finally, his face relaxed and his hand relaxed. The hair on his stomach and chest was pressed down where the shots had hit.

“Hey – I have to go now. I have to help with something. I’m glad you had a good evening. I’ll talk to you again later.” I reached for a towel.

Sinful Sunday | Diptych

“Some women will do anything for a glass of champagne and a safe bed.”

~ Sara Sheridan

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Give us a kiss to see more sinning!

Sinful Sunday

 

~ Haruki Murakami

Last night, Mr. Unmentionable and I went out to celebrate our fifth wedding anniversary. Because of children and schedules, we ended up celebrating it about a month late. During the evening, I was less the mom-of-two I usually am and more the woman I was when we met – fun, flirty, sexy, carefree. It was nice to take a break to remember who I am underneath all this.

This morning, I was back in my real life. The dress and makeup were gone, and I got a good glimpse again of the tiger stripes left on my body by my children. The break made it a stronger image and I feel powerful and capable rather than saggy and doughy. Motherhood is a challenge on all fronts. It’s ok to remind myself that I can meet and overcome this challenge *and* still be hot as hell.

Happy Sinful Sunday everyone!

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Sinful Sunday

give us a kiss to see more sinning!

~ Mae West

By the time I looked at the clock on the stove, it was almost 4:00 in the morning. As usual, the cast party had taken much more of my night and would claim an absurd amount of the next day. Despite my theatrical career in high school and during all four years of college, this somehow managed to surprise me every time it happened. That’s one of the things I love most about being involved with theatre – it overtakes your whole existence. Even during a production, you are lost to your characterization and the better you are, the less of you seems to make its way through.

In the haze, I tried to remember the little things. I needed to find my wallet and to remember exactly whose apartment I was in. I glanced around and realized I was in a sea of bodies in various states of undress. This was not unusual – theatre is all about intimacy on an emotional level. By the time the three months of rehearsal is over, you’ve been more exposed to your cast and crew than you have to any of your lovers. Naturally, this leads to more and more comfort being naked back stage during quick changes and eventually in each others’ living rooms as a way to pass the time.

The party hadn’t started there, but the after party had. I remembered clinking bottles that once contained horrible facsimiles to drinkable beverages – Bartles and Jaymes and Smirnoff Ices – before we got to the bathtub gin. Aside from “naked”, theatre left you in a constant state of “poor” and “desperate”.

The air conditioning kicked on and the smells of the party began to mix into the air again. Cologne returned me to the soft kisses that started on my neck as we watched cast mates explore each other. The male dancers of this production had bonded over this smell, and it was hard to dissociate it with the firm, limber bodies they compared.

Three of the leads in the dance ensemble were all similar in height and body build. They came from similar backgrounds and towns. They all more or less shared sexual identities, kinks, and interests. In fact, to any outsider, it would be hard to remember exactly who was who. Not us, though. We knew better. We knew a way to tell them apart.

The first was uncircumcised – this was unusual in our theatre community for some reason. During some of the first dance rehearsals, many of the cast were excited at the impressive bulge in his leggings. He was especially limber in his hips and we often wondered what kinds of incredible things he could do with his legs to hold anyone in any position he wanted.

The other two were circumcised, but drastically different in girth and length. The larger of the two was almost intimidating. Even soft, he was 6 inches long and probably an inch and a half in diameter. By the time you got him going, he wielded a weapon that you either were sure how to use or you learned from. He was a favorite among the group.

The third dancer was the one I was most acquainted with. His cock was beautiful – smooth and supple and just the right amount for a mouth to explore without stretching your jaw uncomfortably. I was often gawking at Number 2 with everyone else, but secretly, I loved Number 3. At least I loved what I could do to him.

Somewhere between the end of the wine and the beginning of the gin, Number 2 was challenging my oral skills. Loving to suck cock not only gained me valuable experience, but also gave me quite a reputation. I was always happy to show what I knew and what I enjoyed and, if I was lucky, learn something new along the way. By the time I accepted the challenge and lowered myself onto my knees, he was already well on his way to fully erect. I ran my tongue along the base of his shaft and up to the tip, gently sucking on his head in a tender kiss as I got there. I opened my mouth to an “ahh” with my tongue out in a playful invitation. He only got about half way in when my mouth was almost full. I worked over him to get him as much in my mouth as I could, but in the end needed to use both of my hands to meet the length that was still in the sticky air of the apartment. I glided over him, pausing on his head just for a moment to pulse him into soft shudders.

Watching me work on meeting the challenge before me, other members of the party had begun to touch themselves and each other. Number 1 and Number 3 were close to my face, no doubt waiting their turn in what was obviously something I was willing to give out freely. Their breath caught in their throats as Number 2 asked me if I thought I could handle more than one in my mouth at a time.

He pulled his cock out of my mouth and continued to use my saliva as lube with one hand and gestured for 2 and 3 to meet his new challenge. I couldn’t tell who’s cock was who’s in the low light of the early morning (it was close to 1:30 at this point), and it didn’t matter. To have my mouth full with two discernible pieces of flesh, allowing my tongue to go between and both of them as I explored every option and brought them to the edges I wanted.

Eager to be my primary focus, at least for a moment, I felt one nudge the other out of place and pull my face toward the base of his cock, his head stretching to find a gag reflex. Once full of him, I stuck my tongue out and flicked the tip along his balls, causing him to inhale sharply. As quickly as I had found my mouth full of him, it was empty again and the space was taken almost immediately by the third cock of the evening.

They traded spots as the first held my head steady – using my mouth as a release for the pent up stress of the months and weeks that preceded it. I admit that in the quiet moments of reflection that comes upon any actor, I had imagined exactly this scenario. Strong, graceful hands on either side of my head or supporting my neck, gasping for breath as my airway was plugged. Strings of saliva began to gather on my chin and on my tits, and it coated my hands when I managed to get them up to stroke the cock that was not in my mouth at the time. As I supported myself with my hands on my knees when the speed picked up, they were slippery and I struggled to remain upright.

Speed increased and my head was held fast by my hair. In an instant I felt the spray of release along my forehead and along my jaw line. The saltiness dripped its way into my nose and my mouth. Each of the two men slumped down in front of me, succumbing to the sleepy recovery of the hour.

As I recalled the warmth and stickiness, I touched my neck and the tops of the mounds of my breasts, recalling where the shots had fallen. To my delight, it had dried exactly where it landed, branding me for my skill until I decided to wash it off.

Sinful Sunday: Underneath

His favorite way to see me is to look down.

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Give us a kiss to see more sinning!

Sinful Sunday

 

There have been a swath of amazing pieces of writing on body image recently (here, here, and the always stunning here). I’ve been working more on my body since graduating and decided to take a peek at any changes there might be.

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Sinful Sunday

 

~ Edward Bellamy

We go on this trip every year, but there’s no telling who comes with us.

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See who else has been sinning this week!

Sinful Sunday