In preparation for writing reviews for Tabu Toys and Toys in Babeland, I now have my own site. Please visit www.scintillectual.com for all future MFMs, HNTs, TMI Tuesdays, and Wicked Wednesdays. Stay on the lookout for reviews starting this week with Tabu Toys’ glass Candy Cane! Make sure you update your RSS feeds and your links. Thanks for staying with me!
Scintillectually Yours
An oncoming head cold sent me to bed early last night without the energy to come up with a new HNT series for this week. I decided to re-post this older shot…taken in the Spring just after HTB left me. In fact, it was just a few days and I was heavily into my mourning period. Now, I think it’s rather poignant. The memory of being that utterly bereft are fading. Life has moved on…I’ve moved on. I hope never to be cornered by grief again, but one never knows. In the meantime, I’m dancing free. Be sure to visit other, hopefully happier, HNTs, at Osbasso’s.
I’m dashing up Commercial Street in the pouring rain. A chill April thunderstorm soaks my previously meticulous hair and makeup and I’m cursing the whole way. It’s hard to dash in 3” heels, particularly when there are no sidewalks. Provincetown tourist season is starting again and the only parking to be found was in the back of the wharf. Of course your room has to be near the boatslip. Not that far but fuck it seems like an eternity before I finally get there. My black rubber trench coat is dripping and the frayed edges of my flares are sopping wet. I don’t even want to know what I look like. Thank God for waterproof mascara and eyeliner.
You open the door and even though I feel as though I’ve known you forever we’ve never laid eyes on each other in person. You can’t help but break out in a shit-eating grin at my appearance. Evidently, I’m more drowned rat than dewy eyed temptress. “Hi,” I’m sheepish, embarrassed, dripping all over the carpet. Great first impression and very cool opening line. Not.
“Hi.” Leaning against the door jamb and allowing me very little room to maneuver into the room, you look amazing. But I had no doubts about that. “Can I offer you something? Drink? Towel? Hot shower?” I’ll start with the towel and try not to jump all over the hot shower just yet. You bring a big, fluffy white towel out of the bathroom and I try to find someplace inconspicuous to put my wet belongings. I flip my head over and scrub my hair. Now I’m sure I look like Adam Ant. You reach out and run your fingers through it and I reach up and grab your hands. I’ve wanted this from the moment I first saw your photos. First talked to you. I put your finger in my mouth and closing my eyes I slide it very slowly in and out. All the way in. All the way out. I open my eyes and your face is so close to me. I put my finger in your mouth and press my rain drenched lips over your mouth and my finger.
My knees buckle and the next thing I know we’re on the floor. Kneeling and fairly frantically working to take each other’s clothes off. The hunger I’ve felt for you has become starvation and I feel as if I’ll die if I don’t taste you now. Our mouths and hands are everywhere. I’m on my back and my arms are out to both sides—your hands entwined in mine: strong, electric. The push and pull, give and take, control and submission ignites a passion I haven’t experienced in years. I force you onto your back and kiss you deeply, biting softly, sucking your lower lip, tugging at your lip ring playfully. I pull you up so I’m straddling your lap and arch my back and you bury your face in my tits. My nipples are so hard. But it is my clit that throbs with need and as I lie all the way back you work your way down my body with a tongue that doesn’t stop.
Now you are exactly where I need you and my clit jumps at the first expert touch of your tongue. “Turn around. Turn around.” I want you in my mouth at the same time. I want to bury my face in your sweet Holy Grail. I can’t get enough of you and you’ve got my clit in your teeth and at least three fingers in my cunt. Everything is so fast and I’m moaning deep into you, creating a hum that reverberates off the walls inside you. I want to control it —I want it to last forever—but I can’t. I’ve got skyrockets going off in the deepest part of my body and it is reaching all the way down to my toes. At the same time you shudder and buck against me and I drink you in as though I’ve been in the driest desert for 40 years.
But you aren’t done. I know your need to control and while I don’t easily give over to submission I don’t protest as you quickly slip into your leather harness and strap-on while flipping me over onto my stomach. I instinctively arch my back—my ass in the air as I shiver in anticipation of your penetration. You enter deeply as you pull on my still damp hair and I moan and push back against you. Your thrusting is fast and wild and I can’t tell where I end and you begin anymore. You tease me by slowing down and then making me beg you to fuck me harder. I hear your own groans join mine and together we collapse in a sweaty, heavy-breathing heap to the floor. We roll over laughing.
“So,” you say, “nice to finally meet you.”
1a. You just gave yourself a body-shaking orgasm. How long do you have to wait before you can give yourself another body-shaking orgasm?
First off, ALL of my orgasms are body-shaking. Secondly, I am multiorgasmic which means I don’t have to wait at all unless I’m completely strung out and I only get that way when I squirt. Sadly, I have yet to master the art of doing that myself. Not that I haven’t tried! I am still in search of the perfect g-spot vibrator.
1b. You just gave yourself a body-shaking orgasm. What is the longest you can wait until you absolutely have to do it again?
Normally one is enough when I’m alone. So usually a couple of hours. Heh. Seriously, I’m a big fan of afternoon power naps since I wake up at the butt-crack of dawn to work (I’m a morning person) and I usually rub out a really good one just before I fall asleep.
2a. If you are good in this life, what will you come back as in your next life … if you come back as an animate being?
This question implies that I believe in reincarnation, which I don’t. Here’s TMI for a sex blog: I’m Christian and I do believe in eternal life. But, seeing as I am playing along, I’m going for a bit of a repeat from last week. A housecat. Because really? I would lick myself all day long.
2b. ….. if you come back as an inanimate being?
A lamp.
Brick Tamland: I love lamp.
Ron Burgundy: Do you really love the lamp, or are you just saying it because you saw it?
Ang, the Sweltering Celt has asked that this week’s fantasy involve her as part of a contest to honor the anniversary of her blog site. I am more than happy to oblige…
I was doing my best to deliver a captivating lesson to my overcrowded lecture hall. While I flipped through slides and attempted to navigate my cursory notes, my gaze kept slipping to the woman sitting in the far left side of the first row. I glanced surreptitiously at the class roster. Ang. Over the last several weeks she had moved from the back of the hall slowly down through the rows until, today, she watched me intently. Her big, beautiful eyes peering at me over a pair of wire rim glasses. While I might have been more distracted by the ample cleavage revealed by her low-cut tee, or by the hint of creamy thighs when she crossed and recrossed her legs, it was the rope that was throwing off my game.
The rope. Instead of taking copious notes as I fumbled through what should have been a thoroughly practiced presentation, she was toying with a piece of black silken cord, about 16″ in length or so. It wove in and out of her hands. She pulled it taught and then let it go slack. I cleared my throat a few times and tried to concentrate. I could hear murmers in the classroom and knew I was losing my audience even as I became the audience to this highly charged bit of play in the corner. I had to assume it was intentional. It looked intentional. I shook it off and clicked on the next slide.
My eyes drew back to her just before the bell rang. The rope had disappeared, her head was bent over her notebook. I breathed. I finished my lecture. I thanked my students and turned to gather my belongings. I had just put my laptop in my bag and turned around to leave, bumping smack into her. She had been standing silently behind me. I muttered my apologies and she gave me the most mischievous grin I have ever seen. Reaching around me, she dropped a folded piece of paper and the black silk cord onto the desk and walked away without ever saying a word. I picked up the note. “You seem a little tongue-tied. Want to try the real thing? Tonight. 9:30.” and an address one town over.
Oh, I did. I definitely did. After showering, dressing, stopping to masturbate twice with the tantalizing thoughts of what may lie ahead, I got in the car and drove to the address given. My knock on the door was answered by a truly handsome man, which threw me for a curve. He just smiled and said, “I believe Ang is expecting you.” He gestured toward the living room, alight with candles. She sat on a comfortable sofa, surrounded by many feet of that same black silken cord, along with all manner of floggers, paddles, clamps, and other accoutrements that promised a long night of amazing wonders. She looked up at me and smiled. I swallowed as she hooked her finger toward me and patted her lap, reaching for a black leather flogger as I moved closer.
And so the teacher becomes the student. The student, the teacher.
I’m always so happy when some of my “work” gets picked up somewhere in our little community of sex bloggers. I am really tickled that Adam & Eve’s Broken Headboard’s chose me for the second time as part of their Half-Nekkid Roundup! All of those contortions to beat the timer on my cell phone actually paid off. Thanks, y’all!
pumpkin head, that is. Halloween is days away and I’m sharing this week’s HNT with my good friend Jack. Here’s wishing you all a dark and sinister All Hallows Eve. Now don’t forget to stop by Osbasso’s site for more tricks and treats!
We had reservations for dinner and a movie but the only thing that looked good enough to eat or watch was you. I was to pick you up at work to catch our 6:30 reservations at Sky. Well, I’d pick you up as intended but there would be a slight alteration in the evening’s plans. I took my time getting ready – not that I had that much to wear. Picking out clothes was not going to be taking any time at all this evening. I took a long, hot shower and shaved it all – smooth as silk and naked as as the day I was born. I love to run my fingers over my bare lips – full and ripe with the promise of events to come. Mmmmmm…to come…I smiled at myself as I meticulously applied my makeup. Big smoky eyes and full pale lips. I stood naked in front of the mirror and realized I’d forgotten something. No birthday suit would be complete without boots. I found them under the bed. Soft black italian leather, skin tight, knee high. I zipped them up the sides and went for my car coat, the scarf gifted from the neighbor upon her return from India and black leather gloves. A final check in the mirror and I was ready to go.
A chill breeze caught me by surprise as I locked the front door and turned for the car. Although my coat came down to mid-thigh, there was nothing else to protect me from the elements and again I grinned at the sheer audacity of leaving my provincial little neighborhood in nothing but a coat and boots. I prayed I wouldn’t have a flat tire or run out of gas on the way.
You came out to meet me and I stepped out and threw you the keys, letting you drive. I didn’t say a word. Just slipped into the passenger seat, leaned into you and kissed you hello. You pulled out of the parking lot and I turned in my seat and threw one booted leg over the console and propped the other against the parking brake. You throw me a look of shock, knowing that I never go without a seat belt and then do a comical double take when you realize that my coat has opened to reveal pale white thighs disappearing into moist, swollen flesh – bare and ready to be touched. Which I do.
You slam on the brakes, narrowly avoiding what could be a potentially embarrassing rear ender as we come to a stop light. “Are you going to dinner like that?” Mmmmm…dinner yes, but not exactly what you had in mind. “I want to go to the park. Take me to the park.” Your eyes flash and a slick smile spread slowly across your face. You had once mentioned your fantasy of fucking me on a park bench and it has dawned on you that I might have just planned out your ultimate birthday present.
Early spring and the light is just starting to fade at this hour. There are a lot of people taking their evening walks around the park’s many paths and hiking trails. We park in a fairly secluded spot and you turn to me. Your eyes riveted on my fingers as they slip in and out, around my rock hard clit and back in again. I lift my fingers to my mouth and take a taste before offering them to you. You suck greedily and reach for me but I hold you at bay. I grab my bag at my feet and, adjusting my coat, I get out of the car and start walking up the hill. You have no choice but to follow me, no desire to do anything but.
Darkness begins to fall and I pull you to a nearby bench – just off the main pathway but tucked into a small wooded area. Offering little privacy but the walkers and runners are getting few and far between and all mothers pushing strollers have taken their charges home for dinner, baths and bed. I push you down lightly and then straddle your lap. Taking your face in my hands, I kiss you lightly, playfully and then deeper and full of intention. Our breathing quickens, your jeans are wet now that I am riding your thigh as I grind against you involuntarily. “wait” I whisper, “I want something.” I reach into my bag and pull out a small bottle of lube. You look at me questioningly and then knowingly. I pour it into the palm of your hand and lead your hand between my legs. I know I’m wet enough for most things but for this I need a little extra help and you start by sliding two, no three, fingers inside me. Curling them towards you and I gasp with a rushing intake of breath. You fuck me slowly, my coat covering both of us – two lovers getting carried away in the gloaming on a cool spring night. Now you have four fingers inside me and I breathe deeply and methodically. Willing myself to open up to you. Your thumb slips in and your hand curls into itself as you disappear inside me. I look down and see the bones of your wrist up against me and sigh deeply as you fill me up.
Now I can let myself go. It is dark and we are alone. I can’t control my deep throated moans as you fuck me harder. You reach around and put one finger in my ass and I am full to the hilt. Riding you, frantic, exposed and completely there for you. My orgasm comes in white hot waves and I throw my head back and you bury your face in my neck as I hold you tightly while my body thrusts against you of its own accord. I feel as though I’m exploding from the inside out and I don’t want to stop until you laugh and whisper that you think I might have broken a few fingers in there. I am reluctant to let you go but I know you must be aching to come. Yet when I ask what’s next you say, “we’re going to dinner, of course”.
And so I sit in a banquette at Sky, eating steak frittes in my coat and boots. Silently cursing the ruination of the silk lining every time I watch your hand move from plate to mouth. At least I’ve been given some time to plan my next move. Payback, in this case, will be rich indeed.
1) What are three mistakes someone could make on the first date with you that would automatically make you turn down a second date with them?
2) Pick an animal that best displays your personality. 
It sounds truly cliché but I AM a cat. Not one of those pampered, persian things…more like a short-haired, slightly feral sleek thing that swishes her tail around, pounces upon mice with a vengeance, and loves to take long naps!
3) If your S/O stopped having sex with you, how long would you stay?
I stayed an additional SEVEN years. ME!!! Can you imagine? Yep. Now? If I don’t get it once a week at least (and you know I’d rather once a day) then you can just pack your things and get to steppin’.
4) Are you more passive or aggressive when the relationship becomes physical?
I used to be a serious femme top, now I am an aggressive bottom. I’ll take it, but I like to take it on my terms and I’m not shy about directing the action.
5) Have you ever been INSIDE a store that sold adult themed toys and videos?
Many, many times. I like to embarrass my friends by flicking the heads on the dildos and taste-testing the flavored lube.
Bonus (as in optional): What percentage of women do you think are capable of handling being in a “friends with benefits” relationship?
I know an awful lot of women who are in FWB relationships and do just fine. I do, think, however that they secretly yearn for more. I’ll say 40%.
How about men?
Let’s go at least 60% on that one. Most men I know would rather have their space and eat it too.
With Halloween lurking just around the corner, our dear Sweltering Celt, has assigned us this week’s theme of Fear. I must admit that the word brought forth an immediate and visceral response from me. I think writing this took all of 20 minutes.
I can feel the pressure of her knee, heavy, in the small of my back. I can smell the rancid odor of tequila emanating from her mouth as she slurs filthy, angry words into my right ear. I can see the detritus of her power trip lying about the room. Every possible object that could penetrate, tried and cast aside. I can hear her cruel laughter as I struggle to breathe when she puts her sweaty hand around my throat again, pulling my head back toward her. I can sense the rivulet of blood making its way from between my thighs to pool underneath me, a permanent stain on the mattress to remind me of my poor choice of partners.
I hear the glass shatter. I smell the bitter Merlot within. I see, with utter terror, the jagged edges of the bottle as she waves it in front of my face. I sense her movement, her shift in weight, pushing me harder into the bed. I feel the cold of the bottle pressed against my inner leg just before
I wake up. My clothes are drenched. My sheets tangled. I am disoriented. I need to get my bearings. And realize that I am alone. This is not the same apartment. This is not the same bed. This is not the same me. My breathing becomes less labored. My heart begins to slow its racing beat. It won’t happen…again.
I have nothing left to fear.
