once in a while

Waiting, wistful–no, wishful, willful, unwilling, willing perhaps in the window seat, I peek out at the shadows on the street, half expecting your innocent prance past the parked cars across, up the path.

I found your note tucked into the letter box, your invitation, I was here, meet me once more, tomorrow, noon. I am here.

I am here, black sheer stockings rolled up my shaved legs early in the day, garters catching the lace beneath the short skirt, someone saw, blushed, said nothing, carried on, then whispered, he’ll think of me.

Think of me, I know you would be with me, if… If days were longer, if we had the time, space, cherished moments, life itself, some other life. Days grow shorter in autumn, clearer, these blue moons so unusual, still another three years’ wait, I hear, so rare, so lovely, you could.

We could, you know. We could race up the stairs once again, and you could catch me, throw me to the bed and kiss me, yes. You could lay your head in my lap and close your eyes, drift off, then stretch high to lie beside me, hold me close, too close, so close. You could let me love you while you fuck me I fuck you you love me.

Or maybe you do, or did, or wanted to, or could have, or could never say, or never did, or did, or will, or perhaps it was simply fear, or desire, deferred.

To greet you here, love, noon, today, tomorrow, skin so sweet, so six a.m., so Saturday, so sleep, now, love, sleep.

wind

The windows rattle with each gust, wind restless, wind will not let me rest. I lie sleepless with the creaking shutters, the screen door that has not caught downstairs. Too lazy to leave my bed, I lie awake still listening, fearful, until I think the door might tear right off its hinges.

The stairs are warm, to my surprise, as I creep out, stairs so familiar, so welcoming, welcoming as the front door, the screen door now that I lock shut, if only for this night. Night now softer in the glow of a street light, wind ferocious, but it is my match, yes, my match now that I can see it clearly.

From the window below, the stars grow, bright in the sky cleared by the force, the cold bracing, embracing me as I unhitch the door, let it swing open, my hair blowing as I walk down to the path, the cold slap across my face, the searing heat beneath skin, your kiss, your violent lust.

e-lust 31

Welcome to e[lust] – Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #32 ? Start with the rules, come back in January to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

A Feminist Defense of Consensual NonconsentHow does a woman who identifies as a feminist reconcile her desire to submit to her partner during sex? Being somewhat new to kink, I had some trepidations about how submission seemingly went against my ethics.

IntimatesAs the evening drew on, I felt like the sexiest woman alive. It’s strange to describe it this way, but I actually felt brimming with a sort of sexual energy. A lustiness, a sexiness, an allure and a desire all at once.

Tightest SpaceI’m paying close attention to your moans, and I stop whenever it feels like it might be too much. But the incredibly tight feeling of your ass gripping my cock is so delicious that I need to get all the way in.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

An Open Letter to the Sex Toy IndustryI write this post not to just let off some steam but with the smallest glimmer of hope that maybe…….just maybe….some of these words will land on the right computer screen and be taken to heart. Maybe one change will happen.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

International #Fisting Day!!Beyond awareness and calling for action, I think International Fisting Day is a great day to celebrate fisting; an intimate, hugely erotic and often orgasmic act that doesn’t get the recognition it deserves.

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

A Bit about Crushes
Are You on the Pill?
How to Approach Your Partner with a Fantasy
Meeting New People
Sex And Disability: What Does the Literature Say?
Settling – Striving For Connections in Non-Monogamy
Sex and Heart Attacks
Training my rear end

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Getting Past The Word ‘Slut’
Private Pictures
The Fetish Fashion of l’Enfant Terrible

Kink & Fetish

Enough is Enough
Hands
In his hands the vibe was intensity personified
Live Well
Public Exposure: The Third Birthday Fantasy
Rope
Scammers come in different flavours
When Submission is a Dry Biscuit

Erotic Writing

A contrast in swinging
A Frightened Heart
6-Some Fun
Bent
Come Again
Emily
Her First Time
In the Bathroom
Move
treat

treat

A pomegranate martini later, I am touching his hand lightly, buzzed by the playful banter that only lets loose when I start to speak in French, when I wrap the scarf around my face, pretending it is a mask for Halloween.. maybe. Pretending he will use it to entice me, tease me, tempt me.

I order another. He does, too, reaches for his wallet and suggests we take our refreshments from the bar to a pair of plush chairs next to a glass fireplace–cozy with its fire, cold as fits this chic, antiseptic lobby where two strangers meet, exchange names only now. Jean-Paul meet Sylvie, we could say, and Jean-Paul has become increasingly attractive throughout the conversation, not the least because his leg keeps rubbing against mine. I remember things I have not thought in years, thinking in another language as I am while I flirt with him now. I roll through the endless possibilities of French verbs, stunning myself by what I remember of their nuances, by what I might say.

I want in not a small way to find him nice, to find him sane, to enjoy this conversation.  I am thinking of room #504, a room with a tub first and foremost, a room with plush towels and space, turned down sheets on a king size bed, peace that I am feeling an increasingly desire to disturb as he so cleverly claims to see something in my eye. I know what he is doing, let him do it. He is so close that I can feel his hot breath on my neck, his brown eyes close to mine, his skin sizzling, about to ignite.

I tell him I can stay for only an hour.

He is already asking me if I am free on Thursday.

The desire becomes overwhelming. He is from Lille, and I have never been there. I am from here, no, not originally I answer… I have been all sorts of places, but he wants to hear my stories of Chevrolets and shooting beer cans off of fence posts. These are words I never learned. We switch into English, and now he is the bold one.

I think briefly about regret: regret at my own voyaging life that ended abruptly. Years slipped by… not wasted years, but a path I never expected, and the turns away from some things I loved. I want him, want his adventures and his stories, want to hear him beg me for a fuck in French. I am laughing younger now as we switch back to his language, tease, talk about life, about books, about all the things I can never say in English. I wonder if it is not the language itself that now is seducing me as much as he is.

I turn to leave, and he walks with me toward the entrance. In room #504, Jean-Paul would undress me slowly. He would talk as we slow the moments, delicious, his kisses covering my clothing, each inch of skin bare, bared. Hours and hours. He walks near me, his steps dangerously close to my sharp heels. He stops me by the elevators.

“Pour toi,” he pulls out the chocolate from his pillow. “Un treat.”

He unwraps the chocolate, dark and silky, and puts it into my mouth, then kisses me, first soft, then fiercely, his hands combing my hair, pulling it. I plant my hands on the wall behind me, I am so dizzy. His tongue swirls through my mouth, sweet darkness, his coarse face scratching, agonizing, enticing.

A jeudi, alors? I pull away, wet and flustered. Yes, Thursday. Thursday. Perhaps.

e[lust] #28


Photo courtesy of Delilah

Welcome to e[lust] – Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #29 (Which will be in September, taking a short summer break)? Start with the rules and subscribe to the RSS feed and Twitter for updates and submission reminders.

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

What makes me a woman? It’s a stumper, this question. There must be something that makes me a woman. Something more than how I am perceived by others as I walk down the street. But what is the answer?

Baggage: An InventoryEveryone brings bags with them. My goal is to carry my own bags. I’ll let people help me shed them, but I will never let them carry them. Those bags are my own to, well, own.

There’s pain and then there’s pain (and then there’s pain)Part of what I crave in the second type of pain is the selfish sadism of the partner who continues despite my pleas. He does it because it arouses him, and he does it because I’ll endure it for him.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

What Is Gender?Playing with dolls and preferring the color pink doesn’t make you a girl anymore than chewing on a bone makes you my dog.

~ e[lust] Editress: Dangerous Lilly ~

Sex Toys: Single or Partnered, there is no shame in owning themThere’s no fucking shame in owning your sexuality, in taking control of your own damn orgasm. Can you PREFER human contact and partnered sex to sex toys? Sure. You can prefer whatever the fuck you want. But don’t insinuate to me that owning a lot of sex toys is somehow bad or shameful.

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable ~after this point~. Thank you, and enjoy!

New Blogger Education Posts

Blog Design 101: Balancing Personal Style vs Readability
A Cautionary Word on Joining Affiliate Programs

Kink & Fetish

BDSM Day, an international recognition
BDSM Advice Series: Bondage Tape
Being a Brat Can Hurt
Caning, energy and romance
Screw roses! I enjoy playing with Thorns…
Working Girl

Erotic Writing

A Trip to the Toy Store
Can I get into your knickers now?
Coffee Break
early afternoon
Elevator Shaft
Fogged-up Windows
Fucking Eli
FWB
I’ll see you tonight…
One on One
Open By Night
Rock Out With My Cock Out
Renewed Interest
Twenty/Fifty-Three
that little fucking game changer [part I]
the weekend away – Sunday

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Death By Bondage
Hypocrite, PA-Rant!
kink labels….is there a place for me? (or someday my kink will come)
Things I Looove Thursday

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Ask PolyAnna: Multiple partners?? Safer sex??
Are My Nipples Getting The Correct Signals?
Evolution
More Pussy Pride – The Perfect Vagina
My Take On Masculinity
Rambling Harlot: On Internet Dating and Shyness
Sex and Catholic Schools
Sex And Disability: Starting the Dialogues

early afternoon

I sense your excitement in the way your skin smells, the scent of your sweat and secretions, my own excitement all the more evident, as I wait. I am wet, as I always am, responding like an animal needing you when I know you need me. You say you want to take me to bed, and you do. I want you, too, not aware of how, what I want from you there, but you always wash up over me, overtake me, transform me, my element, my lust lights and catches flame. This time you have dropped your shorts onto the floor, your shirt now over your head, as you nudge me back onto the bed and reach up under my skirt to pull off my panties, toss the wet lace aside as you push my legs swiftly open, your face quickly buried in my mound, my full skirt pushed up and falling upon your head, quite a sight as I look down and see you there for as long as I can look, as long as your tongue has not yet teased me to the point that my head falls back, to the point that I lose myself, let you have me. You have me now, have me fully under your spell, under my own spell, under the spell of this lust and sweat and the power of it all. Lick me. I love it when you devour me, when you wear my cunt like a mask, taking it all in, all the sweet fucking lust you suck from deep within me. Do this. Do this until I can no longer stand to let you bring me countless times to the brink of climax, until I take your head in my hands and push you away, turn you over and climb on top of you, my hips straddling your face now as I try not to succumb to the violent urge to grind into you as you push my labia apart and bury your tongue deeper still, as I take the full length of your cock into my own greedy mouth. Oh, you are delicious as my mouth surrounds you, as I feel you throb deep in my throat, my own attention diverted as you push me back enough to suck hard on my clit, your finger wet and tempting my ass, then plunging in as I have now pushed my finger into you. I feel you sigh, and groan. I sigh, and groan. It is a frustration, a temptation, a game to excite you and let you excite me, but at last impossible to have your cock deep in my throat and not want it buried now in my cunt, my hot wanting cunt.

It is early now, so fuck me. Fuck me now, let me have you, have this, have all the come that you have saved in moments of mindless afternoon lust, in moments when you could not have me. Fill me with this, let me ride you, let me come. Then rest, my sweet, in all the sweetness of the afternoon, in the warm sun, in the laziness of Saturday and summer. Sleep, for now, then come back, come back soon.

disrobing

You always leave your clothes in the bathroom when you visit me.

You wander naked into my bedroom where I wait for you, fully clothed, because I love the way you undress me slowly, unbuttoning button by button, unhooking hook by hook, lifting fabric and shifting things and leaving things on, then ripping them off in a moment of urgent passion as you realize that they really are in the way of your intentions.

The first time I wore stockings with a garter belt, you ran your hand up my leg and I felt your cock stiffen as you reached the bump of the garter through my skirt then lifted the skirt and looked at it, the black stocking against my white leg, and your hand examining the hooks that held the stocking on. That day I left it on, pantiless I was all day at work anticipating you here in my bed here leaned against the wall half sitting, full of evident lust. I left on the garter belt and the stockings and straddled you as you ran your hands up and down the smooth nylon and fucked me harder as you felt the black lace at the top, folded down my red brassiere and sucked my nipples as I leaned over for you to reach them.

But no, last time you took those things off, your hand playing with the suspenders playing to figure out how they worked. You unfastened them, round the side, in back, and rolled the stockings down my leg as I pulled the garter belt off and unhooked my bra. You pulled the bra off and cupped my breasts in your hand and squeezed my nipples hard so that I gasped as you urged me quickly onto your upright cock.

I want you to come into my bedroom now. I want you to lay me down and unbutton my sweater slowly until you open the sweater and kiss my collarbone gently, gently not gently unzipping my skirt and pulling it off, pushing my legs apart–the panties are already gone–and your head is between my legs, your tongue circling my clit before I can even breathe, much less protest.

But I would not protest. I might whimper and thrash a bit, but protest no, even if I say no, because you know the difference between this no and that no, and you know when to stop, when to go, when to fuck me soft and when to fuck me hard, no holds barred, no bars and no restrictions on the roughness that takes you over as you become excited, as I become excited and want you to, want you to slap me harder until I cry out, harder until I want you to push me harder until you turn me back over and push your cock deep into me, harder. It astounds me how you can do this now and only excite me more. It astounds me how you can let my fingernails dig into your skin, pinch your nipples too hard, let me suck your cock and push my fingers into you, my toys into you as you cry out and fuck me again all plugged from behind and insistent and shaking and coming soon inside of me, shattering me, making my cunt bear down hard gripping you, squeezing every last drop as I climax too.

Oh disrobe me fuck me use me lie inside my cunt your cock drained soft softer kiss.