Sugasm #59

The best of this weeks blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasmer participants. Want in Sugasm #60? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the linklist within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
By Invitation Only (http://dirtylittlecockslut.blogspot.com)
“I was being watched by a room full of people, but all I could think about was his thick cock, pounding me, his balls slapping against my ass.”

Love that Aural Sex (http://junohenry.wordpress.com)
“…The lazy way your honeyed tones flow out, saying my name, or merely whispering “Is that good, baby? You like that?” as you slide a finger in and out of me, deliberately and slowly.”

What BDSM Can Tell Us All About Sex (part 1) (http://perverselypoly.blogspot.com)
“That’s another form of power exchange: if I ‘let’ you have sex with someone else, it’s very different than if you sneak off and fuck that person without having permission.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Everyone Diggs Porn (http://sugarbank.com)

Editors’ Choice
Sandra Claus (http://secretbrain.blogspot.com)

Sponsored Link
G-Spot Orgasm Survey Take the G-spot survey and win one of two £100 LoveHoney sex toy shopping sprees

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
6 Weird Things About Me Sexually…I’ve Been Tagged! (http://totalsensuality.blogspot.com)
“F” is for fabulous… (http://blackbookgirls.com)
My Wacky Erotic Mind (http://www.seska4lovers.com)
Sex Toys - Your Next Erotic Frontier (http://sexdriver.blogspot.com)


NSFW Pics (& videos)
Cleanliness is Next to Horniness (http://kitchen-girls.blogspot.com)
Keeley Hazell Calendar 2007 (http://myhotbox.blogspot.com)
Mini-Documentary of me… (video)(http://duckydoo.livejournal.com)
Super hot nude girl from Ron Harris (http://eroticandy.blogspot.com)
Threesome Advice (part 3) (http://www.seskuality.com)

Sex Work
Amateur Porn “Penetration” - Part VI (http://blog.homegrownvideo.com)
Another One About Sex Work (http://sabrinainstockings.com)
Loud Sex (http://www.model-chat.com)
A Quickie (http://radicalvixen.com/blog)

Sexy Humor
10 Unintentionally Naughty and Terrible Domain Names (http://www.teen-porn-site.com)


Erotic Writing and Experiences
Anonymous (http://lafillemariee.blogspot.com)
He Took off My Clothes (http://www.suzanneportnoy.com)
I wanted to lick her out so bad (http://thediaryofanenglishrose.blogspot.com)
My Addiction (http://randisexadpoetry.blogspot.com)
Office Heat - Part 1 (http://dirtytalk.wordpress.com)
Red Light Special (http://ellabeecoquette.blogspot.com)
Snowday Sex (http://mandyseroticlife.blogspot.com)
The Sportscar, Part 2 (http://erotischism.blogspot.com)
Such a Nice Girl (http://onlyamirage.blogspot.com)

Sex and Politics
Masturbation: How to Conquer the Corrupting Habit (http://www.taratainton.com)
Teacher fired for porn past (http://deliciously-naughty.typepad.com)

BDSM and Fetish
A Nawty Story: Jenny’s New Slave (http://anawtymouz.blogspot.com)
Dishonourable Discharge (http://assistantmistress.blogspot.com)
Leaving on a Jet Plane (http://naughtythoughtsinmymind.blogspot.com)
Morning masturbation (http://darkside-journey.blogspot.com)
Naval floggings: the girls take their turn (http://www.spankingwriters.com/blog)
Playing at the W, Part III (http://www.betweensheets.net)
Split Penis, Anyone? (Editor’s note: Don’t say we didn’t warn you.) (http://pornster.blogspot.com)

Sex News & Reviews
Blue King Pleasure Scepter Glass Dildo Review (http://stilettodiaries.blogspot.com)
Shay’s Sexmas Gift Guide 2 (http://shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com)

Festive fishnets and boots photo courtesy of Verbal Penetration.

**OK - I think I've got it, links and all! Enjoy the Sugasm!**

Such a Nice Girl

The last time I saw you, you had me splayed out across a dinner table. I had my swollen pussy spread wide for you. You were treating me to the most delicious furious tongue-lashing. I ground my cunt against your face, gnashed my teeth. Every time you felt I was getting too close to climax, you'd pull away, make me whimper.

Do something, don't stop.

You trickled small streams of cool Petite Syrah over my smoldering valley and then drank it from the cup you made with your hand, ingesting your wine infused with my juices. Sometimes you held the offering up to me to take. You didn't let me come yet.

You moved around the table until you were standing next to me. You brought your stiff cock to my lips and guided it into my mouth with one hand while using the other to finger-fuck me and pinch my clit. I sucked, savored, and swallowed your shaft as if it were one of the hors d'oeuvres served in your restaurant. You held my head and synchronized your face- and finger-fucking. I lost my senses and reveled in your penetration. You still didn't let me come.

You pulled from my mouth with a little "pop!" and went to the end of the table. You pulled me to you until my hips were almost off the edge of the table. You cupped my ass with both hands, using your thumbs to spread my cunt lips for you. I was completely exposed: to you, for you, for the taking. Your cockhead hovered ominously at the entrance of my slippery slope for a second that lasted millenia. I thought I might spontaneously combust.

Please. Oh, for chrissakes! Please!

Maintaining a firm hold on my ass, you slammed into my tight box, knocking the wind out of me. I felt your balls pushed up against my ass and upper thighs. You took a breath there, and I felt myself expand slowly in retroactive accomodation. I began spasming, squeezing you with uncontrollable Kegels.

Then, it was on. You bucked into me as hard and as fast as you could while I gasped for air, tried to meet you, match your thrusts. I made to scream out with the intensity, the pleasure rush, the animal baseness of my delirium. You covered my mouth without missing a beat; it was the lunch rush and the main dining room was full. My face reddened with my arrested howl.

You withdrew again, pulled me off the table, bent me back over it. You slapped my ass and pushed my knee up onto the table so that I was more accessible for your assault on my pussy. I whimpered, and gasping, begged you again, pleaded for your cock.

Please. Please fuck me. Please take me. Now.

You plunged your angry rod back into my depths, and pushed my head down as I yelped into the tablecloth I had wadded up to hold on to. You had a hand on my shoulder that you used to direct my steaming streaming cunt back and forth over your hot shaft. You teased my asshole with another finger, making me fuck you harder. I couldn't get you deep into me deeply enough. You finally allowed me to come for you, so arching my back, I threw back my head as I gasped and grunted. I'm a screamer, and you knew making me climax quietly is its own torture.

Finally, when you were ready, you pushed me off of your cock and maneuvered me to my knees in front of you. You held my chin up to look at you while you pumped your load across my chest. I smiled up at you as I massaged your hot cream into my tits, panting. I purred. You tossed me a napkin to clean up with as you zipped up then went to check on business. I let myself out through the back door.

Then, I saw you last night. You came to our table to express your wishes that the recent difficulties we have been experiencing will be over soon. My mother tells you that I have been a great help throughout the drama. You looked at me and smiled. "I'm not surprised. She's such a nice girl."

More Facets

Two more blogs added to the sidebar:

Viviane's Sex Carnival, which is as delightful as it sounds.

Max Stroker's Live Journal, whose meditations on his own sexual path exhibit insight to the extreme. Very hot. Also, very illustrative...

Enjoy!

I Try Poetry

Did you know that I wanted you?
I wanted to take your innocence, unsurety, and trepidation
and use them as vehicles to get cozy
in my own depravity.
I wanted to come to you,
crawl to you,
clad in nothing but lace, string, and wicked intent.
I wanted to shimmy up between your legs
scrape my nails down your chest
lick every part of you
suck you into my hot mouth
feel your ragged gasping breaths
like exhalations from a blast furnace
scurry across my neck as you held onto my head
or my shoulders
for dear life.
I wanted to breathe in your musk,
become intoxicated on your scent.
I wanted to slowly mount your hardness,
savor the route, savor the rut.
I wanted to writhe uncontrollably on top of you,
watch you watch me,
watch you weep.
I wanted to take in your life,
receive your seed,
release it to the floor.
I wanted to crawl under your skin and curl up cat-like,
and take a nap.

Interruptus

Since I transferred to another work site recently, I hadn't had an opportunity to see the chef again. This has been the longest bout of coitus interruptus in my memory, and I feel it must be remedied. I want to finish what was started and move on to whatever that might entail, but my guess is: not much.

I'm no dummy - I fully recognize that the eagerness and excitement that twist his tongue and have him sitting up like an alert dog upon my arrival will either go away of their own accord, or will become a source of irritation for me. Although I am a sucker for an accent, I couldn't make out two words of a voicemail he left on my work phone. I'm glad I had the sense to not give him my personal number - he has already made it clear that it would be used at inappropriate and difficult-to-explain times. Wow, in re-reading that, I see that I come off like an incredible bitch.

That's okay, I guess. I feel sure that sometimes I am a bitch. I think everyone has their moments. I wish there were fewer of those moments, but at least I am honest about them, and in recognizing them, can try to do something about it.

Anyway, back to business. I'm experiencing this untenable craving for Italian, and nothing will satisfy that itch like a good scratching. As Scarlet wrote once (or the gist of it because I don't know the exact quote): I find myself unable to resist someone who has a genuine need to fuck me.

This doesn't happen often because of the two key words: "genuine" and "need." If I went around fucking everyone who wanted to fuck me (and vice versa), I'd never make it out of the bedroom. None of us would. I am convinced that we are all the objects of desire frequently, if fleetingly. And I know that the list of those I want to fuck alone would keep me busy for the foreseeable future. I like to fuck. That is not the same thing as "need" though.

Adding "genuine" further separates the wheat from the chaff. I think of it in the same context as "true." As in: I genuinely need oxygen, sustenance, rest, and to bury myself deeply in you in order to survive. Being considered right up there with food, clothing, and shelter is fucking hot, my friends, and it will have me on my back likethat.

So, that defined, I get this very rarely, but I am getting it from Massimo. It's like an aphrodisiac of the headiest variety, and I'm having a hard time lately bringing myself to more pressing matters like remembering to pay my bills, and oh yes, my husband. I love how genuinely happy the chef is to see me. I love that he actually says, "I'm so excited I talk too much." I am pleased with myself that he still looks as I have envisioned him, although maybe I now see him as a little better looking, but for the most part my mental image has remained true, and not blown into some outright fantastical image of Roman myth. I infatuate easily under these circumstances, so turning a shortish middle-aged Italian into Iove is not out of the question. I have an amazing imagination.

So, I dropped in on him to visit, with dreams of planting myself on that thick stalk I have been dreaming about and singing "That's Amore." Didn't happen, though. What happened instead was he introduced me to his daughter who was with him for the evening. I smiled and was pleasant, and thought to myself, "Oh. This is not good." I do not want to meet his family. I prefer to not have a face there. Moments later, his mother comes 'round from the back and I am amazed at her ability to look severe and intimidating despite the fact that she is wearing a nice, non-threatening, pastel plaid.

Needless to say, I am out of there as soon as my order is ready, and chef insists on carrying it to my car for me. By this time, I am freaked right out by the impromptu family reunion (which is likely a daily scene here, just new to me) and have forgotten all about my desire to get bent over the prep table and taken liberally by the chef - as if he were dying of thirst and within me lies the well. He is oblivious to this, so it is clear that this is just how his family does.

Imminent danger passed, I relax a bit and find myself amused. I decline to give the chef my phone number, despite his complaint that I don't answer the work phone, and he finally relents and tells me he will be there when I am able - with options extending up to 1-2 years. I think that is a hilarious lie that he does not yet know he's told. We'll meet again much sooner than that. In a year or two, this will all have been a memory. Wistful, joyful, maybe outrageous, but just a mirage nonetheless.

Drowning

This week has been horrible, heart-rending, mind-bending.
It's been awhile since I used, but I would be lying if I said anything but: there's nothing I long for more in this world right now than a fat sack, a pack, and a fifth. No go, though. I'm not quite that stupid and self-loathing.
Happier days lie ahead. They just must.
I fucking hate the holidays.

Ecco La Soprana

It's been several years since I sang. At one time, I was a professional. Last night proved that I can still hit the high notes. It may be a good time to throw my hat back into that particular ring. I certainly have more emotional range now than at any other time in my life.