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Sex party again this weekend. Took D along with me. On my period (oh terrible timing). Saw use of a violet wand demonstrated (beautiful); other people engaged in rope play, knife play, bondage, and lots of group sex.
D basically didn't do anything with anyone, I snuggled, handjobbed, pulled hair and kissed. Both of us somewhat limited by not knowing most of the people there, and me in part because I wanted to keep my underwear on (because bleeding on other people's furniture is rude). I'm not sure what would have encouraged him to engage with others; I'll need to ask him. Maybe more explicit introduction of him to other people, or discussion beforehand encouraging him to fuck others? Maybe fewer drugs on his part?
Discovery of the evening: people fucking with my feet while I'm engaged in an explicitly sexual act (sucking off D's gorgeous beautiful cock, playing with his exquisitely sensitive nipples, teasing him with light stroking on the sensitized nape of his neck, pulling his hair, massaging his hip bones - as always, this beautiful beautiful boy is built for fucking). Anyway, playing with my feet when I'm doing some sexy apparently transcends immediately ticklish into straight-up intense, turning-on sensation. Who knew this about my body? Not me. Most people sucking my toes has left me neutral. ("That's nice, dear, and I appreciate you going near my feet at the end of the day, but please consider either massaging them or licking something erogenous.")
Gentleman in question has a foot fetish; started with stroking, licking and sucking calves, soles and toes, proceeded into full on fucking his mouth with my foot (basically giving a blowjob - wetly sucking and squishing, licking and flicking, delicate biting), and eventually to doing all of the above while scratching the soles of my feet with his fingernails. It was the scratching that pushed the edge of my pain boundaries (he drew blood), and took this from merely pleasurable into incredibly incredibly intense. I nearly came from this, which is absolutely unheard of. D is covered in bite marks from my response to my foot being played with; I believe he rather enjoyed my spasms with my mouth on his cock. (Other option is that he felt slightly left out of the proceedings? It's possible; he absolutely wasn't where my attention was, though it was because of my interactions with him that the foot thing was immediately sexualised.)
The attention to my feet was at times too painful; trying desperately to wriggle my foot out of his grasp while still basically going down on D was an interesting, interesting experience. It felt like he was drawing blood, which was beyond my pleasurable sting boundary into outrightly painful - I switched feet on him at that point. (It was very very good, but my left foot really could not take any more.)
Later: snuggled conversation with D about our relationship, my relationship with the Canadian. Very good, I think, though worth checking in with D about (again. Also because I don't know how much of it he remembers.) Two nights of falling asleep, and sleeping through the night, spooned the lengths of our bodies. We sleep so well together, he and I. A comment was made at some point about us being on the same wavelength, and it feels very, very true (on so many things. Weekends together seem to leave both of us ultra relaxed, happy and mellow and content and continuously, liquidly post-orgasmic but still lustful.)
D has learned now that I respond well to being bitten while being fucked; hopefully he'll put this to good use. Other discussion point: he feels like he's topping me when fingerfucking my ass while fucking me. He feels utterly in control, partially because of just how quickly I lose it and come - I can see why this is a turn-on for him. Though I can just come from his cock (we did have one very sweet quickie that saw both of us coming from PIV contact only), two points of stimulation (nipples, clit or ass...or hey, maybe feet in the future?) do seem to make it much much easier. (He needs two as well, so that feels balanced).
My ass also seems to be getting more used to being a point of sexual interest - D fingerfucked me in the shower on Sunday, and that too was unexpectedly delicious (coupled only with kissing; no further contact. Hot spray on me; he'd stepped out and dried off, with only his hands and tongue touching me.)
More BDSMy explorations intended for the future, we decided.
Finally, thoughts for some other day on submission and pushing boundaries. My boundaries are set quite far out; they are historically been further than my partner's anyway. And I do like pushing my partners' envelopes as well. (Discussion with S last night* about topping from the bottom being rude; I do it because confidently stealing control, hijacking the situation to introduce new levels of awesome, is something I really really rather enjoy doing. I also don't really interact with people who would view this as rude, though perhaps I will in the future.) I do like people to outwit me, push me, restrain me - but there are very few boundaries I really fear, and an awful lot in the margin up the boundary that I do rather enjoy. Drawing blood on my feet apparently did hit a boundary; I felt he was doing it, and that was a disconcerting sensation. He swore he wasn't; finding the scabs on my feet this morning was useful confirmation that even tipsy and distracted, I do have a sense of how intact my skin is (and how intact I'd apparently like to keep it.)
More specifically, drawing blood is one of my boundaries. J did it while going down on me at the party in December scratching my ass; at the time, it felt deliciously deliberate on his part, and I loved being marked the next few days. My feet was unintentional, but did make me uncomfortable.
Good to know, in any case. Ditto for foot sensitivity.
Finally, D has yet to leave a mark on me; nothing like the marks I leave on him each time. He knows how much I enjoy it now; hopefully he will next time...

*I have permission to snog her rotten next time I see her, yay! Hurrah for more kissing of girls, especially S! I feel the need to include a row of smiley emoticons here, except I do have some taste. But yay! :-D
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On the train home now from a weekend with my Oglaf boy, who continues to be a constant source of joy and delight: easy, comfortable and fucking hot, patient and persistent, thoughtful and well-mannered, quick-witted, filthy, and delightfully abrasive and absurd in his sense of humor. And just such, such a good kisser. Also: such, such a good fit once I'm stretched so he can fit; the fit of his cock in me, the feel of him against me, especially when I'm playing with his nipples, is just such a turn-on. His cock makes me come, which is the best possible surprise; his cock also puts me in intense, not-quite-coming, not-quite breathing ecstasy. Our fucking leaves me drenched; I've spent the whole weekend wet, dripping; I don't remember anyone who makes me so consistently so so wet.
And consistently it was: we fucked 12 times between 15.45 Friday and my getting on a 16.48 train on Sunday. 4 times to orgasm for him on Friday; two times for me; and one late night we're-so-tired-we're-too-clumsy-to-fuck-but-oh-so-turned-on fumble. Saturday morning before breakfast, once but sans orgasm. Saturday afternoon, we wandered around a modern art museum; he fingered me in the center-of-the-gallery film display, my sitting discreetly on his lap, and equally discreetly suitably attired. (Stockings and miniskirt? A winter coat to carry and cover my lap with? Works a treat.) We then took a ride on the Ferris wheel we happened to stumble across; and got a good minute of fucking in at the top of the arc. Absurd, but very very hot. Another location to add to add to my list...
Home, fortified by cake (he baked me cake! Sweetest boy ever!), of course we tumbled into bed, the afternoon's constant touching and teasing, too-intense-for-a-public-space kisses and quick gropes - and of course the speed fuck - all building to there being no other place on earth to logically be, nothing else we could possibly do. Two intense, efficient fucks in rapid succession, the first one exhausting us, the second evolving from our languid (and then signficantly less languid) postfuck cuddle. I made him come, for the first time in his life, by being ridden.
We cannot spoon with me as the small spoon without him becoming aroused, rubbing his hands on my breasts, along my stomach, the curve of my hips, kissing my neck, the weight of his cock building against me.
He cooks, I've discovered. Two quite successful dinners. He cuddles well, during a few hours of a rather funny television series; one non-serious enough that I can get distracted by kissing him, his seeking lips, that lovely bit of metal part of my kiss.
Fucking that night abandoned for exhaustion, the boy sleepy.
Today. Morning. Me, bleary, then awake and fucking. Made him come from a blowjob, also for the very first time in his life. All your toaster points are belong to us, I think...
Two this afternoon. One to say goodbye, then showering and packing, and then one because it would be the best possible use of half an hour, and I didn't actually need to be on the train I'd planned to be on...
Me: "I've been impressed by how well we've clicked.
Him: "We've always clicked, we just didn't know it yet, because we didn't know each other."
A few points of concern:
The intensity of his fondness for me. We had a chat, and have agreed that we are lovers. We are not friends with benefits, this is not a one-off thing. But he seems very, very fond; I've left him a bit of my Lush shampoo bar, because he wanted something that smells of me.
Fucking yesterday evening, he stated he liked the position because it made him feel like all of me, all the length and depth of me, belong to him, was his. "Like you're all mine". He's not mine, and the notion of him and his fiancee fucking on our soiled sheets this evening because she gets off on him fucking other women - this is hot stuff. Because those sheets are very, very soiled. My concern: did he check with her, though?
My appetite for him is currently insatiable, this beautiful reserved boy who comes like he's headbanging; his lipring, curiously, reminding me that I'm kissing him, uniquely him, the specific insistence of his kisses unique to D.
But while my appetite is insatiable, my enjoyment incessant, I'm not in love with him. He's emphatically not mine; he's emphatically far away; my ability to go home again is part of what makes him so appealing. He's not as high energy as me (though he's now introduced me to a lovely TV show, and tried to teach me a new computer game), but overall, just lovely company.
Has the curious effect on me of making me want to tell him embarrassing emotional truths I've never told anyone else before. Apparently he often as this effect on people?
And vice versa, he asked at some point how everyone who met me wasn't in love/lust with me; I was so obviously compellingly hot.
So hoping he's good about making his girlfriend feel safe and loved, and despite their current comms problems.
....
And now I'm writing filth on a crowded train, my seatmate politely engrossed in his book, or so I'm assuming.

Moving on

Sep. 10th, 2011 11:54 pm
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Well, dear readers, I have now broken the seal on sleeping with someone else post L. The person in question: B, my date of two weeks ago off OkC. I emphatically wasn't planning to, but it was a great decision from a skinhunger/getting laid/feeling powerfully sexy perspective. Our two dates so far (plus two chats) each saw us spend far longer than intended with each other - the first, a museum trip, became nearly 9 hours of museum, lunch, a long walk, a train trip back to the city center. The second, yesterday evening, was meant to be an evening of dancing, and instead became 22 hours of: dancing, late night fried food, talking til 4am, snuggling, kissing, making out, heading to the bed to 'go to sleep', massage, topless massage, more making out, and as the sun was coming up, I decided I was comfortable enough (most important) and did want him badly enough for penetrative sex, despite having said no earlier in the evening/morning (I was dripping by then, though, and the line between what we were doing, naked as we were, and having him in me was very fine.)
Like L, he's a talker - and I'm enough of a listener to get off on it. Words have power. Consider this a newfound appreciation of people who narrate how the sex feels, what they want to do to you next time, how they hope to come. You learn about them from all of it; I need to get more comfortable doing it back for them, since they both appreciated it enormously when I do.
On the sex itself, he's sufficiently well hung, outrageously enthusiastic, and pleasingly experienced. Wants to learn all about my body. So clearly grateful and delighted to find himself being ridden by me - it left me feeling like a force of nature, a goddess, something that was happening to him. Dear readers, I am a good lay. I am a damn fine lay. And I do know it - I can and will knock the socks off of anybody. That's what rebound sex should be about.
He doesn't come easily, nor do I (though I did come the first time, purely from his cock, so hurrah), so I foresee lots of delicious fucking in our future - playful rather than purposeful.
The way he finished himself off is not one I've encountered before: he wanted to kneel straddling me, feeling me fingering myself ("your knuckles pressed tight against my balls"), while he jacked off all over my stomach and chest. I suspect his trouble with orgasm comes from decreased sensation from condoms, but that's the parameters within which we're playing - if he wants skin, then he's going to have to find himself a girlfriend.
Speaking of us playing, what I learned while lingering at his house yesterday and today, snuggled up with him on his sofa: he goes to playparties. He even hosts play parties in his house, with his main casual sex partner, A. He's invited me to join him on any of them, and I probably will. I first got excited about going to play parties in 2002, always intending to go with Bear in fall 2003, but never quite making it. Hurrah for a trusted tour guide to a new world.

By the time we were finished, his sheets were wrecked. His brand new mattress, which I've now helped christen, is far too squishy to properly fuck on - it's almost at waterbed levels of wobbly. We christened his new sofa today - also slightly too squishy for sex (disappointing in new furniture, really), but still very nice feeling overall.
I now have sore muscles at my hips from keeping my legs in the air, sore muscles on my back from being ground into the edge of the sofa, I'm still dripping wet, and a completely fucked sleep schedule. But I'm content, even pleased. This was very nice. I now have someone I can call for guaranteed entertainment and ferocious enthusiasm, the next time I want to get laid, the next time I want to feel worshipped like the sex goddess I am.
And in the meantime, I'll flirt with lots of other people, just because.

Reasons we shall not ever fall in love:
--physically ugly to me. Does not tickle me aesthetically (dressed or undressed, though he's better when I'm not wearing my glasses.)
--very geographically rooted in a specific neighborhood of this city. He owns his flat, he's just renovated it, he's not going anywhere, and would never want to. This boy does not understand wanderlust.
--fiercely dedicated to his career/passions. He's built and sold companies; he's competed at the national level in his hobbies. It shows in his social life, and a bit in his social skills. I'd like to think I work to live, not the other way around.
--Politically deficient. Seems to be completely apolitical (or carefully didn't discuss it because we have opposing politics)
--Aesthetically deficient. His newly renovated flat is a hodgepodge of gorgeously executed ideas with no stylistic coherence. He dresses like he's going on 65; dressed, his body looks like he is, too.
--No food in his house. Seems to live off of junk food and prepackaged sandwiches from the supermarket. Instant coffee.

And just as importantly, I'm not his type. I'm not what he falls for. He asked a couple of times, unprompted, to confirm that I wouldn't fall in love with him, and wouldn't want to marry him. Unless this was some sort of weird reverse psychology, then that's 100% where I'm at. Those are *my* usual stipulations; it's refreshing to hear them come from someone else. Per always, I'm allowed to fuck him because he won't take it seriously - it's a joy to be back in such a situation.

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