Dec 212013
 

love_letter_writtingLooking through my old emails, I came upon love letters sent between me and a long distance lover years ago.  This lover was the man who spurred the catalyst that has become my life now and the man who helped me say good-bye to a life lived in black and white and fully express my sexuality in living color.  I remembered, we sent baleful yearnings, salacious, lustful requests and descriptions of what effect our frantic attraction would cause in our everyday lives.  Back and forth we’d write, trying to satisfy the penetrating ache and unyielding  incompleteness we both felt by not being able to satisfy  (or even see) the other. Though it’s quite clear that our keyed-up lust bred bad writing, I can attest, the feelings and yearning were quite serious and real. These letters are bursting with the impatience, passion and heady, overwrought longing of two people experiencing passion for the first time … at 40.

 (TRIGGER WARNING)

10/19/09

Dear E:

Our conversation ended so abruptly, it was as if I had just awoke from a pleasant dream to the harsh reality of another day.  During the last few minutes of our time together, I was merely just sitting there enjoying listening to your voice and our banter.  It’s as if we were two boxers sparring in a ring except our gloved hands were replaced by quips and words that landed with love, passion, and torment.

I was left psychologically spirited and sexually charged – not to the point of no return, but I felt that if I could muster an orgasm in your honor, I might be able to sleep soundly with you in my dreams.  I began by reviewing transcripts of previous IM sessions, but was quickly caught up in the task of trying to read for other meanings and inflection.  Pausing to cease that effort, I tried to get more into the sexuality of it, but was left semi-erect and no clear path to success.

I realized the burr in my saddle may have been my contemplation of your request for a picture of my hands.  I Googled “hands” for some time trying to find a likeness yet without my scars, veins and weathered skin.  Finally, my conscience got the better of me. “She gave me a pass to not partake in this folly.  Why throw something out there that is not you?”

Finally, I took a photo of my hand.  Using the chairside table and lamp, I aligned and lighted so it would be just so.  First I considered the palm side but demurred with the crazy thought that somehow you could determine more from me by reading my palm.  It would have included the all too evident calluses from the day’s labor restoring the house.  Then to the back, I rolled my E.T.-like digits under, thereby not only covering my rugose fingertips, but also hiding signs of my oral fixation … nails bitten down to the quick.

Satisfied with the results, I sent it to you without further contemplation. I knew once it was sent, I could not take it back and only have greater regret depending on your feedback (a side note, your feedback was gracious and worthy of my consternation).

It was now approaching midnight and my body yearned for release.  I spent some time catching up on my reader, madly scanning for a 

picture or something to provide the needed spark.  At this point, I actually adjusted my laptop from my lap to the footrest in front of me.  In this position, without any underwear, I was free to grasp, grope and cajole arousal from my member.  At one point, the arousal built to a high enough level, I felt it necessary to push my pants down to my ankles, thereby allowing for unfettered access.  My tip exuded a small amount of pre-cum yet not enough to satisfactorily lube.  It’s as if my body was yelling, “This isn’t what we’ve been getting! Who are you trying to fool?”  I contemplated reaching for a bottle of lube to assist, but that seemed like almost too much work to complete.

In a hasty last attempt, I began searching for stories.  Stories describing acts that we’ve yet to achieve with words as inspiring as those that we’ve streamed.  There was enough inspiration to continue, but not enough to fully satisfy my needs.  Finally, just before midnight I gave up.

Throughout the evening, I’d incessantly, almost compulsively switched to Twitter, AIM and Gtalk, hoping your RL (sic: real life) would allow for respite and you would be online.  I envisioned myself as an intruder, hiding in the shadows waiting for you to return to your room.  I knew if you did, I’d spring upon you like a cougar on a quail. Unsuspecting you’d be mindless as I assaulted your senses.  You’d be powerless as I grabbed you with strong hands and pushed you over the back of the chair.  You’d be paralyzed as I’d yank the nightgown from your startled body, and there before me, your alabaster skin would provide a feast for my weary eyes.

secretaryMy shoes would kick your legs wider, matching the feet of the chair.  Only your thong would seemingly provide protection from my lecherous eyes. Your answer wouldn’t matter, for your fate had been prejudged.  Shortly after your retort, my right hand would smack flatly against your ass.  Your head would involuntarily jerk up only to realize my left hand in your hair still held you in a contorted posture.  “Do you know how much I longed for you to return?”lecherous eyes.  You’d feel my body slide by, fearful of my next action.  Then suddenly I’d grab your auburn locks and pull your head back, as if correcting a spirited filly.  A slight gasp would come from your mouth, not expecting the onslaught.  “Why did you keep me waiting so long?” I’d sneeringly whisper in your ear.

Perhaps realizing no words were appropriate, no sound would come from your lips.  My hand would gently descend and stroke at the reddening image of my palm.  Barely touching your cheek, it’d gently trace the contrasting lines of broken blood vessels and unfettered skin.  Only, when you’d emit that sigh, that peaceful accepting sigh, my rage would rise again.

“Are you enjoying this my Elle?” I’d scowl. While my left hand would jerk your head again, my right would push down my pants.  There, the product of my hours of waiting would spring forth waiting to finish the attack.  You’d remain glancing, unknowing the certainty of your situation.

My right hand would return to your rear and trace the line of your thong from back to front.  There it would find purchase and frantically push it aside.  Grabbing your hip, my erection would suddenly arise from between your legs shocking your senses and causing your head to flinch against the bonds of your hair yet again.  “I know you’ll enjoy this,” I’d promise.

Suddenly, with nary a warning I’d push my throbbing member deep inside you.  The wetness of your loins contradicts the plea of your surprise, as I’d slam my entire length deep inside.  And at my hilt, I’d pause.  My hips would roll and my right hand would push back against your mons, hoping to feel myself buried deep inside.  I’d adjust some more and probe some more, again hoping to feel the outline of my member buried deep within.

While remaining deep inside, my hand would slide down across your clit.  Gently reminding you of a presence outside your cunt.  Then two fingers would trace the slippery, swollen lips distended by my insertion.  Gathering juice as if a bee gathering pollen.  That same hand, those same fingers would then find your mouth and forcibly enter urging to be cleaned.

And upon the sound of a whimper, I’d awaken again realizing my need to gain control of your mind and body yet again.  My right and left hands would join together on your shoulder blades pushing you further over the spine of our makeshift saddle.  I’d push strongly against the center of your back while my hardened cock would remain deeply buried. Only satisfied when the sweat began to roll up your back, would my devastating attack begin.

And in an animalistic fever, my passion would erupt.  My guttural sounds accompanied by your moans and the sounds of our sexes sliding together.  The moisture from our efforts would drip from our bodies while the juices of our groins would wick up your thong.  At times my force would so overcome our pose that the chair would slide forward causing us to adjust yet again.

Our passion was building, our bodies afire.  I would sense that we’d be approaching the peak before orgasm momentarily.  And yet I’d wanted to render one final punitory act.  My hips would slide back – my dick just outside your dripping slit.  I’d pause just long enough to make you hesitate, make you yearn, and make you turn your head in search of fulfillment.  Only there you’d see a blur.

You’d momentarily realize it was the indistinguishable sight of my left hand racing to find your left ass cheek again.  And with a loud smack you’d cry.  Then, from pleasure to pain in a mere fraction of a second, your mind would become overwhelmed with the contrast and try to comprehend the significance.  “You must always remain available,” I’d deeply scowl.

And then, before you could adjust, searing fire now smoldering in each cheek, I’d pile into you again, momentarily slamming the air from your body as your heaving chest crashed into the chair.  My hands would be pawing at your hips attempting to maintain the tempo.  Our bodies would take over, the passion overwhelming.

And out of the corner of my eye, I’d notice the clock.  12:23am.

There, in the haze of a sex depraved fantasy, you’d slipped into the realm of AIM.  In a flash of a moment, you’d come and you’d gone.  Not even a whisper.  Not even a pause. Never even realizing who waited in the shadows.

Yours,

MG

 

Dear M,

I’ve just read your story for the third time tonight and am still left breathless and stimulated beyond any hope of sensible relief.  The fact that a very similar fantasy has played through my mind a 1000 times before without having the courage to speak it aloud was enticing enough … but to read on .. oh my …

The first time I read your story in full was in the restroom of an event at a posh hotel this evening at approximately 8:00pm. These restrooms had  individual shuttered stalls that were more like individual closets in a East Hampton estate than a hotel lavatory.  I snuck in to read my piece from my lover and it did not disappoint. When I noticed the fresh wet feeling between my thighs, I knew I was sunk.  I had already decided to take off my skirt, hang it on the hook and place my phone in my left hand … my right began to massage the inner folds of my slit. Already steaming and drenched, my pussy was ready as it had been all day … to get fucked again … to cum again to your delicious description of how you would have your way with me.

When you described your shoes kicking my feet wider apart, I felt heady as I began to stroke my pussy even faster and deeper, grazing my clit every now and again to let it know that I would be back to sate her. Your hand slapping my ass, other hand grasping my hair as I sighed to release the feeling of the deep relief your presence promised me. Scowling “Are you enjoying this, Elle?” had me panting even harder in that tiny space imagining your hot, moist breath behind my ear as you whispered it while working over my cunt in a furious fever for satisfaction. I could feel my face contorting,  getting hot … I could hear my inner voice struggling and begging for me to make myself cum now.  But the story wasn’t over and I knew that you would want it saved until the last possible moment.

The moment you slammed your cock into into me, resting it in my deepest crevice, feeling for an outline of your member, I could barely stand it.  Imagining, your steaming body against mine – feeling your skin connect with my back and knowing you were inside me was more than I could take. I shook and could feel the flutter of my orgasm coming with my fingers nowhere near my clit.  I literally had to bang my head against the stall wall (not too hard, but enough to smart) to snap me out of it and put me on track for the rest of the story.

But then you shoved your fingers bathed in my cum into my mouth and it was nearly over. My arousal had begun again and at full force. Thankfully, what came next would be my relief and and my refuge.  Reading how you were fucking me hard and riding me like and animal,  I rubbed and rubbed – my clit getting more aroused and engorged …. faster and faster.  Both our bodies as one and rasping with moans from deep within. Feeling my body limp over the chair, your hands on my hips guiding your cock deeper within me and then out in just enough time for another ass slap to drive me over the edge. Faster, faster – harder! Rub harder!   I’m almost there, my back against the wall, my head tilted to the left, my right hand moving so fast it’s almost shaking my clit free from my pussy. I had to make myself cum. As you piled into me again slamming the air from my body, I came – hard,  just as I was imagining your hands keeping time with my hips thrusting your cock deep into my cunt.

There, in the luxury hotel bathroom stall the world paused for a moment to focus itself on me. Everything slowed … sound, sight all turned down one notch to the rhythm of my heart and throbbing pussy.  I closed my eyes and licked my lips to savor one last second before I had to return to my obligation. When I opened the stall, I knew I would have to join the real world again and leave you … my torturous, lovely, vigorous and sexy lover behind.

I await your return from the caverns of wherever you are, but hurry and come back to me …

xo LC

Apr 052013
 
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BY   Orginally appeared on TheRumpus.net   on  4/5/13

Tweet sex sites are a many splendored thing, opening doors to fluid identities that are both sexy and risk-free while erecting an emotional firewall to avoid real, personal rejection. My hackles go up whenever I think about technology replacing human touch, but when I met Lady Cheeky and heard her story of seeking and finding passion via tweet sex, I witnessed a brave new world where one woman’s sexuality was accessed in an accelerated way that involved wooing, teasing, and palpable passion.

“Lady Cheeky” is her Anglophile cybersex identity name, where she is a servant/vessel/wench. We met on the floor at Marilyn Friedman’s essay writing workshop, which I signed up for during a dark time. After dozens of agent rejections flooded my inbox for over a year, I longed to sit in a room with other writers again, hoping to inject my writing with joy by learning new literary tricks from veteran journalist, Taffy Brodesser-Akner. Our assignment was to tell the group what our essay was about and then say one more line declaring what our essay was “really” about.

Lady Cheeky’s wavy, Lucille Ball hair matched her bright red lips. Her curves punched out of her ’40s frock, as she told a hilarious topsy-turvy tale about role-playing on a True Blood-themed, Twitter-based direct message and tweet stream, which led her to start her smart and sexy websites where she met “Lord Byron,” hired a P.I. to check another lover out, and divorced her husband. She also overcame a rare sexual disorder; started a popular sensual images blog; began writing and publishing real-life erotica based on her new, passion-filled experiences; is in the process of working on a memoir; has a new story in Rachel Kramer Bussel’s upcoming erotica anthology, The Big Book of Orgasm; and is currently speaking about body image and sensuality, as well as integrative sensuality.

Lady Cheeky’s story beneath the story was flesh and bone ache deriving from a phantom limb that was pummeled awake by HBO’s True Blood series. I wanted to know more about how True Blood was the springboard to becoming a sexually actualized woman, capable and deserving of passion.

… To read the rest of the interview, CLICK HERE:logo-sm

Apr 052013
 
Cheeky-480x640px

BY   Orginally appeared on TheRumpus.net   on  4/5/13

Tweet sex sites are a many splendored thing, opening doors to fluid identities that are both sexy and risk-free while erecting an emotional firewall to avoid real, personal rejection. My hackles go up whenever I think about technology replacing human touch, but when I met Lady Cheeky and heard her story of seeking and finding passion via tweet sex, I witnessed a brave new world where one woman’s sexuality was accessed in an accelerated way that involved wooing, teasing, and palpable passion.

“Lady Cheeky” is her Anglophile cybersex identity name, where she is a servant/vessel/wench. We met on the floor at Marilyn Friedman’s essay writing workshop, which I signed up for during a dark time. After dozens of agent rejections flooded my inbox for over a year, I longed to sit in a room with other writers again, hoping to inject my writing with joy by learning new literary tricks from veteran journalist, Taffy Brodesser-Akner. Our assignment was to tell the group what our essay was about and then say one more line declaring what our essay was “really” about.

Lady Cheeky’s wavy, Lucille Ball hair matched her bright red lips. Her curves punched out of her ’40s frock, as she told a hilarious topsy-turvy tale about role-playing on a True Blood-themed, Twitter-based direct message and tweet stream, which led her to start her smart and sexy websites where she met “Lord Byron,” hired a P.I. to check another lover out, and divorced her husband. She also overcame a rare sexual disorder; started a popular sensual images blog; began writing and publishing real-life erotica based on her new, passion-filled experiences; is in the process of working on a memoir; has a new story in Rachel Kramer Bussel’s upcoming erotica anthology, The Big Book of Orgasm; and is currently speaking about body image and sensuality, as well as integrative sensuality.

Lady Cheeky’s story beneath the story was flesh and bone ache deriving from a phantom limb that was pummeled awake by HBO’s True Blood series. I wanted to know more about how True Blood was the springboard to becoming a sexually actualized woman, capable and deserving of passion.

… To read the rest of the interview, CLICK HERE:logo-sm

Mar 162012
 
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184744_10151463757417039_1110819902_n*the sun will rise tomorrow as usual, but it will glow more brightly because you love me.

when I feel its warmth – it is your breath, not the sun, that surrounds envelopes my shoulders.

the tan it leaves is you’re claiming of me.

when this sun sets and the moon takes it’s place … our moon,

it will shine with more brilliance than ever before because I love you.

when it’s light leads your way to me, it is I that will claim you when you arrive at my door.

when we join at the changing of theses celestial bodies, from day to night and night to day, we will make

the brisk dawn and

the sultry twilight.

and in those misty hours

we will finally and forever

claim each other.

i love you

– Lady Cheeky, 2011

*(It’s awful and precious I know, but I wrote it in one sitting and I meant it … what are ya gonna do?)

Mar 092012
 
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By Lady Cheeky          (Originally written 8/10/10)

Sitting in the lobby of the trendy and overly decorated hotel waiting for him.  It had been two months since I had any contact with him … almost three months since we made love.

But things just changed. They had taken a turn in my favor. And for any lovelorn woman who has ever fantasized of her lost lover impetuously jumping on a plane bringing nothing with him but his I.D. to win his girl back, this was a dream come true.

But why then, was I not jumping out of my skin, tears in my eyes waiting at the window with a pie and his slippers?  Instead, I was in a leather armchair, in a poorly styled “hip” hotel listening to house music just a little too loud for comfort.

I was nervous. I wasn’t when he said he was taking the next flight out. I wasn’t when I booked the room. I wasn’t when I walked to the elevator to get to the lobby. But now, now my skin was vibrating, my heart pounding and my hands shaking  – tracing figure eight’s on my iPhone screen with my finger, rehearsing disjointed platforms of ultimatums and scorned woman rhetoric that felt unnatural, but kept my mind occupied.

I had left him and banned him from my life two months ago. I did this to save my soul and my mind. He had made a choice for his life’s path that wasn’t in sync with mine. A choice that was the oil to my water … the two could not stay mixed together without eventually parting. I needed more and he needed something else.

And then, without warning, he told me that was no longer the case. If he jumped on the next plane to see me could he explain?  Shocked, what could I say? If the one thing keeping us apart was now not an issue then I owed it to myself to listen. I was “the love of his life”, he told me … but I had known that he was the love of mine for a while. I knew what discovering that was like and it sounded as though he was on that ship and that ship had left the port. But, I dare not think this way. I should hear him out first. I can’t do this to myself again without proof.

Two months ago I never would have been here regardless of what he had to say. I was beyond my limit of angry, hurt and defeated. I was done understanding and being supportive and getting him between business trips. We never saw each other but once or twice a month and then, only for a couple of days at a time on average. That’s fine for recreational lovers, but not for lovers in love. I loved him. I knew he loved me, he just didn’t know it yet. If he did, he wouldn’t have taken that job in London cutting our time together down to a few days a year. A prestigious, career changing job. An important job. A job that would be his friend, lover and confidante as I would not be there to fulfill that role.

I cried for a month straight. In my bedclothes 24/7 and not leaving the house. Sleeping 12 hours a day and then 3 hours a day. Eating cookies for dinner and wine or Xanax for dessert. Trying to numb myself while not doing too much damage. 30 days and 10 lbs larger I began to surface. I guess my body couldn’t take the intensity and the drama of the situation with Guerre and was ready to move on to my usual intensity and drama that is my life.

I started dating again, but I found my mind wander and my heart followed. Sex was perfunctory with these gentlemen. Bless their hearts they tried, and with the right woman it would have worked … but I was spoiled … no … I was inured to anyone else. My body knew it was the perfect compliment Martin’s and it would have no other. My desire waned … my orgasms became less frequent … my fantasies too painful to be frequent as Guerre would pop up unexpectedly in odd places and take over.

One night in particular, I had retreived my handy “Rabbit” and was bound and determined to make myself come. Low lights, soft music, candles, lingerie a little porn on the TV with the sound off and I was off to see the Wizard. The Rabbit is a miracle of technology. Whirring and oscillating inside me while the ears surround my clit vibrating while they slap it around.

I dreamed of being dressed to the nines in a high box at the Opera (don’t ask, because I hate the opera). I look great in red velvet strapless gown and my hair up and clearly I’ve been working out. A gentleman is seated late in the only other seat in the box … next to me. It’s dark as the first act has begun … I glance over but cannot see his face … but, he is tall (whirrrr, slap-slap, mmmm) at least 6’2” – 6’-3” …

Back to the opera … La Rondine … I figure I’ll stay until “O Mio Babino Caro” and then I’m outta here.

The gentleman next to me is leaning forward arms on the edge of the box seemingly entranced by the performance. “Gay man” I think “Gay, gay, gay. Gay as the day is long. G.A.Y. Gay”. God, I have good Gaydar, I should really be studied. A little proud, I sit up in my chair a bit which startles my neighbor for some reason and he turns to me. All I can see are his blue/green eyes. Is it the lighting, because surely eyes don’t glow like that?  We hold a glance for more than the moment should last … until my purse falls on the floor between us. As we both go to retrieve the bag our cheeks graze … my right … his left. Suddenly we both stop at the same time and are frozen in this position. The current we experience at this innocent, accidental touch is nothing short of otherworldly. It is so meaningfully sharp and distinct it renders us immobile for a moment. Until, again in unison, we begin to look up at each other to get, what I assume, would be confirmation from the other that that current existed. As our heads rise slowly and our eyes meet, a rush … a wave of excitement and desire rage to flush my cheeks. As we both move toward for a kiss his face hits the light and I can see … it’s … it’s … GUERRE! My heart skips a beat, we both smile hungrily … longingly … and as if seeing food for the first time after a long starvation, we join together in a whirlwind of kisses and gropes and grunts and … and …

Whirr, slap-slap! “Mmmmmmooooohhhhhhh!HHHHHH AAAAAHHH!!!!!!! OH YES!”. Orgasm hits while he is sucking my ear. Panting, I regain control and realize it was just a fantasy. No Guerre here with me to share the orgasm after bask with. Just me and two overly made up tarts on the TV licking each other… and the sobbing begins, until I fall asleep with sore eyes, a stuffed nose and a massive headache.

But soon he’ll be here … in the flesh… arms wrapped around me, owning my body. Sinking into his tall, strong frame I will exhale for the first time in months.

                                                   To be continued …

Aug 292011
 

“In secret we met—
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?—
With silence and tears.”

When We Two Parted by Lord Byron  (last lines)
Jun 112011
 

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Whisper in my ear, as you mount me, sweetness I’ve never heard and will never forget.

Whisper the secret of your indelible love, all thoughts – promise they’re ever present.

Whisper of a constant and impermeable bond that defies logic and providence, yet persists and builds with each word exchanged.

Whisper softly, like the sound of crickets, growing more persistent with your swelling desire.

Whisper in my ear how much you want me … how much you want to cum inside me and how much I turn you on.

Whisper in my ear how much you love my body … how good my cunt feels, tight and hot around your cock.

Whisper in my ear, how you will make my ass quiver against your belly before you let me cum

Whisper a breathy growl while you plunge and plunder my taut crevice – slippery and slick

Whisper in my ear, encouraging me while I prepare to cum, my body rippling as it almost succumbs.

Moan in my ear while my pussy pulses in concert with your explosion.

Moan as our release relaxes … melding into each other, heaving in our mingled sweat – one slick body forcing its weight into the mattress leaving our mark, cold and wet, after we leave.

http://www.ladycheeky.com/post/6421437600/whisper-ladycheeky

Apr 132011
 
bathtubFrom Lady Cheeky to M- Excerpt from a past email:
“Didn’t have much time to write this for you … so please forgive mistakes and a little less detail than I would’ve liked. xoxo”

You come home from a frustrating and chaotic day at work. Everything seems to have gone wrong today; little league cancelled, iPad not working, bus stop 50 people deep … in the rain. All you want to do is crawl under the sheets and hide from the world.

No such luck. You are met at the door by your lover who, before you can say anything, simultaneously kisses you softly on the lips and takes your briefcase from you. I am dressed only in a simple pink silk slip and a grey cashmere wrap. My wavy, red hair messily framing my face,  “You’re soaking wet” I say “Come with me …”

You take your shoes off and take my hand as I lead you to the laundry room where I immediately turn around to kiss you again … this time cradling your right cheek in my soft warm hand. “We need to get you dry.” With that, I begin undressing you. First your tie, then your shirt … I unbutton your pants and pull them down along with your boxers until you can kick them off. There you stand. Naked as the day you were born. Gorgeous.  Wrapping you in a just-out-of-the-dryer towel … warm and soft, I dry you off and begin kissing you all the way up your body … lips followed by a towel, until I reach your neck where I wrap the towel around both of us, nuzzle your ear and kiss the soft skin between your jaw and lobe. Pulling away I hand you your robe and slippers. “Follow me” I say.

In the living room, a roaring fire awaits – crackling and cozy. In front of the fireplace, a lavish scattering of pillows and blankets, candles and a beautiful spread of grilled salmon, spring greens and of course … Guinness. “Come. Sit, my love … lets eat”. My face beams with adoration and love as I can see this could be the perfect antidote for your crazy day. Together, we share a well-made dinner while you unload your day. I make you laugh about it in certain parts of your re-telling … but mainly just listen as you express your frustrations. By the time you have finished your dinner, you are definitely feeling better.  Laying on our sides now, facing each other, holding hands, gently kissing, staring into each others eyes, enjoying the moment of just being.  “I have one more surprise for you … Will you follow me, again?”

Ah the bath. Candles already alight, I run the water. As the tub begins to fill, I begin to untie your robe all the while looking up at you, eyes asking for a kiss. You happily oblige.  There we stand, rain falling outside, warm bathroom lit only by candles … kissing tenderly. The kind of kisses that merge with the soul, communicate with each others hearts. Gently  guide you to the bath where you gingerly step in (I knows you like it hot). Whatever tension you had left in your body is now dissipated by the hot water and light bath oil. “ok now soak … close your eyes, lay back and let the water envelope you, babe”. As you do, you can feel the soft and soapy wash cloth guided by my hands, stroking up and down your thighs, your arms your stomach … then … opening your eyes, you can see I am kneeling between your legs in the bath, my naked body wet and shiny from the combination of the water and oil.
Placing my hands on your knees “Just relax, babe” I say with a saucy smile. My hands wander southward and slowly, using your thighs as a path, find your already erect sex. My hands encompass the shaft, stroking gently and then a little firmer … but purposely not touching the head. Not thinking it was possible you get even harder I’m pleased with what I see. You are squirming now and the water splashes a bit from your excitement. “Hmmm, don’t want to get the floor wet babe …” With that, I stand and lower myself gently onto your rock hard cock.  I am dripping wet from excitement.  Your cock, can feel my warmth … my juices … the tight, velvety soft confines of my cunt as it passes inch by inch inside me. My breath is heavy now as you begin to pump into my pussy. “Mmmm babe … let me do the work … you’ve had a … hard … day” I say with a smile.
My hands then find the rim of the tub behind your head where I rest them. Lifting myself up and down, on and off your cock, my ample breasts swinging in your face. You can feel me bearing down on you, clasping your cock with my strong and tight pussy. Clearly no one cares about a wet floor now … because of our rhythm, the bathroom floor is soaked. I begin to ride you faster as I sees you are close. Mercilessly, I surge downward and then pull upward … the friction almost too much for you to bear … the sound of my ass slapping against the little water left in the tub … your body tenses and you succumb to release … emptying out your prodigious load inside … letting out a deep but soft bellow. I release you and rest my body against your chest … letting you relax and bask in the post-orgasmic blissful fuzz.

Soon you begin to shiver a bit. I rise and grab another fluffy, warm towel and wrap you in it … drying you off. Dry now, I lead you slowly to the bedroom, where fresh sheets and a warm bed await us. We fall asleep cuddled up together, hearts beating in tandem … listening to the rain.

Apr 082011
 

by Lady Cheeky and Mr. Guerre

The note on the counter read, “Don’t forget, I have class tonight. Dinner is in the fridge.  Enjoy your evening and relax.” A red lipstick mark to sign her love brought a smile to my face.

It had been a stressful day, slaying the dragons of insanity. It’s hard to believe some people hold the positions granted them by corporate leadership. I opened the fridge, took out the sandwich and beer and took them to the den.

Turning on the television, flipping from her channel to mine. If this is “the best week of sports” what shall I watch?  Nothing. Well local news will do — watch the damage from last night’s storms.  I drop the remote beside my beer and retreat to the bedroom.

In the bedroom I remove my suit. Hanging the tie, belt, and suit in the closet for another day. Taking off my shoes, I buff them slightly. I guess I could shine them tonight.  Socks and boxers are tossed into the hamper as I nakedly stroll across the bedroom to the dresser. There I grab an old soft shirt and running shorts, covering my slight belly and body.

I return to the den, ready to eat and relax. Hoping I can remain awake to welcome you home.  The beer, the full belly, the weak television schedule and the exhausting day conspire against my intentions. I awake three hours later, your skirt brushing across my exposed legs, your body shifting the chair. My lover is home. I groggily come to my senses.

A sleepy smile crosses my lips. Your beautiful body hovers over me like a hawk over it’s freshly caught prey. I’m happy to be your catch of the day. My nose gathers your lovely scent as my eyes continue to adjust. Your perfume is joined by . . . I’m not sure what other aroma accents the expected olfactory joy of your presence.

Your hair frames your face perfectly; a red wavy do that serves as a sirens song to passing strangers. Your fiery locks are the first thing many notice as they pass you by and turn their heads. My eyes catch the happy yet mischievous smile across your face as they travel downward. Drawn by the magnetic vortex that is your ample cleavage and bosom. I arch my back and stretch slightly not wanting to abandon my place beneath your figure.

You seemingly have imbibed in my visage long enough. “Good evening babe,” you sexily whisper. “I’m sorry I woke you”. Your smirk begets a different sentiment.

My mind struggles with balancing the visual input of the canyon between your breasts and the auditory processing necessary to respond. Buying more time I stretch again, rising slightly off the chair. “I’m not sorry at all,” I finally stammer.  My trustworthy body already willingly responding despite a lack of cognitive processing.  “How was your class?”

“Better than most,” you reply.  “But I have quite a bit of homework to make sure I understand the theory and ideas and how they relate to practical implementation.”

Your body has lowered slightly. Your silk sundress wispily brushes across my bare legs. Your lips are inches away from my face. I anxiously anticipate your next move, upcoming words, or what might happen next.

… to be continued

Mar 212011
 

BY Lady Cheeky                                                                                                                                                                  June 23, 2010

Last night after our encounter, I was aroused beyond a maiden’s patience. Anxiety begat a sexual wildness not known to me for a long time … to long. How do I satisfy this need before I go mad? I walked to the full length mirror in my bedroom to try and see if what I was feeling was apparent. It didn’t seem to be, but something was different. Underneath my nightgown I could see my nipples poking out trying to escape the silk. My sopping nest, I was certain, would be visably throbbing from underneath that I was almost surprised to see it still.

I began to curiously touch my nipples to confirm that their excitement was real . As I ran my fingers and my hands over them with only the silk separating skin from skin … chills rolled up my body and I knew now that I must release myself before I could sleep. Slowly, deliberately I removed the thin straps from my shoulders and let the gown fall away, stopping only for a second as it passed by my pointed nipples.

Without the gown now I could take in my whole naked body. Tracing my breasts, my stomach, my nest with my eyes I began to move my right hand toward my clit. It was only then that I could feel how incredibly wet you had made me, that fact alone seems to draw more blood toward my clit … readying it for my fingers which would be directed by your description that night. I closed my eyes to imagine my fingers were your fingers stroking my clit, rubbing my wetness to allow my other hand to enter me with fingers I imagined is your cock. Thrusting as deeply as they can while the other hand takes over with almost a mind of its own as if possessed by your spirit. Circling and using my own bone structure as resistance between my fingers and my clit. Stimulating it to sensitivity. Circling more now, faster and faster, pressing harder as I removed my left hand from my entry and begin to tease my breasts … cupping and squeezing them gently, pinching the nipples – I could feel my excitement beginning to build. I arched my back, sweat dripping from my body, biting my bottom lip, nostrils flaring, thrusting my hips toward my wet hand as if to hurry my release along. Grabbing firmly at my breasts and nipples as I feel the wave of my orgasm begin.

My body stiffens with the promise of impending climax … bracing itself for the pounding wave of delight that finally comes as I shudder and contort and think of you … and only you … who has given me the gift of this long, powerful and intense orgasm.

My breathing then slowed with sweat and passion dripping from my body. I looked at myself again in the mirror and noticed a slight change in gait and presence. A taller and yet more relaxed Princess … with perhaps the hint of a smile left from your memory on my sated face.

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