Archive for March, 2008

The Club

By Sal

The music is thumping tonight.

First thing I notice when I come in the door is that thumping, the whump-thump-thump on the skins. I can feel it in the air. I can feel it in my blood.

Ba-dump-thump-thump-thump.

Ba-dump-thump-thump-thump.

It's that rhythm, that deep pounding rhythm that starts in the heart and pulses out. The whumping and thumping spreads out through my insides, my whole body. It pulls on me, tugging me in. Follow me, it demands, follow me onto the floor. No resistance from me. What for? That's why I came in the first place.

Thumpa-thump-thump-thump.

Thumpa-thump-thump-thump.

The smoky dark air is alive, crackling, electric. I wonder if everybody feels it, not just me. All I can hear is that rhythm, that pounding insistent rhythm that says Dance, Now! I am drawn in, closer, closer, closer. My body turns and twists to squeeze through the crowd but my whole being is locked to the rhythm that moves me.

I make my way closer and the rhythm fades, still there, always there, but hiding. Hiding behind a shimmer of sound, the brassy Wah-wah-wah of the trombones, the trumpets, the horns wailing and crying in great joyous moans. My ears are losing track of the thumping but my feet cannot. My toes curl and uncurl in thrall to the rhythm. The balls of my feet tap impatiently. My body angles itself to duck through, my mouth automatically murmuring Excuse Me Excuse Me even though the music is now so loud no one could hear me if they wanted to.

I break through.

Cab's on fire, red hot, whooping and hollering with everything he's got. And the band's giving him their all, too, I can feel it. But I can't make sense of that now because I cannot tear my eyes away from the floor long enough to see Cab straight-on. He is there in the corner of my eye, moving moving always moving, a bright-colored dervish of Swing, bebopping frantically in his blazing tux. And the band, flashes of white jackets and ties beneath damp brown faces, pumping all of themselves into their shining instruments and then shimmering out in the music, the MUSIC.

It pulls me in closer and I put one foot forward and then the other. When my toes tap on the hard wooden tip of the dance floor, I stop. I stand at the edge of madness, just outside the fury, the wild movement, the frantic untamed motion of the bodies on the floor. My senses are filled with whirling colors, incredible noise, and the miasma of heat and tangy sweat that envelops everyone and everything.

Ready yet?

Maybe.

I close my eyes partway and open up, letting the music in, feeling it have its way with me. It fills me, exploring, reaching into all my ins and outs, my curves, swaying this part of me here, that part of me there. The music needs to know me before it can take me. It doesn't take long.

Now?

Oh yes.

The little tiny hairs on my bare arm prickle and stand at attention, and I see Him. He's tall, but not too. Broad shoulders rippling under his pale yellow shirt, strong thighs filling out his light blue trousers. He's looking dead at me, measuring me up. Will I do? A decision. Yes, I will. He extends his hand to me, reaching out of the throng to drag me in. I hesitate, just a moment. Will he do? I am pretending to ask. I know the answer to that. He does too. He smiles, confident. I smile too, trying for only a hint of promise. I fail. I'm grinning. Something alive jumps into his eyes, and he grins back, saucy. I let him take my hand in his.

His hand is a dark chocolate, a nice contrast to the burnished sepia of my own. I barely have time to notice before he has yanked me in.

Move, Girl.

Move!

Move!

Hah! he yells, and snaps me out.

The music that had taken me so gently before now rages in his touch. I am being taken by force and I do not care, I welcome it. I loose all control. I let go.

My body whips out opposite him, my free hand flailing out wildly away from me.

He is pulling, yanking me close and I snap back, my feet not flying but stepping because really I know what I'm about, yes I do, and I have Style and I can show it. My momentum carries me hurtling in towards him but he expects that and he grasps both my hands and lets the force take me in and then down down down and I'm between his legs and shooting out the other side. Instantly I let go and my body is liquid, sliding underneath and up and I'm climbing on his back practically and his strong hands take mine and flip me up up up and over his shoulder and now I'm in front again, and I whip around to go back for more.

We are seriously smoking now. The others on the floor must sense it, 'cause they've moved back and out, giving us room. We are at the center of the floor, in the spotlight. He knows it too, and starts pushing harder.

Bounce Jump bounce-bounce.

Bounce Jump bounce-bounce.

Faster!

Bounce-bounce Jump bounce.

Bounce-bounce Jump bounce.

Here she comes--!

Bounce Bounce JUMP--

I am flying through the air, up and out, round and round. We're spinning, my arms and hair splayed wide. If not for his iron grip on my legs I'd be pulled out so hard I'd go flying and tumbling. But he's got me, he's got me, and I close my eyes and feel queasy and thrilled and ALIVE, more alive than I ever am at home at work at anyplace else but here, when I'm dancing.

The spin slows, and when he tosses me up and pulls me back in hard I am ready. My legs splay open wide, my dress billowing up above my waist as I come down. I wrap my long legs around his middle, knotting at the small of his broad back and let go, falling back until my head nearly hits the floor behind me. But he's good, as good as anyone I've ever been with. Before I even finish squeezing around him he's spinning again, this time a tight, fast circle.

I clutch as tight as I can with my calves and my knees and close my eyes. Again I feel that strong pull outward, but I am more aware of the breeze on my bare legs as we move faster faster faster. His hands grasp my naked thighs as we turn, a hot, burning touch that makes me shiver and moan, quaking even as I'm whirling and spinning.

All the while the music has been building and building and now it's fit to bust, so the end must be near. In a frantic burst of energy he levers me back in and up -- Lord, how strong must this man be -- and then I'm flying up and over his shoulder and coming down to land HARD but he has pulled so hard that his momentum lifts him up and over me. The music reaches its crescendo and so do we, strutting and jumping and flying for all we're worth. As the brassy coda blares out I am again in the air, rising up up up higher than ever before and Cab is rocking it as I descend, timing it perfectly so we finish when he does, with an outrageous flourish. Thunderous applause.

And now the music has stopped and Cab is saying something about Taking Five. I want to scream No No No You can't stop now, the Music isn't done with me yet-- but it's too late. The band boys are laying down their instruments and mopping their brows, grinning and jiving among themselves, grateful for the break. The skinny young drummer is just sitting back, totally done in, trying to recover before the next set. Several of the dark men in white are edging their way towards the door, on their way out to smoke some reefer before they have to come back for more.

I hear a quiet cough next to my ear and feel a touch on my elbow. It's past Twelve-Thirty, he says. You need to be gittin on Home? I shake my head No. I ain't done yet, I say. Ize hopin you'd say that, he says with a grin in his voice. I turn to look at him. The grin is plastered right there on his face, wide and toothsome. Hungry.

How bout you come on a ride with me? Hop in my car and we drive, someplace nice n' quiet, maybe bring a little bottle of somethin smooth... He's pleading. Hopeful.

I shake my head No.

Aw, c'mon Baby.

Again I shake my head.

His touch at my elbow becomes more caressing, more demanding as it travels up my exposed arm to the edge of my short sleeve.

You know you felt it, Girl, he says, his tone seductive, serious. I felt you shake when I touched you. He moves closer in, breathing on me. His breath is hot, like his touch on my arm.

We both want somethin, he says. I know I want it bad, real bad, in the worst way, he says. He bends his head to catch my eye in his. I stare right back, unafraid. Ain't I right? he says. I say nothing. He nods. 'Course I'm right. I could tell when we was dancin.

We stand there quietly, his hand still on me, making the hairs on my arm tingle and stand up again. I don't say anything. I don't move a muscle. I'm waiting for the music to return.

So let's go then, he says, tugging at me. I shake my head No, sharply this time.

A hint of frustration creeps onto his face. Aw c'mon now. I says we both want the same thing and you don't say Ize wrong, so why ain't we gone yet?

I don't move. Said before I ain't done yet, can't he see?

He looks disgusted, like he's about to give up or yell at me or maybe both. I look straight into his eyes, serious and hard, and softly touch one finger to his lips.

Hush, I say. He looks confused.

I let my finger travel across his lips and caress his cheek. Prickly. Stubbly.

Music, I say.

My car gots a radio, he protests. I shake my head No, but softly. I smile a small smile, one that reaches my eyes so they twinkle. I will not be satisfied with canned music tonight. I need the real thing.

Finally he understands.

His eyes narrow, speculating. They flick upwards, once, twice. Suggesting a possibility.

My smile gets wider.

His head tilts upwards, meaningfully, his whole expression a big question mark.

My smile is dazzling. I give one small nod.

He reaches out with his big strong hand and cups my small one softly. Gently he leads me off the floor. I follow, letting my attention rest on the wonderful warm feeling of my hand in his. His hand is so thick, its surface smooth and hard, no doubt from years of hard, unremitting work. But there within his calloused palm my hand is pillowed. He holds me like an egg, delicately and carefully. I smile, and feel warmth spread through me, at his goodness, his gentleness.

We come to a wooden door, hidden in a dark corner of the big room. With his free hand he tests the handle. It squeaks but finally turns. He looks back at me and flashes me one of those grins, and pushes through. As we make our way up darkened narrow stairs I feel something jump deep inside me and I breathe a little faster.

He was right, back on the dance floor. I do want this real bad. In the worst way. But without the music--

We reach the top of the stairs and emerge into a balcony. It's unlit, pitch-dark. I sense rather than see the rows of folded-up seats and the oppressive weight of our nearness to the ceiling. I move forward to try to look over the edge at the dance floor, and almost fall down some wide stairs that descend to the front of the balcony. He grabs my waist from behind, saving me from tumbling.

Careful there, Girl! he scolds. Sorry, I mutter. You can let go now.

He chuckles. What I gon do THAT for? Dint come up here jus to let go. His hands are all over me, pawing at my dress, at my body. For a moment I'm too shocked to react. Then I snap out of it and pull away sharply. None of that, now!

I can barely see him there in the dark, but I can feel his stunned silence. Now lookie here, he rumbles, on the edge of real anger. Don't you go think you gon play me like this, gittin all up agin me and then come up here wit me, and now you say you ain't that kinda girl. I come up here to get me some'a you, and I ain't leavin till I does. You gits my meanin? I clear nuff fo y'all?

I lean forward and reach out my hands, groping blindly until they brush up against his. I rub his thick, stubby fingers, caressing his big hard knuckles. I move my fingers round until his fingertips rest in my palms. He doesn't pull away. Good.

I am too that kinda girl, I murmur. I want to. Wouldnt'a come up here if I didn't. I just want to feel the music, that's all. You know what I'm saying?

He doesn't. His bafflement emanates through the tips of his fingers.

I want it to be like the music, I say, my voice sinking down to a whisper. I want...

Just then I hear noise down below, the band back from their break. The horns start it off, a slow brassy fanfare that gives way to silky saxophones insinuating a slow, luscious melody. It's one I know, "Rusty Dusty Blues." I smile and step forward into his arms. Surprised, he clasps me to him. I begin to sway against him. After a half-snort of disbelief or frustration -- I can't tell which -- he matches my rhythm. We are dancing, and it is wonderful.

The Intro ends, and as the singer begins the verse, I sing along in a husky alto.

Mama, don't beg your Daddy
For no diamond ring--

Mama, don't you beg your Daddy
For no diamond ring--

'Cause Mama you already got
The best of ev'rything...

As we move his hands slide ever so slowly up and down my back. I shiver and hold him just the littlest bit tighter. I feel him slide one hand up to the top button at the back of my neck. With the slightest flick, it pops through the button hole.

I seen you ridin'
Round in a brand-new car--

I seen you ridin'
Around in a brand-new car--

I know you couldn't buy it

You're not used to caviar...

First one, then the next, then the next, then the last two. All the buttons are open now, my dress gaping beneath his palms to reveal my shoulders and back. His hands touch my bare skin lightly as I sing, giving me goosebumps. I remove one arm from around his neck and shrug out of my sleeve. Then I hook it back around him and do the same with the other. The half-empty dress slides down my back to the floor. I step out of it and keep swaying against him.

He puts his hands around me and caresses my naked back, my waist, my shoulders. His fingers trace the wide fabric swath of my brassiere, and find the fastenings. In the darkness my world spins, and I cling tightly to him. As he frees me, he begins to sing along in a low, rumbling voice.

Now get up, get up, get up, get up, Woman--
Get up off yo big fat Rusty Dusty

Don't you hear me?

Get up, get up, get up, Woman--
Get up off yo big fat Rusty Dusty

Get up Mama--
Get up before you get too rusty...

I can't sing any more, because I am breathing too hard and fast to spare the breath to sing. I am totally naked except for my underpants, garters, stockings, and shoes. His hands on me have driven me completely out of my mind, rubbing and caressing all around my nude torso, occasionally drifting down to my backside and running along the garter-belt at my middle. My shivering has given way to trembling, and a quiet moan rises out of me.

Please, I groan, Please...

He chuckles. His hands settle at the small of my back and rest, making me growl in disappointment. He's going to tease me the way he knows I enjoy, but I am naked and too aroused for that now. He probably knows that too. I hold him tight again and hitch up my body until our bellies are pressed close together. I tilt my bottom and push right up to him. When I do I feel the prod of his hardness, and I know that my nakedness has affected him, too.

I fumble at his belt, all thumbs in my hurry. He laughs, a rich, low sound, and takes my hand. So now youse in a hurry? he mocks. By way of answering I press my body against him and wriggle, my breasts crushing against his broad chest, my belly and thighs stimulating his encased manhood. His breathing quickens, and the mocking tone drops out of his voice. Mmmm, he croaks, You some woman...

Below us the band has moved into a bouncing Swing. The change suits me just fine, 'cause I'm more than ready, all hot and flowing and empty where I want to be full. Almost shaking with impatience, I try for his belt again but his hands are already there, doing the job better than I ever could in this state. With a jangle his pants fall down on the floor in a heap, along with his shorts. Get rid of them, I whisper, and so he kicks off his shoes with a clunk and steps out. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness and I can make him out, looking a little awkward in his pale shirt and socks with his Thing sticking out like a flagpole in front of him.

I giggle, but before he can respond I take Him in my hand and move up and down his length. He exhales in a quick puff and I grip a smidgen tighter, making him groan. As I touch it I judge it to be a nice one indeed, thick but not too thick around and a little longer than any others I've been around. As I play with Him he insinuates his hand into the front of my pants and wiggles two fingers. I sigh and part my thighs to let him in, and sigh again, louder and longer, as he presses against my bush and then slips his questing fingers inside.

I am completely soaked with desire, so these two strangers find a smooth passage. They move in, deeper and deeper, and I try to angle myself to let them in further. My constricting underpants impede his progress and he tries to get them off, but the intricacies of garter snaps are unmanageable for a man in his condition. With a growl he gives up on getting my pants off, instead grabbing the crotch with both his thumbs and ripping it apart. My gasp changes into a loud moan as he plunges deep inside me, and I know I simply cannot wait another second.

Down on the floor the band is hitting it hard, an all-out boogie propelled by a thudding base, tinkling piano keys, and the muted crashing of the hi-hat cymbals. I ache for him but I can't ignore the movement of the music. The lightning in my blood won't let me merely lie back and take a slow loving. I need to go with the rhythm, to be part of the blanket of sound that is all around me.

With a smooth, quick motion I hook my arms around his neck again and hoist myself up like I did while we were dancing, earlier. As I make my leap I spread my legs wide and clamp them around him. He may have been slow to take my meaning when we first came up here, but this time he knows exactly what I need. Before I even get myself all the way around him he catches me, cupping my buttocks in his outspread hands. Lord, he IS as strong as I thought -- he doesn't stagger at all as I rest back against his hands. It's as if I were a small child, for all the strain he shows in holding me up.

With a soft, spreading motion he opens me wide and lets me down, slowly, slowly, slowly, until the tip of his straining manhood rests at my exposed entrance. I shift my weight around a little to help the angle. Then he deliberately lowers me onto Him.

He presses into me, slowly slowly slowly deeper deeper deeper, oh so incredibly slowly, filling me more and more and more until I can feel him all the way inside me, practically bottoming me out all the way in the back of me. We stand that way for an endless moment, me feeling this tremendous fullness, he feeling the hot wet cocoon that I make around him. In the meantime the band has swung back into a slow blues, and we spend those few peaceful minutes in that position, unmoving.

And then the blues gives way to a jump-bounce like the number we danced to before, and his hands start to jiggle, lifting me up and down on his tool. The motion and the friction it causes bring my inner walls alive, and as he thrusts my body up and down onto him I feel pressure start to build deep inside me. The pleasure is exquisite, but now urgent, needy, driving.

As the drums accelerate and the horns and reeds barrel along, speeding relentlessly through the melody, I start to move. With my ankles and arms clenching around his hard, broad body I pull myself up and down, up and down, impaling myself on him, on his cock, his marvelous, miraculous cock, this monster that is filling my pussy, my belly, my chest. Down in the band section one of the guys shouts out Hah! and another answers Oh, Yes! and I think Yes Yes Oh Yes That's Right Don't Stop, moving right along with them, keeping up with the soaring and swooping of the notes as I furiously ram him deep deep into me.

And as the music climbs toward that big Big Finish he grunts and stiffens up, and I slam down onto him the hardest yet. I scream as the world explodes with me in it, and we all burst into stars together, me him and the Music, climaxing as one.

The music ebbs. Slowly the blazing lights and colors dissolve back into the reality of the balcony. If anybody heard us, they give no sign. The band has moved on to a slightly slower number, still bouncy but less anarchically reckless. Dazed, we remain still a moment longer and then disengage and dress. We adjust everything carefully, and then make the long trek down the stairs to the floor.

As he opens the door I check my hair one last time and enter the maelstrom of light and sound that we had left behind so much earlier. We make for the door, both knowing that we are done for the night. As we squeeze through the mass of people gathered at the open doorway he takes my arm, so's not to lose me in the crowd.

We burst through into a cool, clear night, the sounds of the band and the revelers fading behind us. As we stand, quiet and motionless, I smile and get on my toes to kiss his cheek.

Thanks for the dance, I say. I really enjoyed it.

Me too, he answers, his broad grin twinkling in the dim light outside.

As I walk away, my steps slow and sure, I hear his voice rumbling softly after me.

'Cause Mama--
You already got the best of ev'rything...

You got that right! I holler, saucy, and I'm rewarded with the boom of that deep, rich laugh. The sound follows me as I turn the corner and begin to make my way through the black stillness of One-o'Clock in the morning, making my way back home.

Hit us up!
  1. (required)
  2. (valid email required)
 

cforms contact form by delicious:days

An Easter Treat

J and I had a wonderful two nights, and two days, away last weekend in Bath.

We drove down on Friday evening . . . J’s parents looked after the children for us . . . and we just indulged ourselves in a restful weekend of lovely food, wine and, of course, lovely sex.

It’s so difficult to share quality, private, time together at home . . . so we try to get away for a “wet weekend” at least once a year.

As the weekend doesn’t actually constitute an “affair” I won’t relate the events . . . just suffice to say it was wonderfully relaxing, arousing and erotic (we packed lots of my toys) and I was completely exhausted, but exhilarated at the end of the weekend.

We have both still been wonderfully aroused, sensual and loving all week

Shopping For Clothes Online Just Got Easier!

340103l.jpgSometimes I'm lazy, ya know? I just don't feel like hitting the malls and fighting the crowds to find a new outfit for the weekend. Of course, buying it online is a hassle. Good luck finding the perfect fit that way! But there is a solution for a lazy fashion whore like me - Size Wand, a free service to help you order the correct clothing size when shopping on the web.

At SizeMeUpOnline.com, you “share your closet” by submitting information about clothes you already own that fit well. A simple step-by-step guide takes you through the process - you tell Size Wand the type of clothing item, material, brand, size, relative fit, and if available, the style name, style number and RN number. The guide shows you examples of clothing tags so you know which numbers to enter. Kewl, huh?

Once you’ve shared your closet, Size Wand will be by your side as you clothes shop online. The program will integrate itself with retailers’ own pages, so wherever you browse, Size Wand will automatically suggest your size for any items for which it can provide an accurate recommendation. Imagine! No more condescending looks from store clerks when buying your latest little black dress!

Licence to roam for Italian women

Ohhh! This from the BBC:

Italy's highest appeal court has ruled that married Italian women who commit adultery are entitled to lie about it to protect their honour.

italian.jpgThe court gave its landmark ruling after hearing the case of a 48-year-old woman, convicted of giving false testimony to police by denying she had lent her mobile phone to her lover.

The appeal court did not agree that she had broken the law.

It said bending the truth (for women) was justified to conceal extra-marital relationships.

The woman who brought the appeal was from Porto Ercole on the Tuscany coast, and named only as Carla.

She had lent her telephone to her secret lover, Giovanni, who then used it to call Carla's estranged husband, Vincenzo, and insult him.

Giovanni, the lover, was convicted of abusive behaviour in a local court, and Carla convicted as an accessory.

But the Court of Cassation found that having a lover was a circumstance that damaged the honour of the person among family and friends.

Lying about it, therefore, was permitted, even in a judicial investigation.

It is not yet clear whether the ruling might also apply to men who have secret mistresses.

How do you say in Italian "Let's rent an Italian villa, pick up some hot guys, raise a little hell."

Every Woman Has A Fantasy

threesome male female maleA recent public opinion poll found 20% of women regularly fantasize about threesomes with two men and an incredible 17% have admitted to doing it at least once!
Sirens Magazine says the threesome gets a bad rap as a dirty act, a college “experiment,” or a soft-focus male porn fantasy. But let’s face it—most of us have at least thought about it. Getting from daydream to double-penetration, however, requires planning, patience, and skill: Advanced sexual beings though we may be, we’re talking about three people, naked, and there are fluids involved.

It’s not unusual for your man to fantasize about watching another man have sex with you, or watch as you perform oral sex on another man. An MFM threesome fulfills all these fantasies and that doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of your fantasies.

So what steps can you take to find a second guy then convince your husband and boyfriend to join in on the fun? And more importantly, what can you do to protect your health and your relationship?

For those of you who are fantasizing about, considering, or planning a mfm threesome hopefully some of this advice will help you plan it. It is important that the you consider this as advice, evaluate it in regard to the situation and remember that even if the threesome is well prepared there is always a risk that it can have an adverse impact on the relationship you have with your partner.

Granted all of us have an online façade that, in some cases, varies greatly from our daily life. However it is impossible to tell how much is a façade and how much is the person’s real life personality. Emails and online messengers are a great resource to do your initial screening of replies from potential males who've responded to an online ad you've placed. Chances are you will have a lot of replies to an ad and you need a way to filter through those that could be potential playmates. Remember YOU control the speed from reply to meeting and if your speed is not compatible with some of those that reply then do not waste your time. If someone comes across as being arrogant, pushy, too focused on sex, or just does not meet your criteria then do not pursue him. It is not worth your time.

OK! Let's assume you already have the two men and all you want to know is what to do with them!

MFM threesome rule #1

Stay in the middle

Whether or not the guys you’re with are into experimenting or playing around with each other is very relevant to the situation because, if they’re not, things will get awkward if they’re naked next to each other.

Do your best to stay in between them and keep the focus on yourself. This way, you will receive the utmost pleasure and have four hands and two penises at your beck and call at all times.

MFM threesome rule #2

Lead the way

A threesome can have awkward moments if you’re confident and don’t stay in control. As well, some guys are a little apprehensive about taking control, so it’s up to you to lead the way.

You don’t have to shout out orders or place them in position; simply get on all fours on the bed and begin sucking one guy; the other will easily get the hint that you want him to penetrate you. When you’re ready to switch, stop sucking, look up at him and say in a low voice, “Now, I want you to fuck me.”

If one of them tries to penetrate your anus and you’re not into that, simply say “no” and place his penis inside your vagina. You don’t have to give any speeches or freak out; it’s easy to lose control and get overly excited in a situation such as this.

MFM threesome rule #3

Keep one up, one down

It’s a great idea to keep one guy on your upper regions when the other is on the lower, and vice versa. That way, your chances of having multiple orgasms increases tenfold.

If the guys don’t mind being in close proximity of each other, you can have each one suck a nipple or take turns kissing your body all over.

MFM threesome rule #4

Keep protection everywhere

Even if you think you know these guys really well, condoms are your friend and you should use them. You should have enough around so that they can change condoms often. You might not want to suck on a condom that has been inside you.

It takes a little something away from the spontaneity of the sex and, most threesomes don’t lend themselves to avid condom use, but I recommend them and you will hopefully use them.

MFM threesome rule #5

Give equal attention

While it’s okay to spend a few minutes enjoying cunnilingus without having to perform on the other man in the room, you do need to keep in mind that leaving someone out for an extended period of time is bad threesome etiquette.

Whether you stroke one man with your hand or lick his penis while he strokes himself, as the other one is giving you an orgasm, make sure that you’re giving pleasure while you receive it more often than not.

MFM threesome rule #6

Feel free to watch

Sometimes the men involved may feel comfortable enough to play with each other and most women I know enjoy taking a step back and watching (or masturbating) as this goes on.

From performing oral sex on each other to stroking the both of you as you have sex, when men aren’t afraid to get in each other’s line of fire, the sexual experience will be that much more enticing.

You can indulge yourself by getting involved in some capacity or you can sit back and enjoy the view.

MFM threesome rule #7

Get creative

From threeway oral sex to double penetration, you can let your creative juices flow when you get involved in a MFM threesome because you never know when, or if, this opportunity will present itself again.

Feel your way through the men and think up interesting ways to make the experience as fulfilling a possible for all of you. Perform fellatio on both of them (stroke one while you suck the other, then switch); let one penetrate you (you’re lying down) while you suck the testicles of the other; let one place his penis between your breasts while the other penetrates you. There is no limit to the amazing things you can do in a MFM threesome.

MFM threesomes RULE!

Engaging in a MFM threesome may not happen often for most of us, but when they do, most women admit that it is an experience that they will never forget.

So if you’re ready, willing and able, engage in one of the biggest fantasies all women dream of – and enjoy it!

Jessica Alba Was Labled A ‘Slut’ In Sixth Grade!

Damn! It took me until the 10th grade to get a reputation! But seriously, Alba says she was bullied and called a slut by other student's parents and her principle!

Various news sources are reporting Alba says she was labeled a sixth-grade slut by her elementary school principal and a couple of “self-righteous” PTA moms. “The accusation still ricochets . . . They think I’m a slut?,” Alba recalls in If I’d Known Then, Ellyn Spragins’ upcoming book of essays by female celebrities. Alba adds: “Boys are awful. They are made of nothing but hormones until they’re about 20 or 21 . . . It’s fun to have a crush, but don’t think it’s forever . . . And use birth control and condoms, please.”

jessica-alba.jpg

The Geek in Him, The Freak In You

I had a boyfriend in college - a real computer geek type - who spent a lot of time with his friends doing computer stuff and watching Star Wars which gave me plenty of time for (ahem!) extracurricular activities.  So a story this morning got my attention.  Apparently Star Wars universe Emperor George Lucas is hooking us up with two new series set a long time ago in a galaxy far far away.  One is a cartoon and one is gritty galactic gangster yarn.   Think 'Sopranos in Space.'

One guy name Frosty, who has cooled to Star Wars in recent years, describe his love affair for Skywalker and company thusly:

The best way I could describe it to you would be to say it felt like a girlfriend that you still loved with your heart and soul, but you no longer wanted to have sex with her, and you'd be cool if she slept around.

Psst!  Guess what?  She already has! ;)

Sexual Power For Women Chapter 4

lg_womanontopredsofa2.jpgIn which we examine the anatomy, the physiology, and some of the psychology of male sexual response, from a practical point of view

If you want to sexually enslave a man, it helps to start with a good understanding of the workings of male sexuality. In all likelihood you already have most of the knowledge you need: you’ve read other books, gathered a good deal of practical experience, and refined your skills as a lover. Still, there are a few things I feel I ought to mention—things that aren’t in those other books because their authors don’t share my perspective—things that may have escaped your notice as you accumulated your experience, perhaps because the men in your life were trying to avoid being known too intimately. I’m going to fill in what the other books leave out, and I’m going to try to do it without repeating too much of what they say.

Let’s start by considering a man in the most ordinary of sexual states. It’s been a while since his last orgasm, but not so long that he’s starting to get horny again; sex isn’t on his mind. Still, it’s been long enough that he’ll respond favorably to sexual stimulation; he won’t feel bothered or pressured by it; rather he’ll enjoy it and turn on.

Surrounding the neck of his bladder and the upper portion of his urethra is the prostate gland. It’s slowly producing one of several fluids that will be mixed together and pumped out the next time he ejaculates. The prostate is spongy (though firm) and the fluid it produces remains within it until it’s expelled. Another fluid is secreted by the testicles. This fluid carries sperm cells and, unless the man has had a vasectomy, travels through two tubes (the vasa deferentia) to a pair of reservoirs called the seminal vesicles, there to await the next earthquake. The seminal vesicles are located above the prostate and behind the bladder; their outlet passes through the prostate and into the portion of the urethra that the prostate surrounds. Besides storing fluid produced in the testicles, they secrete a fluid of their own. Over time they fill, pressure within them builds, and they distend. They’re drained only by ejaculation.

If the man encounters no sexual stimulation, the production of sexual secretions continues at its usual slow pace. When enough time has gone by, and enough pressure has built up in his seminal vesicles, the man starts having sexual feelings and fantasies. He’s horny—perhaps not extremely so, but definitely horny. What seems to happen (though it’s unproved by the scientific standards of the medical world) is that pressure in the seminal vesicles is felt as a need for sexual release, as lust.

If, instead of letting this happen by itself, you sexually excite the man, the process is speeded up. When he’s aroused, more fluid is produced in a shorter time and the seminal vesicles fill faster. Prolonged stimulation also leads to a feeling of congestion throughout the reproductive system and a dull ache in the testicles. The man becomes desperately horny, often in less than an hour, and he’ll do almost anything to have his lust satisfied. If he’s like most men, he’ll let you tie him up no matter what he fears you might have planned, just so it includes emptying those reservoirs.

If you stop stimulating him, perhaps because the demands of the real world separate you, and if he has things to do that take his mind off sex, the feeling of congestion and the ache will dissipate, but his seminal vesicles will still be full and he’ll respond readily to stimuli that are even vaguely sexual. If he sees a line drawing reminiscent of a nude woman, for example, he’ll feel a twinge of arousal before the cause registers in his consciousness. He’ll easily drift into sexual fantasy, which will cause another erection, accelerate again the overfilling of his seminal vesicles and, if continued for any length of time (as is likely), bring back the feeling of congestion and the ache.

Prolonged stimulation or fantasy also leads to the production of a clear lubricating fluid by Cowper’s glands, located near the base of the penis. This fluid doesn’t accumulate, but is secreted into the urethra and, if there’s enough of it, leaks out the tip of the penis without producing any sensation along the way.

Men are highly subject to arousal by psychological stimuli, including their own fantasies and the Loop. Almost none, though, can reach orgasm through psychological stimulation alone. Furthermore, men have few erogenous zones, and stimulation of these, though arousing, won’t induce orgasm. Orgasm is reliably brought on only by a specific form of stimulation of the penis.

Still, erogenous zones are fun to play with and therefore worth looking for. The common ones are the scrotum, the perineum, the anus and the nipples. The scrotum is best stimulated by lightly running a couple of fingers along its surface, parallel to the middle of the body, in either direction or both. If the perineum is erogenous the technique is the same, likewise the anus.

The effects of nipple stimulation vary greatly. Most men exhibit a strong erotic response to having their nipples played with by hand, sucked or licked. Some don’t respond at all. A few find any stimulation painful. One of my lovers could tolerate only the lightest licking, but found that erotic. At the other extreme are men who are aroused by having their nipples pinched, bitten or even clamped. Experimentation will let you know what works best on your man, and you’ll have a lot of fun finding out; just don’t start at the rough end of the spectrum or you may undermine your partner’s trust.

Though stimulation of erogenous areas other than the penis will almost never of itself induce orgasm, it may do so when combined with a level of penile stimulation that alone would be just as insufficient. If, for example, you’re fucking your man slowly and with short strokes—which you know from experience won’t make him come unless you keep it up for a long time—sucking his nipple at the same time might put him over the edge in seconds.

The penis is designed to be effectively stimulated to orgasm by friction with the vagina, but the details of that design aren’t at all simple. The penis is a large organ, and only two small parts of the surface have sufficient sexual sensitivity so that stimulation will reliably induce orgasm. One is the frenum, where the glans (or head) meets the undersurface of the shaft and seems to be split in two by a continuation of the slit in the tip. The other is the corona—the protruding ridge at the edge of the glans where it flares out from the upper surface of the shaft, diametrically opposite the frenum. During sexual intercourse, regardless of the position used, these two areas are stimulated by the walls of the vagina, and it’s that stimulation that precipitates the man’s orgasm. If you’re on top, you can control the intensity of the stimulation by varying the length and speed of your strokes and the tightness of your vaginal muscles.

From a physiologic point of view, it doesn’t matter whether you apply the stimulation with your vagina or your hand; stimulation of the frenum and corona induces orgasm, and does so reliably.

This is a different matter from the question of how a man likes his penis handled. That varies. One likes to be gripped tightly and pumped roughly, the skin dragged along to rub against the underlying tissue; another likes only a fingertip touch along the undersurface. For every gradation in between, there are men who like it. If I’m involved with a man, I try to learn his preference, but it doesn’t really matter because most of the stimulation I apply is psychological rather than physical. When I’m ready to make him come, one of my own favorite techniques will always work.

The most effective of these—reliable even when used on a man who’s only moderately horny—is to lightly massage the undersurface of the penis with one hand, brushing the frenum with each stroke and sometimes running the fingers over the scrotum, while lightly massaging the upper surface with the other, brushing the corona with each stroke. This approximates the stimulation his penis would receive in your vagina. Your hands may be synchronized or not, or synchronized some of the time, depending on how exotic you want to get.

Another technique—a more effective variant of Rena’s—is to position the lower segment of your thumb against the upper surface of the shaft, crosswise, just below the corona; wrap your index and middle fingers loosely around the shaft; then move your hand smoothly up and down so that with each stroke the thumb slides over the corona while the pads of the lower segments of the index and middle fingers slide over the frenum. Adding to the stimulation, the web of skin between your thumb and index finger will naturally tend to brush against the protruding ridge on one side of the glans, while your fingertips will brush the protruding ridge on the other. If you’re right-handed and the man is lying on his back, this technique is most easily practiced from his right; if you’re left-handed, from his left.

With either of these techniques, the lubricating fluid that the man secretes can become a nuisance. It dries partway and gets sticky, interfering with the free motion of your hand. This isn’t a problem if there’s too little of it to notice, or so much that it can’t dry, but most men produce just enough to be troublesome. There are two ways of dealing with it. You can squeeze it out of the urethra and wipe it away before it starts to dry, or you can use a lubricant that overwhelms it, such as mineral oil. (Mineral oil packaged as baby oil has a scent, even if the label says it doesn’t, that turns some men on and others off; there are very few to whom it does neither.) If stickum becomes a problem and you don’t want to use mineral oil, you can clean it up with a damp cloth or your tongue.

(This seems like a good opportunity to explain why I have so little to say about fellatio. I regard it as useful for just a few very specific purposes, such as cleaning up half-dried male lubricant or inducing an erection. Otherwise I avoid it because it limits communication: you can’t talk; you can’t see your lover’s face nor he yours; you can’t even get a good view of his cock.)

My third technique for inducing orgasm by hand is the least reliable. It works only on a man who is very horny and lying on his back, but it has two advantages, one of which is that the stickiness of drying lubricant doesn’t get in the way. What I do is rub my palm against the frenum and nearby portions of the underside of the penis. The motion of my hand, of course, is parallel to the axis of the penis, not crosswise. What makes this technique so appealing is that since the man’s cock isn’t held in place, its responses are put on display. At moments of particular excitement, its rigidity increases and it presses against my hand, which amuses me greatly and embarrasses my partner to the same degree, especially as I tease him about it. And there again we have the Loop.

As a man approaches orgasm, the muscles of his pelvic floor contract and his cock stiffens. If stimulation is withdrawn as this starts to happen, the man will usually, but not always, slip back from the edge; the muscles will relax and his cock will lose its extreme stiffness and become only ordinarily hard. If stimulation is continued, though, orgasm begins. The fluids stored in the prostate and seminal vesicles are pressed into the upper portion of the urethra. The man feels a tingling inside and knows he’s coming; he’s going to ejaculate and there’s no longer any way to prevent it. Semen starts flowing into the lower portion of the urethra—the part that runs from the base of the penis to the tip.

At some point the muscles of the pelvic floor relax for a fraction of a second, releasing the extreme stiffness of the man’s cock. Then they contract again, giving the urethra a hard squeeze. His cock stiffens again and spurts at the same time.

The pressing of the components of the ejaculate into the urethra continues until there’s nothing left to deliver or until the ejaculatory spasms end, whichever comes first. The ejaculatory spasms continue for some minimum number of spurts if stimulation stops immediately, or until stimulation is withdrawn (which may not be until long after the supply of fluid has been used up) or, in extreme cases, until exhaustion sets in. The spasms are spaced four fifths of a second apart. After the first spurt, the muscles of the pelvic floor relax again, exactly four fifths of a second after they did the first time; then they contract again, and a third stiffening of the man’s cock coincides with a second spurt four fifths of a second after the first.

If the man has been trying not to come, but loses control and feels the upper portion of his urethra start to fill, he can delay ejaculation only so long as he can keep the muscles of his pelvic floor contracted, holding off that first momentary relaxation. It won’t be very long. Sometimes he can do it long enough so that some semen traverses the entire length of the urethra and leaks out the tip of the penis before the first spurt, though that doesn’t signify a strong effort to hold back unless you know it’s unusual for that man. Once the muscles of the pelvic floor take that first little break, the spasms follow each other uncontrollably at intervals of four fifths of a second; the man can’t delay the second spurt as he can the first.

Each of the first few spurts causes the man an intense thrill of pleasure. It doesn’t matter how desperately he may have been trying not to come or why; he’ll still experience that thrill with each spurt. And (unless he’s both uncommonly inhibited and in a position to prevent continued stimulation) once the first spurt has overcome him, he can’t help but want to pump out the rest. This, too, happens regardless of how hard he was trying not to come, or for what reason. Say he got himself in a spot like that boy in Maryland, but he has more experience. He knows what might happen, and he fixes in his mind a determination to maintain control, to preserve some measure of dignity. First he tries not to come, and of course he fails. As his cock stiffens and he feels that tingle, he resolves to put on an air of detachment and remain as still as possible even as he ejaculates. With the first spurt, though, his resolve is obliterated. He arches his back and thrusts his hips, overwhelmed by a mad desire to do what he must, no matter how embarrassing. This desire is separate from the reflex contractions of his ejaculatory muscles and separate from the pleasure of each spurt. It takes possession of him completely, a primeval force that’s been around longer than fur or feathers, but which is still him, and more genuinely so than the complex personality it displaces.

Not only does a man’s attempt to hold back his orgasm fail to diminish its intensity, it actually makes it more powerful. It’s like building a bigger dam. When it finally bursts, everything in the path of the flood is devastated. If a man has been wanting an orgasm as if to scratch an itch, it might amount to little more than a sneeze in his penis; an orgasm that he’s been trying to resist will overwhelm him. His whole body will convulse; his emotions will go bonkers; his mind will be wiped. It’s something to see!

At some point during a man’s orgasm, fluid stops being pressed into the urethra. In some men, this ends the process of ejaculation, and continued stimulation of the frenum and corona has little or no effect. In most, though, it brings only a need to end the process of ejaculation, and continued stimulation keeps the reflex spasms going, accompanied by a feeling of distress at being unable to stop them.

Few women get the opportunity to observe this phenomenon; a man whose orgasm has gone on long enough is usually in a position to end the stimulation without making his partner aware of his vulnerability. Some men, though, become so sensitive that when they fuck, they need to pull out immediately after ejaculation; the continued pressure of the vaginal walls on the frenum and corona, even in the absence of motion, is too much to bear. If you’ve had such a lover, you’ve had an unusual opportunity to observe the male need to protect the penis from prolonged stimulation, though he might never have explained what was happening. (Men, as we’ve seen, tend to be secretive about their vulnerabilities, and there’s many a man who would rather leave you feeling puzzled and rejected by his hurry to put some distance between you than let you know that his cock is too sensitive to leave in your pussy.)

Most men don’t become quite that sensitive, but continued active stimulation of the frenum and corona causes them distress. You’ll see it if you’re fucking your man from above and you hold his wrists down, tighten your vaginal muscles, and continue thrusting after he’s come; or if you tie his arms away as I did Patrick’s and continue rubbing his frenum and corona with your hands after the spurting of fluid stops.

If you want to hold your man in this state—and I recommend that you do, at least occasionally—there are four things you should know. First, it can’t do any harm. The distress of continued stimulation isn’t pain (though some men may call it that) and it doesn’t reflect tissue damage—not even temporary damage. When you stop, your partner’s distress ends immediately, and that brings us to point two: When you stop, even for a few seconds, the ejaculatory spasms also stop. If you resume stimulation, it will have little or no effect, so don’t take a break until you’re sure you’re done.

Third, the stimulation you apply must be specifically to the frenum and corona. The nerves that end there are the only ones that reliably force continuation of the ejaculatory spasms; if you milk the shaft alone, the spasms will end, comfortably, when the supply of fluid runs out. (If your man is an exception, great! But don’t expect it.)

Fourth, your man’s cock itself will give you some help. You can feel the continuing spasms and use them to time the motion of your hands, which makes for a much more effective sort of stimulation than a random beat. And for as long as you keep the spasms going, the process of detumescence is slowed, giving you a convenient degree of resistance to rub against. Usually you can even continue fucking if you don’t give your partner clearance to pull out.

For a period of time after a man has an orgasm, he’s physically incapable of responding to sexual stimulation. The length of this period varies from one man to another, and isn’t always the same even for the same man. It tends to be shorter in younger men and ranges from seconds to hours. In my experience, five to twenty minutes is typical. During this time, a man has no sexual desire and is likely to find any attempt to stimulate him irritating, both physically and emotionally.

This refractory period is followed by a time during which arousal is physically possible, but stimulation is still likely to be perceived as an annoyance. The man just doesn’t want sex. Even if he’s tied down and normally finds you irresistible, you might not be able to make him come. If he isn’t tied down and you make advances, he’s likely to develop a severe attack of performance anxiety. He gets worried that your continued acceptance of him is dependent on his meeting your sexual demands of the moment, and that not being horny, he’ll fail. That worry kills whatever capacity to respond he may have had. Perhaps he starts a petty squabble so he can reject you over some silly issue of his own choosing rather than be rejected himself as sexually inadequate.

I’ve always taken care that my lovers don’t fall into this unpleasant state. My method is simple. I don’t attempt to arouse a man who isn’t ready for it. I’ll be affectionate. I’ll cuddle. I’ll let him know that I love him and that I appreciate his love for me. But I won’t lick his nipple. I won’t take hold of his cock. I won’t put my pussy in his face, or even suggest he play with it. I won’t do anything that says, I want sex now, until I know he’s ready.

My reason goes beyond a desire to save him from performance anxiety. I want my lover always to think of sex with me as something he craves, so I keep the supply at least a little behind the demand, sometimes way behind the demand. That keeps him in the habit of wanting me, and the possibility of not wanting me doesn’t enter his mind, even though I know there are times he doesn’t.

What would happen if, for example, I were to have him eat me when he was sexually satiated? He would experience the sight, smell and taste of my pussy objectively, as sexually neutral. I don’t want that to happen. I want him always to look forward to the opportunity to see, smell and taste me, and to find me a turn-on every time. I don’t want to give him one chance to be objective about my pussy because I don’t want him to learn how.

The obvious question is, What’s the good of having a love slave if you can’t use him as you please?

A simple answer is that I can use him as I please, but the relationship will go better and last longer if I’m considerate, realistic and sensible in my demands.

A more complete answer is that sexually enslaving my partner allows me to manage the relationship, and I can manage it better than he can, precisely because I know better than to use him without regard for his feelings. One of the reasons I advocate female domination is that most women, given the opportunity, manage their relationships better than men do. We take a more balanced approach. We’re more mindful of our partners’ needs and desires even while looking after our own. My respect for my lover’s need to rest from sex is an example of this. If I subjected him to sexual demands when he needed to be left alone, he would come to resent it, just as many women come to resent the ill-timed sexual demands of their men. A relationship controlled by a woman who fails to consider her man’s needs will deteriorate just as rapidly, into just as deep a state of misery, as a relationship controlled by a man who does the same. With power comes responsibility. Inevitably.

Your First Affair

lg_intimatedate2.jpgOkay, you have had an extramarital affair, for one of hundreds of possible reasons, some good, some bad, some selfish, some generous. Maybe it was a good decision, maybe it was bad, but now is the time to make the best of it. You still want to keep your man, and if you have children, still keep a good and secure environment for them.

If you are a Scandalous Woman, then you are simply rejoicing in your power and control and the fun of what you have done. You still love your man, and having sex with someone else doesn't decrease that one bit. In fact, if you are a Scandalous Woman, having sex with the other man or men is part of your expression of love for your man, paradoxical as it might sound. That is the exhilaration of being a Scandalous Woman.

Scandalous Women is for the woman who has felt and followed the instinct to cheat on her man, to be an adulteress, to be promiscuous. You may, however, still have internal conflicts and questions: "Is this right, what I have done ? What can I do to make it better ? Will this drive go away now, or will I want to do this more and more ? How can I keep my relationship with my husband, and keep it healthy and strong ? And what the hell is this instinct in me that makes this soooo delicious ?" The biggest question of all: "Have I done the right thing?" What will the consequences be of what you have done? Not so much the thrill of the moment, but the impact on the rest of your universe.

You may have some need of judgment, and at the same time, be very much opposed to being judged. You may need the judgment to help you work through the right and wrong of what you have done, how you feel about yourself. You may feel lonely, and feel a need to talk about it with a friend. But you may not be able to talk with your friends about what you have done, because you need to keep it secret to protect yourself or your husband or both. This is a normal need, to be judged by someone. The need to confess and be judged is powerful, witness by the role of confession and judgment in religions.

One of the best ways to confess and be judged and just talk your mind is through the anonymity of the internet. At Scandalous Women you can find many women who have lived through exactly what you are living through, and found the answers they need to not just accept their polyandry, but to revel in it. You may or may not agree with the lifestyle or philosophy, but it is sure to be an interesting experience.

Now we're ready for the definition. What is a Scandalous Woman? She is a highly self-confident woman who enjoys sexual interaction with men other than her husband/boyfriend, from flirting to fucking. She expects her man to tolerate it, whether he knows about it or not; and if he does know about it, support her.

Do you relate to everything about the Scandalous Woman, except for that f---ing word ? Does a Scandalous Woman have to have sex with someone outside her couple to qualify ? Of course, a Scandalous Woman does whatever the hell she wants to. She's never going to screw a guy because she's supposed to. She makes up her own rules, and the rules for her mate to follow can be as different as she wants. She changes them when she wants to. Amazingly, this is one concept that men do not have any problem understanding or (most of the time) accepting. The rules concept is to the feminine psyche what nice legs are to her body: major turn-on. Sexy.

A big part of the Scandalous Woman is that she not only accepts committing scandalous acts, but she enjoys it. Probably the sweetest scandalous act is to cuckold your husband, with or without his knowledge. Does she have to screw another man to consider herself scandalous ? No. Does she need to consider herself free enough to seduce a man even though she's married or in a committed relationship? Yes. Absolutely yes.

It's the attitude that is precious, no question about it. If you feel that you could not have extramarital sex while expecting your husband to continue to be faithful to you, then no, you are not Scandalous Woman material. You still are welcome, of course, to hang out with us. Maybe you support the rights of other women to be Scandalous. Then surely, join in, learn about the signs and symbols, wear some of the insignias that identify us to one another. Maybe you are just curious. But, given time, you may still give in to the "dark side!"

Scandalous Women love not just the physical side of being promiscuous. The psychological side is as sweet, or maybe sweeter. Just flirting with a man, behind your husband's back or right in front of him, is delicious.

Are there risks and problems associated with cuckolding your man ? Sure. There are major potential hazards. Some of the hazards are usually exaggerated and considered inescapable. For instance, and this is the biggest potential hazard of all, could this scandalous behavior ruin an otherwise good relationship between the Scandalous Woman and her man ? It can happen. The SW community shares thoughts and experiences on this topic. The important thing to keep in mind is that this does not have to be the result.

The SW does not have to love her man less just because she has bedded someone else. She is too strong, too powerful, too wise to let that happen. At least, that is the ideal. Some SW will make a point of not seeing the same interloper more than once, to make sure that he doesn't get attached to her, and to make sure she doesn't fall in love with the interloper. And - oops! - accidents will always happen! But it remains to be seen if divorces are more common or less common where a Scandalous Woman is involved. Marriages break up all the time, and often because of one of the couple falling in love outside the marriage. There are attractions to other people, some with sexual overtones. The socially accepted way to deal with these is to deny that they exist.

To tell or not to tell - that is the question. Whether it's nobler is not really the issue. It's a good idea to think about what your partner really really wants. It's not a bad idea to ask him, preferably before you get married: "If I have sex with someone else, do you want to know, or not ?" Whatever the answer, it can be modified, of course.

More downsides ? A big one is if you have children, you do not want to become a subject of the town grapevine. Again, here some Scandalous Women have a rule of thumb, to always have their affairs out of town, if it's a matter of physical intimacy, even if it's just kissing. If you are concerned about your husband's reputation in your home town or at work, then similar precautions are called for. Some SWs have reported that their husband performs better at work if the word gets out that he is cuckolded, but it's generally considered not a good idea to bring this private aspect of couples' lives to work.

Sexually transmitted diseases, or STDs - MAJOR potential danger! Now, it could be that female promiscuity actually increases the safety of the couple. If a man knows that his wife is cuckolding him in the classic way described here, then he is not going to be promiscuous himself. The woman then has full control over the possibilities and preventions for STDs. The SW has to absolutely insist on condoms worn by her casual partners, and should moreover insist on his using condoms that she supplies. (If a man brings his own condom, are you going to check the expiration date and whether it's an FDA-approved condom?)

Pregnancy is an issue also, and the condom should be ample protection. However, oral contraceptives are recommended as well. And you know what ? Psychologically, pregnancy is at the root of the difficulties in having affairs. It's a biological trait that has evolved through natural selection, that a man works to be sure that he is the one to make his wife pregnant, that his own genes are the ones inherited. Obviously, in an age where birth control is routine, these psychological traits are outdated and way less relevant.

Other downsides? Hmm, none seem to come to mind. Your husband might not accept your independence and freedom if you let him know? Sure, that's possible. But not if he's introduced and trained correctly. It's said that all men are voyeurs. The same excitement that grips men when two lesbians are making out can kick in when he thinks about his wife with another man.

Conclusion

You had your affair, and now you need to look at your life from the very beginning, from a new perspective. Don't feel guilty, don't regret it -- it's your right as a Woman! Savor and enjoy every aspect of your tryst. When you think about how to integrate that into your life, don't feel apologetic to your husband. He may not realize it, but you have done something more honest, by admitting your attraction to men other than him. You have made your own experiences richer, and you will be a more interesting partner for it. It's far worse to live your life stymied, suffocated, deprived of experiences then find yourself bitter and reproachful toward him when you are much older, when it's too late.

Go back home to your husband and love him. Love him intensely. Demand his love - his unconditional love - for you. If life hands you a lemon, go get yourself some coconut milk and some rum and make yourself a pina colada! And this joy you can share with your husband. There is more to learn at Scandalous Women - a LOT more! We promise you - if this is a new way of thinking for you, you have only scratched the surface. There is a whole new cosmos waiting for you !

Half Term Part 2

For everybody who has emailed and asked . . . here is Part Two:

I decided to paint my nails whilst J lay back on the bed recovering. I asked J to get up and bring me some cotton balls from the bathroom so I could do my toe nails as well, but then my daughter called to say she was on her way home from her friends. I told J he’d have to get dressed and start sorting out something for dinner, and that I would forget about my toe nails and make a move before either of the kids arrived home. I called S to ask if it was too early for me to come round and he replied that “of course not, the longer I can have you with me, the better”. So I hurriedly pulled on my boots and coat, kissed J goodnight and made my way round the corner for the short walk to S’s house.

I laughed when he opened his door and greeted me wearing just an apron. As we embraced he said he’d just stepped out of the shower when I’d called and decided he’d better quickly start preparing our meal rather than waste time putting clothes on. He gasped when he unbuttoned my coat, telling me I looked “incredible, simply amazing”. I knew my top was completely see-through and I could feel my nipples already stretching against the fabric as he stroked his hands over me and began kissing me again. And as he continued to pull me against him I could feel his erection poking against me under his apron. I was still giggling as he stepped back and took my coat from me, and then even more so as he turned around to hang it on the post at the foot of the stairs and I could see his bare bottom.

He led me into the living room and passed me a glass of wine from the table which was neatly laid out complete with candles, and told me again how fantastic I looked. He wanted more kisses, but said he already had the steaks under the grill . . . I followed him into the kitchen, playfully slapping his bum as he stood by the grill. I told him I “didn’t often have the chance to see a man cook, and certainly not dressed as nicely as this”.

It was fun just standing in the kitchen, talking and watching and topping up our wine . . . I felt really relaxed and told S I was very impressed.

The meal was actually really nice, and we chatted and ate almost as though we were in a restaurant, except of course that S was sitting across from me wearing nothing other than an apron. We were on our second bottle of wine before S suggested we go through to the front room. He took off his apron and led me to the sofa. We stood kissing for a moment before he started trying to find the zip of my skirt. I handed him my glass and then unzipped myself and let my skirt fall to the floor. He was instantly on his knees in front of me, kissing and then licking at me and pulling me closer into him. I was already feeling very aroused anyway, but now as he pushed me gently down onto the sofa I felt really wet and loved the feeling of his tongue and mouth sucking on me. He lifted my feet up so that my boots were resting on the edge of the sofa cushion as he knelt on the floor in front of me. I told him I wanted to take my boots off, but he said “No !! Leave them on, I want you to leave them on!” He was licking at my clit and sliding his fingers into me at the same time and I was gasping and groaning. I spread my knees as wide as I could and was reaching down to hold his head against me as he licked and sucked. I came really quickly, crying out and clamping his face against my pussy, before pushing him away and sliding back into the corner of the sofa. S left me curled-up for some time, sitting down next to me and stroking my shoulder and arm. When I eventually recovered enough to turn over and sit up he passed me my wine and said “let’s go up, it’ll be much more comfortable upstairs”.

I started up the stairs, with S following me and this time slapping me on my bum cheeks as I took each step. I stopped at the top and lent forward a little, teasingly telling him it was nice but he’d have to smack a little harder if he was trying to get me aroused again. I could sense the excitement in his voice when he said “you mean you like it?”. I urged him to try it a little harder still and he responded by slapping a little more firmly, but I was wiggling my hips and saying “harder than that please!”. He smacked at me a few more times, each smack a little harder than the last, before I walked on into the bedroom. I was tingling and he was saying “your bum is really red”. We rolled onto the bed together, giggling and laughing and with me telling him “you’d better kiss me better then”.

He was really excited and turned me over onto my back to slide up to me and ask “do you really like that?” I was really enjoying the feeling of turning him on so much and I lay back pushing him back down to my pussy. I was loving the feeling of him licking me again and I reached back over my head to hold onto the rail of the bedhead, arching my back and lifting my hips up off the bed so that his tongue could slide all the way around me. I still had my top, and my boots on, and he was holding my legs down with one hand on each ankle . . . I was gasping out for him to “eat me out, tongue me inside” and telling him “I love it, I can’t move like this”. He lifted away and started to slide up towards me, but I told him to keep holding me like he was “I want my cunt sucked more”. He grasped me by my ankles again and slid his face back down to my pussy again and I kept arching my hips up off the bed and pushing myself into him. I wanted to push his face into me more, but was imagining my hands and ankles were tied to the bed and I just gripped the rail harder and pushed out my hips faster and faster until I came again with huge gasps and cries. I rolled over onto my side, curling my legs up almost to my tummy groaning and rocking back and forth. When I have such a huge come I just have to roll myself up into a ball and lie still to recover.

S pulled himself up behind me, cuddling into my back and kissing me on my neck and shoulders. Sometimes I just don’t want any touches or kisses at all though when I’m like this, so I asked him just to “lie still for awhile”. He kept whispering questions though, and eventually I came round enough to make sensible answers. I could feel him still hard, as he would occasionally shift and squirm and rub himself against my bum cheeks. I told him to lie still for a little while longer and I would sort him out.

He just kept saying how incredible I was though, and then I felt him get up off the bed and then return a few moments later. I suddenly jumped as I felt his cold hand rubbing gel between my cheeks. I was still lying on my side, telling him I couldn’t move yet, but he replied that it was ok, and that he’d always wanted to try this position. I felt him lifting my right leg a little and his fingers sliding around me. He’d knelt down on the bed beside me and spread my cheeks a little more and then I felt his cock pushing against me. I tried to keep the position for him but perhaps because I was on my side, or perhaps because it was too soon, I couldn’t take him in. It just wasn’t comfortable.

He lay down behind me again and just cuddled me. We talked for quite awhile until the gentle stroking of his hands over my tummy and then up to my boobs started to get me aroused again. I turned round on my side to face into him and asked him to take my top off, but he just lent forward and started sucking at my nipples through the lace. I was squirming again, and enjoying the sensation of him sucking and chewing at me through the fabric. He was breathing faster and faster and I asked him what he wanted me to do. He said “I want you to turn over”, so I lifted myself up and reached up to the bedhead again, but this time facing the wall and kneeling up on my knees. I felt him first rubbing himself against my clit and then as I pushed back against him his cock slid easily into my pussy. We rocked back and forth like this, him pushing longer, and me groaning louder. Then I felt him pull out and could tell he was reaching for more gel again. This time I was much more relaxed and ready and after that first initial straining push I felt myself lifting back against him and then him stroking gently forwards . . . pulling back . . . stroking forwards again.

I could hear myself groaning louder and louder . . . I really need to let myself go when I’m like this, and I was crying out that I loved it, and I needed it. I could hear him grunting with each stroke as well and then I just felt myself letting go completely, screaming out “fucking hell, fucking coming, fucking coming”. I fell forward, pulling myself off him and burying my head into the pillows as I screamed and shuddered. He fell on top of me at first and then rolled off to end up by my side. I could feel the wetness dribbling off my cheeks and between my legs as I shuddered from side to side, too much wetness to be just from the gel and I knew he’d come this time as well.

I woke up just after two o’clock, the bedside lamp was still on and I could clearly see the time on their digital clock on the bedside cabinet. S was lying on his tummy next to me, exactly where we’d fallen next to each other. I swung off the bed and went to the bathroom. He was still lying in the same position when I returned. I sat down next to him on the bed and had to shake him to wake him up. He wanted me to stay of course, but didn’t protest too much when I told him I really did have to go home. I told him I was quite happy to walk the short distance home on my own, but he insisted on getting dressed and escorting me.

We went downstairs for me to gather my coat . . . I didn’t bother to put my skirt back on, I just rolled it up and pushed it down into my bag. It was freezing as we walked down the road and round the corner into my street. We exchanged a quick kiss at my gate and I thanked him for dinner . . . he thanked me for “an incredible time”.

J was asleep on the sofa when I walked into the front room, but woke up when I knelt down to give him a kiss on the cheek. He’d pulled a duvet cover that I’d left drying on the radiator over himself, so he’d obviously gotten cold whilst he’d been waiting for me, but he asked me what time it was, and if I’d had a good time. He sat-up as I took my coat off and asked why I’d put my top back on but not my skirt. I said “I never got to take my top off actually . . . nor my boots !!” I sat down next to him and he reached up saying “well you can take it off now while you tell me all about it”. Even though my walk had completely woken me up, I was too tired and tender to be able to enjoy any more touches . . . but just sitting down next to him and stroking him to a come as I told him about my evening, made me feel special and wonderful all over again.