Swingers Clubs: Swing here, Swing there... #Swinger #blog #Club

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

The unspoken world of SEX #Excerpt #Sex #Blog #Swingers #Exhibitionist

The weight of the plastic framed mirror felt like stone. No doubt the weight was the burden of guilt. A fault induced by the spying on a couple engaged in intimate moments.

A tingling simmered from the tips of my fingers which wrapped around the mirrors frame. It was as though the mirror were warning me - correction, scolding me. What was I doing?

                The awareness of Maria’s eyes staring down at me brought me realization.

                I shook my head, objecting this invasion of privacy. But how private could sex be in a public bathroom? Regardless, I had no right to intrude on their moment despite how I felt about their locational choosing.

                Like a car salesmen refusing to forfeit a potential deal, again she seized my hand in hers. This time leading me outside our stall to stand in front of the occupied stall.

                She motioned at the hinged steel door seemingly bothered. She was impatient and frustrated that I didn’t share her fondness for voyeuristic pleasures.

She was unbelievable.

I stared at her gawkily. Tilting my head and eyeing her in disbelief. She stared onward with intensity, like she could see straight through the solid door, yearning to feel the pleasures they felt.

Following her gaze and the rhythmic thrust of a body against a solid surface, I diverted my attention to a folded strand of toilet tissue which hung over the door.

Public sex, I’ve heard, is one of the ultimate thrills. The anxiety of not knowing if you’ll get caught or if someone is watching heightens the sensation. For exhibitionists, it is the preferred sexual environment.

There are many unspoken languages is the world of sex. For example, many swingers meet other local swingers at grocery stores by way of what is in another’s cart. They peruse the aisles searching for cart contents which mirror their own. Specific items lined in the basket nearest the basket handle signifies, “We’re swingers, and we’re looking to meet and greet.”

Like swingers, the same is true for sexual exhibitionist. They too engage in conversations unspoken.  A strand of toilet tissue hanging loosely over a stall door implies, “You’re free to watch, but quietly.”

Watch... you know you want to. #Excerpt #Fiction #Erotica #Erotic

Curiosity lead me pass the wooden door silent and discreetly.

The restaurant ambiance carried into the narrow space. It too was dimly lit and the faint sounds of jazz streamed through the ceilings speakers.  The room appeared barren, which was not what I expected considering I saw Maria disappear around the corner leading only to two room. One exclusive to males the other females.

The rattling of tissue rotating in its dispenser, or water streaming over washing hands would have been expected, but I heard none of those. For a moment, I thought I had entered the wrong bathroom. Under the influence of a tempting desire, maybe I had mistaken the ladies room for what was actually the men’s.  I saw and heard no trace of Maria anywhere.

I crouched low enough to peer underneath the stalls, just enough to see a pair of black loafers.

I panicked.

Maybe she wasn’t baiting me at all, maybe she just wanted to ensure she wouldn’t be interrupted as she emptied her bowels. I basked in my embarrassment, until I realized those were brown loafers, not black and they were pointed towards the stall instead of away from it.

Startled I stood upright and turned.

To my surprise, there she stood with the widest grin behind me.

She knew I would be lured into her pursuit and she waited against the same wall which supported the doors frame for me to enter. “How devious,” I mused, yet I liked it.

I started to speak but I was silenced. Placing a finger over her lips she seized my hand in hers and we entered the vacant stall. I watched her retrieve a wallet from her back pocket and from its folds grab a small mirror.

I stared at her confused while she knelt, positioning the mirror at an angle right below the steel dividers separating each stall. Was this woman mad?

She was like a horny adolescent stealing private images the only way she could. I didn’t think I needed to tell her this was illegal. Repulsed I proceeded to exit the stall. When she grabbed my arm I broke free, pulling against the sensational flutter of my stomach. She seized me again, firmer this time. Pointing to the steel divider she urged me to listen. I did.

I heard nothing at first, only the whaling of a saxophone and a background cello. But the more I tuned out the jazz notes, the more I heard a separate and sensual tune. The melody of an oncoming orgasm. She placed the mirror in my hands. 

Sex Therapist: Case 1, Part 2

Her pleas returned unanswered as he secured a studded leather collar around her neck.

Leashed to him and under his control, he forced her to kneel before him. Her knees hit the hardwood floor painfully.

Her captor was removed from words and immune to her displeasure. The throbbing of her knees were bearable compared to the pain she would receive if she failed to please him.  

He forced his limp penis inside her mouth. 

Moderating the steadiness of her motion, he clamped the back of her head, forcing her to savor his length. She flexed her throat muscles. Exercising her extraordinary gag reflexes, she was able to squeeze and retract the muscles around his shaft. She stimulated him using the contraction of her throat muscles, her tongue and the warmth of her mouth.

Reaching the plateau of arousal, her husband was fully erect and near orgasm when she removed him from the warmth and moistness which erected him.

She took one of his testicles in her mouth simultaneously sucking and circling her tongue around delicately until he moaned with pleasure. Her hands were far from idle as they ventured around his scrotum and rubbed around the entrance of his anus.

After he came, he pulled her upright, turned her away from him and made her clamp her ankles as he entered her from behind. Filled nearly to the brinks of expansion she moaned as pleasure consumed her. A forbidden act.

Leash coiled in the fist of one hand, he used the other to pull on her thick brown mane. Forcefully, he reminded her of her place beneath him. She was a slave and pleasure was only reserved for his benefit. Her satisfaction was prohibited.

As she stood upright he debated the magnitude of her punishment.

She stood frightfully, unaware of the punishments to be delivered. Was it the painful pleasure of pinching nipple clamps, the lashing of satin lace against her skin or worse C-curved anal beads?

Sex Therapist: Case 1, part 1

My sexual counsel isn’t confined to the limits of my office space. My reach expands to my client’s homes and private bedrooms. These circumstances are rare; however, but I will exert all possibilities to help my clients overcome sexual inadequacies.

                If it requires me to observe them in their own personal settings, then that is where I will perform my therapy.

Clients are more relaxed in a home setting, which enables me to establish a stronger bond of trust and understanding.

It is an arduous process, especially for clients who have a repressed memory condition, like my client Linda.

Married ten years with a surprisingly enviable sex life, their sex life tore at the seams without forewarning during the course of a Saturday night encounter.

Under the notion they would venture into their growing bondage obsession they pulled out their bag of sexual goodies. A variety of satin blindfolds, foot long satin lace whips, fur paddles, gags and a bedroom bondage kit.

Sharing an interest for role-playing they fantasized a night of submission and domination.

Linda sneaked about the house bare, branded an escaped sex slave. Her husband, acting as her owner, pursued her.

Underneath the midnight sky, the house was as black as night. Imagination mounted as furniture took the form of bushes and walls stood as trees. She fled for her life, knowing that if she were caught, she would be punished.

In the kitchen she tiptoed around the granite island which held the form of a water well, when finally she came face to face with her tracker. Grabbing her petite frame, he holstered her on his shoulder and carried her to the bedroom. She pled with him, vowing to never run from him again if only he didn’t punish her.

Control

I moaned as the warmth between my legs simmered and the intensity steamed through my cries. I begged and pleaded, but my requests returned unanswered.  In a world where by submitting one received the lesser, my pain magnified instead. I could not submit. I could not relinquish, because with each attempt the intensity would only multiply.  They didn’t want me to surrender they wanted me to fight and summon my inner aggressor.  To unchain the suppressed and release the beast within me.

My hands and feet were bound, making it nearly impossible to escape. As much as the pain stung and my body ached with distress I refused to surrender the part of me they wanted most: my vulnerability.

By surrendering my weakness it allowed them access to gain my control. I would never be controlled.

Concurrently there was a slap and sting against my skin, I cried out in pain. Again, the slap of palm against skin, my backside stung from the impact.  I had screamed for almost an hour and none of the neighbors inquired as to the source. No one rang the doorbell or sent the police. No one called to make sure everything was okay. No one heard my cries and no one would interrupt the moment.

The third slap made me grit my teeth. I pulled against the arm restraint which secured me to the headboard. The pillow beneath me absorbed my tears, I would not let them see me cry, I wouldn’t let them see the pain.

My skin was an even brown and as smooth as a river of chocolate, but by now I’m sure the redness permeated the roundness of my ass. Blindfolded I couldn’t see my deliverers intention, my heart sped as the silence advanced the anticipation.

The bed sunk underneath me from adjusted weight. The hardwood floor groaned from the footsteps above it. Footsteps retreated.

Silence.

I refused to move, by now I had learned the rules.  Moving would bring punishment, punishment would bring pain. The footsteps returned fainter than when they’d left. They tried to minimize the floors groan, to catch me by surprise.  One side of the bed sunk again and my body conformed to the change.

An object stroked my neck and followed my spine slowly down to my backside. I arched my back meeting the object as it slivered between the parting below it. The touch was soft and delicate, like a feather. It circled around the area of my backside that still swelled with soreness. It moved slowly and without a need for time. The brush was soothing and comforting. Soon the touch was replaced by the warmth of a palm, then two. The hands were soft and warm, soothing and delicate.

She whispered in my ear, “Come for me baby?”

Her breath reverberated off the tremors in my neck

“Maria I can’t,” I replied

In her sexually seductive Puerto Rican accent she replied, “You can. Just let go.”

Her hand strolled between my legs and the moisture between them gave her exceptional ease of entrance. She slid one finger inside me, then two as she moved slowly inside then out and back again. The depression of my lower back allowed my ass to prop and meet her with each thrust. She loved the way I gyrated my hips. I had invested in a dancing class at my gym and already the money was well spent. The rhythmic motion sent me in to subtle spasms. Maria moaned.

She pulled out of me quickly, until only the tip of her longest finger remained inside me. Then she returned the thrust, pushing two fingers inside. I met her thrust and sunk into her palm insuring the sound I know she loved. I’m sure she watched the arch of my back. Admiring the sunken curve which rose to the roundness of my backside.  I entertained her, knowing she had both eyes on me. She always gave me the attention I craved, the attention I needed.

Quickly she removed her fingers, leaving me empty and hollow. Soon the warmth of her breath was between my thighs and her tongue lapped, savoring the nectar that seeped from pleasure. She was an extraordinary pleaser and as she sucked and circled, teased and satisfied my clitoris I buried my head into the pillow. My sexual appetite was strong and she successfully brought me near release, but she would never bring me to conclusion. Despite how intense and how pleasing, she would never make me orgasm.