Thursday, May 28, 2009

Sugasm #166

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #167? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form.

This Week’s Picks
Bare-Assed Cheek (2): Punishment and Reward
“His finger glides up the inner side of my left thigh.”

Lilly’s Turn - Part 1: Wherein a Power Play is Made
“I asked her, outright, if she considered herself submissive.”

“Exquisite pain heralding exquisite surrender.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Is Sasha Grey going mainstream?

Sugasm Editor
A Difficult Scenario

Editor’s Choice
Just Looking

More Sugasm
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Tuesday, May 26, 2009

The Poet Surrenders

We were entwined in the aftermath of loving, drifting in our post-orgasmic state.
Beyond thought. Beyond thinking. Beyond.

In this long-distance affair, we are hungry when we are together. The Poet has had his dick in my cunt numerous times already today, and I am drowsy, content. He hasn't ejaculated yet, although he's come many times. I graze my fingers over his back as we lay side by side, breathing together, barely speaking.

The sheets are a delicious tangle of red and purple. The Princess’ specialty is creating love nests for The Poet and his lover du jour, and she has really outdone herself tonight. There’s a fire in the fireplace, roses in a crystal vase, oranges from her fruit trees. Niyaz on the stereo, wine from Napa, Pellegrino on ice.
The Princess doesn’t play, but she loves to watch. She has draped the Love Nest with beautiful fabrics in a cacophony of colors; gold trimmed saris from India, blue and white batiks from Java, sheer fabrics hand-painted with glitter, laces from yard sales, and gauze from JoAnne’s. She peeks out from behind these cloths like an imp, a pixie, a Fairy Princess. She does not wish to intrude, simply to observe.
What is it that gives her Pleasure? Watching The Poet satisfy the lover? Watching the lover satisfy The Poet? Does she imagine herself in either role? I do not know. I only know that she watches and that she is happy.

I toy with The Poet’s ass as we drift in that nothing and everything space. He shivers and I begin to touch him with more intention. Not harder, not firmer, not looking to do anything to him, simply aware that he is receiving Pleasure from my fingers. We are face to face, eye gazing, breathing together in the Tantric Way. I am holding the male breath, into my cunt and out my heart, and he holds the feminine, into his heart and out his cock. We are deep in this space together. This space of heightening Pleasure, just when I thought I was done.

He whispers to me, “i want to be your Slut.”

I know what he wants but I ask anyway. I want him say it. “What do you want?”

“i want you to fuck me, i want you to fuck me. i want to be your Slut.”

I take this request in. We have not played this way before, and I know he’s never had anything bigger than my finger in his ass. It’s been his fantasy, I see it in his eyes. His need nakkid in his eyes. I would not deny this man I love.

I command his total attention as I reach into my toy bag and pull out my harness. I do not permit him to break contact with my eyes. He is shaking with his desire.

I choose the smaller of my dicks. The blue one. A condom on my dick and my dick in the Harness. Lube on me, lube on him. All the while in eye to eye touch, breathing in and out with this beautiful man who is about to surrender to my male. This man who is discovering his woman.

I hover over him as he lays on his back, legs in the air like a grrl, I find his sweet spot and place my dick right at the opening.

“Do you want it? Do you want my dick in your ass? Do you want my dick?”

In answer to my whispers, he begins moving rocking urgently begging, “please please fuck me.”

And my dick begins to enter him. His movements become fast and furious. I slow him, “breath with me,” I murmur, and as we breathe together, my dick slides in. Smoothly. One motion, to the second sphincter, and we breathe together. Then I glide in the rest of the way. I am deep inside him now. We are eye to eye, I feel his spasm his Pleasure beginning. His woman totally opening in surrender to Pleasure.

His cock stiffens and I begin to pump him, thrusting slowly at first, then ever so slightly faster. I move him around, he is on his left side and his right leg over my shoulder. I am on my knees his ass high in the air. His hand pumping his cock, until I stop him. Let the Pleasure fill you first, I command. Pleasure, Pleasure. Only Pleasure.

I move behind him, Each time we separate, he utters a little cry. It sounds like "don’t leave me," and I come back to him. He is so open now, I shove in. Hard. And pound his sweet ass with my dick, until he is thrashing on me.

And I grab his cock and hand fuck him while my dick ass fucks him. “Come to me, darling,” I coo. “Come, release into your Pleasure. Cum.”

He finally ejaculates, full rich thick white. It flies onto my hands, his belly, the red and purple sheets.

And in his release, he cries. Weeping, his shoulders shaking and sobbing and it touches a tender place in me. I praise him. I love him, I cradle him in my arms, I spoon him, I feed him his cum off my fingers. I hold him gently in this sacred moment. The moment where The Poet discovered his vulva.

The Princess has been peeking. She creeps in and curls in front of him, me behind him. My dick between his cheeks, his hand on her breast. And together we hold this tender woman man until she sleeps. Tangled in red and purple sheets. Beyond thought. Beyond thinking.


Friday, May 15, 2009



She is nearly inaudible. I bend low to hear her. “Yes?” It is my turn to be gentle and soft and strong. “Yes, Seelie?”

Please. Please hurt me some more. Hurt me. Please.

She’s sobbing now, writhing on the suspension. Her ass not merely pink, but deeply scarlet. Our partner has left paddle marks over both cheeks. Her shoulders are covered in whiplashes, the right a bit more intense than the left. I have never seen anything more beautiful.

And I tell her so, whispering repeatedly, “You are beautiful,” as my horsetail flogger meets her back, her buttocks, her thighs in a crisscross pattern that I know from personal experience is unbearable. Or more accurately spoken, nearly unbearable. Exquisite pain heralding exquisite surrender.

The Seelie Eyed Grrl is in the space of total altered consciousness. She does not know what sensation is next. She fights. She cries. She cries. She cries. She is Ours and Ours totally.

“You are so beautiful,” I whisper in her ears, caressing her hair, her breasts, her back, her thighs, her ass, her cunt. I touch her beautiful skin, spreading the sensation, as I lean closely to bite her just under the scapula, grabbing that delicious flesh and rolling it between my teeth. Until only the skin remains trapped in my passion. I long to tear this white flesh. And it is the trust she gives me that permits me, in fact requires me to leave her beautiful body marked, but intact.

I am deeply aroused in her surrender, at our control. Our control of The Seelie Eyed Grrl, blindfolded, bound, wearing only her stockings and her pretty, pretty red shoes.

And I am aroused by the control I have over my own Beast. The Beast who desires more than anything to hurt, to cause deep pain inside this beautiful woman. This Beast who serves only me.

Our Lover loosens her wrists minutely, and fucks her face violently as I stroke and admire her ass. I am eye-locked over her back with him, as he shoves his dick into her mouth. I am eating her ass and see in his face the same greed for her pain and the same respect of this desire. And the great rousing passion at riding this Beast: The victory the strength of control of power.

Then she is tied again tightly in total surrender. I begin to tap her pussy with my deerskin flogger gently, gradually, then more forcefully until I do not dare to push her harder.

And yet, I do.

The flogger cracks and snaps against her flesh. “I can feel how you much want this,” I whisper. “You are wet. You are dripping on the floor. You are so beautiful.”

And he begins to eat her as she finally topples over this edge she has been surfing. Tumbling swirling crying and cuming, her juices are running down his arms, until all is sensation and all sensation is Pleasure. I am cooing in her ears, “i love you, i love you, i love you, iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou…”

Pleasure and sensation and love and surrender. We rest, spooning in a blanket. No words. No tears. Sweetness only.

And Pleasure, which begins of course, with please.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

This Week's Picks: Sugasm.

This Week’s Picks
Confessional: Breaking the Girl
“And that’s why I’ll love it, that’s what will fuel me to dig deeper.”

Does Art imitate Life or Life Art?
“We were experimental and conventional and some times both in the same round of sex. ”

It burns…
“And this is no sweet kissing”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
A Porn Customer Protests

Sugasm Editor
Fetish Fridays: Teabagging

Editor’s Choice
Light Me Up Right

More Sugasm
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Friday, May 1, 2009

A Woman called Dangerous

What more should be said of Dangerous?

Women equally love Dangerous, and fear her. Women long to be Dangerous, and judge her simultaneously.
The same could be said of men.
And is certainly true of the author of this hymn. This adulation of Dangerous.

Dangerous has red hair, the kind of red hair that called to the stake in centuries past. Her hair is noticeable in the shade of forest and clouds and trees, but it is in the sun that her hair ignites. Her hair burning down her back reaching to her knees, so that the fool may mistake it for real fire and run for water in order to save her. To save Dangerous from her flaming red hair.

She does not walk so much as slither, does not slither so much as smolder. While angelic women sparkle and playful women dance, Dangerous oozes, radiating her sex like heat from pavement in early March, unexpected and oh so very dangerous.

Her body is full and ripe and inviting. Her glance strong, confident and mischievous. Her smile claims secrets she will never reveal.

All her lovers have hidden photographs of Dangerous’ breasts. The drunken fools who have known her for a long time have yellowed snapshots, from real film, the edges frayed from too much handling.

Her nipples swollen from the kisses of her other lovers, and your bite marks decorate her body like wanton jewelry. Her surrender in each moment is complete, and she wears the whiplash marks from your single-tail with pride.

Her ass is round and inviting as she lowers it over your face. You may smell, she whispers, but you may not eat. She drips into your mouth, and she dances her ass her cunt over your face.

She is as tasty as she is beautiful. She pisses on you, gifts you the bitterness the sweetness the longing of her. This is your reward. Longing and a sniff; if she favors you, you may lick. Her flavor the sweet honey of pleasures past.

Her pussy resembles a lioness in full heat. She will open to you, each petal with its own life and fragrance. Damp, moist, dripping wet, she invites you to fill her. Her desire is powerful, intense, compelling. Deny her or come to her. It makes no difference. Whatever you decide will be your peril.

Dangerous teases boy into man late at night, while you sleep in sweet unknowing. He will seek Dangerous for the rest of his life, and if fate toys with him, he will meet her. It will be his last rational moment.

Madmen have their own tales of the search for Dangerous.

She will give you anything. But be careful, she will give you exactly what you ask. You may not get it in the way or in the time that you hoped for. You may not want it once you get it. But you will be changed forever by the encounter.

She will leave before you are ready. Guaranteed. The lucky ones she has loved will guard their memories like stolen diamonds.

There is a reason she is called Dangerous.
And Beware.