Quote of the Week

"It is with our passions, as it is with fire and water, they are good servants but bad masters"

Aesop
Showing posts with label clitoral stimulation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label clitoral stimulation. Show all posts

Thursday, 24 February 2011

Silent Sex

She sat in the leather chair, sipping her wine and guffawing with laughter as her friend continued to explain about her exploits the night before; all the time with a subtle eye on him.

He stood at the bar, leaning towards the barmaid, intent on showing some interest in the tedious conversation but managing to maintain a polite regard whilst glimpsing her in the mirror in front of him.

It wasn’t the first time.
It wasn’t the first time he had watched her without her knowledge.
But he knew that she was looking at him.
He’d known that before tonight as well.

They had passed one another in the street, on the way to the train station. They’d occasionally bumped into one another at the supermarket but not a single word or even a nod of recognition had transpired between them in the four months that she had been living there.
That’s London for you. Your own neighbour, who lives diagonally opposite your own front door and you have no idea what her name is.

She continued to listen to her friend and drank the remnants of her drink before gathering her bag from the floor and walking the short distance to her house. As she walked towards the door, she twisted her head to look but he did not move.
Of course, she didn’t realise he was looking through the bottles into the reflective glass.
He saw every move.

Time for a game!

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It was a month before when it had first happened.

The sun had been shining through fiercely and she had gone and pulled the curtain to as she clutched the wet towel around her body. As she reached to draw the curtain, she was somewhat shocked to see him brazenly doing the same as she, only fully naked without a single ounce of inhibition. As she shrunk behind the curtain, she watched as he raised his arms high into the air, taking a deep breath and relaxing into the day. He looked in both directions up the sunlit street before turning his back to the outside world and walking away from his exhibitionism.

She had stood for some time, in disbelief at the gloriously exciting sight she had just experienced. Had he known what he was doing? Did he worry that he might have been seen? Did he see her looking? She didn’t think so but she was wrong. Four fingers clutching the curtain had given her away, and he’d seen instantly as he turned his stare down the road to his left.

The following day, the same thing happened, only this time he leant his hands on the window sill as though to give her a better look at his flaccid but wonderfully strong cock.
The four fingers remained clutched to the curtain in her bedroom but she held her other hand firmly around her right breast, covered once more in the moist towel.

Every day for the entire week the same thing happened. He walked to the window, revealed himself without flashing. Every day for an entire week, she felt the stirring in her own body; a reminder of her sexual arousal.

And then there was nothing; days without a glimpse.
Perhaps he was away from home, but no, there he was drawing the curtains with a towel wrapped around his waist, hiding the excitement of the previous week.
By now she longed to get another glimpse of that cock.

But he was game playing. He’d seen those fingers and he’d imagined, hoped he knew what the other hand was doing as he exposed himself to his neighbour. He’d seen her clasp her breast and wondered how long it was before she mirrored his lack of concern and dropped the towel to the floor.

Anticipation greeted her with her alarm and she found that the first thing she was doing each morning was to walk to the window in hope.

She kept waiting and he kept holding back.

Nothing.

And then all of a sudden, a couple of weeks later, the curtain withdrew just at the expected time.
Her eyes stretched wide and she felt her body moisten as she looked in astonishment as he held his cock in his hand. He reached down and cupped his balls and then turned and left the voyeurist alone.

She threw herself down onto the bed, released the towel and pushed a finger or two into her already wet pussy. The mixture of her sexual juices with the clean water from the shower made a delicious and refreshing feeling in her groin. She removed her fingers and rolled the towel into a hard ball that she used to rock her clitoris to orgasm.

Perhaps she ought to reciprocate. Perhaps she ought to give him something in return, just in case he knew she was there.

The next day, she carefully dressed herself in matching bra and pants and walked to the window to draw back the curtain. The other side of the road was marginally elevated so he could possibly see down to her knees, but he wasn’t looking and the curtains remained in place, drawn tightly oblivious to her attempts at seduction. She turned, only she didn’t look further up into the attic room, and she didn’t notice the slight glint from the reflective glass of the camera lens.

The next day she did the same with the same response, only this time she waited to put her bra on for when she got to the window. Her pert and very beautiful breasts bobbled into place as he looked down at her without her even realising.

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And so it was time for a game.

She waved goodbye to her friend and walked upstairs to her bedroom. She sat at the end of the bed and waited. The darkness increased both her anticipation and arousal but she refrained from touching herself. She remained fully dressed.

Soon she saw him walking back from the pub, opening the gate and placing his key in the door.
Did he look up towards her? She could no longer distinguish between her hopes and reality.

She waited. No lights came on. What was he doing?
Her curtains were only slightly ajar and the streetlight was the only glimmer she could see.
All of a sudden, his bedroom light went on. She watched intently to see if he would open the curtains but as she watched, she saw the light diminish and she was left with the initial light from the street.
Disappointed, she was about to withdraw when she saw the curtains open in the darkened room in front of her. He stood there fully dressed staring directly into her room.
She stood up with her hands by her side, waiting.

He looked up and down the street and then stared directly into her room as he removed his t-shirt. He leaned his hands on the pane of glass and stood still, waiting.

She walked towards the window and placed her fingers into the voyeurist’s position. He continued to lean forward, urging her to do something.

She clasped the curtains in both hands and ripped them apart ferociously, standing alarmed at the urgency of this action.
As he saw the curtains separate, he stood erect and removed himself from the glass. His hand wandered towards his belt and he undid the buckle. He slid his hand down towards his flies and undid the top button. He then returned his hands to the pain of glass, open palmed as though inviting some reciprocal behaviour.

She walked up to the glass and pressed her chest towards it. A furtive glance up the street suggested that they were alone and she started to unbutton her top, slowly and hopelessly seductively.
He remained in place, watching and delighting at her slowness.
As she stood there in her bra, he moved his hands across his chest as though expecting her to do the same.
She mirrored his movement and smoothed her hands over her ample breasts, caressing them gently.
He leaned once more towards the window with his hands returning to the clear pane. He wanted more and he was trying to show her.

She took his cue and slipped her hands around her back to unfasten her bra. She arched her back and released it, slowly taking her hands up her arms and slipping the straps down. Her breasts cascaded out and he smiled.

He unzipped his trousers and thrust his hand down into his pants, again placing one hand on the glass.
This was now his cue and she finally realised.

She undid her skirt and let it fall to the ground. Once done, she too placed a hand on the cold pane, waiting.

She didn’t have to wait long before he slipped out of his trousers and his pants, and stood there in full glory with a semi-erect cock. He took it in his hand and started to rub it gently.
Once more he placed his empty hand on the pane.

She slipped her hand into her lacy panties and pushed them to the side, exposing her bushy pussy which was hard and wet, and she wished he could see.
She pushed her fingers inside and wiggled her fingers around. Withdrawing them from her body, she slid them down the pane to show how wet they were.
Still clasping his cock in his hand, he smiled and waved to her.

He didn’t want to give her too much on the first time of reciprocal voyeurism and action.

He closed the curtains, returned to the darkness of the room and wanked himself to climax quicker than he had expected. He was extremely aroused and he wanted more.

She fell into the bed, reached into her bed side table and helped herself to a healthy dose of a much needed rabbit that was eagerly pushing and vibrating over her clitoris.

........................................................................................................................................
And that was just the start.

Over the next few weeks the masturbating continued, the excitement increased. Every night they said goodnight in this dramatic and exciting way.

She pushed a chair into the window and sat with her legs splayed so that he could see as she pushed more than a few fingers inside her.
He stood in the window wanking hard as he watched her fist going in and out, with her legs sprawled over the chair leg, gloriously maintaining her black fuck me shoes on her feet.

He wanked hard, turning profile so that she could see the extent of his extremely elongated cock and then he returned to face the window, raised his leg as though on a stool and fired his spunk all over the window.
As he did so, she suddenly felt a surge of action within her and with an amazing and unexpected force she found a spray of ejaculation urge itself out of her.
Fucking unbelievable.

She had never experienced such a fulfilling sexual pleasure, not even with another human being in the room. The elation that she felt was invigorating. She was learning to do things with her own body that she had no idea she was capable of. It was so amazing, so sensual and it was all her own work!

 What more could she get out of this non-penetrative sex?
How long could this go on without an urgent need to run across the road in the middle of the night for an excited and necessary fuck?
Who was going to break the silence?

And whilst all of this was happening, they remained silent as they stood on the train platform together, as the shopped in the same supermarket and drank in the same pub.

..............................................................................................................................................
A few week’s had passed. Morning and night time, they watched each other venturing further into one another’s silent lives.

Who was going to make a move? Was any move necessary?
She went down to make some breakfast and heard the letterbox rattle. Too early for the postman she rushed to the door.
There on the mat was a single piece of paper.

As she opened the paper, she saw the familiar blue and white logo of Skype. Underneath was a name: Jokerman45, followed by a time, 9pm, and an ‘x’.

....................................................................
The evening came too slowly.
She returned home and prepared for the evening by walking around the house totally naked. Little did she know that Jokerman45 was preparing in exactly the same way.

He took his laptop up to his room and waited.
A contact request came in at 8.45 from “Amiability42”. He accepted immediately.

At 9.00 he pressed the call button on Skype. He set the video to start and waited.

Before she could open her mouth, he held a sign up in front of his face that simply said “SShhh!”
She giggled as he took the sign away and immediately waved his hard cock in front of the camera.
She placed her lap top between her knees and stretched down to tickle her labia. She held them open and focused the lens on her needy cunt.
He responded immediately by jerking his cock in front of her. He paused as though hoping to last a little longer but she could not do the same.

Once more her orgasm came quickly and she spurted her juices out all over the screen. It was utterly divine and she delved inside herself for more.

It was not long before he too spurted his stuff all over the screen; great globs of spunk rolling down the screen for him to see and her to imagine.

They both lay back and felt their simultaneous orgasms, once more in silence.
It was blissful. It was delightful and empowering to know that you can do that to yourself.
So wonderful.

It was time for another of Jokerman’s  note.

“1 am, in the middle of the street. You know what to wear”.

She leant forward and stared at him in disbelief. He looked at her, nodded and pressed the end button to finish the call.

The silence and the solitude was about to be broken.

Saturday, 5 February 2011

Sexual Snippets in February 2011

Sexual Snippets

It has been some time, too long since I wrote on this blog and there seems to be so much going on in the world of sex once more, so I thought I would start by writing a small, sexual snippets on a range of subjects to get my writing juices flowing, and hopefully some other juices whilst I am at it.

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People in the News
Robert Lindsay

A couple of weekends ago, the actor Robert Lindsay was in the news. Apparently, he had been out to celebrate the end of a theatre run, darling, and had run up a £1600 bill at Spearmint Rhinos.

The various newspapers that reported on this were trying to imply that there was a story here; that this married man should not have been cavorting with these lewd women in such a dirty place. However, dear Robert gave them a different story to cover.
His wife knew where he was and was allegedly perfectly content that he was out with friends enjoying a bit of titillation by looking at some very handsome tits. Not only did his wife know where he was but so did his son.
There seem to be no sexual secrets in the Lindsay household and how wonderful is that?
Personally, I am rather delighted to know that Mr. Lindsay still has a healthy libido and enjoys the delights of looking at nubile young women. I am further delighted that the very lovely Ms. Ford, his current partner, recognises that such sexual excitement in her man’s life is not in any way going to deter him from wanting her. It is not a distraction or a threat to their relationship. Rather, the fact that they seem to be so honest about his sexual desires suggests that there is a greater chance of longevity in their relationship as this sincere honesty underpins everything that they have.

It does also show a determined liberation. Many actors would have run a mile at being photographed coming out of such an establishment. Many would have tried to shy away, possibly getting into some hideous brawl with the paparazzi. And this is where I admire Robert Lindsay for simply strolling out of the bar, a little worse for wear.
He was doing nothing wrong and so he didn’t have to hide. That was what he thought, so why not be photographed?
Perhaps he is such a big star that even being captured in legitimate sex places can do him no harm, or perhaps it is those eyes, that charm and twinkle, so that one could not possibly print a bad thing about him.

Sally Bercow
In direct contrast to Mr. Lindsay, Sally Bercow went on the radio yesterday to apologise for her sexiness.


She had posed for a photo, draped in nothing but a sheet with the esteemed tower of St. Stephen’s in the background. In the original piece that was written for a build up to Valentine’s Day in the Evening Standard, Mrs. Bercow had mentioned how sexy she thought it was to go to bed with the light from the Big Ben tower shining into her room.
So far so good, and well done to her for posing that way. She looked very erotic in a cheeky sort of way.

However, her hubby, unlike Rosemary Ford, was not amused and was concerned that this pose would have a detrimental effect upon his career. After all, this is parliament dear, and there should be no talk of sex in that institution, other than to pass legislation that supposedly protects us from this evil force.

Sally therefore went on the Radio Five Victoria Derbyshire programme to say that this whole incident had been a mistake, that she had looked a complete idiot and that she regretted posing for the cameras in this way.

What I would like to know is how Sally Bercow felt whilst she was posing. Did it make her feel sexy and alive? Did she want to dive into bed with or without the bed sheets having got herself aroused by this sexiness? If she did, then why on earth would this have been the wrong thing to do? How could it be idiotic?
Too many times in life, people push aside the naturalness of sexuality, and that is the idiotic thing. Too many times in life, people react negatively to this perfectly natural expression of sexuality, and that too is an idiotic thing.

I would have admired Sally Bercow much more if she had taken a leaf out of Robert Lindsay’s book and said “yes, I posed for a photo with parliament in the back ground. What of it? I like sex. I have a good sexual life and a healthy libido. If I happen to be turned on by screwing my husband with this phallic symbol of power behind me then so be it.”
But she didn’t because Brits just don’t do that sort of thing when one’s partner is Speaker of the House.

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The Joys of Teen Sex



This is a tricky one. I am all for people being honest about sex. I am all for people recognising that teenagers do have sex rather than pretending that they do not. However, there are ways of doing this and glorifying abnormal sexual behaviour is not the way to do it.

Let us get one thing straight, right here and right now. Sex is a wonderful thing. It is such a precious thing that it should not be entered into (excuse the pun) lightly. People should think very carefully about normalising sexual behaviour of, say, a thirteen year old. In my honest opinion, all that is happening with a child of that age is a physical act of sex. There is nothing about the real essence of sexuality in sex at this age. That requires maturity and an emotional development that simply cannot exist in the minds, lives and souls of such young teenagers.

So what should we do about it? We should think in terms of being sex positive. We should tell young people about the preciousness of the very best sexual experiences and that this really can only come later in life when you have developed a maturity and understanding of oneself, so that you do not become falsely reliant on either a person or that feeling of having sex. We should shy away from telling young people that they should not have sex. All they will do in return is mockingly state that if sex was such a bad thing then why do we, as adults, partake? Good response in my opinion.
But we should certainly help them in delaying their sexual activity, supporting them in maturing their emotional intelligence and making them see that there are also alternatives to penetrative sex that go beyond the idiotic 101 ways to make love without doing it rubbish.

I mean, is a rampant sixteen year old boy going to be happy walking arm in arm in the woods (no.13) when what he really wants is to get down in the leaves and shag his girl as quickly and urgently as his body is telling him to do so?
Or is a seventeen year old girl going to be happy with a gaze (no 39) when she wants her boyfriend or girlfriend to wander their hands across her pubic hairs and into her pussy?

Of course they are not but suggesting that they wank one another off or wank themselves off whilst a partner is looking on, well, that is certainly going to give them a whacking great big orgasm without the problems associated with penetrative sex, and it is obviously extremely intimate.

Wake up world.

Admittedly, I only watched a small section of this programme but it struck me as serving the sort of stereotyping that should not be happening.
The first participant in the programme was a girl of thirteen who had been taken to the lurve clinic by her mother who was concerned about her having sex. When she got there and was talking to the counsellor, she disclosed that not only was she having sex but on many occasions it was unprotected. By the time she got to the doctor to discuss the range of contraceptives available to her, she further disclosed that she had indeed contracted Chlamydia at the age of thirteen.
“That’s unlucky!” said the ever so politically correct young doctor.
Unlucky???? Unlucky????

This isn’t unlucky. This is downright negligent and the child should be told.

The trouble with programmes like this that are ever so right on and cooooooooool is that they have a tendency to normalise things that are not normal. It is like suggesting that all Texans wear Stetsons every single time that they walk out of the door – ok, perhaps not the best of analogies, or that all Japanese people have quirky sexual habits or that all Germans have no sense of humour.

All teenagers are not having sex. In fact the majority are not having sex, of any sort, let alone penetrative.
Yes, help this girl out, and the other person that I saw on the television who was scared of having anal sex but do it so that it is absolutely clear that these are not things that confront every teenager in the country the minute they lose touch with being twelve.

I deplore sensationalism of any sort. I despise it even further when it diminishes and belittles something that I hold very dear; good sex.

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And talking of good sex...........

Nobody, be it teenager, famous person or a simple pleb on the street should settle for anything other than the best sex you can have. Okay, a little bit of recreational sex to get rid of urges. Or a little bit of recreational sex happens just because you fancy a fuck or a person. Well that’s fine every so often but there is no substitute for the real all-encompassing togetherness of glorious, loving sex.

And yesterday I got just that.

It made me think as I lay in a comatose state of utter bliss how vital it is to have this in one’s life. I have therefore decided that I need at least one completely overwhelming session of sex per week. Ideally I would have it at least four or five times a week, at night so that I can drift off into a good six or seven hours of uninterrupted sleep, other than the times in the night when my lover just fancied burying his fingers deep into my cunt.

And in case anyone was worried that Zenpuss’s libido has shrunk. Be assured that it hasn’t. A good old rampant bang, or a quick shag on the bathroom floor will do me on a daily basis but I need that all out loving at least once a week.

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And finally for now.......

There is still debate about what is happening to a woman during orgasm. There is still debate, unbelievably so, about whether a woman is actually capable of having a vaginal orgasm.
I am interested in this area and have been doing some research both with my partner and on my own, checking what my body feels like after copious orgasms and also after a self-indulgent clitoral climax.

For me, and I appreciate that I am a lucky one, for I can spurt out all manner of fluids having being stimulated in the right way.
But what are these fluids if they are not urine? Where have they come from and why do I think I need to pee when I am excited?

I implore any female reader to check this out. (Not female, suggest to your woman that she does this, preferably with you watching on).
 Go to the toilet and release any urine in your body. Then give yourself a good clitoral stimulation so that you orgasm. Then see how long it takes for you to need the toilet. I suspect it won’t be long. When you go to the loo, just check the colour of your emissions. I suspect they might be extremely clear.

So what does this mean?
More later but do tell me of your findings and whether my hypothesis is correct.