A Lesbian Romantic Monday

I am slightly disturbed that none of Edward Hotspur’s Romantic Monday Banners have two women on them, because I am forced to use the less-than-tantalizing cherry blossom pic. There can be romance between women dammit! I’ll write you a story just to prove it:

“I’ve never had an orgasm.”

Frankie was shocked; whether it was at the fact a coworker at her new job was bringing up this subject, or the fact that it was a late-thirty-something woman had yet to experience true pleasure she couldn’t say. Either way, she decided to ignore her unsettled brain.

“Did the guys here say something to you?” Frankie asked up front. She didn’t go around boasting her interest in women, but if someone asked her, she didn’t deny it. All it took was a group of guys standing around talking about hot ass for them to find out she was very opinionated on the subject; despite the fact that she had a boyfriend. It usually didn’t take long for everyone she worked with to find out she was bisexual. She figured that was the reason this woman she’d only been introduced to was spouting her most intimate secret to her.

Heather looked at her quizzically. “No? What would they have said?”

“Nevermind.” Frankie shook her head and changed the subject. “So really? You seriously have never had an orgasm? You mean with intercourse?”

Heather looked at her pointedly. “No, I mean, EVER.”

“Whaaaaaaaat?!?!?!!?!??!?!” Frankie’s brain was going nuts. She cleared her throat so she didn’t blurt out what she was thinking- something along the lines of “Well, that explains alot.” Instead, she said, “Wait. So you’re telling me that you’re thirty-eight and you’ve never had an orgasm. What about with a vibrator?”

“No, I have one, but it doesn’t do anything for me. My exboyfriends all said I’m too uptight and need to relax. The last one was really pissed when he couldn’t get me off.”

Frankie let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Holy shit, she thought. “Sooo, what are you gonna do about it? You need to be having an orgasm before your 40th.” she said it jokingly, but she meant it.

Heather threw up her hands, frustrated. “I don’t know! I feel like I don’t know what I’m missing. I mean, I guess I enjoy sex, but it’s not like there’s big finale or anything.” She looked at Frankie and then looked away quickly, as if she was ashamed. “If I tell you a secret, will you promise not to tell anyone? Like ANYONE? I would be so completely embarrassed.”

Frankie shrugged. She didn’t like people enough to be caring what secrets who had, so she was pretty sure she wasn’t going to break this woman’s confidence. “Sure. I won’t tell anyone.”

The brunette took a deep breath before she began. “I’ve always had this fantasy of going down on another woman. I mean, I feel like if I could figure out how to give someone like me an orgasm, then maybe I’d be able to figure out how to give myself one.” She looked at Frankie sheepishly. “Please don’t be all weird, but all the other girls I’ve told that to just freaked out and didn’t want to talk to me anymore.”

Frankie laughed inwardly, wondering if Heather had realized that she wouldn ‘t be able to pleasure herself the way she fantasized pleasuring another woman. The image of Heather bending like a contortionist in order to tongue her own clit made Frankie emit a noticeable giggle.

“Why are you laughing at me?” Heather asked, hurt.

Frankie waved a hand. “No, I’m not, I promise. I just…” She just what? She didn’t even know. She cleared her throat again, and gave Heather her flirtiest grin. “So, are you asking me if you can go down on me?” She always deflected awkward situations by flirting; it seemed the most natural thing to do.

Heather shook her head. “Well, no- I mean, I don’t even really know you. And you have a boyfriend. Do you think this means I’m bisexual?”

Ugh. Frankie hated the titles. Gay, lesbian, bisexual. Why did everybody have to put a label on things? She always wondered why people couldn’t just accept that some people are attracted to who they’re attracted to, regardless of gender.

“No, it doesn’t mean that at all. It just means you want to have an orgasm.” Frankie’s blunt manner sometimes got the best of her, and she couldn’t control how she worded things. “I like girls, and I don’t consider myself bisexual.”

Frankie found it intensely amusing that Heather now looked at her with different eyes. “You like women? I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, well, you’re probably the only one who didn’t.” Frankie stood up. “So anyway, you need to have an orgasm already.”

Which is how they’d ended up here. For weeks after their initial conversation, Heather had continuously broached the idea that Frankie bring her home. Because Frankie wasn’t appalled at the idea of two women together, Heather had asked Frankie to talk with her boyfriend and ok a sort of Orgasm Finding Ceremony. Frankie’s boyfriend had been as shocked as she about a nearly-forty year old woman not having an orgasm, and told Frankie to do what she had to. Heather was certainly neurotic, which was exactly why Frankie didn’t let her know what she was planning. So after work, she grabbed Heather’s hand.

“You’re coming with me tonight.” She didn’t want to Heather to feel awkward because she was a woman, so she took a no-nonsense manly approach.

In the car ride, she could tell Heather was nervous, because she wasn’t saying anything. Heather talked incessently, which was one of the reasons Frankie had given pause to this decision, but then the whole ridiculousness of Heather’s dilemma got the better of her. She pulled into the parking lot and put the car into park.

“Let’s go.” She spoke gruffly, but when Heather looked at her, she winked and Heather’s face split into a wondrous grin. Frankie knew she’d put Heather at ease, and breathed an inward sigh of relief.

Frankie had rented a hotel room, because if this turned out to be a bad experience, she didn’t want either of them reliving it every night they came home for the foreseeable future. She took ahold of Heather’s hand, and pulled her into the room. She reached around Heather and pulled the door shut, making sure her breath landed on the side of Heather’s neck as she did so. She berated herself for wearing her shorter heels today, because Heather was a good 5 inches taller than she, but she figured that wouldn’t matter soon enough.

She led Heather to the bed, and guided her to sit down. Heather remained mute, and Frankie could see the tendrils of her hair shaking nervously. She knelt down in front of Heather so they were face to face.

“Listen. Tonight is nothing to be nervous about. I’m here to be what you need, so you don’t have to worry about anything out there.” She nodded her head in the direction of the outside world. “And you don’t have to worry about anything in here. I want you to relax, and not think about what other lovers could or couldn’t give you. I’m not them.”

Heather nodded, and with that silent admission, Frankie set out to deliver pleasure.

She removed Heather’s shoes, a dingy unstylish pair, and ran her hand up Heather’s leg. Heather was wearing a black skirt that fell just above the knee, and Frankie placed a kiss on one knee, and then the other. She  looked up to see Heather looking down at her. She winked again to lighten the mood, and continued her journey.

She straightened up and pulled Heather forward enough to slide her skirt off. Heather was forced to lean back, and she did so, resting her elbows on the bed and watching intently. Frankie figured this was as good a position as any, and pressed Heather’s knees apart to that her panties were squarely in front of Frankie’s face. Frankie ran her tongue along the inside of Heather’s thighs, first one, and then the other, before burying her nose in the satiny fabric. She heard Heather gasp, and she smiled to herself. It was a sweet musky smell; and Frankie inhaled deeply. She never tired of that scent.

She pulled down Heather’s panties, and admired the well-groomed landing strip that was underneath.

The End.

P.S. Just kidding, but I’ll finish it tomorrow.

Rules For Loving Me

 

Since I am the Queen of my World, it would make sense for there to be rules for my Lovely subjects to follow in regards to loving me. More specifically, there should be rules for that special person who just happens to be my significant other. I would post these on the fridge if I actually thought they’d get followed…

#1. My Beloved is required to eat french fries of his own making with me at least once a week. (My Rockstar is actually pretty good about this one. Mainly because he is too lazy to cook something other than fried food most of the time.)

#2. My Beloved is required to wash ALL dishes that find themselves dirtied in the sink. In exchange, he shall be rewarded with a complete body rub with my extremely soft hands that are unsullied from numerous dish washings.

#3. My Beloved is required to engage in sexually explicit acts quad-weekly or more with the Queen. In exchange, he shall be rewarded with earth-shattering orgasms.

#4. While the Queen is not against doing her own laundry, it would be much preferred if her Beloved put away his own skivvies and other assorted bodily coverings.

#5. Hand holding, ass groping, booby squeezing, and other assorted acts of physical affection are required to keep one’s place as the Queen’s Beloved.

#6. It is not necessary to accompany the Queen every Sunday to her piano playing gig at church. However, an occasional appearance is required in order to keep the old peoples from feeling pity for the Queen continuously having to sit alone.

#7. The Queen likes to stay home alot. Yet the Queen’s Beloved is required to understand that a date or outing is necessary on occasion in order to satisfy the Queen’s boredom.

#8. The Queen, like any other royal personage, suffers from histrionic personality disorder. Therefore, her Beloved must realize her need for attention is highly magnified, and must act accordingly.

#9. A Royal Spanking must be administered to the Queen now and then to make sure her masochistic urges are satisfied. This may also be accompanied by a Bite to the Ass, or Forced Deep-Throating. For this she thanks you.

#10. The Queen must be allowed to choose Travelling Music when riding along on car trips. No groaning or negative commenting on her choice of music or questionable singing skills is allowed.

#11. “You bought another pair of shoes?” is a comment that is punishable by beheading, or some other equally disgusting punishment, such as No Sex.

#12. Chocolate Caramel Coffee Creamer must be supplied to the Queen daily. If it is used up, her Beloved is required to buy more.

#13. The Queen is required to drive a fuschia-colored Boss Mustang. If she cannot afford one, one must be provided for her.

#14. The Queen’s Library will forever be added to. Sufficient bookshelf space must be accomadated.

#15. When the Queen decides to cook dinner for her Beloved,  the eating of said dinner must be accompanied by ,”MMM, this is good”s, and/or “may I have some more?”s. Also, if she is wearing nothing but and apron and heels, this must be acknowledged.

These seem to be relatively reasonable rules, I say. Who wouldn’t want to be my loyal subject, I ask you? 😉

 

Straight Smut: The Sequal

Here’s the sequal to Straight Smut you horny people have been waiting for:

The orgasm racked her body, raising gooseflesh on her skin and making her quiver. Beth bit her bottom lip, and Jon watched on as the pleasure took her. He knelt in front of her now, and slid his boxers down. His erection popped up and grazed his belly, and through her pleasure-haze, Beth moaned at the sight of it’s absolute hardness. She leaned up, intent on swallowing his manness whole, but he pushed her back. He knew that is she were to start with oral, he’d never last long enough to feel the tight inner walls of her.

She squirmed, agitated at being pushed away, but a moment later, he pushed all of himself inside her, and she went still with the sensation of it. She squeezed her inner muscles, and he sucked in a breath when he felt her grip on him. She looked into his eyes, a smile playing on her lips. He  smiled back, and then he roughly grabbed her thigh and flipped her over. Beth squealed, surprised, and then closed her eyes, indulging in the feel of him when he began to thrust.

He went slowly at first, admiring the view of her curvy ass as he moved. He gripped it then, unable to resist. The supple skin turned pink from the force of his grip. Because of the angle, at each thrust, he felt the end of her, and her moans told him she was getting close again. He thrusted harder, and moved his hands to her hair, pulling it as he rode her. He wanted to see her face when she came, so he held her head up by her hair. He gritted his teeth, trying not to come, but when he saw the flush of excitement run up her shapely neck to her face, and heard her call out, he could no longer wait, and he spent himself inside her.

She felt the warmth of his seed, and his body shudder, and thought, “That was a nice way to be woken up.”

Hershey Orgasm

Aright, My Lovelys. I will write something useful today. I seemed to get a surplus of comments from my little smut writings; however, I don’t want to entirely alienate my readers who won’t admit they liked it. (I know who you are)

Today I must share with you the amazing discovery that I made while I was at work last night. After working for a little over a month as a Pizza Slut, I have figured out that I shall never hunger. Especially since the cooks we have employed at my store tend to goof quite a bit. Not a day goes by at work when I am not surrounded by extra deliciousness such as cheesey breadsticks (awesome with ranch dressing), stuffed-crust pizza (also awesome with ranch dressing), and garlic bread. (not great without ranch.) Now, I’ve been informed by my Rockstar that excessive feedings of cheese and bread can wreak havoc on your digestional system, or in his words, “You won’t be able to shit for a week.” (What a way with words he has.) and my palate is getting…somewhat bored of pizza anyway. So yesterday, I decided to order a little thing called Hershey Dunkers. (or as I have renamed them, Hershey Orgasm.)

If you have never experienced these, I urge you right at this moment to call up your local Pizza Slut store and order some. Right now. Because you will not be sorry. I was a little bit skeptical at first, especially when the cook making my Orgasm said, “These are so gross, why would you want to order them?” She let me know her opinion was so strong simply because they are so rich and sweet. My mouth was watering as they made their way through the pizza oven, as the odor of melting chocolate permeated the entire store.

I will describe them for you. It is really just breadsticks, but instead of putting seasoning salt on top, they are doused in butter and then covered with crumbly Hershey chocolatey goodness.  They come with dipping sauce, and are amazing.

The moment I took my first bite, I knew my world would never be the same. The melt-in-your-mouth scrumptiousness made me wonder how I could ever eat anything else ever again. I ordered a double order, intent on bringing some home for my Rockstar. There weren’t many left after I got done…

I see much chocolate and many pounds in my future.

Smut III

Part 3 of Smut 1 and 2…

Linnea writhed in agony. A mewling sound escaped her lips, and Jess watched in amusement as Linnea struggled against her bonds. Tears of frustration seeped through Linnea’s blindfold, and the salty taste mingled with the remnants of Jess’s kisses on her lips.

“Perhaps you will think twice the next time you let your eyes wander, hmm?” From what Linnea could tell, Jess was across the room now, and even through her tears, she noticed that Jess’s accent had thickened as it did when she was impassioned.

“Is that what you want? A man?”

Though the question was asked harshly, Jess couldn’t keep the hurt from her voice.

“Do you think a man can please you better than I?”

Linnea’s voice broke as she denied the accusation. The man Jess had caught her watching was a stranger, and she had been attracted to him. She had wondered what it would have been like to have him fuck her. Linnea begged for forgiveness, begging to be untied so that she could show her devotion. She paused when she felt the bed dip slightly.

Then a cock was buried inside her, and the force with which she was impaled took her breath away.

Linnea was stunned. She couldn’t believe Jess would allow a man access to her body, but then she felt her hair being grabbed in a fist, and she recognized Jess’s grip. She realized that Jess was wearing a strap-on, and relief flooded over her.

“I hope you understand what it is you wanted.” The whisper was threatening, and then Jess began to move.

Her thrusts were so forceful, they nearly lifted Linnea off of the bed. Linnea cried out at each one, her pleasure mounting. She was unable to move; the scarves were still tightly knotted, and the grip Jess had on her hair was bending her torso back. She could do nothing but enjoy the intese pleasure coursing through her body.

When the long-awaited orgasm came, Linnea squealed in pleasure. Jess did not stop thrusting. Almost immediately, a second orgasm racked Linnea’s body; Jess plunged the imitation cock in harder.

Jess fucked Linnea without mercy. She had reverted to her native language of French, and though the words were foreign to her, Linnea understood their meaning. She belonged to no one else.

Smut Part Deux

A continuation to Smut-R-Us…

Linnea shivered from the sensation of Jess’s intensely intimate hold on her. She dared not move; the teasing Jess had inflicted on her was already so excruciating, if she struggled she knew that Jess would only prolong the torment. She remained still, silently longing for Jess to quicken her fingers, hoping that she had had enough.

Instead, Linnea cried out in desperation when she felt Jess pull her hand away. The empty feeling was too much for Linnea; she begged Jess for release, grinding helplessly as the weight of Jess’s body pressed down on her.

Jess’s hands slid up Linnea’s sides to her front, and then she was pinching her tits roughly. Linnea felt Jess sink her teeth into the tender spot between her neck and shoulder, and she sobbed with desire. Jess began moving her hips back and forth, and Linnea slowed her frantic movements to try to match Jess’s. Jess bit down again, and her breath came quicker and more ragged. Her fingers released Linnea’s tits, and her nails dug into the soft skin of Linnea’s belly as she reached climax. Her gutteral moans  were music to Linnea’s ears, and though she was still blindfolded, Linnea tipped her head back, searching for Jess’s lips. She was met with the coppery taste of her own blood, and she drank deeply of Jess’s kisses, starved.

Jess pushed Linnea’s face away roughly.

“No.” Jess’s voice was sharp. “You get what I give, not what you can take.”

Linnea’s breath quickened when she felt Jess slide down. Her sense of touch was heightened considerably because she couldn’t see, and she felt Jess’s nipples graze her buttocks, and then she shuddered when Jess’s tongue darted against her clit, and then into her cunt.

Jess slid her tongue in and out of Linnea, tasting the sweet juices that dripped freely. She gripped Linnea’s ass tightly with both hands as she brought her closer to orgasm, but just as Linnea’s cries grew louder and her muscles tensed, Jess pulled herself away once more.

“You must learn patience, my pet.”

A Halloween Story

In celebration of my favorite holiday, I shall tell you a story that is quite frightening in a non-traditionally scary way, and is the reason the ghosts of Halloween past will always haunt me.

In the city where I live, it is tradition to hit all the bars on the Saturday on or before Halloween. Since it is a college town, the multitude of ingenious costumes one may witness is quite entertaining indeed. (Though going downtown can be quite detrimental to my pocketbook- the reason being that I tend to accrue many friends when I’m drunk, to which I offer free drinks to.)

A few years ago, I decided to dress as Jessica Rabbit for Halloween, which in retrospect, contributed to the outcome of my story. Anyhoo, after a few hours of bar-hopping, we settled on one bar and I bounded to the counter in my red sequined dress with the intent of procuring yet another round of drinks for me and my hubby. (at the time) While I was waiting for the gay barkeep to notice my voluptuous assets (in my drunken state, I did not realize he was gay, though his Village People costume should have given me a clue) the man beside me struck up a conversation. He offered to buy my drinks, to which I replied, “Of course you may buy my husband’s and my drinks if you wish” which did not deter him from his objective. Apparently the man had a Jessica Rabbit fantasy. We shall name him Mr. Moneybags, since he whipped out a business card (while telling me he ran Chanhassen) and the let me know that any call (or more) would be welcome. La dee da. At that point, I had gone 8 months without sex, since my hubby found me repulsive (or something) so I tucked the card into my cleavage (just in case).

After a few weeks of texting back and forth with Moneybags, I found out he was a sexual freak who was up for ANYTHING. He informed me that he had, in the past, frequented swinger parties and other such goings-on, which due to my sexaully- deviant nature, I found intriguing. I went to his house intent on ending my dry spell (pun intended) and with the intention of fulfilling some of his fantasies.

When I arrived, I realized that my beer goggles I was wearing the night I met him must have had a very strong prescription. While not completely unfortunate-looking, he ceased put a tingle in my drawers.  Being the Coitus Warrior that I am, I toiled on, proceeding to receive the pounding of my life, while NOT acheiving orgasm.

(Sidenote: Mr. Moneybags informed me that he previously had lost copious amounts of weight, which unfortunately caused his stretched-out skin to resemble Jello while he was doing the deed. I believe this contributed slightly to my dissatifaction.)

Anyhoo, after leaving, I vowed never again to put myself in a naked situation with Mr. Moneybags. During the following year, I was bombarded with texts and drunken phone calls from Moneybags, asking for another round of my “expertise”, all of which I refused. The most vivid memory I have of these dark days was a voicemail left on my phone at 3 AM. It went as follows:

“Sparkle! Me and my friends are out drinking, and there are 3 horny guys with huge cocks who are willing to be at your service if you come out with us. And me.”

Now, I admit, I am probably fucked up enough in the head that I would find 3 or 4 guys at a time amusing, in the least. But considering that Moneybags would be included in said amusement, I decided to abstain. After not returning his calls and texts, Moneybags gave up on me. Or so I thought.

This past Saturday, while I was working as a Pizza Slut, I received a text from Moneybags after many moons. I realized it was the anniversary of our first meeting, the Saturday before Halloween. His text was a request to meet for drinks (and more) at the downtown bars of our past encounter. I let him know that I was at work, and that my Rockstar would be expecting me home afterward. He then told me I should tell Rockstar I was out with the girls. Now, I wouldn’t have done it anyway, but as I have noted in recent posts, I have no “girls” to pretend I’m going out with. Anyhoo, I told Moneybags I prolly wouldn’t be coming out. After receiving a few more texts including “PLEEEEEEASE” and “It will be fun”, I sent him the following: “I gotta tell ya, Dude. The sex was less than impressive.” After that I received no more annoying texts.

On my way to church yesterday, I got a response from my last text. Simply, “Agreed”. Oh, no. He did NOT just say that sex with me was un-impressive! I realize that he was probably just trying to save face in the light of my recent slam, but a plethora of texts and phone calls from him prove that I DID amaze and astound. There are so many things that I could have texted back, but I decided to be civil, so I only sent back, “It’s OK. Keep flashing your business card around, Dude. You’ll find somebody eventually. But you may have to pay them.”

I learned my lesson. Though I did not go home with him the night I met him, I DID pick him up in a bar. It is inconceivable to me that people do this more than once. Once was definitely MORE than enough for me. And I shall be haunted by the memory of the incident for every Halloween to come.

P.S. The best thing about our naked encounter was the toy he bought for me.

P.P.S. Thank you, all you Lovelys who viewed my page yesterday, even though I wrote nothing. I luvs you all! XOXO

“A Girl Can Never Wear Enough Blue Eyeshadow.”

Ever since I heard Jamie Lee Curtis utter these words in My Girl, I have been a believer.

While I was growing up, I wasn’t allowed to even THINK about makeup- my parents believing it would turn me into a tart or a wanton woman. In 4th grade, my friend was allowed to wear foundation because her skin resembled a 3D topographic map. There was an incident when we snuck into the bathroom at school and proceeded to smear said foundation onto our faces, which looked as though I was attempting to dress in black face, since her skin was so much darker than mine. We were rudely interrupted by my incredibly strict teacher, who looked down disapprovingly and said, “Sparkle, would your parents be happy with you at this moment?” The threat of my teacher informing my parents of my transgression kept me from playing with my friend’s makeup of then on.

When I was 15, excessive begging finally led to my parents allowing me 2 beauty basics: blush and mascara. I somehow managed to procure a tube of “Terra Cotta” lipstick as well. If you don’t know, Terra Cotta is a fancy word for dark orange. When I wore my lipstick to school, the boy I had a crush on stated, “You still have a pretty face, even though you have ten pounds of makeup on.” I was slightly confused, since my friend wore, foundation, powder, eyeshadow, AND lipstick, yet wearing a bright (albeit awful) color of lipstick seemed to make me anathema.

One of the ways in which I have been fortunate is that I never suffered from acne, so I’ve never had to cover anything up on my face. Sadly, I believe I’ve inherited the bags that are under my dad’s eyes; when I am 50, I’ll probably look like I’m ready to go on a $10,000 shopping spree. With my face.

Being a person who is easily distracted by sparkles and bright colors, a trip to ULTA puts me in a state of euphoria. Just seeing the aisles of glittery eyeliner, rows of lipstick, and rainbows of eyeshadow is enough to bring me to orgasm. If you find a girl lying in the middle of ULTA with handfuls of makeup screaming, “OOH! YES! YES! YES!” , you will know you have found me.

My pale vampiric complexion makes it possible for me to wear bright bright pink lipstick and get away with it, and fun purpley eyeshadow brings out the lovely poop color of my eyes. Perhaps when I am old, I will be the ridiculous old woman who wears too much makeup, but it will make me smile every day.