Pussy Noir (2 of 2)

For part one...start here



"How was your date last night?" Caramel asked as we stood in the dreary office kitchen.

"Wasn't a date. I had to meet up with a friend of a friend." I replied sipping my water. The cool sensation contrasted with the heat that boiled up from my collar and radiated in my loins.

"Oh, sympathy date...that sucks. You dissed me for a sympathy date...Hope she at least put out." She needled and gracefully floated out like a gazelle on roller skates.

The nerve of that broad.

I packed up my stuff at the end of the day horny as hell and in need of some alone time. I prayed that my commute would be subway delay free because when I got home all of the sexual tension would need to be attacked head on (no pun intended) by my own hands. Caramel surveyed the staff for after work drinks, but there were no takers. It was a hot Friday night and everyone had plans.

"Guess it's just us." She winked to me. "Let's go..." She pulled me unawares and in shock into the elevator.

It was a quick subway ride to her place in Brooklyn. She shared the place with her mother who was no where to be found. Her two "cute dogs" ended up being two large hell hounds that attempted to swallow my head whole as I entered her cavernous sweltering bedroom. She excused the mess. There were papers, shoes and clothes all over the white tiled floor papers with a crate sitting square in the middle of it all.

"Before work can't figure out what the fuck to wear tornado" She explained.

She released the hounds into the backyard and opened some windows so the sweltering heat outside could meld with the sweltering heat inside to create a nice heat cocktail. She quickly hid a couple of lingering pairs of very small underwear, turned on a small fan that sputtered heat at me and excused herself to the bathroom leaving me with just my dirty thoughts.

I was sitting in the dark fanning myself and perusing the large amounts of assorted mess that littered the floor when a large booming sound of gospel music, shouting and all sorts of clatter erupted from not too far away. The Friday night revival had begun at her neighborhood holy emporium. The sound was deafening. I closed the windows, they rattled with the vibrations of "amens" "have mercy" and "goodlawds". From the nearby room, I could hear the shower running. Caramel and I attempted to conduct a normal conversation by shouting to each other through the door and over the muffled music. After what seemed like a decade of crossing the burning sands in heat, humidity and tamborine clashes, Caramel stepped from the bathroom looking like pure sin. She wore a red satin kimono inspired robe held closed with a thin satin tie.

She tip toed across the room and dumped her dirty clothes in a pile. Hey why not? The room was already tornado strewn anyway.

"You ok?" She smiled as she lit the candles over the fireplace mantle. "Want something to drink?" Her eyes glimmered in the light of the candles. I refused. She left anyway for some water.

She returned, handed me the glass and stood over me. I took a small sip and she anxiously retrieved it and placed it on the mantle.

"OK, good night. I'm laying down. I have a headache." She smiled and reached for the pillow behind me, but I caught her in mid motion. My hand slipped under her kimono, wrapped around her soft waist and pulled her back to me. "OH!" She squealed.

The kimono tie unraveled easily in my wanting hands revealing her see through thong. Her small caramel toned breasts were highlighted by puffy chocolate nipples. My mouth found her stomach and caressed warm kisses on it while my hands took hold of her firm apple ass. I pulled her tightly to me and licked around her navel. Caramel's hands ran through my hair as a barely audible moan left her lips. My mouth found her erect nipples and sucked them softly. Round and round went my soft, warm tongue on her breasts. Her hands gripped the back of my head. She tasted of Bonner's peppermint soap and almond lotion. My hands pulled her tighter to me. Her left leg straddled my body on the right side while her right foot barely stood on it's toes.

Outside the sound of drums and tamborines rose. A sermon was building.

Caramel pushed forward on me landing on top of me, our tongues slipped softly across each other. My hands caressed the soft skin on her ass, her legs, her strong back. My fingers wrapped in her thong and pulled it down her small hips. She helped me slide them down her long legs then straddled my body and helped me from my sweaty shirt. Her thin fingers massaged my chest as the moisture from her sex left dew on my pants.

The sounds of the chanting crowd rose with her heaving breaths as my fingers found her clit and rubbed softly. Her body shuddered under my control. My dick stiffened in her fingers as she stroked me through my pants. She had a death grip on me and with every stroke was begging for more. My fingers slid in her milky essence coaxing her clit harder and harder. My mouth found her nipples and sucked harder. Her explosion was modest at first then rose to a body shaking sigh. Even in sex she was graceful. She was ready for me. She dug out a condom from her pleasure drawer. With her long legs spread and her knees high, she pulled me by my ass deep deep deep inside her. She took a deep breath as I entered further and further. A squeal left her throat.

"Mmmm...fuck yes!' She moaned.

Our bodies rocked together. They say thin women are deep and she was no exception. I reached further and further within her, basking in the warmth and tightness of her sex. Caramel fucked me hard and showed me every ounce of her youth and energy with each thrust. I grabbed her hard around her waist and lifted her as I kneeled. She was lithe and flexible so I put her to the test, contorted her legs this way and that until I pushed her back to the bed on all fours.

"You showing off?" She moaned as I dove to the hilt deep inside her wet pussy. The Egyptian eye tattoo on her back stared at me as I grabbed her hips and slid within her. My hand swung through the air with a whooosh and slapped her ass with a sting. She grunted and moaned "yessssss". Our sweaty bodies smashed together like a good peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

The congregation cheered and yelled "yes'm" and "yes lawd"

My hand bounced off her ass again with a spank. She turned her head to me and bit her lip. We were in full blown fuck and the juice that ran from her pussy down the shaft of my dick and trailed the length of her thigh was a good sign that she was on the verge of another...

"Cum! Yes...I'm cumming...shit!" She exploded again.

Caramel didn't disappoint. She was very game. Very hot, very willing and very into it. After it got too hot and humid for me to stay agile and hard and enthused we stopped. She wiped her forehead and fanned herself.

I hopped in the shower to wash off the sweat and juices. I found my way back in her messy bedroom wearing a tshirt with one leg in my boxers when there was a knock on the bedroom door. She motioned for me to cover my dick. I slipped my boxers on and before I could protest.

"Come in." Caramel shouted. In walks her mother!

I take a seat on the closest thing to me, the crate, so as not to reveal the full bulge in my boxers.

We exchange pleasantries. Yeah Mom, I'm half naked in the dark and the candles are burning and it no doubt smells like I just fucked your daughter 10 ways from Sunday, who's sitting there wearing a sheet and post orgasmic bliss, but how was your day? Mom chats it up for a quick minute and just when she seems ready to leave she has a seat on the bed and continues to talk. Ok all I need now is for the dogs to come in and start sniffing my crotch. Her mother is sweet and funny and a tad bit flirtatious. I'd find out later from Caramel that I'm right up her mother's alley as far as type, so there was no way she was leaving early.

I stayed penned to that crate for two hours while we discussed everything under the sun, moon and stars. Occasionally Caramel would throw me a sexy smile or lick her lips at me while her mother stared at me intently. Great don't let me grow a boner through my boxers as I sit here. Finally, her mother got up to leave.

"Are you leaving or having breakfast with us, Fury" Her mother asked.

"He's staying for breakfast." Caramel quickly sung.

"OK, see you in the morning. I'll be in my room playing music." her mother winked and left.

"I'm staying for breakfast?" I asked as the embarrassed blush lowered from my face.

"Yes and dessert too." Caramel dropped her sheet and stood by the bed naked drinking from the water glass. She was ready to convene again at the altar of Fury.


They call me The Fury and I'm all about a revival

Pussy Noir (part one)

The hang out was a not so dingy, don't exactly dive here bar in Greenwich Village, NY. Hard wood floors made way to deep purple curtains and a small stage that usually housed a house band, but it was too early for all of that. The sun was still out on this warm Summer day as we walked in. It was the kind of place that the nearby out of town coeds would come to feel like they were experiencing New York night life, get drunk and blame the drink on the fact that they sucked on their classmate's minuscule dick back at the dorm.

There were five of us, four coworkers and the boss. Four men, one smokingly hot woman. Well she was JUST a woman. Technically she wasn't yet old enough to buy her own drinks, but the energy she gave off was so familiar and in touch with the world that she could get a drink anywhere in the city. Her black business slacks and black fitted button up shirt showed off her slender frame. She may have had three buttons fastened, but it wasn't the top three. Her caramel skin peaked through the open shirt giving a small glimpse at her barely there, but surely firm breasts. She was, as a female friend told me, the type of women that made other women self-conscious; way too graceful and pretty and in shape for normal women. The type of woman that would wear a small bikini on the beach while hunched over eating a ginourmous burger. When finished she'd let out a loud belch, laugh, then stand up, her body glistening in the sun, not one shade of fat on her stomach, too perfect and too graceful as she walked to the water to wade like a mermaid. These were the A, B, Cs of Caramel.

The after work drinks were a way for us to all get acquainted and relax on a Summer day. It was her third week working with us and she decided to impress us all with her alcohol acumen. She guaranteed us all perfect drink orders and sauntered off to the bar. And she's serving? Who does this dame think she is some kind of Stepford sex kitten? But here she comes, perfect drink orders.

"Here's a vodka cranberry for you, Fury..." Caramel purred putting it not on the little round table but in my hand. At the time I was more a tequila man.

"I wanted a.." I started, but was struck dumb by her brown eyes. No not the eyes. It was what was in them. The Devil. My lawd The Devil was sitting right there in her pupils, smirking dead at me as he twirled his tail in one hand and polished his nails on his horns.

"You don't like vodka cranberry? I think you do. You should try it, baby." She whispered at me.

Baby? Was she calling me baby now? When did that begin? She had given me a flirtatious eye here and there during shift change. While I wasn't her supervisor, I was A supervisor and I was doing my best to keep professional. But to quote Mos Def "baby girl had all the right weaponry." Well in general. Her ass was slim, but pert and apple round. Not the normal eye shockingly plump asses that attracted my view. Now she was calling me baby.

This young pert stepford sex kitten sat next to me during drinks as the entire group kept swilling away. She laughed loudly, a big knee slapping laugh...slapping my knee. She rubbed my arm, smiled and flirted just slightly. All along I kept watching The Devil pacing within her eyes. She played the table perfectly keeping the men all attentive, wanting her like she was a fresh juicy steak, but respecting her professionalism. Is this what these young professional chicks were about? The slippery slope of sexy professional?

I checked the time. I had a date tonight. A friend of a friend was stopping by to see me. She was short, kinda cute, a little stout with plump tits. Her personality was unfortunate, level four stalker type. I had canceled on her, avoided the meeting so many times I had to finally buckle and spend some time in order to retain my "nice guys" club member card. And then there were those plump firm tits.

It was time to go, there was always work tomorrow and we were all tipsy enough. Tipsy enough to stumble our asses home. Goodbye hugs and pounds all around. Caramel was walking my way to the subway so we walked together. She kept the conversation bubbly in her tipsy way as we walked. She quickly made it clear that she was single now. That she'd ditched her asshole boyfriend and was just loving life right now. She lived in a nice brownstone in Brooklyn had two of the cutest dogs ever and had these extremely noisy neighbors...the neighborhood church that belted out Friday night revivals at extremely high volumes. We stood on the subway platform, she going downtown, me going up. How ironically appropriate.

"So...would you like to come by my place?"

"I'm supposed to be meeting someone right now." I blurted out.

"Can't call and cancel? It'd be worth it." Caramel purred like a lioness coaxing a zebra to the slaughter. She was offering her sweet flower to me for the taking. The flower that would surely gobble me up like a Venus Flytrap does it's unsuspecting prey.

"It's too late." and I was right. I was already running late to meet the plump titted stalker.

Her train screeched into the station. The Devil's flames within her eyes grew and sparkled with new fervor.

"Too bad." She smirked as she looked me up and down. "I'm wanna be bad tonight." She said and boarded the train. Oh no, she was leaving...I was letting the too young, too hot, too graceful, too fucking sexy...did I mention young? Hot sexy, devilish...maybe best hot young fuck of my life get away...and she was gone....

Kiki the plump titted stalker and I watched Jeopardy in my bedroom. I'll take bored to tears for one thousand, Alex. The highlight was when I finally got a chance to take view of the breasts she hid in her push up bra. My tongue slid across her cleavage then pulled one of her firm B cups out to suck softly across her nipple. She moaned under the pressure and heat of my tongue. I pulled out the other from her bra and flicked her nipples. She smiled like a cheshire cat and put her top back on. She was playing coy and hard to get. I was playing tipsy and hard to keep awake when I dozed off during sitcom time. The lowlight came when she tapped me awake to say she was ready to go. What so soon? I was just crossing over into REM sleep. As I watched her ruby red rear lights get smaller, I knew in my gut the "nice guy" card was some bullshit. I'd made the wrong choice.

I am The Fury and the next move would be my best move...TO BE CONTINUED

Down to the Sexy Letter (concluded)

The Letter "O" is brought to us by this flexible model

Here's a little more about me and my proclivities. If you put these all together, you have quite a sexy A to Z book. We could call it Dr. Sexy instead of Seuss.

I'd also like to acknowledge that, as usual, Z and A. Secret have been the first to comment on these posts...perhaps they know they were an inspiration ;-)

If you missed the beginning of the alphabet..start here

N is for Noise. In general, I LOVE noisy sex. This isn't to say you should power up the jackhammer outside the window while we're doing the do. As much as I enjoy visuals, I also enjoy words. Moans, screams, whispers and dirty talk all drive me. I get off on getting off. In fact, it's been medically suggested ladies that the more noise YOU make the more you will drive yourself to orgasm. This isn't to say you should fake the noise. That Meg Ryan fake orgasm in "When Harry Met Sally"? Not sexy! Another group of Germain scientists found (and I'm quoting Esquire magazine) that in a study of Barbary macaques that when the females made noise during sex the males ejaculated 59 percent of the time as opposed to less than 2 percent when the females kept quiet. They also observed that the females made more noise when they were most fertile and the power and speed of the male's thrusting increased accordingly.... ponder that, I'll wait...

...

O is for Orgasms. I enjoy the female orgasm as illustrated by letter "N". The physical phenomenon is incredible to witness. The shaking, shivers, sweating, intimate contracting, squirting and gushing. This is what drives me sexually. I can't get off if you don't get off. My personal record of orgasms achieved by a partner is somewhere between 13 and 17 in a span of about 3 hours. We both lost count. The sweetest thing about the female orgasm? The post orgasmic sigh... awwwwwww.

P is for Pet Names. Calling people, lovers, friends, bosses, et. al by pet names is a personal preference of mine. In fact, a few of the fake names I've used to tell stories here are the actual pet names I've called the actual people. I'm very good with names so I rarely have a problem with forgetting one (real or pet). However, not all pet names I use are complimentary, (bitch ass= former boss, dummy = former classmate) but for the most part if I give you a pet name, it's because I have an affinity for you. The habit has even filtered over into my cell phone where most people are listed via pet name or nickname. It also keeps prying eyes from breaking the secret code of contacts that I have. I've always said, if for some reason or another, I had the contact info for George Lucas, I'd put him in my phone as "Yoda". Of course, now that I've told you this, I'll have to think up a new name...

Q is for Quiet. I prefer to write in silence with only the hum of the computer fan and maybe a little TV for background sound. It helps to focus my thoughts. As I keep saying, quiet during sex is not a favorite of mine. Although, I have had some very quiet, sneaky sex that was so hot it made me a believer. Although, the sneaky part is what really got me hot.

R is for Rain. It's long been my fantasy to have hot, passionate sex outside in a thundering storm. I want to feel the raindrops colliding against our bodies as we thrust, lick, suck and fuck with beastly passion. It should be warm outside, bordering on hot ,with plenty of rain and some wind. While I know this isn't exactly hair friendly ladies, I can guarantee if you got me in this position...you would experience plenty of letter "O". Just thinking about it gets me aroused.

S is for Skinny Dipping. Something I've never done but would love to. This would also have to be in warm water. Cold water shrinkage is just not fun. I can be alone or with friends, preferably female friends or more female than male. This is on my bucket list. Things to do before I kick the bucket. Who's coming with me?

T is Threesomes. Threesomes are all about politics. Not the nominations and countdown to delegates kind, but the "who touches who", "how much and where" kind. The best kind of three play are the free for all kind. I've had one great threesome. And some three play in my life. Each time it's always been about politics. No one wants to be left out or to leave someone out. Although, me being who I am, I'm always just happy to be involved. "Go ahead ladies, enjoy yourselves, I'll sit here and watch. Pull me in when you need me!" LOL But of course a three-for-all and no lingering jealousy is the way to go.

U is for Underwear. As for mine, I'm a boxers guy. It lends to a roomier fit which I find helps when you have those unexpected erections caused by hot steamy voices on the phone while you're working or hands probing to give you a hand job in public. I've been told by many women that boxer briefs are sexy to look at, but I haven't tried them out. Even with the stretchy material, they seem quite a bit restrictive in the "area". As for YOUR underwear, I've intentionally and unintentionally (umm...excuse me Miss, your g-string with the gold metal heart between your ass cheeks is showing) seen some pretty sexy undies in my time. The see through kind are always nice, but you can have a good cotton thong or even a great cotton boy short on a plump ass and I'm all too enthused to remove them..with my mouth. You can even go without...

V is for Voracious. Sex drives come in many different forms. A really powerful driving sex attitude always intrigues my lustful side. I've been the beneficiary of being able to keep up where other men haven't and therefore been able to tap the voracious animalistic end of O.P.P. Come on sweetie, show me what ya got, go ahead and bite me, eat me up, you little beast.

W is for White Women. For those of you that don't know, I'm an African American man. And being an American there is always a certain amount of taboo involved with this. Yes still..in 2008! I personally have never had actual full blown sex with a vanilla woman. Not that I don't find our vanilla sisters attractive, I have a running list of vanilla women that could get it in a heart beat. It just hasn't happened. I went to a very racially mixed high school. One of my classmates in high school was a cute, fresh faced, innocent looking Irish girl who often ended up sitting near me in classes because our last names were close in spelling. She once turned to me DURING class and said "I've always wanted to know if it's true what they say about Black men..." You know, if we have gigantic, momentous dicks. I laughed it off that first time, but she proceeded to ask me this at least twice a week for an entire semester. Each time I'd have a new answer. "Come to the bathroom and find out." "Ask your mother." "Ask your father." "If I pulled it out in here the whole room would go dark." Finally, I said to her seriously "I'm told it is for me." Her face grew a flush quickly and she laughed it off. When we exchanged year books senior year, I got home to finally read her funny detailing of our years together at school. Her final sentence, "I still want to know is it true what they say about Black men?". I laughed knowing that when she got home she would see my response "Yes, it's true what they say about Black men!" Hopefully, her strict Irish mother didn't see that. I'm sure my classmate found out for sure in college where many of my vanilla sisters found out that answer via experimentation.

X is for XXX-rated. There aren't many words that begin with X (go ahead and try to name 5). I have a plethora of xxx-rated material on my computer. The internet is a great tool for finding it. Much of the great photography I find looking for pictures to adorn these posts occupy a single folder in a single hidden file. Once I was updating my iphoto images when all of a sudden several hot naked pictures started uploading into the account. WTF? Seems I had a long lost hidden folder that contained close to two thousand pictures given to me on CD by "Dumbass" (see above) to hide from his then fiance'. I apparently uploaded the contents to my hard drive for safe keeping and never saw them again. You, my dear readers, will benefit from that archive in many posts to come.

Y is for Yank. You can pull, grab or push during sex, but please please please do not yank. It just doesn't sound like it feels good.

Z is for Z names. For a long long time I've wanted to have sex..no I've wanted to fuck a woman with a name that begins with "Z". There just aren't a lot of them. And usually the names roll off the tongue. I don't know what it is. It's odd. I have other names on the list too. Like "Brenda". To me, a Brenda always sounds like a thick woman with, big heaving breasts, phat round ass and cocoa skin that would fuck your brains out. And a Z named woman sounds like a sexy, slithering, exotic chick with a tight pussy and a penchant for riding hard dick. I went to school with a couple of Z names. One of them was a cute brown skinned girl who had a reputation for hypnotizing her men. Another was a sexy latina with big brown eyes and plump lips. There names always were intriguing. There aren't even that MANY names that begin with Z, but damn if I don't think it's sexy. LOL


My name is The Fury. I'm as simple as A, B, C...

Slut With A One Track Mind

I dream about sex...reach out to the person next to me and stroke his skin. Moan in my sleep as my lover trails his tongue over my hungry cunt. Wake with my hand between my thighs and a smile on my face.

I see sex...in the tight fit of a man's shirt and the bulge in his pants. In the unmade bed. In the locked bathroom during a party. Always thinking there would be a good spot, or there too.

I hear sex...in the thick growl of his voice in my ear. In the song I have cranked loud, thrusts in sync with the beat, choreographing our movements in my mind. In my own head as the dirty words corrupt my thoughts.

I taste sex...in the juice of a mango and the lick of honey off my finger. In the cream of his cum as it rolls over my tongue. In the saltiness of ocean drenched skin.

I wear sex...in the straps, and satin, and lace under my clothes. In my long hair left down and loose. In the scent that I cream into my skin and spray on my collarbone. In the sway of my hips as I walk.

I live sex...counting down the minutes until I can quench my lust. Stolen moments alone to satisfy an urge. Time to devour another completely. Souls and bodies bared for the sake of pleasure.

Sex...everywhere I go. Everything I do. All I ever want.
I'm just a slut with a one track mind. What's a girl to do.

Down to the Sexy Letter (Part 1)

my childhood crush Jayne Kennedy

For those of you interested in knowing a little more about me, I thought I'd break down The Fury A - Z. Well it'll be a two parter, we'll do A - M first.

A is for allergies. Of which I have, especially the hay fever/pollen kind. I once had a full blown allergy attack of repetitive sneezing during sex. Did this stop me? Nope just kept on pumping away because she was about to cum and I'm not that selfish.

B is for blow jobs..good ones. The true way to my heart. Now, if you can give a great blow job AND cook...go ahead and send me an email...let's be friends.

C is for cumming which I don't do often or easily (at your hands, mouth, or other parts). Hey, what can I say, I'm a challenge for you ladies.

D is for doggy style, which all things being considered, I must admit is, in all of it's incarnations, my favorite sexual position. I like plump asses and well...doggy style gives a great view.

E is exotic dancers. My first trip to a strip club was when I was well under age and snuck in by my brother and his friends because they didn't want to take time to drop me off at home first. I had a coke (cola) and watched the wild gyrating. I've had great conversations with dancers, arguments that boiled over to heated sexual tension, lap dances from heaven and hell, seen college classmates dance topless in shock, surprise and titillation and through it all, I've never felt like it wasn't money well spent.

F is for far sighted. Apparently, I am slightly this, but really my sight is fine. In fact, I know this because I had no problem seeing the round ass on the optician's assistant that gave me the eye exam.

G is for group sex. The closest I've ever come to this is having sex with other people in the same room that were also having sex albeit we were in different parts of the room. Although, I can't honestly say I'm against it. I've just never been in the situation.

H is for handcuffs. I've been handcuffed and have handcuffed others. I work much better as a Dom. If the cuffs come into the bedroom, you're pretty much a lock to have your wrists squeezed on tightly by the metal (or fur covered) toys while I tease you to juicy wet pieces.

I is for instant gratification. I only like this in spurts (no pun intended) and in certain instances. I like feeling and enjoying all of the sensations, tastes and sounds of sex. See "C" above.

J is for jerking off. Sorry, I know I should put this under "M" for masturbation, but I already have something for "M" so...jerking off...Something I often do after writing a really good post here (although that's not the only criteria). Most times I don't write the confession posts so much as channel them. I get worked up pretty well writing them. If you want to get well tasted, caressed, kissed, intimated or fucked mercilessly, come see me right after I finish a hot post.

or

J
can be for Jayne Kennedy the TV personality an sportscaster I had a gigantic celebrity crush on as a kid. She eventually went on to do a highly touted Playboy cover & pictorial. Urban legend had it she had made one of the first celebrity sex tapes with her grease ball husband/actor Leon Issac Kennedy. The controversy (and Playboy) eventually led to her not being on TV much anymore. I saw the Playboy pictorial somewhere around 17 years old one day walking around Greenwich Village when one of those homeless/down on his luck guys had it for sale on the street. I flipped through it for all her ebony goodness then tossed the guy a buck for the pleasure. Turns out the sex tape wasn't legend. One day surfing the net for porn I began a relative scavenger hunt of clues that lead me to a low quality (well it was shot in super old VHS) version of my childhood celebrity crush prancing around naked with full 1980s bush, having sex, masturbating and then getting fisted by the grease ball. Maybe that should've been my "F" entry. Alas, I've never felt the urge to punch a woman in her cervix...with my fists.

K is for kissing. I like to kiss. I like lingering wet, warm passionate kisses. I like the intimacy of it all..if I like being intimate with you. Otherwise, it's just a little personal.

L is for lurkers. Yes, all of you that read sexy blogs, especially this one, without making a comment, sending an email (to dirtydetails(at)gmail.com) or in some way shape or form encouraging/critiquing the writers (ie. me). I love you lurkers and I think of new ways to get you to say something to me. ALL of you lurkers. The thousands of you that come here every month. Lurkers from everywhere as far as New Zealand. Although the world is small on the net isn't it? While I write for me and my constant active readers, it's you lurkers (especially those constantly returning lurkers dubbed returning visitors in my site stats) that really push me to do new things. Doing new things in hopes you will climb out of your shell.

M is for money. Something I've never spent directly for sex. Yes I know indirectly for dinners, wining/dining, Valentine's Day gifts blah blah blah, but never in the Spitzer buys a call girl way. Not that I have anything against the guy (except that his silly ass got caught) or the tons of hot sex workers out there. I have just never felt compelled to pay (yes I know directly) for sex. Although (see above) I have spent my fair share for "like sex".

My name is The Fury, I have 13 letters left..

Panties

I like them black. I like them pale pink. I like them leopard print.

Even white...in pure, plain, basic cotton...under a too short skirt. Such the good little girl. I am not.

I like them lacey. I like them flimsy. I love them sheer. Sheer and so thin that everything underneath them shows. The irony is not lost on me.

Shop for me. Walk into that store of sexy little numbers and wonder what I would look like in that. You'll know it when you see it. Trashy or pretty. Colors of your choosing. Textures that make you moan.

I enjoy being petted through them. Teased until they are soaked and I am begging. I get hot over a hand snaking down inside the front of them, even my own.

Lay me over your lap when I have been bad. Tug them down just enough to expose my ass...to your hand.

Twist your fingers into the sides and slip them down. Or defy my need and pull them up into my wetness. Delicious torture the ones that have ribbons, the slow tug of untying them causing me to grip your hair harder in my fingers.

Pull them all the way off, or leave them dangling on one ankle. Pull them to one side and fuck me that way. I especially love that...the dirtiness of needing a fuck so badly that taking them off is a second wasted.

Use them to bind my wrists together. Or use them to stifle my moans. You can even tuck them into your pocket and take them with you as a reminder. That's okay. Because not wearing panties works just fine as well.

Misty's Hot Performance


When Misty and I first met, she shook my hand softly and her eyelashes fluttered. Holy shit her eyelashes fluttered like a throw back Betty Boop 20s noir pen up flutter. They were pretty, big, brown, doe eyes. Her skin was a sun kissed gold color and if her hand was any indication, her skin was very soft. She wore the clothes of a vintage styled peasant girl, long skirt that brushed the concrete, flowing blouse that covered her hands and jewelry that dangled and jangled.

"Nice to meet you, Fury" Misty said with a slight country twang and a smile....and jeez yet another flutter. I found myself instantaneously awkward.

Misty was a songstress. Her record label exec thought it would be a good idea that we meet. She was new to the city and he said she needed someone with "a good heart and mind' to keep her preoccupied from all the vultures that circle my city. The three of us sat in the back of a taxi headed to her rehearsal session. Misty sang the whole way. I floated on her deep lilting honey coated voice as I stared out into Summer in the city visuals.

Misty's overall style could only be described as 90s blippie (Black hippie) with a neo soul/hip hop influence. It was rare she'd be seen not fully covered in thin materials. The wind would blow and the fabrics would cling to her accentuating the plentiful curves. Her breasts were big and full, her behind round and soft. Once, she caught me admiring her. I fumbled through the eye contact, stammered trying to think of something to say. She clutched her water cup to her full lips and sipped slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. She licked her lips and smiled.

"It's just so hot in here today." She winked and went back to her rehearsal room with a little more switch in her step.

Misty's album was full of bluesy tunes about love lost and empowering women after horrible love mistakes. But there was one sexy song on her album that a label head called her "give it to me" song. As I followed her into rehearsal, she cued the band to play it. With closed eyes she sauntered to the mic, folded her fingers around it softly, her mouth approached it coolly as the music broke, she parted her lips and sang the first words

"When are we... gonna stop these games..."

Her eyes opened and found me in the dark recesses of the room. She pointed in my direction as she sang.

"I've been waiting for such a long time..."

My temperature increased ten fold. I was too awkward and clumsy in the moment. I tried as hard as I could to evade her eye contact for fear she would see me for the mladroit young guy I was. By the time she was done, her manager was applauding. He loved the new direction of her performance. So did I...

That night I received a surprise call from Misty. She needed "info" on the next scheduled rehearsals and knew I kept them handy. That conversation lasted for three flirty innuendo-filled hours. I was tentative at the onset, but soon we fell into a hot rhythm. She made sure to tell me she was "too hot" in her apartment so she stripped down to her panties and a bra. Her sensuality echoed through the phone. She purred her every word. I could just imagine her voluptuous body twisted across her bed, small underwear pushing close to her body. One hand twirling her hair, the other caressing her body as we spoke. That night with thoughts of her in my mind, I stroked myself slowly but firmly as I thought she would. And when I exploded, I imagined her full lips taking my manhood between them and smoothly extracting every drop from me.

At her next performance, she requested I stand within view. It was a regular performance for me. The crowd cheered as she went through her string of songs that I'd seen performed ad nauseum in rehearsal. Then the band kicked into her "give it to me" song... Her eyes went directly to me as she purred. Her lips annunciated every word. Her tongue twirling between them with dexterity. Her hands did something new in this show, they travelled...around her body. The audience squealed as she directed her eyes to them, but always came back to mine. I could feel the sweat rise on my forehead, the excitement rose in my pants. I licked my lips slowly and to show me she saw me, she licked hers right back...

"Good show." I nodded standing uncomfortably in her dressing room full of label people, background singers, bandmates and assorted hangers on. She asked if I liked "my song". When I feigned ignorance, she smiled and whispered "yeah, THAT song was for you."

At the next rehearsal, Misty wore only a white tank top, her black bra visible through the thin fabric and some short cut off jean shorts. She fanned herself as she walked by me "Wooooh, it just got hotter in here." She laughed with her background singers. Wait, was she trying to play me? I watched the soft skin of her strong legs as she rehearsed again and again. She fluttered her eyes at me as her lips parted and sang song after song. Everyone in the room felt the tension.

Later as we all disbanded for home. I walked Misty out to the busy avenue to catch a cab. Her back up singers walked ahead of us chatting as she and I openly flirted. I couldn't help but stare at her face, her body. She was long from the hippie chick today. I could smell her sweet perfumed oils as she brushed me closer. Soon the other singers were jumping in a cab and she ran behind them.

"Bye Fury!" She waved with a wink as I watched her round firm ass run away from me.

I turned to walk back to the subway. Disappointed and dejected I couldn't join her back to her place. Once again, I had failed to "close" on something I wanted.

"Fury! Fury!" She yelled. I turned to see the cab door still open as she came running back to me, her platform heels clopped on the hot concrete.

"What's wrong?" I was confused as she moved in close. Her fingers wrapped around my waist, she pulled me closer. Her lips parted as she closed her eyes. Her mouth touched mine. Soft, sweet lips on mine.

Her warm tongue parted my lips and slid between them. Our tongues moved in waves. in concert. The loud sounds of the summer city were quieted. I could feel her hands pulling me closer trying to occupy my space even more. Her firm tits pressed against my chest. My hands caressed the soft skin on her cheeks. She was a good singer and a great kisser. Her soulful sound was present in her kisses. My hands found her waist and then her ass. I cupped her ass softly. A slight deep moan left her lips.

Then in a flash the world returned. Honking horns, bustling streets and yelling background singers...

"Misty!! We're blocking traffic!" They shouted together...and slightly off key...we'd have to work on that the next day.

Misty broke our embrace, wiped her pretty lips and smiled.

"If you only knew..." She said with a devilish smile then ran, jumped into the cab and sped off releasing the traffic.

Misty and I never did finish what we started, but "my" song always brings a smile to my face...

I am The Fury...sing me a song...

Inopportune



He loves to torture me when it is least convenient. Sick bastard gets off on it.

He'll call me on my work phone, purposely. Not my cell phone, where I could see that it was him and ignore it. No, he's an evil asshole. He'll call me at my desk, catch me off guard. Where I have to keep the phone crooked in between my neck and shoulder as my hands multi-task to the others I am responsible for. The others that surround me, bombard me.

He'll hear the phones, he'll hear me holding two conversations, and I can almost see him grin. The busier I am the greedier he becomes with my attention. He'll start talking. Talking about how much he needs me and how he is going to have me. He'll start telling. Telling me about what he wants to do with me and how he is going to do it.

Kisses-tongues-sucking-biting-licking-wetness-fingers-spreading-gripping-fucking.

The more it becomes apparent that I can't talk back, the more inconvenient his phone call becomes, the more he continues. Purring in my ear like a fucking cat. My mind spinning. My panties wet. Concentration shot. My nonchalant "mmm hmm's" and "uhh huh's" turning into muffled moans as my head drops into my hands. Closed eyes masked by long hair hanging down.

There comes a point when I can't take it for another minute. When I realize my hand has snaked between my thighs. When I know that I will answer "fuck me" out loud. When I think that I will cum in my seat. It is at that point that I lean over and slam the phone down. When I shake my head and say "fucking asshole" to the people around me they assume it was that jerk of a client again.

If only they knew they weren't all that far off.

Certainty

I realize now, with absolute certainty, that he owns my fuck.

Astounding, to me, that he is the one.

He's certainly not my first lover. Undoubtedly not my last. So imagine my surprise when I realize that he IS sex to me. My fuck is his. He owns it. Forever more.

Allow me to explain.

Your childhood is owned by your parents. Controlled and shaped by how they see fit to raise you.

Your teenage years are owned by your friends. Influencing how you see the world and your place in it.

After that comes your job, your spouse, your kids, your life, etc...all quickly making you slave to a boss, an income, responsibility.

My body is my own. I have control of that. Its good and its bad are my doing. My mind is my own. I am free to think and be as I want.

But what of my sex? That pure, raw, sensual passion. The look, the touch, the fantasy. What of the experience and the feelings it stirs. The places and the cums, the sensations and the memories. Those are his. He owns my fuck. And every single thing associated with it. Everything and everyone I have ever done, has led me to him. I don't think it has a thing to do with age, or skill, or experience.

Why do I know this? Why am I so certain that it is him?

It's his absolute acceptance of every ounce of my body, my lust, my wants. There are no secrets, no boundaries, no awkward moments. Everything about him turns me on and makes me want more of him. He knows without me saying. He does without me having to ask. He knows what I want and need before I do. It is strictly sex. There are no worries and responsibilities, no accountability. There are no emotions tangled up, no jealousies, no expectations. It is simply a body shared, a release granted. He and I exist as an "us" for one reason only, and that is to fuck.

There will be other lovers. There will be even better lovers. I am not his and he is not mine. We are free to give and to get as often as luck and fate will allow. But I know to my dying day that when I think of sex and all its nuances, I will think of him. He, quite simply...owns...my...fuck.

I ask you....who owns yours?

Phone Sex 2.0

I've always had a thing for voices. Smokey voices, mellow sweet voices, even squeal like voices. My favorite voices are the sex filled sleepy ones. I once spoke late at night with a customer service rep who sounded so sexy I was close to telling her so when I was brought back to reality by the fact that she was totally inept at helping me with my problem. The voice was great though.

I once saw Kathleen Turner on the street here in New York. Kathleen Turner of the supremely sexy throaty, "I'll give you an eargasm" voice. I waved and she smiled

...wave? What the hell? I said "Hello".

"How are you?" She smiled and walked on. Her voice still was sexy even though her looks were far removed from "Body Heat"" and "Romancing The Stone". The right voice can make hot sex - hotter, a long day - shorter, a long conversation - sweeter. A hot voice can make me erect.

Mercedes had a sweet voice to match her sweet face, but not all that sexy in her regular speaking tone. Although when she wanted, her voice could be icy. I witnessed her reduce a person to tears by the bite of her voice. Tears, a grown woman, brought to tears. Not once did Mercedes raise her voice. She just tore her apart with words and an icy timber. When Mercedes was sleepy she had the sweetest innocent voice this side of the Mississippi. She was a legendary hard sleeper so it wasn't often you could wake her to hear it. When she was horny...and that was often...her voice had a growl, an urgency and the smoke that screamed "Fuck me, baby."

I was listening to this voice as she moaned. Her plump brown breasts were firm but soft in my mouth as I sucked them. As ravenous as I was for her, I took my time. She gyrated her boy short covered hips against mine. My manhood was swollen hard poking through my boxers warm against the pouty lips of her pussy. The sweet scent between her breasts warmed me even more. I took each of her large swollen nipples in my mouth and sucked fully.

"Mmmmm, You got me so wet. Gimme.." She said firmly grabbing my dick hard and squeezing.

It wasn't but moments until I was sliding deep between her warm brown lips into the sweet pink juicy center and beyond. She greeted my first thrust with a hard grunt and a moaned "Yes". Her voice a clear two sexy octaves lower than the norm. Our tongues slid deeper as we kissed. Our fucking became more and more urgent.

"You feel so good. You feel so fucking good, Fury." Her new smoky voice tried to whisper, but spoke louder. "Ooh, I like the way you work that ass."

Her grip on my hardness was a smooth slippery vice grip. I pumped harder to her overwhelming silky words of encouragement until her legs (wrapped tightly around mine) shook and her body quaked with orgasm. She smacked my ass with a loud cracking sound in sheer appreciation. I motioned and pulled her upward on top of me. Her heaving cocoa breasts bounced above me and I lifted to suck them. Holding them together, I sucked both of her hard nipples at once.

My hands caressed her skin downward across her back. They rested on her plump ass as I guided her on top of me. I squeezed her backside as she slowly rose on my dick. She teetered just on the head slowly teasing me by giving me just small inches of her before she rose higher again. The smooth folds of her flower massaged the engorged head then rose again. Again and again she did this ignoring my pleas. She smiled as she kept my hands from pulling myself deeply inside her.

Then the phone rang.

"Don't!" I said as she looked at the handset sitting right next to us on the table.

Riiiiing!

She looked at the phone.

"Don't!!" I said trying to dive deeper inside her as she lifted and reached for the phone.

"My mother is supposed to call me about this Bursar bill." She purred. College loans were a bitch.

She picked up the phone and slowly lowered herself onto me with a sigh and a shudder as she got more than she had bargained for.

"Helloooo." She said sleepily. Her face contorted. Then she mouthed the word "Shit".

My eyebrow raised as her body did the same.

"Hey. No...I was sleeping..uh uh..I was just falling asleep." She looked at me biting her bottom lip as I slowly dipped deeper inside her.

"Who?" I mouthed.

Mercedes placed her free hand on my stomach and filled herself with my dick. Her eyes closed, her tongue licked her lips. She opened her eyes. "No, it was ok. What are you doing?" Her voice was beyond sexy. It was the supreme sex voice.

My hands grabbed her hips and gyrated into her.

"Mark." She mouthed with a twist of her bottom lip.

Mark...her boyfriend was on the phone and my dick was sliding deeper inside her as she spoke. I pushed her hips to pull myself from her, but she protested shaking her head and squeezing her pussy against my cock sending electric chills through my loins.

"Oh..that's interesting..." She moaned into the phone just slightly on the edge of groaning.

"Get off the phone." I whispered as lightly as I could. She shook her head then grabbed the back of mine and pulled my mouth to her nipples. I sucked softly as my dick dove deeper into Mark's girlfriend's pussy. If she wouldn't do as I said, i would make it harder for her to talk. I gyrated harder inside her. Mercedes' big brown eyes quickly went wide. She knew my devilish side. She knew my aim was now to get her to scream into the ear of her boyfriend as she fucked another man while he talked to her.

I leaned back as she mumbled another response that must've kept him talking more. I wonder what she sounded like to him. All smoky and sensual? Maybe a little sleepy? Distracted?

My strong hand held her hips, I pulled slowly from her and quickly pounded deeply back into her. A rush of air shot from her nose as she maintained her vocal composure. I gyrated harder inside her.

"Yes." She said..to both of us. "No..I'm just tired."

I pounded hard inside her and she covered her groan with a cough. Her hand shot out and held against my mid section holding me still. She shook her head "No".

"Get off." I mouthed.

She shook her head "no".

I gyrated harder inside her. With her eyes closed she bit her bottom lip as I gave her every inch I had available. Soon her responses were littered with "Mmmhmms" and "Uh huhs". Firmly grabbing her ass, I changed the angle of my dick making sure I rubbed that spot that had often made her cum with loud agreement. Her cheeks filled with air.

"I'm gonna go now and lay down." She rushed. "OK Buh Bye!" She clicked the off button on the phone tossing it aside. "...sorry for the interruption." Her voice was as sexy as ever. I heard more and more of that voice as she rode me through the night.

My name is The Fury...if karma exists I'm sure I've been paying this back. Let me hear your voice...

Urgent


You walk in the front door and he is standing there in the hallway, leaning against the wall and waiting. You walk up to him innocently enough. You start to say something. He grabs you and kisses you, not romantic, soft or sweet. No this is a kiss from a man who wants to fuck. He thrusts his tongue down your throat. His hands reach down between your thighs and grab your pussy. He wants to use you how he see's fit.

He grabs you by the hair and yanks you down onto your knees. He places his hand on the back of your head and force feeds you his cock. He goes deep into your throat and you gag, but he holds you, making you take all of him. He fucks your mouth deep, then deeper. You are having trouble breathing. He watches his cock disappear in your mouth. The more you push back against his thighs, struggle for control, the tighter his grip in your hair becomes.

In a flash you find yourself bent face down over the table. His hands shove up your skirt and yank down your panties. He wants one thing, and one thing only from you now. To fuck you. There is no point in resisting as he will get what he wants. He winds his hand in your long hair and forces your head back just far enough to whisper in your ear "Ready?" at the same time he shoves his cock in deep.

He fucks you. He is not going slowly, not at all. He is fucking you hard and fast. You feel him slamming into you. He pins your wrists at the small of your back and slams into you. You are being fucked from behind so hard that you grip the edge of the table. He calls you a slut and he calls you his whore. You hear him groan and you know he is close. With a final thrust he loses it, cumming fast and hard in your cunt.


You stand up, pull your panties up your thighs, push down your skirt, wipe your mouth, and walk away without a word. It is only when you get to the door that you remember something and you walk back to him. Eye to eye now you answer him...."I am always ready".

Sugasm!...That's good coffee!


Satine Phoenix courtesy of Corset & Collar.

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants.

This Week’s Picks
Why I like sex blogs
"A few have changed the way I think about certain issues."
A Date With Murphy
"No. NO! This is not fucking happening."
Lust and Sassiness
"Some of the flames that your feistiness stoke within me lack subtlety, lack grace, lack restraint."

Mr. Sugasm Himself
The Writer Strike

Editor’s Choice
An After The Date Love Letter

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Erotic Writing and Experiences
Caught (pt 1)
Hot Screeching Excerpt - The Red Light Horror
Nocturne
Oh…Face
Showtime
Soccer Moms Get Hot Too!
To sleep, perchance to dream
What are you waiting for?!
When the Moon turns Russian Red.
Where No One Can Hear You Scream…

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Catalina loves an HNT of Me (Photo by Altered Aperture)
Dahlia and Adriana Sage Bound
Don Quixote’s Package
Fetish Model Anastasia Pierce In A Latex Nurse Outfit. Yum!
The first porn film made by The Cam Lover
Half-Nekkid Thursday: What’s Cookin’ in the Kitchen
Half-Nekkid Urinater
Lela Star & Cali Logan
Meet my new friend, Satine Phoenix
Pornsaint Anna the Nerd
A Quick Simple Caning

Sex News, Reviews & Interviews
G-Spot: Real or Myth?
LA KinkBall Fetish Weekend
Mz. Berlin Finishes Slave Training With Forced Orgasms, And A MMF Threesome
Of Gracie & Mia & "John & Mary"
Palm Harness

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
A Matter of Intent
"Are you ready to have your pussy rocked?"
Fuck this Consumerist Bullshit
Kangaroo Feminist
Swiss porn misses its peak
Top ten G-spot frisky fun facts

Sex Advice
Ask Miss Bliss-Why won’t she meet me for a date?
Ask The Jersey Girls
How to do it doggy…with style!

BDSM & Fetish
Admitted Cuckoldress
Bad connection
Public display…
Queening Stools : build or buy?
You get what you need