Thursday, March 27, 2008

Sugasm: Matin', Fornicatin', Salivatin'

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #125? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks

In Which Penny Enjoys Her Bath

“In the bathroom, I flipped on the heater and shed my clothes.”

Just passing through

“I twitched under her stare.”

Kegal exercises on wet Monday afternoon

“Do you know what it’s like, to be buggered?”

Mr. Sugasm Himself

WP/PHP Guru?

Editor’s Choice

More Traveling…

More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm

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

(Sugasm participants should re-post all the links above within a week. The following links may be excluded as long as you include all the above links.)

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships

The Face - The Fall Of Eliot Spitzer

Let me clarify something…

On being a slut.

Regulating Prostitution and its various business models

Would You Pose Without Clothes?

Sex Humor

Lusty Leprechauns

BDSM & Fetish

Black Panties (a story)

Earning myself a spanking

A fun weekned

Goodness Gracious

HNT - Hidden Nipple Thursday

Riding the Wave

The Spiritual Significance of Spanking


Sex News, Reviews & Interviews

Blog Anniversary Contest Winners

Call for submissions: Theory and Practice

Dana DeArmond Stripped Of Her Name During Slave Training With Julie Night

Euphoric Tendencies - a review

Gianna Lynn Endures Water And Suffocation Bondage Underwater On

Get a Personal Shopper for Your Genitals

My First Review on Adult DVD Talk!


San Francisco Fetish Ball 2008 Photos and Review

Erotic Writing and Experiences

A black shemale sucked my cock in Amsterdam

Captivating the college girl part one


Close Your Eyes

In His Pants

Leopard print: you just can’t beat it

Northern lights and sleepless nights

Wet Vagoo

You’re my pornstar (part 3)

Sex Advice

How Women Can Learn to Have an Orgasm with Intercourse

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio

Dahlia Grey by Andrew Blake

Exotic Jewel

Half-Nekkid in the Shower

Her Intentions Fall to the Floor

How do you like my cock?

Pornsaint Kimberly Kane

Spring Garden

Sunday, March 16, 2008

In His Pants

Cameron was in Syd's room again, studying his posters and letting his fingers dip and swish in Syd's laundry. Two tickets to the Bloc Party show, stapled right into his lathe and plaster. Cam had watched him do it, still sweaty and hoarse from the show, and wiping his nose with his sleeve, Syd climbing his single bed and bouncing before he threw his weight on the stapler, legs apart, shins bulging through his jeans. They exhaled together when he threw himself off the wall and the bed in one push, and Cam, finding nothing to add and pulling his t-shirt down in the front begged off for the night. He hid in his room and listened to Syd on his laptop, straight porn as always, and tried as best he could to hear the swick swick noise. He never could, but imagined it as clear as if it were at his lips in the dark.

And Syd was at work, stocking shelves in a coop grocery store. He never told anyone that he eats Slim Jims all day. They'd never guess. He's got the body of a pure grass juice drinker. Cam felt his fingers catch on the elastic strip of a blue-grey pair of boxed briefs, and he told himself to stop, before he reminded himself that he wouldn't think that anymore. He felt the letters of the designer pass his fingerprints and pulled at them, plucked them out of the pile of laundry. They came to his nose in a loose bundle, and he smelled Syd's cock for the first time. What was left of it, anyway, resonating in this shell that once touched him.

Cam was painfully erect, swollen and frustrated in the middle of the room, though he was unencumbered by clothes, his skin seemed to press into him oppressively. He dropped the underwear from his nose to his cock and rubbed the material against it. His face flushed with fantasy and friction, the soft cotton across his skin, the force of his hand behind it. As if Syd were there, dry humping him, struggling for his own satisfaction in his own cage.

Cam switched underwear to bare hand on his cock, back and forth, the underpants too subtle, his cock too familiar, his body riding the sensations like a skier on moguls. He almost dropped them several times, his other hand going limp in the concentrated ecstasy, then had to break out of it to grip. He finally dropped one end to his knees and stepped into them, pulled them up. He was embraced at last, surrounded by Syd, tight and affectionate. Cam's hand, shaking more, entered the underwear and stroked slowly. His other hand wandered the stretch of cotton, pulling at the leg to feel the tightness across his balls, at the waistband to pinch the tip of his cock.

"Syd," he said, "fuck you. Fuck you, Syd."

He held some of the material across the edges of his fingers and began to stroke faster, his knees apart, faster, faster. Syd. Do it. His other hand leaned back and found the edge of Syd's desk, the laptop shut on top of it. He almost knocked over his bottle of lube. He rolled it into his hand and clutched tight. He thought of Syd there, the swick swick sound, imagined his lips. The whole room smelled of sex, then. Cam twisted the cotton around the tip of his cock and came into the wad, into his roommate's underwear, and they were his and him, belonged to Cam. When Syd wore them in the future, Cam would be in them, with him.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Sugasm-Providing that Twang in Your Naughties

So I'm at work and I shouldn't, but I go on over to the Sugasm because I've got to and there I am right there on the top line and I go "Creak!" and I don't explain it to anyone but I just kind of grin a lot and think, "Hey, you all think I'm just some boring cubicle dweller, but I'm really a pervert and I've got the link to prove it!" And I think things like, the certified pervert now reaches for a pen, and, the certified pervert now staples documents together, and, you see, even though she's a pervert, she can also name folders really boring things with only single entendres all day, but she really is a pervert, as proven by this here link.

Thank you, fellow perverts. May we win over the world together.

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #123? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks

Sex and love; anger and appeasement

“And in some way, the love I had for him will never be extinguished entirely.”

The Tetrised Luggage

“Our thighs are touching and I can feel him inch forward in his seat.”

You never know who we are

“People tend to have an idea of who can/does talk about sex.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself (one from the vaults)

The Media vs. Pornography

Editor’s Choice

Red Assed Mouthsoaping for His Lies

More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm

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

(Sugasm participants should re-post all the links above within a week. The following links may be excluded as long as you include all the above links.)

BDSM & Fetish

The Best $1.50 I Ever Spent

A Big Hole in Her Crotch

If only he was naughty more often…

“Is it Any Wonder?”

More Cock Worship

Pavlovian Training of a Submissive Phone Sex Slut

Sex News, Reviews & Interviews

Blog Anniversary Contest

Braces and Medical Fetish Movies From Beauty And Braces

Getting to the Bottom of

Plastic Bag Suffocation And Forced Orgasms On Hogtied

Shot at Home’s 100% Authentic, Homemade, Amateur Video

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships

Audacia Ray Returns!

Defending the sex-positve element of Feminist Carnival #53

Nora Roberts Doesn’t Write Porn!

Robot Love

Some thoughts as I navigate through the waters of non-monogamy

Sperm Donor

Sex Work

Thoughts On Dominating; My Dos & Don’ts

Erotic Writing and Experiences

Amber’s Wedding Day Confession (Continued)

The best leopard print lingerie ever

Found Out

Fucking girlfriend’s brother

HNT - Caught pt 2

‘Ho, me?

Hot Screeching Excerpt - Things That Go Hump In The Night

How to perfectly ruin your panties

Masturbatory Thoughts

Mental Infidelities - The Voyeur

My New York Indiscretion: Part Two

Night Swimming

The Week In Sex: Wednesday Night

You Shouldn’t Rub The Lamp…

NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio

Apple HNT

Catalina loves Rollo

Erotic Photoshoot

Faye Valentine in tight blue sweater

The first blowjob porn film I ever made

Hottie Jordan

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

The Tetrised Luggage

The ground is all little atoms of lights in vast voids. Traveling at five hundred miles an hour, you would think they would shoot past as if we were on the ground. But they don't. You just see more of them up here, sliding past like the minute hand on a clock. I can feel the spark between him and me. It doesn't pass anymore than the towns do, but seems to gather in the space between us, in the sticky skin touching on the armrest.

My tray table is open, a book open on top of it. The first paragraph is something about seventeenth century slang. I've read it three times, but find that my eyes only slip over the words. I'm thinking about him, what I'd say if he said something.

A note folded in thirds lands on the book. "What are you wearing under those clothes?"

Our flight was delayed. We sat in a bar of a town we'd never been to, and now still wouldn't be able to say we had. The conversation turned quickly, and we ignored our blushes, becoming each other's anthropology projects and confessors.

"It's been forever. My last girlfriend held out on me and I've just been too depressed to get back in there."

"How long?" I asked him.

"Two years."

He laughed and so did I, but it was forced. I was supposed to buck him up, tell him it's only a matter of time, that he was good-looking enough. Should be fighting them off.

"How many times do you jerk off a day?"

"Three. I'll blow a hole through my next condom, I know it."

I smile at the note, begin to look for a pen, but just as I lean forward, one drops into the fold of the book. I write, "The usual. Skin, tits and naughty triangle. You?"

"What about you?" he continued, stirring his drink. Every seat in the bar was filled, the spaces between them with tall, black suitcases all Tetrised together.

"It's um...," it had been a year, "a few months, I guess."

He looked me over, a quick size-up in a slow blink, his straw folded over the lip of his glass. He held his breath for just a second and inhaled before looking away.

"I'm thinking about you," the note reads. "It shows."

My blush is overwhelming and beams from my forehead to my neck, pure boil. No matter what I write back, he knows. He takes the note back before I can respond, writes more and replaces it on my book. "Can I touch you?"

The whine of the plane measures a few seconds, the towns replacing one another underneath us. I can hear myself breathe, feel the air nozzle above my face flit my bangs against my face. I pick up the pen and begin to write. I only get to the Y before his knuckles are brushing the inside of my knee. I don't flinch, but inside, my body jolts. Heat pours up my skin, mixing with the blush on my face.

Our thighs are touching and I can feel him inch forward in his seat. I lean forward to check the seats opposite. One empty, two asleep. His lips flip and pinch my earlobe. My heart thuds against my breastbone. I want to feel him, the reason he had to inch forward in his seat. I check again across the aisle and move his hand up. I hear him now, a bang of an exhale. And my body, sensing the force of someone's else's hand, blacks out the periphery and hooks itself onto him.

I shut the lights off over us and look for a moment out of the window. The moon, in the shape of a spinach pie, is blinding and quiet. Our lights flash back at it, like the wing is frantically waving hello. His fingers press into me. I reach across and lay my palm on his abdomen. He reaches up and lowers his tray, then raises the armrest between us. I follow down under the plastic board and find him, a frustrated, caged erection in a tight pair of jeans. I pick apart the button between my ring finger and pinkie and unzip him against the flat of my hand, the zipper teeth pointed into my skin. He jolts and scoots up more.

My body falls into its tense concentration, his hand going above my skirt before it falls again under the material. Its fingers slip and lose themselves in me. I think I must be imagining that he's there. But he must be. I'm shaking.

My hand wraps around his cock and straightens him out so that it rests against the bottom of his tray. He's breathing quickly through his nose, alternately shallow and deep. I look at his face for a moment and find him open-mouthed, watching my chest pump. His fingers snake against me, twist and flutter. My toes bend in my socks, crush into the legs of the seat in front of me.

We work each other for a few minutes, our bodies flying along with the plane, the force of gravity against our weights changing here and there, the blood confused and shifting. My neck bends and grinds into my seatback. My mouth opens and I force back everything but a single gasping inhale. Time stops for a while, unmeasured by towns or clocks or the hiss of the airplane.

His arm pulls around my neck and when he comes, he only says, "I miss you," and pumps shots against the bottom of the tray. In my ecstasy, the continuing high of the orgasm, I know immediately what he means.

"I miss you too."

We sleep, a man and a woman alone in the crowded plane, our heads bent into each other, our hands across our empty laps.