Soon, I will introduce you to Apollo and many of the fun things we get to do with and to one another….but not now. For now, you need to know how much I crave his throbbing cock in my wetness and the utter urge I have to get fucked. This poses a challenge-you see, Apollo and I are in what some refer to as an, ‘Exclusive’ relationship. This isn’t a bad thing at all; actually, I’m quite happy with this because he’s sexually deviant as I am. We both live sexy, secret lives that people do not get to see…and I love our now-shared, little secret. The conundrum lies in the fact that we are currently separated by time and space; he’s in one place and I’m in another. For two respective, sexually driven, deviant-types like us, this is a significant problem; watching porn and masturbating only make the need for sexual release more intense.
Apollo…His absence intensifies my nymphomania. Everything around me has some connotation of a moment with my Apollo — anything from sweet and innocent naps together, to a primal need to feel him ,fully erect and drilled inside me. I’ve watched more hard porn in the last week than I typically watch in a month…and for me, that says a lot. Even the massage I got left me wet and insatiated. My muscles feel relaxed but my body is left longing for sexual release. The massage therapist I had was a younger man, in good shape, neither handsome, nor not–honestly, his appearance was irrelevant. The fact that his hands were all over my body was all that mattered. His hands were large and his rubbing was firm, things that I love and crave from my Apollo. I imagined that the massage therapist was my big, strong man, standing over me ,naked, working around my body, rubbing me. I imagined my Apollo, his cock free and fully erect, gently and occasionally brushing against me as he worked his way around the massage table. Ahhh,….I digress.
I find myself daydreaming about him at all times of the day. Yesterday, I was sitting in traffic, thinking about him entering me slowly…my warm wetness welcoming him in…the sounds of us both moaning in release as we felt each other inside….his hand around my throat or grabbing my hair….I wasn’t wearing underwear and at the red light, waiting to turn left, I could feel my jeans becoming saturated with cum, produced from the thought of his sex.
For my mental and sexual health, he’s told me that I was welcomed to go out and fuck someone; “In fact”, he stated, “I get hard thinking about you fucking another guy….”. I could tell as he was saying it, he second-guessed how I would take the comment, or perhaps he seconded-guessed his own excitement about it…maybe because of social norms and the presumption that it is taboo. But at the same time, he knows me, and he knows saying things like that to a person like me is nothing less than normal. Honestly, (and as complicated as this will read) I get horny thinking about him getting off to the idea of me getting off….with someone else.
His sentiment goes both ways–if I could watch him get his dick sucked I could get off and feel satisfied–for now. I’d love to watch–and hear him moan–and watch his head fall back as he thrusts his magic stick into the mouth of a stranger who neither of us care to remember, whom we use for our own pleasure moment between the two of us. Sucking cock is definitely a forte of mine so there’s little concern with another girl doing it to him; I know he knows he has the best–these lips and mouth that wrap around his erection and welcome his dick into a warm sanctity of wet heaven, yeah….these perfectly-fitting lips and mouth are his–this tight pussy that drips liquid sugar down my leg, tracing a trail back to where his cock is home, yeah…this pussy is his–this round, heart-shaped ass that he spanks so violently when I’m bent over and my ass is pushing up against his pelvis while his cock gets to know the tunnels of my pleasure, yeah, this ass his his.
I NEED, yes NEED sex and believe me, I would gladly go find a stranger and tell him how to fuck me correctly, and I’d punish him with pleasure if he did it wrong. But oddly enough, the only person I see is Apollo. The only person I want to punish with pleasure is Apollo–I love the way he loves my sex. I want HIM and I want HIS sex…..and so I wait. It’s the worst thing in the world to ask a sexaholic to NOT be able to have or get sex….it truly is a forced detox. And quite honestly, I do not want sexual sobriety; I want my Apollo back so we can satisfy, gratify and fulfill each others needs. We are each another’s fix….and I need it. Mine is not a needle in the arm but similarly, I need something to inject–I need him to put it in.
Stay Sexy. Eve~
“Hi babe 🙂 I moved here about a year and a half ago for work and I’ve been on the hunt for a sexy, fun, open minded girl for a little while now. I’m fit and athletic, clean cut, professional, respectful, generous and a fun person to be around. Sexually I tend to be somewhat dominant, I love to please and I can go for hours. You sound absolutely perfect to me […] I’m 7 1/2″ cut. Wouldn’t it be nice to find someone close by to call on when you need them…?” (for the record, he undersold the size…..how very modest of him)
The response I got to the ad. That’s right; the ad. I tossed an ad out into no-man’s land, unsure of what I might get…hoping to find something amazing. That message, along with the picture he sent got me wet. That’s how I knew. I was very deliberate in my ad-what I was looking for, what I wasn’t looking for. I asked for no dick pics right away. [Yet, so many sirs seemed to misinterpret the blatancy behind that] He didn’t send a dick pic—instead, a selfie-style picture, showcasing his gorgeous chest, abs, shoulders—yet, not quite showing me his face. However, I could see the gorgeous pair of lips that was the cherry on top of a sundae of a man I wanted to enjoy.
I responded to his reply to my ad, thanking him for being so tasty. Numerous emails later, we realized a commonality in sexual appeal. I was drawn to his demeanor in email form. I absolutely believed what he’d mentioned about being dominant. I wanted that. I wanted (and perhaps needed) someone who would control me. We agreed to take our email conversation to a central location. He, in all his supposed dominance chose the time and place—side note—yes, gentlemen, it IS that simple to win that part of me over. I am an incredibly dominant woman; I know what I want and I tend to take it. SO, it is incredibly sexy to me when a man takes the lead, tells me what to do and where to be. And he did (oh, did he…many, many times…..but those are stories of the sexy future).
He had arrived before I got to our public meeting place and messaged me to ask what I would like to drink. [Be still, my heart…the simple things—he made the plans, he ordered my drink…I was wet and I hadn’t even met him yet]. I had just parked; I walked in and perused the bar, looking for someone I didn’t know. I made my way to the bar and pulled up a chair next to a handsome, professional-looking man, hoping it was the sir I had come to meet. He had an air of Adam Levine amalgamated with the 50 Shades’ main character, yet, he didn’t seem as presumptuous as one might assume that combination to be. Within moments, he turned to me and asked, ‘Are you who I’m supposed to be meeting?’ To which I replied, ‘I don’t know. Am I? I certainly hope so.’
His voice was deep and masculine and for a split second, my mind floated away and imagined the way he might sound when he came. A good-looking sir, indeed….I was very pleasantly content with him. Not many men can accomplish the appeal he had: glasses, hair done and well-groomed, nice appearance, a well-dressed man…intelligent when he spoke. And yet, the sinister gaze that he shot me from time to time seemed to recognize itself in me…..in both of us, there was an unspoken yet recognizable animalistic, insatiable urge; we seemed to see it in one another. I imagined him fucking me, pounding me hard and slapping me…wrapping his hands around my throat as he drove himself inside me, making me scream out in pleasured pain. As he spoke, I watched his mouth move and could tell that, not only was his mouth the composer of the words he spoke, but also of the maestro to a woman’s pleasure—my pleasure. I wanted him.
Several hours later, we left the bar and headed to his place. Wet with excitement, it was all I could do to not rub myself in anticipation of what (and who) was to come (wink, wink). As we stepped into his place, I felt his masculine hands on my body. We went into his room and I climbed onto the bed, bent over. After putting on some music he climbed on the bed right behind me; I could feel his shaft rub up against my ass as his hand wrapped around my breasts. He sat me up and there we kneeled, on his bed, in front of the mirror—him still behind me, I could feel his cock get harder against my ass. He had one arm around my tits, while the other hand ran down my stomach and into my pants…his fingers began to tickle my clit. As he felt my wetness, I could hear his breathing increase and become more pronounced and he let out a moan. I turned and faced him. I ran my tongue up his neck and to his ear—his moans let me know he liked it. I rubbed my hand against his pants; I could feel him throbbing…I wanted my mouth on his cock. I wanted to taste him. In my split-second daydream of sucking him off, I was taken aback when I realized he had grabbed my ass and was lifting me up. He let me fall back onto the bed and he proceeded to eat me out. His haunting, seductive music played in the background as his tongue composed a masterpiece…..
xoxoxo—Stay Sexy, Eve
There is something about hearing a man cum. I know, I know—most the excitement is from the woman; I am one, and yes it is. But there is something terribly erotic to me about hearing a man cum. It isn’t just the cuming part alone; perhaps it’s everything leading up to it. Don’t get me wrong, I love fucking, in and of itself. But the buildup, everything that happens before cuming is what causes my insatiable urges. To me, everything is about being built up and amplified. It all moves in slow motion for me so I can digest every little piece. This is why, each time I c*m, it’s like a free fall from the sky, it’s the feeling of waking up rested with the sun hitting my face, it’s the sound of the ocean, lapping the white sand of beautiful beaches, it’s Heaven open the gates to a sinner and letting me in.
I like to look down and see his cock slide inside me—I feel the sensation as it slowly pushes in; my kitty stretches to accommodate his cock, the lips of my kitty tightly wrapping around it. I love the tingle my body feels all over upon his first thrust, deep inside me—I can feel the ridges on his cock rubbing along the inside of my pussy. My pulse pounds harder when I feel him throbbing in me; I could get off simply on his throbbing alone. After the first time he pushes inside me, he slides it out slowly—my tight pussy still adjusting to the size of his dick. I can see my wetness all over his cock. I love that—he’s fully erect and my sex is sticking to him. It makes me want to wrap my mouth around it; I love the way he feels in my mouth—I like that he grabs the back of my head and forces his cock down my throat. But instead, he’s inside my kitty…more forcefully, he shoves it back inside me—I let out a faint moan—I can feel his cock playing with the walls inside. He pulls it back out again, slowly, slowly his cock comes out and I let out my breath. He looks me in the eyes but it’s not him; right now he’s an animal devouring his prey. I watch as his big hands wrap around my hips, his fingers tightly grabbing into my skin; he wants to make sure he has good control over me when he slides his wet cock back in. And then he does, fast and hard—he’s in, then he’s out. He’s in, and then he’s out. His face tells the story of how good my pussy feels to him and I close my eyes for a second to feel the story inside. It’s a painful pleasure that I can never get enough of. A masochist—maybe I am; when his cock hurts me like this, I want more of it. I watch as a single bead of sweat runs down from his forehead—he leans his head back and it changes direction—I watch it run alongside his ear, down the side of his neck—it’s about this moment that I see his Adam’s Apple moving and all the sudden I hear him—my pussy gets wetter when I hear his deep throat making noises. I watch the bead of sweat pass his throat and run down the middle of his chest—between his pecks…God, he’s gorgeous. I reach up and touch his skin-he lets out a moan and fucks me harder—the bead of sweat now arriving just above his shaft causes my stare to wander down to his dick, and I watch as it penetrates me, over and over. And then he stops, leans up, gets his bearings and slowly moves himself to the being on the bed, where he lies back while I straddle his lap. His eyes in my eyes, I come closer to him. His mouth in my mouth—I move myself down to his erect cock and I wrap my mouth around it—I can taste my own sex on him and it gets me hornier. My tongue can’t get enough of our flavor-I lick the tip and his cock gives me a little surprise-I take a second to enjoy the way he tastes. I feel my wetness running down my leg as I suck his cock. My pussy and my mouth are vying for the same treat. I lean up and make my way back to his lap but instead of facing him, I spin myself around because I know he likes to watch me ride from that angle. I bestride his hard dick, grab it in my hand and slowly, slowly…sit on it and let it slide inside me—he lets out a moan and slaps my ass. I feel him throbbing all over again.
He showed up at my door with two other men; in a cliché kind of way, they were there to fix a faucet– friend of a friend…of a friend. MY friend, B recommended HIS friend, J to fix the precarious faucets in my home; J showed up with him and the other man….thus, friend of a friend of a friend. At first, I assumed my mind was playing tricks on me-I gazed upon two beautiful men who looked almost exactly the same. My mind took a brief trip to Wonderfuck land and a few seconds later, upon its return, I was aware that it wasn’t playing tricks on me at all; there were, in fact, two of almost the exact same man standing at my door….twins. These were not just any twins—tall, tan, dark hair, muscles… strapping specimens, indeed.
For some reason, although they looked nearly the same, I was drawn to one in particular. In watching him, it seemed like everything went in slow motion. I had to wonder if my mind was doing this or if he was, in fact, moving a little slower and more methodical because he knew I was watching him. In a small matter of time, I could care less about my faucet; I was mesmerized by him. He must have known what he was doing to me—I became aware that my breathing had gotten shorter and deeper. When he spoke to me, I hoped that in my response, I was forming intelligent responses, but who knows? All I could focus on was his mouth…also apparently moving in slow motion. Watching his lips move as he spoke made me wonder what else his mouth was capable of. On a few occasions, he’d look up from the faucet and I’d catch a look at his eyes-I was curious if he could tell from MY eyes what was in my mind—could he tell that in my mind I was undressing him? Could he tell that I was imagining sucking him off? Perhaps a part of me wanted him to know. When his attention shifted back to the faucet, my attention shifted back to his body. His black tank top and cargo shorts barely hung on to the gorgeous body they were loosely draped over. I stood back as he and the others worked on my faucet—images started swirling around in my head: him sweaty, slowly pulling his tank top over his head and letting it fall to his side, unbuttoning his shorts in his already-slow-motion sexiness and letting those fall to the floor. I imagined his cock already partly hard and hanging there on display for me and only me…..I realized that I was holding my breath so I let the air out; the wispiness of it must have come out in the way that says ‘sex’ or ‘fucking’ because all three men seemed to look up. J started to talk to me about the faucet, but all I heard was, “wah wah wah….faucet…wah wah wah…..purchase……wah wah wah….” The ‘Peanut Talk’ streamed to my ears—maybe something important but I was too busy watching this beautiful man in my home, wondering what he’d think if he knew that in my mind, he had me bent over my bed and was fucking me from behind.
At some point, we moved on to another plumbing problem I was having in the house (unfortunately, I’m NOT talking about myself, my personal pipes our anything of the sort, but it’s kinda SUPER awesome that ‘fixing my faucets’ is actually the matter at hand 🙂 ) The Gods shined down upon when I got to see him shift from working on top of the counter in one part of my home, to now, working UNDER the counter—he was laying on his back, looking up at my faucet. I couldn’t help but imagine him between my legs—better still, what if I were to simply assume to slide my shorts off and align myself to where he was laying….and off went my imagination again. I bet his mouth would know the right way to play with my kitty—he seems like a man who knows what he’s doing. I was getting more wet thinking about it. I was brought back to reality when he started speaking to me again—were there other people here?—I completely forgot the other two’s existence. I was too caught up with him and all the things my mind was allowing me to do to and with him….mmmm….and all the things my imagination had him doing to me. I got caught not really paying attention to the words coming out of his mouth because he had to repeat himself. I’d give anything to hear him ask to fuck me…..in attempts to silence my mind, I asked about his job and we discussed that for a bit. He’s said he wasn’t in the plumbing industry, but that he was there simply to help his friend….little did HE know he was actually there to meet and get caught up with the dirty, dirty girl he had just met.
After completely everything that needed to be done with the plumbing in my home, the men packed up their things. For the life of me, I couldn’t think of a way to imply my interest in this man without seeming….well, seeming WHATEVER–it just isn’t my style. I silently hoped that he had left his number or a note….maybe he would casually tell me his full name and I could look him up. But no, nothing. I walked them to the door, said my ‘thank you’ and bid them farewell. Ahhhh, even watching him walk away made me want it—his shorts were barely hanging on to his gorgeous hips—his ass begging me to grab it. VERY shortly after they left, I needed a porn intermission/intervention; I sat down and rubbed myself, envisioning all the things I wanted to do with this man. The idea of him punishing me from behind made me cum; the thought of him fucking me on the kitchen counter made me cum; the mere idea of his tongue touching my clit made me cum. I finished playing with myself but wanted more—I wanted him. And although my mind is an inventive thing and was able to appease my immediate need, I had come to the realization that in the very short amount of time that this man was in my presence, I wanted to feel him—really, like real life feel him; I wanted this man inside me.
Much to my surprise, later on that evening, I received a text: “Hi—it’s [Sexy Man]—just checking to make sure everything is okay with the faucet and that it’s not leaking. A huge smile came across my face—bear in mind, he did not have, nor did I give him my number; HE found ME. This ‘thing’ was just beginning….