Tag Archives: sex

“Sweet And Dirty” A Sexy Short Story

fea-sex-relationships-study

The following is a sexy short story I wrote about sweet women who talk dirty. I’ve known more than a few in my life. I even dated one. She was fun to be around. As someone who has a deep appreciation for the spoken and written word, they have a special place in my heart. Enjoy!

To most people, Layla Larone was the sweetest young woman that anyone had ever met. She had a smile that could light up any room, a feminine figure that rivaled that of any angel, and a spirit that made everyone want to be near her on their darkest days. Aden Stan knew that sweet side better than most. As her lover and fiancé, he drew plenty of envy from those who’d been captivated by Layla’s aura.

“Man, I still can’t believe you’re marrying Layla freaking Larone,” said Aaron Jay, Aden’s cousin and long-time friend.

“Gee, thanks,” Aden said, rolling his eyes. “You make it sound like I’m such a fine catch.”

“Come on! Don’t be like that, cous,” Aaron responded. “You’re an objectively great guy, but let’s not ignore the bigger picture, here.”

“And what picture might that be?”

“The same one everyone has been seeing since high school,” his cousin said. “Some women just have that special something – that perfect combination of looks, charisma, and energy that sets them apart. They could do anything, go anywhere, and be with anyone. She could go to Europe and marry a prince. She could go to any city and win over every heart. Hell, she could go to some remote village in the Amazon and be declared queen.”

“And yet she chose to be with me,” Aden said proudly. “A washed-up track star who makes his living as a contractor for his dad’s company.”

“Now, you’re just rubbing it in.”

“Am I? Or is there an even bigger picture you’re not seeing?” he teased.

“Now, you’re just being a dick.”

Aden and his cousin shared a good laugh, finishing up a cold beer on what had been another successful barbecue. Aaron’s family, who lived a couple blocks from the townhouse he and Layla shared, always threw one on the first weekend of May. They invited friends, neighbors, and family from all over, just to get together, catch up, and show off their fancy grilling equipment.

Aden hadn’t missed one since college and Layla never passed up an opportunity to meet, socialize, and endear herself to everyone even more. She also used it as an excuse to wear her newest sun dress. It was an unofficial rule in the neighborhood that winter wasn’t over until Layla Larone graced the world with her angelic beauty and summer fashion. By every measure, the rule had been met.

“You and Aaron throw such wonderful cookouts, Maya,” she told to Aaron’s sister. “After the winter we’ve had, this is such a treat.”

“You’re too kind, Layla,” Maya replied as she put out a fresh plate of hot dogs, “and I mean that literally. You didn’t have to help set up the tables and rent the bouncy house for the kids.”

“I know it’s more than usual, but I think the children are enjoying it. Even some of the adults are having fun!”

“Only after a few drinks,” she laughed. “But seriously, you got to keep raising the bar like this…being so kind and sweet to us all. You’re making the rest of us look bad.”

“I do what I can and I’m glad to do it,” Layla said with that distinct blend of pride and humility. “I’ve always believed in going the extra mile. It shows others just how much we care.”

“Well, I think it’s safe to say everyone knows how much you care. I almost feel bad for Aden. After today, all the men in the neighborhood are going to be even more jealous he’s marrying you.”

“That, unfortunately, I cannot help with.”

The two women laughed. Aden just kept smiling. Even though he’d been with her for years, she still lit up his world in her own special way. He didn’t care if it drew envy from everyone else in the neighborhood. He had the love of the most beautiful woman in the world and he wasn’t going to apologize for that.

If only they knew the full extent of Layla Larone’s love.

“Speaking of my future husband,” Layla said, “I believe he’s due for some extra care.”

“Go for it,” said Maya, rolling her eyes. “I got a grill to man and a brother who’s been bugging me about undercooked burgers.”

“I heard that,” said Aaron with a bemused look.

“Good!” she quipped. “Now, stop using your ears and put those grilling skills to use. You’re the one who brags he can cook the perfect burger blindfolded. Either prove it or join your buddies in the bouncy house.”

Aaron shook his head and joined his sister at the grill, but not before shooting Aden another knowing glance. Layla’s presence had already had such a significant impact. The last thing he wanted anyone to do was rub it in. Aden was tempted, but preferred to just raise his half-empty bottle of beer and smile.

That smile got wider as Layla joined him, quickly pulling him into a light embrace under the midday sun. She also threw in a peck on the cheek for all to see. It wasn’t much, but a peck from her gesture from her was akin to multiple kisses from a dozen angels. Just holding her in his arms, watching as others enjoyed the barbecue festivities, was enough to make any season feel like spring.

Then, once Aaron joined Maya at the grill and became immersed in his work, Layla leaned in closer and whispered something into his ear.

“I’m not wearing any panties right now,” she said in a deep, sensual voice that stood in stark contrast to the tone she’d used earlier.

Aden almost spit up his beer. That was the part of Layla Larone’s love that few others experienced, let alone appreciated. She didn’t show it to just anyone, but when she did, it had an impact.

“I wore them when we arrived,” she added. “I ditched them when I saw help that contractor fix the bouncy house. You know damn well watching you fix things makes me wet.”

“Jeez, Layla,” Aden said, “I wish I’d remembered that before I put on my tightest pair of jeans this morning.”

“Good think I’m also charitable when I’m horny.”

Most of the time, charity meant Layla volunteering at the soup kitchen, which she did at least twice a month. On some rare, yet special occasions, it meant purposefully rubbing her thigh up against his groin, diverting a good share of his blood to his lower body.

Aden had to hide his reaction, his grin becoming more awkward as he embraced his fiancé closer, if only to hide what she was doing in broad daylight. That did little to dissuade her. She just kept rubbing up against him, her every touch making her intentions clear and they were not those of a sweet, innocent woman.

“Um…how is that helping?” he asked his still-smiling fiancé.

“You mean besides getting your dick hard?” Layla replied curtly.

“That part was implied, I hope,” Aden said sheepishly.

She laughed, but the look in her eye became more devious. It was subtle, but not to him. She knew as well as him that he was one of the select few individuals who knew about her less-than-angelic sight.

“It’s simple logistics,” she said to him. “If your dick gets hard, that means you’re horny too. If you’re horny, then you’ll be more amenable to certain requests from your fiancé.”

“Requests? Like what?” Aden asked, as though he didn’t already know.

“One that involves making use of that guest room Aaron just renovated…the one that’s upstairs, away from prying eyes, and well-insulated from noise.”

There it was, again. The subtlety was gone. The public persona that Layla Larone so eagerly shared with others faded, making way for a much naughtier and kinkier side.

It was a well-kept secret that few ever thought to entertain. Layla was a dirty, sex-crazed freak. She looked for any excuse to ditch her panties and get frisky, often outside the confines of a locked bedroom. She also liked to talk dirty. However, her brand of sensual rhetoric often went blunt requests. In many respects, it reflected the unique way in which she shared herself with her lovers.

“That room only has mattress and a dresser,” Aden pointed out, as though that would dissuade her.

“That’s more than enough for some midday fucking,” Layla said.

“In that case, how subtle do you want to be this time?”

“Leave that to me!”

In an instant, the sweet persona everyone knew took over briefly and she took his hand in hers. With an overly chipper demeanor, she turned back towards Aaron and Maya.

“We’ll be right back!” she said casually. “I need to call my mom about some wedding plans. Aden needs to be there if he doesn’t want her going cheap on the cake.”

“Do what you need to do, love birds,” said Maya, who barely looked away from the grill.

“Just tell her not to skimp on the meat,” added Aaron. “There’s no way I’m working with prepackaged frozen shit!”

“I’ll remind her,” said Aden, trying hard to match his love’s demeanor.

He didn’t sound the least bit convincing. He still sounded like a man with a growing boner in his pants and a beautiful woman with no panties. Neither Aaron nor Maya seemed to notice, though. They were too caught up in grilling while everyone else was having fun at the tables and bouncy house. They had no idea what was about to unfold nearby.

That only encouraged Layla, whose kinky persona took over once more. Grabbing his wrist, she led him into the house through the basement. From there, they rushed up the stairs together, the music and laughter from outside fading fast. Along the way, as Aden followed behind her, his adventurous fiancé found a new way to tempt them.

Just as they reached the top of the steps, she lifted her sun dress up just enough to see under. Sure enough, Aden saw that she hadn’t been lying. She wasn’t wearing any panties.

“No underwear at a backyard barbecue,” he commented. “It must really be spring.”

“It still isn’t official, yet,” Layla replied seductively. “Not until I’ve tasted your cock with my lips and pussy.”

“And you want to make it official now?”

“Fuck yes!” she said without hesitation.

As if to prove it, she urged him to move faster, pulling on his arm and guiding him up the last round of stairs. Now on the top floor of Aaron’s suburban house, they slipped into the guest bedroom halfway down the hall. As soon as they were inside, Layla kicked the door shut and pulled him into another embrace. However, it was very different from the one they’d shared moments ago in front of other onlookers.

She faced him and he faced her, an intense look in her eye that stood in stark contrast to the sweet aura she usually projected. She snaked his arms around his neck while he slipped his around her waist, walking with her to the undersized bed in the center of the room that didn’t even have any sheets on it.

“Look me in the eye, Aden,” Layla said intently. “Tell me what I am.”

“I think…you’re an incredible woman,” Aden said, already breathless within her grasp. “You’re willing to rent a bounce house for children on the same day you’re willing to fuck your fiancé in someone else’s house.”

“Is that all?” she asked, clearly not content with his assessment.

“You’ve also got a dirty mouth that you hide so fucking well,” he went on. “You’ll talk about treating sick children one minute and how wet your pussy is the next.”

“Is that all?” she repeated, sounding more impatient with every passing second.

“You’re also the kind of woman who loves having a hidden kinky side. You get a genuine kick out of being so sweet in public, but so wild in private. You’ll smile for the cameras. Then, you’ll whisper into my ear how much you love taking it up the ass in the shower.”

“Is…that…all?” she asked, almost demanding a specific answer at that point.

Her grip on him intensified. She also rubbed her thigh up against his crotch with more force, causing him to wince slightly as his pants grew even tighter. Layla wasn’t making it easy on him, but he understood better than most that loving her wasn’t just a blessing. It was a challenge.

“You’re also a dirty fucking slut who loves to get fucked and freely admits it with as much profanity as possible,” Aden finally said.

“You’re goddamn right!” Layla replied, already sounding like an animal in heat.

She hungrily kissed his lips, shoving her tongue into his mouth and guiding him closer to the bed. Still as impatient as ever, she grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off over his head. Then, just as they reached the foot of the bed, she pushed aside the straps of her summer dress and let it fall to the floor, revealing her fully-naked body to him.

“My God, Layla,” Aden gasped upon feeling her naked skin touch his. “You ditched the bra too?”

“Are you really that surprised?” she quipped. “You think a dirty fucking slut would wear a bra on a warm spring day with her stud fiancé?”

When she put it like that, it almost seemed absurd. Aden didn’t bother overthinking it. There was a naked Layla Larone standing before him and if she wanted to channel her naughty side, who was he to stop her?

Passion and desire took over, his own naughty side emerging from its depths. He kissed her hard, just like she liked it, which meant plenty of force and tongue. He also felt up the curves of her naked body, marveling at her smooth skin, ample breasts, and perfectly-round ass. He wasn’t gentle or soft, either. He knew Layla didn’t like it that way. He grasped and groped his way around her naked body, further intensifying her desire while furthering her own.

He could still tell she was much hornier than him. At one point, he slipped his hand between her legs and grazed his fingers up the moist slit of her pussy. It was already fully engorged. Seeing him fix that bouncy house really had gotten her horny. Men who worked, sweated, and stayed in shape over the winter were a real turn-on for her and he took pride in being that kind of man.

“Feel my tits. Feel my butt. Touch my pussy,” she gasped in between kissing. “You’re just making me hungry for your big, hard cock!”

It sounded like something right out of a porno, but Layla’s sexual intensity was far greater than any porn star. Aden learned that on their second date and she just loved reminding him.

While he thoroughly explored her naked body, she’d been hard at work, undoing his belt and loosening his pants. That hadn’t been easy, thanks to the throbbing erection she’d given him, courtesy of those dirty words she’d shared. She still managed to get him off along with his underwear. As soon as his cock popped free, the kinky side of Layla took over once more.

“Sit down,” she ordered. “I’m going to suck your dick and I’m going to suck it good!”

“You always do, my slut fiancé,” Aden said, throwing in some dirty talk of his own.

Encouraged and very much aroused, he offered no resistance as his lover plopped him down on the bed. Now sitting on the edge with his legs draped over the side, his horny fiancé dropped to her knees, doing a seductive dance of sorts, as if to show off just how naughty she could be.

“I’ve always been a good girl with naughty proclivities,” she said seductively. “I’ve always behaved myself when I had to…done all the things I was supposed to. But when the lights go off and the mood sets in, another side of me takes over…one who doesn’t mind getting naked, sucking dick, and letting her lover know what she likes.”

“Good thing I fell in love with both sides,” he remarked.

“Yes…very fucking good.”

That lurid look in her eye never waned as she knelt down, pushed his legs apart, and licked her lips in anticipation. Aden, knowing little could stop Layla when her naughty side took over, leaned back on his arms and let her go to work.

With no hesitation whatsoever, she took the proverbial plunge and devoured his cock, taking almost his entire length into her mouth. Aden let out a deep moan, savoring the feeling of her lips, tongues, and throat surrounding his manhood. Once again, Layla astonished him with her deep-throating skills. He swore she’d been born without a gag reflex.

She’d also been born without restraint when it came to sexual hang-ups. After getting that initial taste of his manly flesh, she began sucking and slurping with lustful glee. The way she went about it was more akin to a sex-crazed whore than a pure-hearted angel.

“Ohhh fuck!” Aden grunted. “So good…you suck dick so good, Layla.”

That crude, but accurate assessment encouraged her even more. In addition to having a dirty mouth, herself, she loved it when others shared in the vulgar spirit. Having had a father and uncle who served in the army, Aden had no trouble mixing profanity with passion.

He muttered more strings of lurid rhetoric as his future wife sucked his dick, watching with awe as her head bobbed up and down in accord with each motion. She was so thorough and intense, as though she were gorging on her favorite treat. It was not the technique of a woman who gave oral sex just because her lover enjoyed it. It was very much the demeanor of a woman who genuinely loved sucking dick, being sexy, and having fun in her own special way.

“Mmm…good dick,” Layla said with muffled words. “So fucking good. Making me…so fucking wet.”

She stepped up the pace of her sucking, so much so that saliva dripped messily down his shaft. She didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. She just kept at it, using one had to squeeze the base of his shaft and the other to finger her pussy. She was descending into that deep, primal mindset where higher thought ceased and basic desires reigned supreme.

Aden quickly joined her in that daze. His arms barely supported him as his manhood throbbed with arousal. Sharp sensations of bliss coursed through his body, stirring a potent blend of love and lust. Layla might have been his future wife, destined to bear his children. At that moment, though, she was just a horny bitch who needed to get fucked.

“This dick…need more of it,” Layla said, practically seething with desire as she ceased her sucking. “Please, Aden…fuck me.”

“Is that what you want?” Aden asked her, as though he had a shred of doubt.

“Yes!” she said desperately. “Please…fill me with your cock. Hump me like the whore I am!”

“Such a dirty, filthy mouth,” he laughed in response. “If that’s how much future wife is going to talk, then that’s how I’m going to fuck her!”

In that moment, Aden became a man that few would recognize outside an intimate setting. He often carried himself with such calm reserve, always staying focused and in control of himself. Few ever saw him cut loose and unleash his passions. Layla was one of the select few and the only who could inspire the full extent of his passions.

Like a man possessed, he grabbed his fiancé by the armed and pulled her up onto the bed. He then laid her down on the unmade bed, got on top of her, and hitched her legs over his shoulders. As soon as he felt the tip of his throbbing cock graze the moist folds of her wet entrance, he didn’t hesitate for a second. With a firm thrust of his hips, he entered Layla and began making love to her with the rough, heated fervor he knew she loved.

“Yes! Ooh fuck yes!” she cried out. “That’s it! Fuck me with that dick! Fuck me like a dirty skank!”

“Ohhh Layla,” was all Aden could get out.

Anything he moaned at that point was vastly muted by Layla’s profane dirty talk. No matter how many times he heard it, especially after seeing her act so sweet and kind in front of others, it inspired a special kind of passion. It affirmed, once again, just how special a woman she was. As such, she deserved whatever rough, dirty sexy she wanted.

Aden gladly and eagerly gave that to her, letting masculine instinct take over as he pumped his cock inside her like a well-oiled piston, working his hips and rocking his lover’s naked body with his. He wasn’t gentle or careful. That wasn’t how she liked it. He just hammered away, making sure the manly sinews of his body slithered seamlessly with her feminine flesh.

He even made sure she had room to show off that dirty mouth of hers, kissing down her neck and nibbling around her shoulder as their sex intensified. He knew how much Layla loved it. She loved being devoured by her lover, rather than treated like some pure flower. She’d told him how her previous lovers rarely dared to let loose and fuck her like she wanted. Aden had done more than just dare.

Every movement seemed to inspire another gasp.

Every plunge into her womanly depths evoked another vulgar proclamation of how much she loved to get fucked.

Every reaction, vulgar or not, reminded him why he’d fallen so madly in love with her.

“Layla…my love…my dirty, dirty lover,” he grunted.

“Yes! Oohhh fuck yes!” Layla moaned. “I’m such a dirty slut…a dirty, fucking slut! Keep fucking me like one! Keep…fucking me…oohhh fuck!”

She was about to climax. Aden could sense it and Layla didn’t hide it. The way she raked her nails down his back, arched her lower body, and curled her toes made it abundantly clear. The loud, orgasmic moans laced with profanity just helped reaffirm it.

“Come, my slutty fiancé. Come!” he said right into her ear.

His words were drowned out by more vulgar moans. He finally slowed the pace of their heated lovemaking, if only to give his future wife a moment to enjoy the ecstasy. It was another colorful kink for a woman few imagined could be kinky. It didn’t take much to bring Layla to orgasm. Just fucking her hard and letting her cuss like an unapologetic whore did the trick. There was no need for elaborate technique or setup. He just had to fuck her like she wanted to be fucked.

“You fuck me so good,” Layla said breathlessly.

“Of course, I do,” he told her confidently.

“Then please…let me return the favor.”

The grin on Aden’s face widened. He knew what that meant and for once, Layla didn’t need her dirty mouth to spell it out for him.

Following the passions that so defined their bawdy sex life, he withdrew from her briefly and repositioned their bodies. With burning urgency, he turned her over so that she was on her knees with her hands pressed up against the freshly-painted wall. Now facing that perfectly-shaped butt of hers, Aden licked his lips with the same lustful hunger that she’d shown before sucking his dick earlier. Still bearing a throbbing-hard cock, he got behind her and guided his flesh back into her.

However, instead of her pussy, he pressed the tip up against her ass. Then, with little warning or reservation, he thrust his hips forward and entered her anally.

“Oohhh Adan!” Layla gasped. “My ass…you’re fucking my ass!”

She said it with such glee, revealing to any who might have heard how she felt about anal sex. Nobody heard her so, as far as the rest of the world knew, Layla was still that sweet, innocent girl who never would’ve contemplated the idea. Aden was among the select few who knew how much she loved it. In fact, she loved it so much that she could enjoy it with little lube or preparation.

“So tight!” Aden grunted. “God, I love how good it feels!”

“Me too!” Layla moaned. “I love anal sex! I fucking love it!”

Encouraged and longing for his own release, Aden resumed his fervent humping. Grabbing hold of her waist, digging his knees and feet into the mattress, he hammered away into her flesh. Together, their bodies rocked, along with the bed, as he worked his member within her tight butt. He even threw in a few light swats, which always got a colorful reaction from Layla, complete with more profanity.

Aden barely heard any of those vulgar words, at that point. He was too focused on reaching his peak. He could feel it coming strong, his manly flesh burning hot with anticipation. He’d already worked up a light sweat, which seemed fitting in the muggy spring warmth. After all, the barbecue was supposed to celebrate the arrival of spring. He and Layla were just doing so in their own kinky way.

After a good round of rough sex, coupled with more sexy spankings, Aden felt himself approaching the threshold. He was almost certain that Layla came again at one point, but he was too lost in his own bliss to take note of it. He just humping and pumping away at his love’s ass, savoring her angelic beauty as much as her devious verbiage. She always did her part, bucking her hips and rocking her body in accord with his, building up towards that special feeling where lovemaking and hard fucking became the same thing.

Soon, Aden was ready to peak, all the ravenous, profanity-laced sex about to culminate. As he approached, he leaned over, transferred his grip to her swaying breasts, and whispered into his kinky lover’s ear.

“I’m coming, Layla,” he said in a low, heavily masculine tone. “I’m coming in your ass…my future wife.”

“Come, future husband,” Layla playfully replied. “Fill my ass with your cum!”

That last round of dirty talk helped send him over the edge. After a few more thorough motions, he achieved his climax. White hot sensations surged through his body. His expression tensed, along with almost every muscle in his face as he released his load into her depths. His dick throbbed and her inner muscles clenched, milking him for every last drop. It was an intense feeling, full of that special brand of intimacy that he and Layla had forged together.

It was not a typical intimacy, by any measure. It was also not an intimacy anyone would’ve believed. Layla was just too sweet and such passion seemed too dirty. That didn’t make it any less meaningful. If anything, that made it special.

“I love you…my dirty fucking fiancé,” Aden said as he withdrew from her, but kept her in his naked embrace.

“I love you too,” she replied, “my handsome fucking stud.”

“And I love how you manage that filthy mouth of yours,” he added with a coy grin.

“Ha! You think this is me managing it?” she scoffed. “If so, then you’re in for a real shock on our honeymoon!”

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Daily Sexy Musing: Early Morning Loving

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When people contemplate the perfect time to make love, they rarely single out early morning hours. More often than not, the morning is the time for afterglow. It’s the time when you and your lover relax, reflect, and enjoy the memories of the love you’d made the night before. I completely respect and appreciate that approach. It can definitely work.

However, I am a morning person. I feel like that’s an increasingly rare personality type these days. When I tell people I’m a morning person, they look at me as though I just told them I have a pet dragon in the trunk of my car. I don’t deny that it’s difficult to be a morning person. If it weren’t, the coffee industry wouldn’t be a $74 billion a year industry.

It’s still possible and I know this from personal experience. My ex-girlfriend in college was the same. I can even attest that we were at our most affectionate in the early hours of the morning. That was when we had the most energy and drive. I like to think we made good use of it. I hope others do the same.

I imagine the majority of people reading this don’t consider themselves morning people. Those that are appreciate that unique feeling that comes with becoming fully awake and feeling so focused that you can do anything with your day. When you’ve got a lover who’s wired the same way, things can get pretty sexy. This Daily Sexy Musing offers some intimate insights into this increasingly unique mentality. Enjoy!

The sun rises.

The alarm sounds.

Our spirits awaken.

Our bodies follow suit.

My day begins on the highest of notes. I open my eyes and you’re the first thing I see. Mere hours ago, we crawled under the sheets, tired and drained from the previous day. We had the passion, but not the energy to express our love. Now, as the light from the sunrise creeps through the window, a spark ignites.

I lean in and kiss you.

You cuddle up to me and kiss back.

Our naked skin makes contact.

We arouse one another for the day that awaits.

There’s no need for an elaborate journey. Fancy clothes, excessive makeup, and expensive activities are an afterthought. We’re already at the finish line. What we seek is already within our grasp. We’ll never be as alert or energized as we are right now. Why not make the most of it?

The warm light, the crisp air, and our disheveled disposition gives us all the right incentives. While others battle restlessness and dismay, we lay a strong, passionate foundation for our day. It may start with a kiss and an embrace, but that’s not where it stops. We dare to make that foundation stronger.

The warmth from the sun spreads.

The sheets of our bed ruffle.

The touch of our bodies intensifies.

The sinews enmesh in a glorious celebration.

What others see as a culmination for a day, we see as an inspiration. Whereas the morning brings dread for some, we use its refreshing spirit to forge our own path. Already, we are ahead of the game. We’ve savored our desert before we’ve had our first meal. We made waking up the best part of our day. Everything else can only make it better.

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Daily Sexy Musing: Dirty Loving

mud-couple

Love is sweet, but sex is dirty. That’s one of the first things you notice when you start consuming romantic media. Even though society has become more sex positive in recent years, there’s no avoiding generations of innuendo and connotations that links sex with all things dirty. Even some aspects of love get caught up in that comparison.

It can be frustrating, and even a little annoying, to see such Puritanical themes in romance, but there are also times when it feels fitting. When you get right down to it, the sexy moments we share with our lovers are objectively dirty. There’s nudity, touching, kissing, and the swapping of various body fluids. It doesn’t always happen on a warm bed with clean bed sheets, either.

There are times when getting dirty is exactly what a moment needs to gain that extra-sexy aura. Sure, there’s plenty of appeal to getting frisky with your lover in the Presidential Suite of a Four Seasons hotel on a private island in the Caribbean. There’s also some appeal to slipping into a dark, dirty broom closet that smells like bleach and dust to get intimate.

It speaks to just how flexible, imaginative, and kinky we can be in exercising our sexy side. That process often requires that we shed the clean, refined traditions we assume are so vital and channel our nasty side. It takes many forms and can make for some incredibly hot moments. This Daily Sexy Musing is my personal dive into those dirty, filthy, disgusting moments that we still love. Enjoy!

The air is muggy.

The floor is dirty.

The lighting is poor.

The mood is tense.

Everything around us so unkempt, devoid of polish or refinement. It’s like the wildness has invaded our domain and won handily, reverting our civilized structures to decrepit relics. To anyone else, it’s the least desirable domain. For us, it is the ultimate destination.

Here, we need not be formal.

Here, we need not be elaborate.

Here, we need not be dignified.

Beneath our clean clothes and groomed flesh, we are the same animals that once rolled around in filth, unashamed and unafraid. No amount of soap, polish, or refinement can wash away our primal nature. Nothing can be done to silence that urge to just throw it all away and run towards the dirtiness.

I take your hand, sweaty and unwashed. We shed all fear and reservation of all things unclean. Sweat, saliva, and grime no longer repulse us. Instead, we savor the unrefined feeling, tapping into instincts long hidden. This filthy domain tried to dissuade us. Instead, we make it our own.

Every kiss is messy and sloppy.

Every touch is unguided and unabashed.

Every sound is raw and animalistic.

The dirt becomes our bed and the dank air becomes our blanket. Free and untamed, we smother each other in our own filth. I taste your truest self and you taste mine. Like unrefined sweets, it confounds our senses, but exhilarates our passions.

Inspired by unclean thoughts and actions, we let the filth collect on our flesh. What takes us such time and effort to clean is sullied so quickly and with great ease. There’s no need to be careful or restrained.

You want our love to get raw.

You want our bodies to messy.

I answer your filthy desires.

I proceed to dirty you from head to toe.

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Jack Fisher’s Sexy Sunday Thoughts: Memorial Day 2019 Edition

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There’s no getting around it. War and conflict have shaped human society in ways that are impossible to overstate. The people who end up fighting in those conflicts often pay a high price for their role. Some end up paying with their lives while others pay through the trauma that follows them home.

That’s part of what makes Memorial Day such an important occasion. Most people are related to or know someone who has served. It takes a special kind of spirit to serve one’s country. It’s not just about being willing and able to venture to foreign battlefields in the name of their country. Soldiers have something unique that helps them serve the way they do.

I have multiple family members who served their country. Some of my distant relatives served in World War II. A few who are still with us served in Vietnam. That special something that helped them serve with honor is apparent. It’s something no parade can ever fully capture, but it’s still worth celebrating.

To all the veterans who have served, as well as the brave men and women serving at this very moment, I thank you for your sacrifice. You blood, sweat, and patriotism is part of what makes the way of life we’ve come to cherish possible. Let this round of my Sexy Sunday Thoughts honor you in its own special way. Enjoy!


“How someone develops a spanking fetish is often weirder than the fact they have a spanking fetish.”


“Sex needs no advertising, but requires plenty of negotiations.”


“Making out is just a PG-13 form of foreplay.”


“Hate sex is like dangerously spicy food in that it causes great discomfort, but has inescapable appeal.”


“Part of loving someone means knowing how to share a bathroom with them.”


“Being in love means having sex on a good day, but true love means doing it on your worst day.”


“At its core, flirting is asking someone to help you have an orgasm.”


Once again, thank you to all the brave men and women who have served their country and are currently serving. If you wish to help our country’s veterans, please consider donating to organizations like the Wounded Warrior Project and the Purple Heart Foundation. There are many ways to show love, but on Memorial Day, please make the extra effort to show them what they mean to us.

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“My Favorite Client” A Sexy Short Story (For Memorial Day)

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The following is a sexy short story that was partially inspired by some real-life anecdotes about men coping with loss with the help of sex workers. A good portion of those stories came from men who had served in the military and in the spirit of Memorial Day, I wanted to capture the beauty of those experiences.

Whether you’re a veteran or just someone who has had to find ways to cope with loss, I hope you can appreciate this. Enjoy!

“The first Thursday of the month,” Reyna Stanly said to herself, “the best day of any month in my otherwise fucked up life.”

The young woman carried herself with more energy than usual and for good reason. It was a welcome day of contentment, especially for a professional escort. As someone who lived a life of ever-evolving risks and obstacles, she understood the value of those days better than most. After the week she’d endured, she needed one.

Having arrived at the mid-level hotel a half-hour ago, Reyna made her way up to the eighth-floor suite, as she’d done many times before. She wore the same low-cut black dress that she’d worn for the past several encounters with the special client that awaited her at the end of the hall. It wasn’t too sexy. Most people who saw it wouldn’t associate it with an escort or sex worker. Walking through the lobby, she looked like someone on her way to a dinner party at an overpriced restaurant.

Compared to what most clients asked her to wear, it was a welcome touch style. It made her feel like she was playing a role rather than providing a service. For the client that awaited her – a very special, very important client that she’d come to cherish – she took great pride in playing that role. It meant almost as much as her as it did to him.

“If only everyone in my life appreciated my dedication as much as you, Willie,” Reyna sighed as she approached the door.

As she prepared for the not-so-typical job before her, she lamented that the most decent male role model in her life was someone she’d met while escorting. It would’ve been hilarious if it weren’t true, but from where she came from, role models were hard to come by.

Her father had walked out on her mother and sister when she was six. After that, her mother went onto date a string of loser guys, eventually marrying one who could help pay off her gambling debts. It hadn’t been out of the goodness of his heart, though. That man, who she still refused to call her father, only kept her out of debt so she wouldn’t give him any crap out about cheating on her.

Her older sister followed a similar path, attracting all the wrong men before marrying the one who got her pregnant in high school, albeit after some heated coaxing. Theirs was not a stable marriage, to say the least. They fought more than they loved, cheated on each other so often that Reyna could practically set her watch to it. She escaped that environment the first chance she got.

However, her judgement hadn’t been that much better than her mother or sister. In high school, she’d played the part of the class slut, hooking up with multiple men and having a long string of empty relationships. Most of that was her way of staying away from home, but it came at the price of attracting men who cared more about easy sex than genuine intimacy. Whether by bad luck or family tradition, Reyna and her family never seemed to cross paths with the kind of men who were worth loving.

“Guess that’s more my fault than yours,” she said under her breath, lingering at the door as she checked her phone. “You were just looking to mend a broken heart. I was looking for easy money. Now, here I am…needing you as much as you need me.”

It was tragic, but oddly fitting. She’d gone most of her life knowing few good men. Then, she left home, got into a local college, and started making her own money as an escort with the goal of never having to rely on a man. Willie Mavin didn’t necessarily derail that goal, but he certainly complicated it and for all the right reasons.

As she knocked on the door, Reyna felt like needed to affirm those reasons. Having had so many poor influences on her, she had to cling to the few good ones she still had.

“Come in,” said the familiar voice from inside the room.

Smiling for the first time all week, Reyna entered the room and into her role. At that moment, she was no longer Reyna Stanly, the trashy young woman who made her living as a whore for men with no time for a mistress. She became Mandi, the affectionate young woman who reminded a lonely man of better times.

“Mandi,” said a tall, lanky, middle-aged figure sitting on the bed, “you’re as stunning as ever.”

“You’re too kind, Willie…way too kind,” she replied in a voice that blurred the lines between fantasy and reality.

Upon closing the door behind her, making sure to lock it and place the “do not disturb” tag on the handle, she set aside her purse and made her way to king size bed where her favorite client awaited her.

“I’ve missed you,” she told him, mixing the traditional script of an escort with honest sentiment. “You make the first Thursday of every month something I look forward to.”

“So do you,” said Willie as he gazed at her with that loving admiration.

“This past month has been especially tough. I need this as much as you do.”

“I believe you.”

She’d heard that from men before, pretending they could empathize with her plight. She rarely believed it, especially from clients. However, Reyna made an exception for Willie.

She also made an exception when it came to embracing a client. She didn’t just stand in front of him, posing like a model in hopes of tempting him into paying for another hour. She immediately joined him on the bed, slipping into his arms and sitting on his lap. She barely even noticed the empty envelope containing her payment on the nightstand. Willie never short-changed her or abused her trust. Very few men in her life could make such a claim.

“You seem tense, Mandi,” he said as he slipped an arm around her waist and caressed her face. “Is everything alright?”

“It is now,” Reyna replied with a reassuring smile. “Try not to worry about me. I’m here for you, remember?”

“You make that difficult to forget,” Willie said as he smiled back.

“Then, I must be doing my part exceptionally well.”

“You do more than that, Mandi…much more.”

He embraced her closer, holding her as he would a cherished lover. He was so affectionate and tender, kissing her neck and taking in her scent, which she’d augmented with her best perfume. It was enough to get her heart racing as she returned his affection, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him deeper into her intimate warmth.

Reyna knew how it must have looked from an outside perspective. Anyone observing them at that moment wouldn’t have seen anything other than a tall, slender man in his late 40s with graying hair holding a young female escort in her early 20s. It had all the qualities of a typical encounter between a sex worker and an older man. She wouldn’t have blamed anyone for seeing it as anything other than some guy wanting to get frisky with a cute young woman.

However, there was much more at work than a man willing to pay for sex and a woman willing to accept money for it. Some of it showed in the clothes he wore. Like her, Willie wore the attire that evoked his fondest memories. That included a neatly-pressed dress shirt with military emblems, a clip-on tie, and navy-blue slacks that had just been dry cleaned the other day. It gave him the presence of a man who knew how to take care of himself and valued how he presented himself to others.

He’d learned that skill in the military and still carried himself like an honorable, disciplined soldier. That kind of ability and self-respect did plenty to set Willie apart, but those were just the most obvious qualities she admired. The rest ran much deeper.

“This week has been especially lonely,” Willie said after he finished kissing er. “It would’ve been our wedding anniversary on Monday. My son tried to visit so we could spend some time together, but his flight got cancelled.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Reyna said. “I hope he makes it up to you.”

“He will. He’s a good young man, just like his brother. I’m not worried about him. I’m just focused on you…on us.”

“And I intend to do nothing less.”

True to her word, a trait any competent escort valued, Reyna dove deeper into her role. Caressing his unshaven face with both hands, she kissed him with a soft, but sensual passion on the lips.

It was not the kind of kiss she shared with other clients. It was genuine and loving, akin to something a dear lover would give to someone who they’d missed. Almost immediately, it had an impact. She sensed his tension settle. The rugged, manly musk of her breath helped her settle too.

“My darling, Mandi,” Willie gasped with an intensity few men dared to show, even with an escort.

Her heart skipped a beat. She still wasn’t used to that, especially with a client. Reyna wasn’t sure she wanted to get used to it. The way Willie held her and the way he kissed her triggered something in her that she didn’t think she could feel for a man, even before she became an escort.

As the kiss deepened, those feelings intensified. Before long, a kiss was no longer sufficient.

“Willie…sweetheart,” Reyna said, now deep into her Mandi persona.

“Yes, Mandi?” he replied, already breathless.

With a coy grin and the taste of his lips still lingering, she broke the embrace and turned around so that he could see the back of her dress.

“Would you please unzip me?” she asked him. “This dress feels so…burdensome.”

“Of course, my dear,” Willie replied without hesitation.

Like a gentleman, he did as she requested, unzipping her dress with the utmost care. He wasn’t like some horny guy eager to get a girl naked. He was so careful, highlighting every inch of newly exposed flesh.

Once he reached the bottom of the dress, she stood up and let it fall off her body. In doing so, Reyna revealed she hadn’t been wearing a bra. Upon stepping out of her dress, kicking off her heels in the process, the only article of clothing she had left was a pair of black lace panties. When she turned around, giving him a perfect view of her feminine features, the awe in his eyes was profound.

“Wow,” said Willie in a daze. “You’re as beautiful as I remember…a sight I never get tired of.”

Reyna just smiled curtly as he gazed upon her, leaning back on his arms and taking in every feature. He’d seen her naked many times before, but she knew Willie wasn’t just referring to her natural beauty when he saw her voluptuous form. In his eyes, he wasn’t looking at Mandi, the escort he paid for a night of intimate company. He was looking at Mandi, his deceased wife.

“I miss you…so much,” he said with a hint of sorrow in his tone.

“Oh Willie,” she said, “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

That was only half-true. She knew she wasn’t Amanda, the woman he’d married right out of high school and loved with all his heart until she succumbed to cancer. He had to know that too, but it didn’t matter at that moment. As far as they were both concerned, the harsh reality of their respective lives didn’t apply within the walls of the hotel suite. For just a brief moment, they could enjoy a quiet moment of intimacy.

“You’re here,” Willie said, tears already forming in his eyes. “God, I want you.”

“I want you too, Willie,” she told him.

Her role made room for her skills as an escort. With a seductive poise that she’d refined from her promiscuous past, she slipped back onto his lap, straddling his waist and grinding her groin up against his pelvis. That got the blood flowing to the lower half of his body. It also prompted a flood of amorous affection.

“My sweet, Mandi,” he gasped. “My sweet, beautiful Mandi.”

It was tough to maintain that seductive mood when he was so loving with his gestures. Willie was always more tender than most of her clients, but there was something different about the way he touched her exposed upper body. He playfully fondled her breasts, buried his face in her neck, and traced his fingers down her waist and hips, as if to paint an image in his mind.

“Mandi…I see you,” Willie gasped as he kissed her.

“So do I,” she whispered into his ear.

The foreplay quickly intensified. As Willie felt around her exposed upper body, she began loosening his clothes, removing his tie and unbuttoning his dress shirt. It played out like so many other encounters she’d experienced with clients, but there was deeper story unfolding between them.

Reyna had come to know the details of that story well. Since he became a regular, she’d learned a great deal about the role she played. Amanda Mavin, the woman Willie saw whenever they were together, was a very different woman than the one she’d become. She wasn’t just a loving mother and supportive wife. She’d been a gifted artist, a college professor, and an adventurous traveler.

Willie claimed she saw the world as a work of art worth admiring and exploring. She’d taken him to so many wonderful places, sharing so many passions along the way. After serving in the army, spending time in war zones and seeing so many awful things, he needed that. She helped him see and experience beauty in the world again.

When Willie first told her about Amanda, she laughed at the notion that she had anything in common with her. She doubted they even looked alike. Then, he showed her some old pictures and the resemblance was undeniable. When he told her about the kind of spirit she had and how she’d overcome a less-than-ideal upbringing, Reyna saw more and more similarities. It made the intimate experiences they shared more meaningful.

For Willie, it was a way to reconnect with the memory of a woman he loved and missed dearly. For Reyna, it started as her providing comfort and sex to a lonely widower. It soon became as therapeutic for her as it was for him. After the week she’d endured, she needed that therapy more than usual.

“Willie,” Reyna said in the midst of all the affectionate touching, “lie down on your back.”

“Of course, my darling,” he said in that deep, loving tone of his.

Having rekindled old memories and the passions connected to them, she pursued the escalating desire. After guiding him towards the center of the bed, he laid down and kicked off his dress shoes, allowing her to go to work.

She channeled more of Mandi’s spirit, removing his dress shirt, undoing his belt, and taking off his slacks. She took her time, kissing down his chest and pawing his arms. He once told her that Mandi treated lovemaking like a work of art, requiring exquisite detail and impassioned vision. Reyna never saw sex in such a colorful way, but she quickly came to appreciate that approach. Upon removing the widowers underwear, she saw how much Willie appreciated it as well

“Wow! You did miss me, Willie,” Reyna said coyly while eying his semi-erect manhood.

“What can I say? Certain parts of the human body say more than words ever well,” Willie said with a playful grin.

She smiled back at him before channeling more of that sexy spirit. She briefly hovered over him, allowing him to admire her body even more. She even dangled her breasts in his face, something he once said Amanda loved to do during intimate moments. He also once mentioned she loved it even more when she gave his penis a quick lick to prepare for their sex. With most men, Reyna would’ve assumed that was just a creative way to get oral sex. With Willie, she trusted his word.

Like a sexy angel, she lovingly kissed his lips before sensually working her way down his body. Willie kept in great shape for a man his age. All the work and travel he did with his late wife really paid off. That extended to his penis, which was already throbbing by the time she reached it.

With skilled hands and talented lips, she gave the widower a quick round of oral teasing. She was more careful than usual, sucking and stroking his member while looking up at him with affectionate eyes. It evoked a familiar, yet rewarding reaction.

“Oh Mandi…my love,” Willie moaned.

She replied with more sucking, bobbing her head up and down, making full use of her oral sex skills. Seeing the older man so happy and impassioned was a nice personal bonus and one she didn’t get with most clients. It motivated her to share in the feeling, as well. As she sucked him off, she reached into her panties and fingered herself, building up her own arousal.

As soon as she got him fully hard, she rose up from the bed and removed her panties. She also retrieved a condom that she’d stashed inside, a trick that only the savvy, most cunning escorts could pull off. After opening it and applying it to his rigid manhood, they were ready to complete the moment that they’d both come to appreciate.

“I’m ready for you, Willie,” Reyna said to him as she got back on top of him.

“Please, Mandi…I need you,” Willie said, reaching up and caressing her face.

It almost was sad, hearing the longing in his voice. She saw in his eyes how much he wanted to cling to the memory of his late wife. Even if she wasn’t that woman, he yearned to turn those joyous memories into an experience…one she could share with him.

Eager to share something so loving and intimate, Reyna positioned herself over him, straddling his waist and holding onto his torso. She locked her eyes on his, doing her best to mimic the loving gaze his wife must have given him for so many years. Then, as he slipped deeper into his memories, she lowered her hips and guided his manly flesh into her.

“Ooh Willie!” Reyna moaned out.

She was more vocal than usual, but for all the right reasons. The way he filled her depths, her womanly folds embracing his rigid manhood to the utmost, filled her with more than just the familiar sensations of sex. It turned an act of basic sexual intercourse into a truly intimate act.

“Mandi…my sweet, sweet Mandi,” Willie said joyously.

“I feel you, Willie…so deep inside me,” she gasped.

Now lost with him in the feeling and the fantasy, Reyna began moving her body in a succession of slow, sensual motions. They didn’t rock the bed or strain their bodies with their sex. There was none of that crude, mindless humping that she’d experienced so common with other clients. She put real, genuine passion into their sex.

“I need this…you need this…we need this,” Reyna found herself saying in the midst of their movements.

Having established a steady rhythm, she leaned in and kissed him lovingly, allowing their naked bodies to fully mesh. The widower returned the favor, throwing his arms around her and grabbing hold of her butt, something she’d always loved during sex. It allowed him to supplement her sensual movements with his strength, evoking more blissful sensations and deepening the intimacy.

That was a big part of what made Willie her favorite client. He made their sex – the same sex that she once treated as a simple means to an end – a truly intimate act. She thought she knew intimacy from her previous boyfriends. In serving Willie, she realized those experiences were just lust, hormones, and the pursuit of meaningless pleasure. There was nothing meaningless about what she did with Willie. It might have been the most meaningful part of her otherwise hectic life.

“That’s it, Willie…make love to me,” she whispered to him. “Make sweet, beautiful love to me.”

“I will, Mandi! I…I will!” he said eagerly.

He kissed her more passionately as she rode him with focused intent, working his rigid manhood within the moist depths of her inner domain. As he squeezed her butt, she reached down and fondled her swollen clit, wanting to share the pleasure with him. It further intensified the intimacy that they both so cherished.

As they embraced the feeling, Reyna also shared in the sensual efforts. She got a bit more playful at times, leaning back and swaying her body in a sexy dance, of sorts, that earned her a beaming smile from Willie. He did his part as well, gliding his hands over her naked flesh, making sure to give her nipples some extra attention, knowing how much she loved it.

Each movement and gesture had a purpose.

Each intimate act took them closer to their goal.

Slowly, but surely, they ascended towards their respective climax.

As it drew near, Reyna shifted their bodies so that Willie was on top, working his hips with hers with energy not topical of a man his age. She held onto his shoulders, spread her legs extra wide, and locked her eyes with his once more, urging him to finish the experience.

“Oohhh I’m close, Willie! I’m so…so close!” she told him.

“Me too, Mandi! Me…too!” Willie said with labored grunts.

“Just…just a little longer. I want us…I need us…to share this.”

For a brief moment, Reyna broke character. It might have been the first time she’d ever blurred the line between the woman she was and the woman she pretended to be while escorting. It was something she’d been taught to avoid, entangling such sentimental feelings with sex work. It might have been risky, but in that moment, it felt so right.

“Mandi…my love,” the older man gasped as he neared the threshold.

“Willie,” was all she got out before following him into that world of ecstasy.

A few more shared bodily motions was all it took. When the feeling washed over them, time seemed to stop as the line between memories and roles vanished.

It wasn’t a simultaneous climax, but it was pretty damn close. Willie got his first, letting out a sharp gasp as his grip on her hips tightened in accord with his release. Feeling that hard, throbbing flesh inside her along with the heightened intimacy helped send her over the edge as well. While Reyna had gotten fairly adept at achieving orgasm with clients, she usually had to make a concerted effort. She didn’t need much when she was with Willie.

With him, the release came to her. His heartfelt sentiment took her to that special place where ecstasy took a tangible form, each sensation reverberating through her like a wave of heat. It caused her back to arch and her toes to curl, ruffling he bedsheets every step of the way. As always, she savored every minute sensation. Unlike every other orgasm she’d experienced as an escort, the one she shared with Willie left her feeling uniquely fulfilled.

“Willie…thank you,” Reyna said in the heat of the moment.

“Mandi…I miss you,” Willie said in his orgasmic daze.

She lingered in that daze with him, if only to escape a much harsher reality with him. She kissed him and embraced him again, even after he withdrew from her and laid down beside her. Their naked bodies remained entwined as the afterglow set in. Reyna already sensed the time he’d paid for running out, but she didn’t care. She didn’t even check the clock. Escort or not, she needed that special, intimate moment with him.

“Thank you,” the older man said, still catching his breath as he held her in his arms. “I know I make things awkward…mixing memories of my wife with what we do.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Reyna told him, daring to cuddle closer with her favorite client. “You loved her. You miss her. And based on all the times we’ve done this…I can tell you two were pretty passionate.”

“We were. It’s one of the many things I miss about her,” he said with a sigh, “but those intense, intimate moments we shared over the years…I miss those the most.”

“That’s how you know your love was real. Not everyone gets to experience that kind of love, let alone appreciate it. You wanting to relieve it, even its with an escort who just happens to look like her, isn’t the least bit awkward. It’s sweet.”

“I’m glad you appreciate it.”

“Believe me, Willie…I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know.”

 

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Daily Sexy Musing: Flowers And Roses

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As someone with a long and tortured history with allergies, I admit I’m not too fond of flowers and roses being symbols of romance. That said, I don’t outright resent it. I understand the appeal. I’ve even embraced it a time or two. It’s just hard to appreciate when romantic sentiment is mixed with itchy eyes and severe nasal congestion.

However, these are just some of the things we brave in the name of romance. Back in college, I remember picking up my girlfriend from the airport so we could spend our first Spring Break together. I was excited, nervous, and anxious for any number of reasons. In an effort to set the mood, I bought her some flowers and gave them to her she arrived.

Without getting too heavy into personal details, I’ll say those flowers definitely helped. To this day, that was one of my favorite Spring Breaks of all time. Flowers, roses, and all the colorful plants we associate with romance help convey a certain sentiment. There’s just something special about their beauty and their scent that puts us in the perfect romantic mood.

With spring upon us and summer fast approaching, flowers and roses of all types are in bloom. It’s still murder on my allergies, but it still sets a uniquely romantic mood that can get sexy real fast. That mood, and the romantic undertones behind it, is more than deserving of a Daily Sexy Musing. Enjoy!

There’s that smell, again.

There’s that distinct rich aroma, once more.

There’s that special feeling it evokes, so often.

For just a small fraction of a turbulent year, the changing seasons inspire natural passions. The cold, brutal nights are gone. Trees, grass, and animals awake to warmer days and fertile lands. Within that bountiful transition, fields of roses and flowers bloom. They signal to us that the time has come to emerge from our shelters and embrace a world reborn.

The sights of greener pastures and the sounds of lively fauna are joyous, but it’s that scent that hits first. We both feel the impact, as if jolted from a long slumber. In an instant, realize how much we’ve repressed and restrained ourselves. Now, it feels like nature itself is urging us to unleash our desires.

I pick up a flower.

I pick up a rose.

I inhale the sweet smell.

I present it to you.

No words need be said. The message is clear. Sweet smells, vibrant colors, and welcome warmth tell us everything we need to know. Gone are the layers of clothing that protected from the cold, but created a barrier between our flesh. With nothing to hinder us, we follow the meaning behind the scent.

It’s a fertile halo.

It’s an intimate symbol.

It’s a gift from nature.

It’s a key to greater passions.

Surrounded by warmth and scents, I take you as eagerly as you take me. Every pent-up desire comes pouring out. In a sea of flowery beauty and rosy scents, we light the spark that ignites our love. Sweet gasps mix with sweet smells. In a fertile new world, our spirits are renewed.

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Daily Sexy Musing: Animal Loving

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Technically speaking, human beings are animals. I know there are certain individuals, especially creationists, who abhor such an association. For some, the idea of being closely associated with mere animals, let alone classified as one, just doesn’t sit well. While I’ve little respect for creationists, I can respect that sentiment to some extent.

That said, I don’t think being labeled an animal is necessarily a bad thing. In many ways, it provides an important perspective on ourselves and our place in the world. As humans, we’re capable of some pretty amazing feats. We have literally reshaped the face of this planet. At the same time, we’re still animals cut from the same mold as monkeys, dogs, cats, birds, lizards, and dinosaurs.

This extends to our love lives. I would even argue our animal nature is part of what makes our love lives so complex and kinky. Every animal goes about sex, society, and bonding in their own unique way. Humans just happened to be especially unique, but we still retain many elements of our animal nature.

At times, the greatest intimacy we experience comes when we channel our animal nature. There’s a reason why so many songs, euphemisms, and sexual positions have primal connotations. Whether we’re doing it doggie style or going at it like rabbits, we definitely have an animal side. When properly applied, it makes for amazing lovemaking. This Daily Sexy Musings should help make that case to the animal in us all.

This morning, everything was so calm. We were just two lovers, living our lives and navigating our world. Nothing was out of place. Our minds, bodies, and faculties were within our control. It was all so peaceful and serene.

Then, night came.

Then, our bodies awoke.

Then, our minds devolved.

Then, harmony gave way to chaos.

In an instant, the higher function of our human brains gives way to the base desires of our primal nature. We act on a whim and those whims are so crude. Gone are concerns about work, money, society, and propriety. In this moment, we are barely human. For the rest of the night, we are animals acting on pure, unfettered desire.

We’re dogs in heat.

We’re salmon swimming upstream.

We’re birds sounding the mating call.

On instinct, we respond to these feelings. There’s no thought or care to the details. All that matters is feeding this basic desire, following freely the primal path before us. Deeper love gives way to shallow lust. We seek no greater purpose or goal. Only a thirst for pleasure guides us.

Like hungry predators, we pounce on one another. We’re not gentle or careful. Clothes are ripped off rather than removed. There’s no caressing or teasing. Instead, we grope and grasp, indulging in the flesh that feeds the beast within us. Together, we unlock the chains and let the creature roam.

Moans become grunts.

Gasps become growls.

Words become glares.

What began as a deep human connection is now a shallow primal act. There’s no greater meaning behind our actions, nor does there need to be. Every hour of every day, we channel our humanity, just to get along with our fellow humans. When the sun sets and the doors close, we dare to unleash the animal within and savor the fruits of our beastly desires.

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Abortion Restrictions, Personhood, And The Difficult (And Absurd) Implications

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Imagine, for a moment, that an armed government officer shows up at your door and points a gun at your head. The officer informs you that for the next nine months, you will be injected with a generally non-fatal strain of flu that’ll make you feel tired, sore, and occasionally nauseous. Then, after that nine-month period is up, you’ll be given an infant child that you are henceforth responsible for.

Failure to comply with any part of that request will result in you or anyone who assists you going to prison for an extended period. You can protest it all you want. There’s no getting out of it. The government agent keeps the gun pointed at your head the entire time and if you want to avoid breaking the law, you just have to endure.

What I just described isn’t a perfect parallel to the strict abortion law recently passed by Alabama, but it helps illustrate what women are facing in light of such laws. While other parts of the world are liberalizing their abortion laws, certain parts of the United States are going in the other direction. However, the Alabama law represents a new extreme.

Now, even though I’ve discussed abortion before, I want to reiterate that I don’t like talking about this issue. It’s not because I’m a man or because I’m inherently skeptical of movements tied to organized religion. This issue affects everyone, regardless of gender. The principle alone of forcing someone to endure nine months of bodily rigor makes it relevant.

It’s for that reason that I tend to favor the pro-choice side of the debate. There are too many real-world examples of the dire consequences of a society where abortion is outright banned. I singled a former communist country one whose policy is quite similar to that of Alabama’s. However, my feelings on this issue go beyond just the consequences of these restrictive laws.

Even if I agreed with the idea that life beings at conception, I would still be in favor of keeping abortion legal in most cases. I just can’t support an effort that involves the government holding a gun to the head of women and their doctors, prohibiting them from making choices about their health and their bodies.

Now, I already know how the pro-life crowd will respond to that sentiment. They’ll point out that if life truly does begin at conception, then abortion is murder, by default. I’ll even concede that their reasoning isn’t entirely flawed. A fertilized embryo has many of the defining traits of biological life. It even has many traits we associate with personhood.

This idea that a fertilized embryo is a person makes up the bedrock of pro-life arguments. It’ll likely be the argument that’ll likely be used, should abortion access become an issue for the Supreme Court, which many pro-life groups are banking on. Considering how religious and logistical arguments rarely count much in a courtroom, this is their best bet.

There are a many flaws in the pro-life arguments, some of which I’ve touched on before, but this is the one I want to focus on because it’ll likely be cited more frequently as the debate intensifies. I believe that if abortion is ever banned in the United States, it’s because the law will recognize a fertilized embryo as a person.

However, with that distinction comes many implications, some of which lead to unavoidable inconsistencies. As the late George Carlin once so brilliantly illustrated, inconsistencies tend to reveal absurdities. To highlight just a few, here are just some of the questions that we’ll have to answer if we determine a fertilized embryo is a person.


If a fertilized embryo is a person, then at what point do identical twins become two individual persons?

This question has implications of its own. Part of the principle behind saying life begins at conception is the idea that when the sperm and egg meet, it combines to create a unique strand of human DNA, which constitutes human life. That sounds good on paper, but when identical twins enter the picture, it breaks down.

Identical twins, by definition, have the same DNA. At some point during gestation, they split into two individuals. At what point does that occur? By what basis are they distinct? If the answer to that is arbitrary, then how is saying life begins at conception any less arbitrary? Once personhood status is granted to a fetus, this will be something the law and doctors will have to answer.


If a fertilized embryo is a person, then does one that fails to implant on a woman’s uterus count as an accidental death under the law?

This happens to every sexually active woman, regardless of whether they’re in a monogamous marriage or working in a brothel. Even if an egg gets fertilized, it doesn’t always implant. The reasons for this are many, but if a fertilized egg is a person, then that still constitutes a death. As such, it would have to be treated as such under the law.

Most women don’t even know that a fertilized embryo has failed to implant. Most just end up getting flushed down a toilet, as part of their menstrual cycle. Under this legal definition of personhood, though, there’s no difference between that and flushing a live infant down a toilet. Given how Susan Smith was convicted of murder when she drowned her children, will other women face a similar sentence?


If a fertilized embryo is a person, then how does the state go about monitoring sexually active women to determine how many deaths occur because implantation did not occur?

This ties directly to the previous question. As soon as the law determines that an embryo is a person, it suddenly has a daunting challenge. It must now monitor and document every sexually active woman very closely to see how many fertilized embryos pass through her system, if only to determine how many deaths occurred inside her.

Even with advances in medical technology, it requires a level of invasiveness that even the most totalitarian state in the world can’t administer. There are over 150 million women in the United States. Is the government really equipped to monitor the activity inside every one of their wombs without breaking some very significant laws?


If a fertilized embryo is a person, then wouldn’t any woman who had a miscarriage be subject to manslaughter laws if her actions indirectly caused it?

This has already come up in a few states with restrictive abortion laws. Women who have suffered miscarriages are already being investigated as criminals. Ignoring, for a moment, the difficulty of determining whether a woman intentionally caused her miscarriage, look at it from a personal perspective.

A woman just suffers a miscarriage. She is likely distraught, distressed, and physically weakened. Now, government agents are going to treat her like a criminal and possibly prosecute her for a crime. While manslaughter is not on the same level as murder, it’s still treated as a crime and people do go to jail for it.

That means, for embryos to be considered persons, it must also be necessary to put women who suffered a miscarriage in prison. I don’t think even the most ardent pro-life adherent can comfortably stomach that.


If a fertilized embryo is a person, then would that person be legally culpable if a woman suffers complications during the pregnancy and dies?

This is somewhat a reversal of the previous question. There are occasions where pregnancy actually leads to a woman’s death. According to the Centers for Disease Control, approximately 700 women die every year in the United States due to complications during pregnancy. In the cases where the infant survives, are they somehow culpable?

If an embryo is a person, then their actions can’t be entirely distinct from that of any child. There are cases in which children get convicted of murder and are punished for it. Even if an infant cannot have intent or malice, their presence inside the woman is still the cause of the complication. That means manslaughter or wrongful death could be applicable.

I know there’s plenty of inherent absurdity in the notion of prosecuting an infant for the wrongful death of his or her mother, but if they’re going to be defined as a person, then that includes the same rights and responsibilities. To do otherwise would just be inconsistent and require the same arbitrary distinctions of which pro-life individuals are so critical.


If a fertilized embryo is a person, then would that person be culpable in the event that an identical or fraternal twin dies in utero, as can be the case in Vanishing Twin Syndrome?

A lot of things can happen inside the womb during gestation. Twins are just one of them, but there are instances where the presence of another fetus causes one to die or become unviable. Regardless of whether it involves an identical twin or a fraternal twin, the legal implications are the same. One person has died while the other has not. Like any other person, it would have to be investigated.

It could be the case that one infant hogged nutrient, causing the other to starve to death. There are also cases in which one twin will absorb the other. Technically, that would make the other baby both a cannibal and a killer. It would have to be investigated and prosecuted as such.


I concede that some of the scenarios I’ve described are absurd. That’s my underlying point. If the pro-life movement gets its way and fertilized embryos are treated as legal persons, then that has consequences that are logistically, legally, and morally untenable.

The bigger picture surrounding these questions tends to get lost among those who simply call abortion murder. However, if those same people got their way, then they would be unable to avoid these questions and their consequences.

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Jack Fisher’s Sexy Sunday Thoughts: Smooth Shave Edition

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While I’m a fan of manly beards, I don’t deny that there’s a unique appeal to smoothly-shaven skin. Whether it’s on your face, legs, chest, or genitals, there’s a lot to like about that clean, crisp feeling. Sometimes, that’s a feeling you want to enjoy, both for yourself and for your lover.

I’ve recounted times when I’ve let my hair just grow out. It had its share of appeals. It helped me look more rugged and manly. That was fun, but it became somewhat of a challenge when I wanted to have a more formal look. Over time, I learned that when I shave my face and cut my hair before such occasions, I can look pretty damn sophisticated.

I value that look. Many men feel the same way. Many women have equally strong feelings about a smooth shave, especially when it comes to their legs. This is the time of year when women finally get to show their legs off again. As someone who is very much in favor of women showing off their sexy skin, I definitely value that too.

There are plenty of circumstances in which that rugged, unshaven look works. Those moments can have plenty of sex appeal. The same goes for that smooth-shaven feeling. Both have plenty of potential for sexiness. Both are worth celebrating. This round of my Sexy Sunday Thoughts should help in that effort. Enjoy!


“Technically, a pimp is just a middleman to a pricey orgasm.”


“When you’re horny, your brain often betrays you just after your genitals.”


“If love is ultimate drug, then divorce is the ultimate hangover.”


“Ironically, stupidity is responsible for both increasing and decreasing a population.”


“Falling in love is correlated, but not caused by a willingness to give oral sex.”


“In the right circumstances, make-up sex can be both therapeutic and self-destructive.”


“A man’s porn stash can be just as revealing as a woman’s choice in vibrators.”


Whether you prefer a look that’s rugged or clean-cut, there are a great many ways to be sexy. Hair, wherever it is on your body, can help supplement that sexiness. A cleanly shaven face or cleanly shaven legs offers so much, in terms of intimate touch. As summer approaches, this is as good a time as any to appreciate it.

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“The Quiet Stud” A Sexy Short Story

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The following is a sexy short story inspired by a former roommate who was scrawny in stature, but had other “attributes” that made him very popular with the ladies. If he ever reads this, I hope he appreciates it. Enjoy!

“What’s with that guy in the corner?”

“I don’t know. He’s been working here for years and he’s barely said a word.”

“I’m not sure what to make of him. Word is he’s a bit of a recluse.”

“I hear he has issues…as in, issues that require medication, therapy, and a social worker.”

“I hear he’s just plain fucking weird.”

Hellen Hyland snickered to herself as she heard that all-too-familiar conversation unfold. The company had just had its biweekly meeting. As the young paralegal tasked with handing the boring paperwork, she knew how to fade into the background while the overpaid, overdressed executives discussed the business of the day. However, it was often after the meeting ended that the more interesting conversations emerged.

A frequent subject of those conversations was Terry Rhinehart, the overly quiet man in the neatly-pressed suits who rarely said a word. He rarely had to, for the most part. He was an accountant with the finance department. Much of his day centered around staring at spreadsheets, crunching numbers, and balancing the books. By all accounts, he did that job very well. In fact, Terry might have been the only employee that the director hadn’t yelled at all year.

On top of that, he wasn’t too imposing. He wasn’t tall, muscular, or charismatic. Some had even called him scrawny and he probably wouldn’t have argued. He looked like the kind of guy who did everything possible to skip gym class in high school. He was the last person most would pick to be on the company softball team. Had Hellen not known him, she wouldn’t have paid much attention to all those off-hand conversations about him.

However, Hellen did know Terry. In fact, she knew him intimately. It wasn’t common knowledge throughout the office, but she and Terry had been an item for nearly a year. In that time, she’d gotten to know the quiet young man behind those neatly-pressed suits. In the process, she’d also learned there was more man within that undersized stature than they thought.

“If only they knew,” Hellen said, shaking her head as she gathered her notes.

Smiling to herself, hiding her demeanor as she exited the conference room, she made her way back to the tiny desk within the sea of cubicles that made up the heart of the company. It was the middle of the day so almost everybody was already stressed out and planning their lunch break. Being a proactive person, by nature, Hellen had already made plans.

“It’s 11:30 and I’m officially ahead of schedule,” she said upon checking the clock after filing away her notes. “That means I have extra time. I’d better use it wisely.”

Still smiling, Hellen slipped away from her desk before her supervisor could drop by and stick her with a meaningless task. She then made her way to the far corner of the office floor. It was an area where few ventured, mostly because there wasn’t much there aside from old filing cabinets and storage areas. It didn’t even have windows with a decent view of the office campus. The only notable feature was Terry Rhinehart’s cubical.

It was such a quiet area, one befitting of such a quiet man. It also had an aura of mystery, being a nook in the office that few rarely ventured. It was part of what had drawn Hellen to Terry in the first place. That curiosity paid off in a big way…one that went beyond any mystery.

“Terry,” she called out as she approached his cube.

She didn’t get a response. She didn’t expect to. She could hear the rapid typing on the keyboard, the mark of a focused, fast-working mind. Hellen knew he heard her, but it often took more to get him out of that zone of his.

“Terry, it’s 11:30 a.m. and department heads are still entertaining the consultants,” she told him. “That means they’ll spend no less than 15 minutes brown-nosing the one with the biggest bank account. That gives us something we haven’t had lately…time.”

Upon hearing that, the fast typing stopped. The cramped, but meticulously organized cubicle fell silent. It was the kind of silence that made Hellen weak in the knees, but for the best possible reason.

Terry turned around in his chair, revealing to her the neatly-dressed, perfectly-groomed young man with a small, yet endearing presence. On the surface, he was still unimposing. One of her co-workers once described him as an extra from a 1950s American sitcom, complete with a pocket protector and a sweater vest. However, in Terry Rhinehart, Hellen saw so much more in him.

“I take it the meeting went well if it ended on time,” said Terry in that deep, analytical voice of his.

“I’d certainly say so. Are you going to review my notes to make sure?” Hellen asked, half-teasingly.

“I’ll take your word for it, Hellen. You’ve given me plenty of reasons to trust you.”

“For what I’ve contributed, professionally and otherwise, I sure as hell hope so.”

“You have,” he said strongly, “and if the consultants didn’t drag the meeting out, then that means they’re receptive. If they’re receptive, that means they’re willing to negotiate. If they’re willing to negotiate, then that means we’ll have upwards of 30 minutes…more than we’ve had in the past three months.”

Hellen’s grin widened and her legs shifted awkwardly for reasons that only Terry understood. Leave it to a numbers nerd to crunch data like that so quickly. The fact he was that thorough when it came to making time for her only made her love him more. At the same time, it boded well for how they would make use of that time.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to make use of every minute,” said Hellen.

“I’d like that too,” said Terry. “I’d like that a lot.”

Then, he did something that would’ve freaked out everyone else at the office. He smiled.

Given his reputation as a recluse and a number-loving nerd, the idea that Terry Rhinehart could smile must have seemed outrageous. The fact was that he had a beautiful smile. He just chose to share it to those who mattered and the idea that she mattered that much to him only made Hellen’s excitement grow.

“Where should we do it this time?” Hellen asked him. “The parking lot is always crowded during lunch time and the stairwell gets pretty noisy during this time of day.”

“Then, I suppose we’ll make due with the utility closet upstairs,” said Terry. “The cleaning crew isn’t due to show up for another two hours. That gives us a comfortable window.”

Hellen would’ve laughed if urgency hadn’t taken over. Trusting his lover’s knowledge of the custodial staff’s schedule, she took his hand and followed him towards the nearest stairwell, away from prying eyes and curious onlookers. Even if anyone had seen them, they would’ve just seen two co-workers taking an early lunch break. They had no idea what was about to unfold.

With an efficiency befitting of two detail-orientated individuals, they make their way to the sixth floor just above theirs. Upon exiting the stairwell, they slipped into one of the halls adjacent to the main foyer. There wasn’t much going on. That was to be expected. Nobody came up to the sixth floor very often. It had been undergoing renovations for the past five months, which made it a quiet, secluded area.

That was just what they needed, but being more overly-cautious than most, Hellen made sure there was nobody looking when they arrived at the utility closet located in between the vacant bathrooms. Being responsible for keeping the office clean, she had a key and was able to unlock it, giving her and Terry access to a confined area free of witnesses and judgment.

“In here,” Hellen said, already breathless with anticipation. “We’d better hurry!”

“Would you prefer it to be quick? Or would you prefer it to be efficient?” Terry whispered into her ear from behind, his soft voice making her legs tremble again.

“I think you know which I prefer.”

As soon as the door opened, she and Terry slipped inside, having successfully evaded detection. From there, the quiet, reserved man that everyone else knew faded. The second she locked door locked and turned the light on, another persona emerged.

“It’s been one week, four days, and nine hours since our last mid-day rendezvous,” Terry said as he drew her into his embrace. “That’s a long, long time to go without knowing your intimate touch.”

“Trust me. The wait was more agonizing for me,” Hellen told him intently.

“I find that doubtful. Care to prove it?”

He was so demanding and intense, a far cry from the soft-spoken accountant that everyone knew. He spoke with a manliness of a man twice his size and a half-foot taller. It was the kind of persona that drove Hellen wild in all the right ways. It also gave her an opportunity to show that she could be more than the sweet, innocent paralegal who most ignored.

“You’re a man of hard facts and definitive proofs,” Hellen said, her voice taking on a more seductive tone. “Lucky for you, I’m a woman capable of many proofs.”

“I know. I just love seeing you do the work,” said Terry, his embrace becoming more intense.

“Trust me. I love it more than you!”

Rising to the challenge, Hellen unleashed her own naughty side. She captured his lips with hers, threw her arms around his neck, and hungrily pressed her clothed body up against his. She showed more energy in that private moment than she ever showed publicly. There was nothing meek, mild, or reserved about it. There was just raw, unfiltered passion mixed with lust.

As the kissing intensified, she began pawing his upper body, feeling over that neatly pressed suit of his. His frame might have been wiry, but she could still a very masculine strength in his muscles. It showed even more when he reached up her dress and grazed his hand over her underwear, triggering a surge of arousal that added more urgency to their touching.

“Terry…your pants,” she gasped in the midst of all the touching and kissing.

He got the message. With their lips still entwined, he undid his belt buckle and unzipped his pants. Almost immediately, Hellen dropped to his knees and eagerly aided him. In an instant, his neatly-pressed slacks dropped to the floor in a wrinkled heap. At the same time, Hellen came face-to-face with a growing bulge in those plain white boxers Terry always wore…a bulge that grew larger than most would’ve imagined.

“Wow! Talk about hard facts,” she teased.

“It helps to be thorough,” Terry said.

“Indeed,” said Hellen, “and being a paralegal, I know all about being thorough.”

Licking her lips in anticipation, shedding what remained of the shy innocence that she often exercised, she pulled down his boxers to reveal his growing manhood. In doing so, she exposed what might have been the biggest secret of Terry Rhinehart…literally and figuratively.

“Terry,” Hellen said with a mix of awe and lust, “such a handsome, hunky man.”

He gazed down at her and grinned, standing with a poise of someone at least a foot taller. He deserved to because, despite his undersized frame, Terry packed a level of male endowment that put male porn stars to shame.

He had a big dick. There was no other way of putting it. Hellen remembered how shocked she’d been when she first saw it, marveling at how a man so physically unremarkable could have such a remarkable feature. She’d been with enough men and seen enough porn to know that the dimensions of Terry’s anatomy were above average, to say the least. She’d also had enough sexual experience to know how much she loved big, hulking dicks.

Some women might have hesitated to even touch a dick that big, let alone suck or fuck it in any way. Hellen didn’t waste a second of their private time, taking the massive endowment in both hands and engulfing the tip in her soft lips.

“Mmm…this is what I want,” she purred, “my secret stud’s big, throbbing cock.”

“And you…my cute little nymph,” Terry said as he ran his fingers through her hair, “you’re the only one who can handle it.”

Hellen shot him another seductive gaze as she initiated her unique approach to oral sex. Much like her work on legal briefs, she was attentive to detail. She started slow, using her tongue to trace every intricate contour. Then, she sucked softly around the tip while stroking the shaft. That helped get Terry’s blood flowing in all the right ways. As he got harder and harder, she took more of his length into her mouth, showing off a gag reflex that most wouldn’t expect of a shy office worker who’d always dressed modestly.

“That’s it! Just like that,” Terry grunted. “Hellen…so thorough.”

Harder and faster, she sucked off her undersized stud. She took as much his massive length into her throat as her gag reflex would allow. She knew Terry had been with other women before. He’d told her more than once that none could deep-throat his massive endowment as well as her.

Beyond taking pride in those oral sex skills, it also helped get her aroused as well. It might have been a dirty cliché, her getting horny from sucking a dick. It sounded like a sordid male fantasy, but there was no denying the results. Hellen could already feel her panties getting hot and moist. Even as she stroked and sucked her lover’s cock, she rubbed her thighs together to contain the growing arousal. She knew as well as Terry she could only do so for so long.

“Terry,” she said, gasping after licking along the full length of his cock, “I’m so wet right now.”

“And we’re ahead of schedule,” he told her intently.

“Well, you know I like to be proactive.”

“That, I do.”

Not needing any further prompting, Hellen followed her escalating lust alongside that of her lover. As soon as she shot from the floor, she undid the back zipper of her dress and slid it off, along with her panties. Terry also stepped out of his pants in the process, showing a rare lack of regard for his clothes as he kicked them aside.

Now both naked from the waist down, Hellen sensed Terry’s gaze narrow on her. Showing more strength and initiative than he’d ever shown in all his years at the office, he grabbed her by the waist, turned her around, and pushed her up against the wall. He wasn’t too rough, but he wasn’t too gentle either, showing just the right amount of initiative.

As she pressed against the cold metal door, she felt Terry carefully part her legs and push up her blouse so that he had a clear path to her womanhood. Being the efficient worker he was, he wasted no time, grabbing hold of her waist and guiding the tip of his massive endowment to her wet entrance. As soon as she felt the tip rub up against her wet slit, he thrust his hips forward.

What followed was a testament to the durability of female anatomy and Hellen’s immense fondness for big, throbbing cocks.

“Oohhh Terry!” she cried out, her voice echoing loudly within the utility closet.

It was rare she could be that vocal. Usually, when they hooked up at work, they had to be discrete and quiet. Since nobody was on the sixth floor, she could afford to be a little loader. Given how much her lover stretched her insides and probed her depths, it was refreshing.

“Hellen…so wet and tight,” Terry grunted.

Through more grunts, he began moving his hips, making love to her within the confined, dingy ambience of the utility closet. It was hardly the most intimate, romantic setting. That didn’t matter. It still filled Hellen with the kind of intense, raw sensations that she craved.

It felt like a tremor that morphed into a full-fledged Earthquake, the feeling of such a long, hard cock pumping into her vagina. Terry stretched and penetrated her in ways that tested her resilience, but she relished passing those tests at every turn. With each thrust of his hips and slither of his member, he stimulated parts of her body that few women could hope to experience with a man, let alone one of Terry’s stature.

Taking such a well-endowed man was strenuous at times, often walking that fine line between pleasure and pain. Hellen, whether by kink or personal taste, loved walking that line. It perfectly fit her work ethic, enduring the strain to enjoy the rewards. Hellen liked to think she appreciated that strain more than most. The fact that it made for such great sex with a man as hung as Terry was a nice bonus.

“Yes! Oohhh yes!” she cried out. “Harder, Terry! Harder!”

Terry heeded her urgent cries, thrusting harder and faster, his bulging cock moving smoothly within her wet folds. Again, he showed power and strength that didn’t seem to match his size. That only made it more satisfying to Hellen. It showed that a strong, powerful man need not have the stature to show it. If anything, Terry’s undersized form made him work harder when it came to making love to a woman and Hellen was the direct benefactor of that work.

As they humped, swayed, and gyrated to their sensual dance, Terry supplemented his efforts by reaching around and fondling her clit. He once claimed he had calculated the exact amount of pressure necessary to bring a woman to orgasm. Hellen had long since stopped doubting that. He also reached up her shirt and felt her swaying breasts, something else he knew she loved. It helped bring her to the brink of orgasm with an efficiency that only two detail-oriented lovers could appreciate.

“Yes, Terry! Just like that! Just…like that!” Hellen gasped. “I’m almost…almost there!”

“Me too, Hellen,” he gasped. “Me…too!”

In another burst of energy, Hellen leaned up against the door even harder, throwing her head back and closing her eyes as she ventured into that special world of ecstasy. Terry reached around and kissed down her neck, still pumping into her womanhood with his cock and fondling her clit with his right hand. She could feel how close he was too with the way his massive member throbbed inside her.

He was always so courteous, letting her have her pleasure first before enjoying his own. When he sent her over the edge, Hellen made it a point to reach behind and fondle his neatly-combed hair as she let out her cry of euphoria.

“OOHHH TERRY!”

Her orgasmic cry echoed loudly throughout the confined closet. She swore the whole floor shook as he delivered the final few thrusts, sending her over the edge and into that pool of ecstasy. Had his embrace on her not been so strong, her legs would’ve buckled. Once again showing uncanny strength, he held her close as she climaxed.

Wave after wave of hot bliss coursed through her body, starting as a hot ball of fire within her core and spreading out in every direction. As her world shook, her inner muscles tightened around her lover’s massive cock, which helped send him over the edge as well. He wasn’t quite as loud when he climax. He didn’t need to be. True to his nature, he let his actions do the talking.

“Hellen…” was the most he got out.

Her body shuddered. His tensed. Together, they clung to one another as they writhed in orgasmic delight. It was a perfect harmony of ecstasy, one born by unleashing the desire and energy that they kept hidden from so many others.

Even as their hearts beat together and their flesh remained entwined, Hellen managed to turn her head just enough to capture Terry’s lips in another kiss. Through the intense desire and naked lust, a perfect dose of love always found a way into their sex. It further strengthened the balance, affirming to them a feeling that they kept so secret, but savored at every opportunity.

“I love you, Terry,” Hellen said as she caught her breath, “my quiet, soft-spoken stud.”

“I love you too,” Terry whispered into her ear, “my kinky little sex fiend.”

“You know…people think a lot of weird things about you…about us.”

“Let them think what they want. Let them see us as quiet, reserved stiffs. This…what we share in private and in secret…this is ours and no one else’s.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

They shared another kiss before their bodies parted. They then collected themselves, putting their clothes back on and fixing their appearance. That always took a while, trying to make it so they didn’t look like they’d just had hot sex in a dirty closet. Terry always took longer, straightening out his shirt, tie, and slacks until they were perfect. It was tedious, but worth the effort.

As soon as they stepped out of the closet, they went back to being who everyone thought they were. They returned to a world that saw them as quiet, reserved, and unremarkable. Nobody ever would’ve expected that Terry Rhinehart was a well-hung stud or that she was a self-admitted sex fiend. Even if someone told them, they never would’ve believed it.

That was exactly how they wanted it, though. In the end, that was what made their love, their sex, and their unique tastes in intimacy so special.

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