Just a really quick update to let everyone know that, despite the cold, I made my HNT reality and met LG at the station in only my coat and sexy lingerie (and to die for black Steve Madden high heels). I froze a bit, but it was so worth it. When my coat came open a little bit on the bus, exposing the lacy tops of my stockings, I merely smiled at the other passengers and closed it nonchalantly… I can’t even explain how much of a vixen it made me feel.
There will be more updates, but suffice to say, we had an amazing evening last night and did not leave my bed once. Clubbing tonight.
I have this amazing fantasy that I meet London Guy at the train station later tonight in just my favorite black overcoat and my darling new black heels. Oh, and did I mention the French lingerie?
If you click, you might see what I dare to wear this evening… if I can muster up the courage.
HHNT! Don’t forget to stop by Osbasso’s to see who else is playing.
To be fair, I’ve made some excuses. I told a very interested man at a club that it couldn’t happen (despite him being very attractive) and, well, it was mostly because my room wasn’t clean. I couldn’t bring a guy home to a dirty room! Okay, well, maybe. I mean, I have before. It would be hard not to. My room is rarely clean…
And obviously, I could have fucked Narcissus despite his potty mouth. But I feel like the standards have been raised. Less one night stands with guys like Narcissus, more recurrences with gorgeous bodies like London Guy (please!).
Though if that hottie behind the piercing counter wants to come home with me next time I stop in, he is absolutely welcome. Or the guy who got pierced after me. Or Danyl off the X-Factor (I know, I know, but the flatmates got me hooked!). Or that guy who was probably with his girlfriend in the shops yesterday, but was a delicious piece of manly meat. I’m so hungry…
Oh, wait, I do see London Guy on Thursday. Hooray!
Another challenge with the usual participants, Amy of Sex,Chocolate, and Red Lipstick and Z of Phaedra Fallen, although this time we've also added Britni of Oh My God, That Britni's Shameless into the mix. Jake of Facts and Friction has so kindly chosen us a song to be inspired by (hm, inspirotica again? I love it): I Get Around by Dragonette. Goal - 1000-1250 words by Friday at midnight. I'm about fifty words short... but late for the club. This is all fantasy.]
“Only seconds to my elevator from the station,” he breathed into my ear, his hand trailing from my thigh to the hem of my silky black dress. “Fifteen minutes, tops.”
I smiled coyly at him. “Don’t tell anyone,” I said, knowing half the club-goers were straining their eyes between strobe flashes to see what was happening between London’s Hottest It Girl and her new handsome stranger.
He grinned, taking my hand and leading me to the entrance. I winked at the bartender as we left, and he shook his head. Another tabloid story, another hazy martini-influenced mistake.
I thought about asking him for his forgotten name as we tumbled tipsily around the streets, but let him put his hand up my dress instead. He toyed with the fabric of my lace thong and I moaned against the skin of his neck, my back pressed against the brick of some unknown building. “Underground,” I murmured, “Now. I don’t know if I can even wait fifteen minutes.”
He laughed and we hurried down the steps to catch the last train. The other riders tried to ignore us as I straddled him, grabbed his face, and kissed. He held my hips as I flipped off a shutterbug tourist. “Fame,” I shrugged before diving in to his lips again.
Fame. The reason not to do anything publicly. But in my opinion, contrary to what any publicist might think, is it so bad if the International Party Girl ends up in some sketchy feature in The Mirror in a picture where she is – heaven forbid – partying? I say a big “hoorah!” to making bad decisions. Like the handsome man with no name I had my legs wrapped around on the train…
“This stop,” he said, picking me up and carrying me into the station. I wrapped my legs tighter around him. I could feel my dress riding up, my panties wet from the voyeuristic tongue tango. “Just up these stairs.” We ascended to the street and crossed it.
“My building,” he said, nodding up at the large, boring structure in front of us.
“You weren’t kidding about how close you were,” I said, reaching up to undo a button on his shirt. “I don’t know if we’ll make it to the elevator, though, I’m pretty close myself…”
He practically knocked down the door before banging violently on the buttons for the lift. I pushed him up against the metal doors, further undoing his buttons and leaving a trail of kisses down his chest. He groaned appreciatively and I reached for his belt.
We fell as the lift doors open, sprawled out on the elevator floor. Laughing, he pulled me out of the way of the closing doors. “I knew I couldn’t go wrong with you. Can’t wait to get you to my bedroom.”
I unzipped his trousers. “Why wait?”
His eyes closed as I took his hard dick into my mouth. I felt deliciously dirty, there on the floor of the elevator, and lips still closed around his cock, I looked around to see the walls were mirrored.
Hot.
I slurped and sucked, eager to please my sexy stranger. I had a reputation to live up to, after all, and I seemed to be fulfilling it as he moaned with every stroke. I watched my head bob up and down, my hair still shiny and perfect from my night out, but my make-up smeared. How fantastically slutty. I almost wanted this picture captured on Page Three. “Party Girl Goes Down As The Lift Goes Up.” Witty.
I pulled away, pleased at the red lipstick ringed around his cock. “Do you want to fuck me in this elevator?”
As if on cue, we arrived on his floor with a “ding!” He looked to the corridor, then down at his hard, lipsticked dick.
“There is no question,” he said, jamming his thumb into the “close door” button.
I stood, grabbing his hair to pull him up to kiss me. He picked me up and pushed my dress up around my waist. Pushing my panties to the side, he slid into me.
“Watch us,” I ordered, and we both turned to see ourselves in the mirror. He lifted me slowly, his cock very nearly coming out of my pussy before he slammed it back in. I gasped, closing my eyes in pleasure. He grabbed my face and pointed it back toward the mirror.
“You said watch.”
I grinned, watching us fuck slowly, our faces both transfixed now, entranced by the self-made pornography we were creating.
“Faster.”
I don’t even know who said it, but we sped up, eyes still glued. He clutched me with his hands to keep me up and I imagined there’d be handprints tomorrow across my hips, waist, and back. I became more aroused at the thought, and pulled him in for a violent kiss, our eyes still open and watching.
I watched as his face contorted in orgasm, feeling him tense, grab me tighter, and cum. I came watching him, whispering “yes, yes, yes”, and finally closing my eyes, though the image of us was going to be burned delightfully into my mind forever. I might have to get his name after all.
“I can’t wait to get you into my bedroom,” he breathed into my neck.
I should say no, I thought. I’ve gotten what I wanted. Can’t have too many photos of me in last night’s dress.
“Let’s go,” I said. Damn. Can’t hurt to get what I want again. Can’t go wrong with another yes. Or three.
Unfortunately, there will be no HNT this week. I've left my camera's battery charger in Paris. I know. Silly Coquitten. I'll definitely make it up to you next week! I have a lovely little outfit I'm dying to show you... and London Guy. ;P
I'd also like to start doing a new thing called "Inspirotica". While I didn't get the idea from here, this is very similar to "Flash Fiction Fridays" from Spanky's blog, The Daily Toast. While his is a more interactive weekly inspiration with a word limit and incredibly amazing results, mine will be sort of an experiment in finding a personal muse through erotica. I will not be restricting my word count nor will I have a set day or week when I'll post them. As they strike me, I'll just, well, write!]
"Hungry" by Phyllis Christopher
His fingers always taste distinctively of me, whether or not they’ve even made it past my waist. I can’t get enough of it – a sick sense of pride comes over me every time he shoves them in my mouth. My pussy has claimed those fingers. I might be his, but those fingers are mine.
He likes to put them in my mouth almost as much as I like them being in there. Sometimes he puts just one finger to my lips, and I kiss it, nipping gently and letting my own smell of sex waft underneath my nose.
Other times, it’s the whole pointer finger, a make-shift mini-cock I can tease and suck. He groans as I do this, as if my mouth were somewhere else, so I make every lick a promise for later, winking as I take his finger all the way into my mouth. And still I get that hint of taste, despite my body’s persistent insistence I haven’t been touched yet. I thrust my pelvis his direction – he ignores me on purpose and switches fingers.
The middle finger. The Fuck-Me-Finger. He knows it’s my favourite, sexually dexterous and long. Survival of the fittest. The longer the Fuck-Me-Finger, the more likely that caveman was to get laid. A trait passed down from generation to generation until he got his hands and I got to cum, over and over and over around that finger.
That one tastes like my pussy more than the rest.
But I know what he likes best. He likes to shove his fingers in my mouth in a raw digital face-fuck. My mouth waters at the ghost taste of my pussy doubled in my mouth and pressed against my tongue because there’s no where else for those fingers to go. I have to moan into them because someone somewhere taught me not to talk with my mouth full, and he loves to shut me up anyway. He especially likes to pull his fingers out slowly, letting trails of saliva linger on my lips and end at his fingertips.
Then, I get what I want. Then his wet, cunty-tasting fingers actually find my cunt and I get fucked without getting fucked. I urge him on with frenzied hips until I finally cum, falling back, my mouth half-open in post-orgasmic exhilaration and half-open in gourmet anticipation.
“Taste yourself,” he demands as he forces his sticky fingers back into my mouth. I don’t disobey, loving the full flavour of myself, hot and strangely wonderful. He grins down at me. “I love when you suck my fingers clean.”
I grin back at him. I know those fingers will never be clean. Those fingers belong to my pussy.
Welcome to the first edition of e[lust]! Below is your source for inspirations of lust and sexual intelligence from a wide range of sex bloggers. Want to be included in the next edition? Submission period opens for e[lust] # 2 on November 20th – subscribe to the RSS feed andTwitter for all updates! Check out the submission guidelines and rules of general conduct here.
This week’s top three picks as chosen by fellow e[lust] participants:
At Your Service - His hand pushes on my thigh and I turn away from him, allowing him to inspect my ass. His hands spread my ass cheeks and again I flood with wetness.
Cinderella – “‘I want to fuck you…’ he growled, nipping at her neck and kissing down over her breasts, biting at her nipples through the fabric, making her cry out.
The Slut Chronicles #5 – The Flight Delay – “When her eye caught his blatantly checking her out, he only grinned wider, with no remorse at all and it was she who blushed furiously.”
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!
[I am SO happy to participate in e[lust]. It’s a true homage to Sugasm, which is on hiatus, and it really is another great opportunity for readers to stumble upon blogs they never knew were out there. Definitely take a look at the submissions, whatever strikes your fancy, and maybe something that doesn’t. Thanks, Lilly!]
Tomorrow I intend to look hot and sexy and get drunk and flirty. I need to have a night of absolute wild fun, which I haven’t done in too long. If I don’t, I am in danger of crushing on London Guy and I think I better avoid that mess. I made a Freudian slip to the flatmates the other day about wanting to impress him. Not just impress him, but make him like me.
Isn’t the point of having a lover who lives in another city to NOT get attached? It worked with the Engineer, Performer, Super Hot Amazing Club Guy who I never wrote about… Then again, they didn’t offer to take me on a Whirlwind Weekend in London…
It’s just the accent, it’s just the accent, it’s just the accent… I need to find someone to make out with tomorrow night! I’m not really worried. I’ve made it pretty clear to him I don’t want something serious and so I will take this Whirlwind Weekend as just another chance to party and sex his gorgeous body up. Fun, fun, fun!
By the way, I never mentioned it, but I’ve stopped seeing Narcissus (though he hasn’t stopped inviting himself over). I ran into him at a club a couple weeks ago and, after excusing myself to go home early (read: avoid him by getting a good night’s sleep), I received the ‘booty call’ text.
Narcissus: What’s up? Why’d you leave?
Coquitten: Just tired, wasn’t feeling well.
Narcissus: Can I come over?
Coquitten: No, I don’t think so. I want to get some sleep.
Narcissus: C’mon, I’ll just come stop by.
Coquitten: I said no.
Narcissus: Well fuck off you piss head!
…
That’s what he actually wrote to me. “Fuck off you piss head!” What made him think he would get laid by me after that? He’s called twice and texted me twice since then. I don’t intend to answer. Never mind that I can’t believe a word out of his mouth, I will never let a guy talk to me like that and get away with it.
What a jerk. Ruining all the lovely sex he would have had with me had he not had that rudeness problem.
At least there’s LG to cheer me up! Wait, no! Must. Not. Crush. Must get silly drunk and tongue-wrestle with someone to rid myself of this sappy silliness! Wish me luck. ;P
Next time you visit, I’m going to wear a mini-skirt when we go out. I’m going to wear that black one, the one you met me in, with the slits on the sides that it doesn’t need and the lacy edge. It’s my favourite, actually, just barely covering anything, soft, and almost demure if it wasn’t so short. I’ll wear a black lace thong to match, though when you slip your hands between my thighs in the dark club, I’ll wish I hadn’t worn anything underneath. I might even take my panties off in the bathroom, slipping them, wet and smelling like sex, into your pocket.
When you fuck me, I’ll keep my skirt on. Maybe it will happen in the club, pressed up against one another, grinding to the heavy beat. It will feel rushed and spontaneous, but I planned from the beginning that is how it will happen.
If you follow me on Twitter, you might know I spent this past weekend in Paris. And I couldn’t visit Paris without leaving with some French lingerie. I spent a very long time in the lingerie store, running my hands over lush-feeling bras and panties, trying on teddies and garter belts. I spent an exorbitant amount of money.
*click!*
But this isn’t even the sexy set. This is the sleep set. This is the subdued, sensual, I’m-pretending-like-I-don’t-know-how-good-I-look-in-this set. The sexy set – which perhaps, just perhaps, will appear some other day – is blatant, and this is nice; subtle.
*click*
Happy Half-Nekkid Thursday! Don’t forget to wander to Osbasso’s to see who else is getting half-nekkid this week.
Just a quick update to let people know I’ve updated both my About Me and The Fuckables.
I’m curious to know, as well, if people are enjoying the fact that I’m now adding links to the songs I use for my titles? I haven’t made it all the way through my old posts, but I aim to have every lyricised title linked to a YouTube video of the song it comes from. Not only does it give credit to the musicians, I do try to put a lot of thought into these to have them match the feel of the post [hah, usually. Sometimes I just pick them at my whim, but most of the time they are very intentional]. But I sometimes think that listening to the particular song as you read the post might enhance it. That might just be the pretentious ex-music major in me, but y’know, can’t get rid of her.
Hope the new readers are finding something they like! I’ll definitely have an HNT up this week, and I’m working on some fantasy posts since I might not get a chance to see London Guy until the weekend after this one. If you have any suggestions of what you’d like to see/read here, let me know!
If you're looking for sappy tales of love and devotion, find a new website. If you want real stories of sex or want to know a college girl's true fantasies... stay. Click around a little. Enjoy yourself.
Have something you want to say to me? I love getting emails! coquitten@gmail.com
Recent Comments