NaMaMo: Day 4


Let’s talk about Sexting, baby.

Do you? Don’t you? Is it cheating if you sext someone who’s not your partner and don’t tell? Or is it akin to watching porn — a harmless diversion? Do you do ERP (erotic role play, for the un-geeks among us). Do you Skype with your man or woman? How about good old-fashioned phone sex?

In the long run, does technology improve your sex- and masturbation-life? Or detract from it?

Live long and … masturbate often!

*

PS — Trekkie shirt from Eagerbeaver at Etsy.

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About Shanna Germain

Writer. Editor. Game Designer. Leximaven. Geek.
This entry was posted in Dailies, NaMaMo and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

8 Responses to NaMaMo: Day 4

  1. Mat Twassel says:

    White Tie, Red Roses

    She’s riding him. You can see her hair wild on her back and his hands wild on her butt, prying, parting, showing us her asshole and his cock deep in her cunt, while next to them some long stemmed roses sway, their shadow falling on their fucking bodies, but not the roses themselves for the vase is presumably secure on the bedside table, unless the ardor of their fuck, the bounce and buck, has vibrated the vase near enough the edge that it’s about to go over. One more hearty stroke should just about do it.,,

    She’s got one of those hand held showerheads and the spray is like silver pebbles dancing deliciously on her pubis. Her puffy nipples are all puffed up, and droplets drip, and you know the water is warm, almost hot, but her clitty is still in hiding. Maybe if she’d spread her legs…

    She’s wearing a slinky black sheath of a dress which glides her hips but leaves one breast bare, and she has a riding crop cocked over her head, like she’s about the lash something or someone, but it’s just a pose: I am out of range…

    She’s kneeling in an elevator. She’s naked. There’s a puddle under her. She’s smiling naughtily. I wonder if the elevator is going up or down…

    She’s sitting on the toilet, naked, smoking a cigarette, holding the stem between vee’d fingers, drawing in the smoke. She’s lifted herself up a little, and because of her shaved bush, we can see the coral shaped curve of her clitoris. Wait, go back. I don’t see any toilet paper. We don’t expect toilet paper in an elevator, but in a bathroom…

    She’s bent forward and he’s got a finger in her asshole. He’s partly dressed, as is she; his cock lolls against her thigh. His tie is wide and white with red polka dots, and it hangs loosely about his neck. I’m going to imagine he’s already fucked her, he’s already come in her cunt, though there’s really no seepage evidence from either his cock or her cunt, because his prick looks post-fuck fat to me, and her pussy has that flushed, freshly fucked look. But now they’re on to phase two: after he gets her worked up enough, he’s going to mount her from behind, his cock in her juicy cunt, his hands on her hips, his tie swaying against her inflamed ass, teasing it, and he’ll gets the bright idea of working it in, pushing the tip into the tightness of her asshole.

    What I’ll do is get my Amy a tie like this, or maybe the reverse, red with white polka dots. Silk. And have it couriered over, and then when I pick her up tonight—wait, I’d better pick up some long-stemmed roses—and then when she buzzes me in, there she is, wearing just the tie, dangling so innocently between her darling breasts, the tip pointing directly at her curly black muff, her nipples pointing directly at me, and she embraces me, so I have to hold the roses out away so she won’t get pricked, but she says, “Oh, I want to get pricked; I want to get pricked by you,” and we’re kissing, but before too long she’s moving down, saying, “I have to taste you now; I have to taste your lovely prick,” and I almost drop the roses, but I hang on, though she mouths me so deliciously, humming and stroking and licking and sucking; yes I hang on, until she comes up, her eyes so sweetly lewd, and she says, “Be inside me now; fuck me now,” which I do, oh I do, do, do, standing there in her entryway, the roses somehow still in my fist, and her breath all raspy the way it gets when she gets really turned on, when she’s about to come, and she says, in that smooth-harsh about-to-come gasp, “Come in me, my honey man; come in me.” And I come in her. Like falling roses.

  2. Ruby says:

    My grandson kids me all the time about not being able to text. I’ve got a texting phone, but up until this last month I rarely used it, and I was always a bit perturbed when I got a text message, not knowing fully how to respond. Then I fell in love and lust with a girlfriend, and she, at least, has moved into the 21st century. I was in San Francisco with my husband for a conference two weeks ago, and I figured out texting while I standing in Good Vibrations, discussing the various toys and erotic playthings and what I wanted to do with them, on her. She still likes to get text messages. In fact, I’m scheduled to send her one this afternoon, around 1:30. And it doesn’t have to say much to get her off, just something like, “kiss me, kiss me wet.”

  3. sophie says:

    Fantasy in three movement

    (the second)

    She offers me to her husband.
    I am kneeling on the bed sitting on my heels, hands flat on top of my thighs
    naked
    waiting.
    She still has a hand casually caressing me, or resting on my shoulder. It says:
    “Stay! Do Not Move.”

    He is behind me, moving around a bit. He was sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed, when a few minutes earlier I had her––his––singing high notes of ecstasy, and low, deep notes that filled the room with echoes, bouncing against my chest my cunt and made me want to take her places he cannot.
    But now I am hers and asked to lift my ass up, and spread my legs so he can see my pussy wet from wanting her, wet from her tongue lapping at me in rhythm with my breath. She pets my cheeks and spreads them after slapping them gently, and not so gently. She tells him to come closer, she tells him I am presenting myself to him.
    I do not breathe,
    I wait.
    He responds by unclipping his belt buckle, metal on
    metal of his zipper sliding down, clinking of pants and heavy leather belt on the floor.
    I vibrate with the sound of her voice
    and feel the bed shifting with his large frame at the very end of it. He has one hand on my lower back the other directing the tip of his penis up and down my ass my cunt. She moves toward him and has a hand on his cock guiding him inside of me.
    I exhale,
    we begin a new song.

  4. Mick says:

    Very simply, she walks in, a magnificent vision in a pink plaid scarf and matching deerstalker hat. Pearl drop earrings. Nothing else but an amazing smile.

    Young enough to be my granddaughter, that doesn’t matter. Not when I am hard.

    Day four. Emission accomplished.

  5. Mick says:

    Day 4 Haiku

    Sensory shelter
    Fervently fascinating
    Seeking higher ground

  6. George says:

    The Husband responds….

    I am patient.

    Sitting naked in the candlelight, my eyes burn to catch every ripple, every motion, every shadowy detail.

    My ears do not have to strain as murmur moves to laughter moves to siren cry.

    Strained and restrained, I wait.

    I am patience personified.

    Surely this offering, cast upon the wave, shall wash over me ten-fold.

  7. Cheryl S. says:

    Bring me water. Bring me light. Bring me you.

    My eyes are closed, but I see it all. You all. Entirely.

    What else is there? Nothing.

  8. TheDakster says:

    I’d have to say that sexting definately improves both my solo sex life, and my actual sex life. In my experiance, the sexting in between sessions tends to make the next one even better. Since we’ve both been spending time imagining exactly what we’d like to do to each other, in great detail, it tends to make the sex even more intense and experimental than it usually is. And on the masterbation side, I have a pretty good imagination, and sexting just tends to help out giving me more to view in my head during my one man good time revue.

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