Blowing All Year Round

I am a huge fan of fellatio. It ties in with my natural love of cock. I adore the feeling of taking my boyfriend’s erection in my hand, stroking it, letting my tongue swirl around his length…

Or if he’s not yet hard, planting little kisses on him, relishing in the feeling of him growing harder because of my lips. Getting him to the high point of arousal and then having him fuck me silly is quite possibly my favourite way to spend an evening (my second favourite way being stuck under the duvet with a bag of crisps, watching Hannibal).

So, yeah, big fan of sucking cock.

Not so keen on the concept of Steak and Blowjob Day.

Apparently invented to counteract the “female aspect” of Valentine’s Day, on this most hallowed day you give your partner a blowjob and a nice medium rare porterhouse (possibly as a refuel after all the sucking) as an act of love and a thank you for the gifts you got on V-Day. I’ve got a bit of a problem with that.

For one thing, my boyfriend’s a vegetarian.

Half of me rather loves the idea of Valentine’s Day, as an excuse for going on an adventure with your partner and showing them how much you love them. I like flowers, I like being taken out to dinner, and I like exchanging silly and in-jokey presents as much as I like being pinned against a wall and kissed until I can’t speak full sentences any more.

And the other half of me thinks it’s ridiculous because of two reasons –

One – Why would you need a specially assigned day to show your partner how much you love them?

Two – As said by the ever eloquent CJ. Forrest:

Valentines Day is (to my mind) pretty reciprocal anyway, and even if it isn’t, what on earth makes you think that making a restaurant reservation and picking a card/ordering something from Interflora is such a terrible burden that it needs special recompense? How jaded and cynical must your relationship be if you’ll only do these things in tit-for-tat fashion?

Which is why ‘Steak and a Blowjob’ day really pisses me off. It perpetuates the idea that these things are somehow undesirable, that the only circumstances in which someone will do them is because they’re being shamed/forced into it.

I think that’s kind of, sort of right on the nose. It is entirely CJ’s opinion of course, but there is a great big heap of truth served in these quotes.

First of all, Valentine’s Day is not “a girl’s special day”. In its essence, it’s a day where both partners show their love to each other. Not something that one partner begrudgingly does for the other on one day, with the other begrudgingly reciprocating on the other.

Second – blowjobs are not icky. Blowjobs are as amazing as cunnilingus. Even more amazing when you’re 69’ing and getting it as well as giving it (but that’s a story for another time, I think).

Similarly, love is not icky. Love is (and excuse me if you think this sounds a bit mushy) really fucking amazing. Love is not one special day out of the year where you extra mega hard love someone and then not really, but 365 days a year where you… well, love someone with all your heart.

Love, silly and in-jokey gifts and adventures with your partner are things to rejoice in all year long.

And so are blowjobs, and cunnilingus, and any form of oral sex because oral sex is pretty fucking amazing.

(Maybe not steak all year long though – bit expensive…)

Written for Marie Rebelle’s Fellatio Project, which I hope to contribute to a few more times.

The Fellatio Project

Sizing Issues

Sunday evening…

“Do you want to have a shower with me?” he asks, already undressing himself.

It doesn’t take me long to actually jump into the shower with him, seeing as I’ve been gagging to wash away the remnants of the past (and particularly shitty) week. Of course, having not really had the energy (or good health) to invest in a good sweaty romp in the past week, a light bulb (possibly penis-shaped) went off in my head.

Shower. Horny. Sex? Shower? Sex in the shower? SHAWERSECKSLOL!

There was a bit of fiddling, a bit of fondling, and a lot of kissing underneath the comforting rays of the hot shower. I watched his cock get hard and soft and hard again, as we soaped each other up with Snow Fairy and made our intentions towards each other very, very clear.

[approximation of the conversation that happened]

LLB – “Sex?”

ILB – “Yeah. Not here though.”

LLB – “Why not?”

ILB – “You’re smaller than I am. Thus, logistics.”

LLB – “Aha. Gotcha. Damnit.”

ILB – “Yeah. Still, sex? Bedroom?”

LLB – “YAS.”

So, the action shifts to the bedroom, where he helps me blow dry my hair. There’s a moment of nothing, in which he tries to initiate the proceedings, but I hold back because I’m deep in thought. After I spend a while scratching his back, I share my sexual ruminations.

“I want to try something else.”

“Sure. What do you want me to do?” he says, listing some tantalizing possibilities. He eventually starts with rubbing my back, admiring my arse. And then he admires my arse in a different way, by gifting it with a couple of good spanks which have me squirming to the point where my head swims and I nearly slip from the bed.

There follows kissing my back, kissing my cheeks and a flicking tongue near my cleft, searching the wetness that’s pooling between my labia.

And Jesus fecking Christ, it is a lot of wetness.

He fingers me, rubbing my clit with one hand and other bits of me with the other. My arse wiggles and squirms, as do I, in delight and ecstasy. There’s a valiant attempt at doggy style, but, again, I’m but a small woman and have a bit of a limitation as to how I can stretch and bend.

Nevertheless…

“I want you on top of me.”

“Great! Facing you? Facing the other way?”

Facing him, I ride him, managing to wiggle my hips and arse in a way that I can’t even explain myself. It’s hot. It’s necessary. It ends with mutual orgasms, and possibly the best set of orgasms I’ve had in a long while.

So, no shower sex this time around. But I’m sure we’ll find a way. And in the meanwhile, after-shower sex is pretty damn awesome as well…

A short conversation about sounds

INT: Night: ILB/LLB bedroom, bed.

LLB : *splosh*

ILB: ?

LLB: Don’t mind me. I was just wondering something.

ILB: What were you wondering?

LLB: … does it actually make a sound when you ejaculate? I mean, I know your mouth makes a sound when you come, and I know the actual deed of jerking yourself off does…

ILB: Ehm… I don’t know, really.

LLB: It’s funny, that. You’d think there would be a splosh of some sort. I mean, there’s that squelchy noise when you’re wet and you’re frigging your clit, but… yeah.

[short silence]

ILB: I suppose it would be a bit like a hiss.

LLB: Yeah. Probably.

END SCENE.

 

The Kissy Kissy

I knew he was up to something. I knew he wanted me, badly. He told me later that he’d been undersexed in the past few weeks, and I couldn’t fault him on it – so was I.

The playful, teasing, kissy kissy, want you, want me dance had been going on all day, with moments of work being interrupted by moments of “God, I wish I could jump your bones right now.”

We’d had sex a few days ago, which was nice, but a bit marred by the fact that the sofa bed we’re sleeping on is incredibly creaky. It’s almost like the bed’s going “Hello, I would like it to be known that there are two individuals getting it on on my back here.”

Which isn’t handy when you’re actually staying in someone else’s house, let alone his folks.

But when it came down to the dirty bits, this time, I had no problems with the creaky noises. I was focussed on one thing: getting him off. He was reclining supinely on the bed, his erection jutting out and ready for my hand.

It ended up being messy. It ended up with him teetering on the edge of a huge orgasm whilst simultaneously trying to get me towards an orgasm with his fingers. I think he rather liked just how wet the act of me jerking him off made me.

Just a hunch.

By the time he was inside me, I didn’t feel like I was properly on this planet anymore. I’d had an orgasm which knocked the wind out of me, and was still flying when he penetrated me.

And for a long time after we’d finished too.

I liked the look on his face. I liked the way he said “Because you’re in love with me” and then said “I’m in love with you too” with that silly and adorable look in his eyes.

Kissy kissy. Want you, want me.

The Almost Sex

It’s the middle of the night, after another one of those inopportune days. Between preparations for Christmas, accommodation-induced paranoia, feeling generally under the weather and just a whole lot of other shit, I’ve found it hard to sleep.

So has he.

He’s still awake when I ask if I can switch to his side of the bed. “Sure, sure.” he says, in that voice that always manages to soothe me, and wriggles around. There’s a moment where he’s on top of me, and he’s so warm and comforting that I just want him to stay there forever.

We kiss, softly.

We relish each other’s heat. His hand strokes me, idly. I want to ask him. I want to beg him to make love to me. Not because I need orgasms, but because I need more of that heat. I need to feel the connection, I need to feel okay again.

I don’t end up asking him.

But as we lie, spooning, like always, his hand still strokes me – leaving traces of warmth along my thighs and buttocks.

There’s been a lot of almost sex in the past few weeks. There’s been the feeling of his warm cum, painted across my naked back. There’s been teasing. There have been orgasms, had whilst touching and caressing each other.

Although, in a way, isn’t that also sex?

That hot, giddy, silly, ecstatic, loud, moaning, grunting, dizzying, HOLY SHIT kind of feeling … do you need penetration for that? Do you even need orgasms for that?

I don’t know. I don’t think so. All I know is that almost sex is quite nice too… and I’d like more of it. Almost.

 

Suddenly…

It was the sort of sex that Alison Tyler would write about. Sudden, intense and much-needed. But mostly sudden. One minute, we were mucking about and laughing. The next, he turned me on my side and straddled me.

For about ten seconds, I was stunned by the sudden change in mood. I think I actually said “Wait, wha?”

“Because I was thinking about sex with you, and now I want to have sex with you!”

“But I’m still wearing knickers!”

Two seconds later, I wasn’t. The room was dark, his body was warm and the rhythm – however fast, however slow – felt comforting. And then uplifting. And then it felt like wanting more.

Not just a little more. A lot more. I felt the electricity, the connection, I felt it warming us up inside. It felt good. It felt like peace.

And after he pulled out, I wanted him back in. Badly.

Lying on our sides, facing each other, we kissed. After fumbling, trying to get each other off with our hands, I grabbed his cock and started rubbing it against my clit. And then, I started rubbing myself against his cock. It had an effect on him that manifested itself in a seemingly never-ending stream of words and breathy whispers and “Oh baby… oh baby”.

I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the pleasure it was giving him and how free I felt while doing it. Faster and faster I went, until he came. He then informed me that we will be doing that again in the future.

Who am I to say no to that, ey?

It was rather amazing. He was incredibly stimulated, I was incredibly stimulated and at the end, we were both incredibly elated. Epic winning.

There were more shared orgasms afterwards. Lying in the dark, watching him bring himself off to a climax in which the cum flew halfway up his chest…

It felt like peace too.