Black Friday Super-O!

Aries Blake

Avoiding the retail mayhem, I stayed home on Black Friday and created a little masturbation bustle of my own. After a pleasantly exhausting orgasmic experience with a mythical Mr. X, I think I knew I scored better than any early bird bargain.

On a lifestyle site that morning, I read the profile of Mr. X, a sexy alpha man who left me horny and aching for a strong masculine fuck. His muscular chest and torso pics weakened my knees as did his profile narrative. His experience and confidence triggered sensual fantasies as I imagined him rhythmically fucking me with charisma, creativity, and porn star stamina.

I imagined him seducing me with an intelligent mix of sexy words and electric body touches. His hands caressing my soft skin and reacting to his touch: his eyes, his mouth, those broad shoulders, strong thighs, and the sexy girth of his torso and hips. He was a Harlequin model, only real, tangible, and offering his brand of sexuality to a woman of his choosing.

I often think that optimum sexual satisfaction isn’t meant to be a team sport.

A strong female myself, my fantasy guy is a leading male to overrule and guide me. I sent Mr. X a message saluting his style, confidence, and masculinity, but I also wanted to fuck him as I desired him to be. People rarely measure up to idealized personas in real-time interactions, but fantasy fucks are the next best thing to sexual nirvana and often better than the real deal. I often think that optimum sexual satisfaction isn’t meant to be a team sport.

I set out to prove this on a skittishly sunny Black Friday. Assembling my go-to toy collection for assured orgasms, I also inserted a thick butt plug for internal stimulation. My pussy twitched as I lubed the dildos and plugged in the Hitachi. I was as horny as I’ve ever been and painfully struggled to avoid ramming the closest dildo in my pussy. I needed this fuck, and I wanted to orgasm with an intensity that satiated my raging hormones and throbbing pussy.

I was so intensely aroused that it took little stimulation to reach an orgasmic peak. I lay back on the bed with my ass propped up on towels for optimal G-Spot thrusting and to absorb those errant juices. I thought of him hovering over me, rubbing his hard cock against my public bone, teasing me, grinding on me and slowly moving his cock down to my pussy and taunting me with the head. He ran his hands up my torso and cupped my breasts, kneading them and gently sucking each one as he continued grinding that stiff tool against my vulva.

Imitating his movements, I played with my breasts and slowly bucked my hips to meet his erotic pelvic thrusts. As he slid his mouth down my belly, his fingers lightly grazed my pussy lips and I couldn’t help my involuntary twitch. As I absorbed the moment, his hands grabbed the insides of my thighs and spread my legs wide, exposing my wet lips and boner clit.

Giving in to my now throbbing pussy, I inserted my favorite curved dildo and began stroking my G. His strong hands held my legs apart, his sexy voice and tongue deeply massaged my urethral sponge and he laid hard clitoral passes. My legs were lightly shaking and my pussy was so overwhelmed with desire I was gasping, wide-eyed, and desperate.

“I won’t fuck you now, baby, but I’m giving you a little something to whet your pussy and long for this big cock,” Mr. X said.

“You are more than ready.”

Needing to scream and gush with intensity, I let myself go and waited for release.

He took the glass dildo from my hand and commenced the G-spot massage, increasing the speed and pressure on my G with each thrust. The G-spot sandwich from the butt plug and the dildo was overwhelmingly pleasurable and created a perfect stimulation pressure. Needing to scream and gush with intensity, I let myself go and waited for release.

Flipping on my vibrator, he pushed it hard against my clit and told me to cum. I was transcendental with excitement as my vagina began to pulsate that surreal aura which precedes a Super O.

The pace of him thrusting the dildo across my G, combined with the internal throb of the vibrator, shot through my pelvis an electrical jolt with an intensity I had yet to experience. I winced and squealed as my legs shook and my pussy convulsed in waves, expelling the butt plug from my ass. My clit raged sharply as I experienced an epic pelvic spasm and an intense vaginal jolt. Jesus god, it was ecstasy!

Mr. X softly rubbed my pussy as I returned to normalcy and gathered my wits: so soft; so assured; so comforting. He grabbed my hip, rolled me onto my side and covered me with a soft blanket. He kissed my cheek and whispered that I had won a Super O from the sex gods’ Black Friday drawing and this visit was just the door prize.

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Copyright 2017 - Sexualista - All rights reserved.

 

Lobster Man and the Haunted Toy Store

Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho” – 1960

 

Several Halloween’s ago, hubby coaxed me into visiting a haunting establishment: a journey I submitted to with trepidation, embarrassment, and anxiety. The fear of the unknown gripped me as if entering a spooky house after dark and peering into demonic chambers with a weak flashlight and thumping heart.

It was an unforgettable, impressionable scene: a horrific step into an unknown realm with exaggerated body parts, animalistic moans, and a zombie-like goon squad. It was a place where dashing out the door was as terrifying as entering. Once inside, the only option was to swallow my fear like women in the videos did with those elephant cocks.

We selected an adult book store/theater along a depressing stretch of highway in a nondescript concrete building. A few beat-up cars lined the parking lot, the store lights flickered, and I sat imagining the horrors within those walls from the safety of my car. I needed a few tokes to calm my nerves before entering the chamber – which in retrospect, only exaggerated the paranoia which followed.

It was a foggy night with few cars on the road and the glow of the book store sign reminded me of a Bates Motel sanctuary for weary pervs. The stigma I felt entering the building was quickly squashed by the goon squad welcoming committee. An oafish, mute man of about 8-feet tall leered at us as we walked in and adjusted our eyes to the bright neon of a plastic pleasure dome. There was no friendly welcome to this hellish place: no smiling Wal-Mart greeter to assuage my fears.

Behind the counter stood a bizarre-looking man giant bent over looming at a Playboy magazine with a puffy red face and neck bulging from the neckline of his shirt. Was he overcome with sheer horniness, a third-degree sunburn, or roid-rage? I still don’t know. Thankfully, lobster man failed to acknowledge us as we skulked through the store entrance.

Above his head and scattered about the store were large television screens blasting scenes of bondage, primal sex, and women with contorted faces. I paused to watch a video aimed toward a standing women’s pussy with her one leg extended out to the side. She moaned with pleasure as a large cock pounded her from behind then paused and slowly moved in and out in shallow thrusts just inside her vagina.

She furiously rubbed her clit and howled like a cat in heat before squirting a fire hose stream aligned with the camera view. At that time, I was just learning about female ejaculation, and this video captured my deep imagination as she repeatedly came each time that cock pulled out.

As the cock came inside her and that sticky liquid oozed from between her legs, I felt my own pussy twitching with excitement and I felt a certain “squirt envy” for her accomplishment. As I pondered the physics of the scene, the lobster-faced goon beneath the video screen coughed and jolted my bewildered trance. He stared hard at me, likely wondering why the newbie ogled the screen with the wonder of a tourist in front of the Mona Lisa.

Peter Lorre
Peter Lorre

Hurriedly, I disengaged his penetrating Peter Lorre stare and searched for hubby, the one human in the building I was reasonably sure could return some perspective to the scene. Turning to escape the goon squad, I bumped into a scruffy-looking gent perusing the video rack of bi-sexual male porn. I swear he licked his lips and parted his squinting lids to eyeball the frightened girl adrift among daunting over-sized dildos, heinous-looking butt plugs, painful nipple clamps, and electro-shock thrills.

Just then, I caught an overhead video of a women lying on her back being faced-fucked by a cock the size of a submarine. As she stared up at her tormentor, she mustered an occasional smile with her eyes as the unrelenting cock continued thrusting deep into her throat and plowed her esophagus. This anatomical wonder captured my attention as my THC-haze tried to map the logistics of throat fucking and the actress’ feigned enjoyment of the assault on her digestive system.

“Come here,” shouted hubby from a nearby wall of toys and I scurried to join him and his discovery of pervy sexual delights. A couple passed by giggling at the bondage toys they collected and I blushed with embarrassment that I knew nothing of spreader bars, urethral plugs, and cock cages.

Aries Blake

“You should try this,” hubby said, proudly displaying a shiny bullet vibrator.

“Use it on the way home in the car.”

The thought of pleasuring myself with him beside me in the car further cajoled my altered state into a paranoid urge to slink out of the store.  I struggled with visions of myself bound and gagged in the adjoining theater, an experimental sex victim at the mercy of Halloween’s Michael Myers and his grimy coveralls.

Collecting my wits, I wandered into the dildo isle where I felt comfortable perusing the offerings and selected a thick 8-inch curved whopper I was sure would not disappoint. Women rode cocks in videos above my head with a dancer’s finesse and derrieres of sculptural artistry. Never mind analyzing their physical prowess now, my altered state had convinced me I was out of place in the Land of Oz, and the wizard behind the curtain amused himself at my expense.

“The horror. The horror….” Marlon Brando was with me.

 

Armed with a dildo clutched tight against my chest, lube, a bullet vibrator, a vibrating egg, and some cock rings, I scurried past hubby leisurely perusing  some lingerie and stockings for me. The horror of squeezing into an ill-fitting lace body suit and prancing about as a sex kitten at my age spawned visions of Phyllis Diller and sent me spiraling into a dissociative state.

Piling the toys in hubby’s arms, I bolted for the door past lobster man, a gadfly creep leering at customers, and the mute goon by the exit. With walls closing in and the floor slowly falling, I jumped out of that sex dimension and into the foggy, damp parking lot.

Safe in the car driving home and coming down from my 420 haze, I laughed as hubby and I recounted the scene. We enjoyed embellishing the drama — as we do with every good story — and categorized the scene as a bad Peter Lorre horror movie.

Hubby convinced me to try the vibrating egg in my pussy. Pulling my pants down and fingering my pussy, I anticipated sexual pleasure like the woman squirting in the video, and I eagerly spread my legs.

Hubby rubbed my clit as I inserted the plastic egg, turned it on, and slowly relaxed enough to enjoy the sensation. At that point, I knew I would become a lover of sex toys and increasingly less mortified to visit adult toy stores. The bumps in the road jolted the egg inside my pussy and intensified the thrill.

I lay my head back and concentrated on that vibrating pleasure sphere in my pussy. As we rounded the next corner, hubby jumped on the brakes as the headlights revealed a sideways car on the road with lobster man and mute boy standing on the road brandishing chain saws and over-sized, pointed sharp dildos.

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© Copyright Sexualista 2017 – All rights reserved.

 

Ride of the Valkyries

Brunnhilde the Valkyrie, 1910, by Robert Conrad
Brunnhilde the Valkyrie, 1910, by Arthur Rackham

Musical prelude: Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries

My orgasmic experience in the sex chair was lovely and fierce: an exhilarating liberation of the shame I felt as a non-orgasmic femme. Like a warrior Valkyrie, off to Valhalla I metaphorically sent my fear of sexual dysfunction and with it, my chronic anorgasmia.

As I focused on personal orgasmic quests, I experienced minor tremors riding a dildo fastened to the toilet seat lid. But it required some prep time, and I’m always running late. Most euphoric sex requires sufficient stimulation of the lady bits to engorge and prepare the clitoris and vagina for orgasmic contact. I experimented with methods to achieve stronger orgasms with less masturbation time, but knew my clit would not be denied.

My modus operandi was the use of a powerful vibrator pressed to my clit and teasingly around the perimeter of my vulva. I squealed when I pressed down on the hood of my clit and forced it to the left side of my labia.

This Swiss movement sent ripples of excitement down the internal wishbone shaft of my clit and excited my vaginal opening. After several minutes of intense clit stimulation, I massaged the length of my pussy lips with the vibrator and began circling my vigi. When I could no longer withstand the aching need, I slid the screaming vibrator into my pussy and paused to experience the tingling full-genital sensation.

I steadily rode that cock till vaginal orgasm claimed my pelvic nerves and all of my conscious senses.

 

Often, clit stim alone caused me to cum multiple times before navigating toward my pussy, and once anchored in that wet port, I was sufficiently swelled and ached for that thick dildo fuck. I slowly lowered myself onto the dildo, feeling it stretching my pussy and spreading my insides wide. I steadily rode that cock till vaginal orgasm claimed my pelvic nerves and all of my conscious senses.

I knew I had experienced a mild vaginal orgasm, and I recognized the importance of prolonged genital stimulation in facilitating sexual nirvana, but I remained unsatisfied. I longed for an explosive full-body orgasm that exponentially increased my experience.

I excelled in toilet-dong-riding, but my mechanics were flawed. The physical riding strength required for orgasm often exceeded my mortal abilities. I needed to save my thighs the arduous and exhausting thrusting needed to power my pussy sufficiently over the edge. I longed for an improved masturbation method that cut preparation time, yet still delivered a full-body convulsive experience.

Employing the Yankee ingenuity often required for significant discovery lead me to orgasmic mechanical success. Combining the aforementioned George Foreman Grille, a simple sex chair, and my favorite dildo enabled me to break free of terra firma and ride triumphantly among the mythical Valkyries.

Favorite dildo: Fun Factory Tiger – Eden Fantasys

I attached my favorite dildo to the plastic lid of the George Foreman Grille and slid the apparatus under my sex chair. I appropriately lubed the dong, caressed it as I would a hand-job on a hard cock, and fantasized about my imminent fuck-in-waiting. And now that I was easily squirting from clit or G-spot stimulation, I could forego the extensive foreplay previously needed to plateau.

With vibrator in hand, I spread my legs, sat down, and started rubbing the standing dildo around my pussy lips. I thought of my lover’s cock and my vigi twitched in anticipation. I quickly pushed the dong into my eager place and lowered my throbbing pussy onto it. The rush of that cock sliding deep inside me, spreading me wide and stimulating every inch of my vagina was extraordinary. So full, so invasively deep, I moaned and paused my descent when the dildo reached my deep spot.

A fuck this extraordinary had to be savored and enhanced, elevating it to the epiphany I sought. Applying the vibrator to my clit against the fullness of the balls-deep dildo triggered the urge to ride: a primordial need to fuck hard, fast, and deliberately. I began bouncing, riding, and grinding that cock till I slipped into a Zen meditative state. The vibrations saturated my pelvic region as I slowly gained speed, the angle I needed, and the exact physics I sought.

Caught between consciousness and the surreal, I was bewitched by the aura of a pending full-body vaginal orgasm.

 

After a vigorous 15-minute ride, something incredible was evolving. The deep, internal throb of the vibe, combined with an exact, consistent thrusting motion, set my vaginal wall abuzz. With head thrown back, mouth ajar, and eyes watering, I felt a divine flush, absolute bliss, and an uncontrollable urge. Caught between consciousness and the surreal, I was bewitched by the aura of a pending full-body vaginal orgasm. I squeezed my PC muscle hard and immediately succumbed to a frenetic series of muscle spasms, all of which were beyond my control.

The internal tendrils of my clitoris erupted at my pussy, grew in intensity, and electrified my vulva before turning inward and jarring my vaginal walls with an epic spasm. I sat squealing and helpless as my legs shook and the jolt exploded every genital member and rushed deep into my pelvis.

My pussy and ass convulsed two or three times as I danced the phenomenon that overtook and exorcised my body. Convulsing in waves of impulses, my body shook like a rag doll. Enraptured, astonished, and paralyzed against it, I had experienced an out of body, extra-sensory experience.

The aftershock stunned me briefly. I melted into my chair in an exhausted heap: awestruck, limp, exalted – a goddess. Venus had granted the sublime, ethereal gift, and my glazed eyes saw the Valkyries.

COPYRIGHT © 2016-2017 – SEXUALISTA – ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Get your own Tiger at Eden Fantasys! See my Affiliates page for a link. 

Dildo Riding and the Sex Chair

The art of chair-based dildo riding.

Before scoring a near 100 percent success rate in achieving vaginal orgasm in my sex chair, I experimented with several dildo riding techniques with various results. I found that attaching a dildo to the toilet lid was the most successful mount for me, and it was my go-to masturbation method for a while. But it had its foibles.

In time, and getting cocky (pun intended), I tried to cut corners and spend less time stimulating my clit and vigi and aim straight for the prize. Consequently, I experienced fewer orgasms, demonic frustration, and squished the lactic acid out of my thighs.

I needed a new masturbation technique: a fool-proof method to get me there while reducing the (so-far) necessary 15 minutes of clit/vigi stimulation to reach a climactic plateau. I knew the up and down riding motion was the vaginal stimulation I needed, but my middle-aged thighs often failed me at the cusp of the divine goal. Shoot me now in my epic anguish.

I needed help in a mechanical way and I knew a simple compound machine may resolve my relentless sexual angst and orgasm envy. I talked long-suffering hubby into buying me a sex chair: a simple frame stool of bended metal, traversed by elastic bands. Logically, the rider deposits his or her ass on the contraption and bounces toward sexual nirvana.

Designed for partner use in achieving near zero-gravity sexual positions, the sex chair is a useful tool for female riders, threesome fun, or oral sex of nearly any anatomical combination. The elastic bands afford endless opportunities for contortionist or kinky sex play while saving the quads those exhausting workouts achievable only by world-class gymnasts.

My goal was in reach. I needed a companion piece to the sex stool to achieve my intended result – a raised flat surface suitable for hosting a dildo with a suction base. In a crazed frenzy, I searched the four corners of my house for a portable smooth surface where I could launch my new masturbation experiment.

Fast forward into the kitchen. As I labored and sweat those dreadful 15 minutes cooking chicken breasts in the George Foreman Grille, it hit me. The answer to my exhaustive search – the perilous exploration of closets and the scientific excavation of the garage – lay directly in front of me.

Casting a reflective glint of the setting sun through the kitchen window, lay the holy grail of sex toys – the Nobel Prize of masturbation technology – a smooth surface necessary for dildo suction bases. Assuming center stage of my masturbation repertoire, the glorious plastic bun warmer cover of my George Foreman Grille completed my sex machine.

My dildo attached perfectly to the plastic lid of the grille which I clamped down with a bungee cord. Sliding the contraption under the sex stool, I was ready to climb aboard and bounce like a maniac. I had created a perfect  masturbation machine for my needs and in the process, forever altered my chronic anorgasmic state.

After a brief intermission, I’ll return to describe vaginal orgasm as I experienced it riding on George’s coattails.

COPYRIGHT © 2016-2017 – SEXUALISTA – ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

 

Yankee Ingenuity

After pinpointing my G-spot, the next step, naturally, was to lavishly entertain it. Research and development of a sustainable masturbation technique was a rigorous, fatiguing, and sometimes riotous process. But seek and ye shall find.

Masturbation tool kit. – Aries Blake

I experimented with known masturbation techniques to little avail. Fucking your pussy with a dildo on the bed is fun until carpel tunnel kills the buzz. Riding a dildo stuck to the floor or shower wall is for 18 year-old gymnasts and contortionists respectively. Riding a dildo attached to the toilet seat can and does cause orgasms in the rider. This method, however, requires the quad strength of a power lifter and my best squatting days are vague memories.

After an exhaustive period of trial and error, I haphazardly employed an ingenious use for the iconic George Foreman Grille in my masturbation repertoire.  The grille’s plastic lid, that simple three-cent piece of petrochemical engineering, now held the power of my orgasm. My pet name for this new giver of pleasure was “The Vaginator,” and my idolatrous devotion was complete.

Stay tuned; on Monday, I will reveal homespun technology for combining a simple cooking machine and a sex chair to facilitate powerful vaginal orgasms.

COPYRIGHT © 2016-2017 – SEXUALISTA – ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Masturbation Odyssey: Part 2 – Finding my G-spot

 

Fun Factory Tiger – Eden Fantasys

 

I dimmed the lights, lay naked on the couch, and gradually rid my mind of the random bullshit permeating my soul. David Gilmour wailed from across the room and I sighed, exhaling the sins of the day like vapor memories. It felt good massaging my breasts and pulling my nipples – nice the way I could cup them in my hands, squeezing and kneading.

The warmth of my hands smoothing along my torso triggered faint pings in my pussy. The anticipation of penetrating myself elevated my own masturbation to a sense of self-seduction. The fingering I had been doing lately stimulated me to crave it, like my lover’s cock pushing deep and pausing there.

With my new dildo, I would reward my twitching pussy with some well-aimed deep thrusting. I craved penetration, a girthy invasion of my vagina, that thick cock tingle and a full sensation. Starting with my clit, I pressed the vibrator on my clit hood, then spreading my pussy lips and gently circling that protruding boner. Pulses ran deep along the sides of my vulva and into my vigi.

The longer I teased my clit and fingered myself, the more I needed fucked slowly, deeply, and forcibly.

There isn’t much that an 8-inch curved dildo can’t cure, especially with a hyper-sexed clit, and some Zen fen shui. With throbbing vulva, I kissed my vaginal opening with the head of the dildo, swirling around my opening, pushing sideways and touching the inside slightly. This didn’t last long as I grabbed the end of the toy and slowly pushed inside pretending my lover was the hard cock I felt. I imagined him watching my face as he thrust in, paused, pulled out and repeated this delicious fuck.

Grabbing my breast and squeezing the nipple, I pushed the dildo in deep and began moving it around inside. Slowly in, slowly out, pausing and circling around deep inside my vigi. The sensation was extraordinary. I had never felt a cock so deep, so determined, so fucking hot!

The warm dildo worked my pussy as I pushed the vibrator hard against my clit hood. I drew my legs to my chest as the combined rush tingled my loins. I had never felt pleasure like this, nor had I imagined it.

Angling the head of the dildo upward, I began stroking the top of my vagina in search of my G-Spot. My pussy was swollen with excitement and clamped down hard on the dildo. One more foray to the top of my vagina and … WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!

Somewhere just under my belly button, I must’ve touched my G-spot and it rocked my world. Every nerve radiating from inside my pussy tingled and sparked. My legs shook: I was wide-eyed and wild for a few seconds before this extraordinary impulse dissipated. What the fuck was that?! My G-spot?  Had to be.

I continued playing with the dildo, trying to recreate what had just happened, but I couldn’t find the spot again. That one hit, that one bull’s eye, so fleeting, yet so incredibly pleasurable that I couldn’t wait to experience it again.

Did I orgasm, I’m not sure, but I acquainted myself with my G-spot and knew it was the sexual epiphany from which all future fucks would be measured. I lay relaxed, exulted, a newly annointed goddess.

COPYRIGHT © 2016-2017 – SEXUALISTA – ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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