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.

 

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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Odd One Out at the Fuckfest

Before I move on to Masturbation Odyssey: Part 2 – the journey into my orgasm groove – I’m pausing to ponder where the ladies are hiding. I’m hearing excellent feedback from the guys, but the fems are noticeably absent from the conversation. It’s frequently noted that many women guard their sex lives with armor plating and are reticent to discuss orgasm or masturbation.

Many men have similar reservations. The “sex issue,” so prevalent a flash point among couples, is a complicated thorn and a prickly pear debate. I noted earlier in Sexualista that sexual dissatisfaction is under-reported with many couples because no one wants to be the odd one out at the fuckfest. Mass media portends that orgasmic sex is the benchmark in a culture where 75 percent of women do not orgasm from penetrative sex. Seventy-five percent!

Convulsing, vaginal orgasms are not the norm or even median result of sexual intercourse for three-quarters of women. With a cultural “perception” that all sex should be orgasmic, we fear being labeled “dysfunctional,” “frigid,” or broken. Instead of addressing it, we consume it. We love reading or watching great sex. We are hungry, curious voyeurs of erotic acts: hence the profitable feed of romance novels, erotic fiction, and porn.

The demands on a woman’s time and attention usually preclude any serious study of female anatomy and orgasm how-to’s. Researching G-spot stimulation and masturbation techniques rate low on the bucket list when loved ones are sick, your job sucks, or the dog’s throwing up. Without the time or inclination to research sex education and learn sexual triggers through masturbation, we’re clueless about the orgasmic process and personal sexual needs.

Speaking for many, one woman wrote: “I’m 55 and I’ve never had an orgasm. This sucks!”

The few ladies I’ve heard from report they have never achieved orgasm or they started to experience it later in life with the attention of an interested, attentive partner – a key component, they said, adding it takes time, practice, and a patient partner to help them get there.

It’s a team effort (she AND he) to achieve orgasm. It requires her eager, receptive mind and the right skills to tailor foreplay activity to stimulating her favorite lady bits. Without having a basic game plan for achieving orgasm, she’s 10th row deep at the fuckfest and not talking.

Ladies, trust me, many guys want to sexually please their partners, but you have to show up, speak up, and chart some personal exploration so you can convey with conviction what turns you on.

The gents, meanwhile, are talking. Their perspective is intuitive, sexy, and interesting. Guys I’m hearing from are attuned to women’s sexuality and like to please, but they are sometimes frustrated by women’s lack of sexual prowess, even among more sexually open fems.

A few from the guys:

“It isn’t even so much about women who are sexually open-minded as much as women who are not sexually repressing their preferences. I realize this is a matter of semantics….but to me, suppression means a woman (most women) are actively disallowing themselves to even consider what gets their pussy wet,” said P.

“I get highly turned on by a woman who has total command of her body – her wants and desires and freely expresses herself. Not afraid to say what she wants and more than willing to show me what gets her off and what turns her off,” said V.

“Having that attitude actually turns me on more, wanting to give her exactly what she needs.”

V added: “I have learned over the years when speaking with some of my friends that most guys (only) care about themselves. Basically, the “I got mine – you get yours” attitude. And we wonder why women, sooner than later, get turned off by sex.”

COPYRIGHT © 2016-2017 – SEXUALISTA – ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Masturbation Odyssey: Part 1

Anatomical model of the clitoris.

I hadn’t read much about female masturbation when I started seriously exploring, but I could feel little ripples shooting through my vigi the more aroused I became. I wanted to feel a thick cock swelling my pussy and stroking the sides of my vagina. I wanted to experience my fantasy fuck in real time. A thick cock pushing into me, spreading my pussy wide: lodging deep in my loins, invading me.

I was sexting with a partner and he flipped a switch, turning this middle-aged anorgasmic woman into a horny, aching, inquisitive nympho. So desperately horny, I couldn’t wait to get alone, finger my pussy, and probe those juicy environs.

He instructed me to rub my clit and stroke my pussy through my panties, slowly caressing and pressing in until I could feel the wetness starting.

“Lick your fingers, spread your pussy lips, and stroke that clit. Tug it like I’m sucking it. Squeeze it between your fingers and push it to the left,” he breathed.

I’m breathing heavy. The sensation of stroking my exposed clit radiated deep along the wishbone roots of my clitoris. As he instructed, I held a mirror to my groin to witness my female sexual response. My clit swelled to a boner, pushed out from the hood, and shone its pink goddess glory.

As I rubbed and flicked, I felt electric twitches deep inside: waves of neon nerves pulsating. A sexual epiphany: a rush of primal joy. I now had an intense, possessed yearning to penetrate myself.

COPYRIGHT © 2016-2017 – SEXUALISTA – ALL RIGHTS RESERVED