By Kendra Holliday | November 21, 2011
|Celebrating my sexuality daily|
This post is in response to:
1. Me placing #3 in the Top 100 Sex Blogger list, and
2. A request from readers for some “good old TBK Beast FUCKING”
I was completely surprised to be ranked so highly on the list. Clearly Rori, the list organizer, believes in quality over quantity.
Remember back in the day when I used to blog five times a week and wrote so much about my intense sex life with Beast, aka Matthew, that people actually complained about it? They got sick of all the facefucking and hole invading, can you believe it? And by “they,” I mean one guy who bitched about it, and he stopped reading the blog. Problem solved.
(Speaking of, if you ever encounter someone who tries to shit talk what you do, the best course of action is to quickly assume that THEY ARE JUST JEALOUS. Jealousy is resenting someone else’s good time. Don’t devote energy to haters. Don’t let them distract you from your positive mission.)
Anyway, this post hearkens to the days of “Mauled at Noon,” “Belted,” and “The Workbench.” ……..
Perfect timing, as Matthew and I are gearing up for our annual retreat to the Cabin in the woods, the place we go where we can soak each other up for 48 hours – just the two of us, surrounded by a hot tub, fireplace, good food, and a big ass bottle of Maker’s Mark… and then after that, my “sisterwife” dayglow is coming in town for a threesome fantasy weekend…
I had just returned from Playground Conference in Toronto, an emotionally charged weekend where I wept on stage during the Slut-Shaming panel and acted out a necro dirty talk scene in lingerie at the grand finale Dirty Talk Olympics party. I meant to fuck around with some other sex-positive people, but it didn’t work out.
The closest I got was witnessing my friends act out a scene reminiscent of Scooby Doo – at the Oasis Bath House, I sat in the back of the Shaggin’ Wagon, which looked very much like the Mystery Machine, and watched my friend “Fred” give “Velma” a spectacular blowjob. He lovingly strapped the dildo around her hips and went to town. His deepthroating technique made me blush!
I was slightly disappointed with myself for not being poly enough this trip, plus I only got off one time the entire time, by myself in the hotel room. I used my hand and fixated on an incest fantasy.
So I was fairly bursting to reunite with my man. After a long day of travel, I landed in St. Louis at 8PM.
I picked up my suitcase and wandered a bit, anxious to track down my Papa Bear.
There he was, standing by his truck, large, hulking, smelling like a bonfire and radiating beard and body hair that seemed to carry an electrical charge. I hugged him. He felt so solid and secure. I kissed him, swooning with relief. I tried to devour him with my eyeballs and scritched his beard.
He laughed. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
When we got there, he followed me into the bathroom. I informed him, “I need to shower this day of travel off, and then we can get busy.” “I Know what you need.”, he replied with an assured tone.
He kissed me deeply, pantsed me, spun me around, then bent me over the bathtub and stuck it to me with a growl.
I was so delighted! Years ago I had a long distance relationship where I wouldn’t see my boyfriend for six weeks at a time, and all I wanted was for him to pick me up at the airport and fuck me up against the door. Instead, he would pick me up from the airport and hurry home to check his email. I would stare at his back in disbelief.
After he fucked me hard, he told me to strip and kneel in the shower. I had told him I wanted him to “mark me” when I got home, so I eagerly anticipated his signature.
He jerked off on me, manhandling his dick and depositing a unique design – like snowflakes, no two ejaculates are the same. Then, he pissed on me, a sacred and loving act. I love every liquid ounce of him.
Finally, I showered. The hot water and tingling peppermint body wash felt so good.
After I toweled off, he casually picked up a knife from the kitchen, told me to hold his drink and walked me to the bed.
“Um, slut carving is not what I had in mind when I asked you to ‘mark me,'” I piped up nervously.
“Hush,” he murmured, laying me down before him, my pale, clean body his ultimate canvas.
Lovingly and carefully, he carved his initials into the soft flesh of my hip, adjacent to my pubic line. It scratched and stung, and raised a red welt. I tried to remain still, clenching my fist and squinching my eyes shut, the entire time relishing all the attention that was being heaped on me. “Be still. Dont’ spill my drink,” he whispered calmly.
Setting the weapon aside, he tenderly kissed his signature, which was like kissing himself and me at the same time.
Then we made love. I was so orgasmic!
He let me catch my breath, then announced, “I’m gonna spank that cum out of you.” Flipping me over effortlessly, I shrieked and grabbed onto the tangled sheets. The first few sharp blows with his hand hurt, but quickly morphed into a delicious, warm feeling. I took great comfort in his rough, expert handiwork. My ass grew pink and molten, and my cries turned to happy sighs.
It was late, we had to sleep, tomorrow was an early day and he was leaving town for his own conference.
Knowing that time was precious was an aphrodisiac, and I was horny again. I squirmed up against him. His hairy chest tickled. I trained the Hitachi Magic Wand on my pussy and tried my best to absorb him while I electrocuted myself.
After I climaxed with a shudder, he positioned me so that he could fuck me for the third time that night. We couldn’t get enough of each other. In the dark, we slowly fucked ourselves to sleep. Content as a kitten, I drifted off in his arms.
Every morning we are together, the first thing he says upon stirring from his snoring slumber is a husky, “I love you.”
I wonder if, on the mornings we aren’t together, his first words are, “I love me.”
I wouldn’t be surprised. He’s like the Fountain of Love, and I can’t stop drinking it.
Photo by Steve Truesdell