Memoir of a Hedonist

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I’m a hedonist.

If you just leave aside nipple clamps and medical devices — which I’ve tried, mind you, and I just don’t like them — I love all of the different sensations that my body is capable of giving me.

Masturbating by myself is certainly ok, but fortunately I haven’t had to spend too much time in my life perfecting that to an art form. I’ve been lucky enough that I can generally find a man who is as horny as I am to play around with.

So, like I said, masturbation is ok, but when I’m naked and there is a man to touch me, I enjoy just about any form of being touched, whether it be a back rub, or stroking my thighs, or even tickling me, to the point that the sensations I feel are an end in themselves, and not just a means to the great “big O.” My current boyfriend will sometimes pull my panties down and stroke my ass cheeks for what seems like hours on end, feeling the shape of my butt without penetrating me, stroking and rubbing my butt while I know he’s staring at me. And I feel fulfilled, having his hands and his eyes on the globes of my ass, slowly and gently rubbing me, even if I never get an orgasm.

That’s what I mean by a hedonist.

Oh, and electricity. I’ve read about that on the Internet — some people who are seriously into “the lifestyle” let their lovers put specially-made things on them that send a weak electrical charge to their genitals or nipples. But let me tell you, I’ve been accidentally shocked a few times and no, that’s not something I’m ever going to try. I’d let someone clamp my nipples again before I’d let anyone do that to me.

Many guys are surprised to find that I actually like being tickled, especially when I’m completely nude. For some reason, this seems to be something that guys don’t like to have done to them, but for me it’s just another one of those incredible sensations that my body can give me completely against my will, that I relish in its own way, almost as much as an orgasm.

A little bit of pain is okay, too. I told you that I don’t like nipple clamps and medical specula — they’re just too harsh and cold and unyielding. But when a guy is nuzzling and sucking on my boobs, I get such a charge out of having him suck really hard and even bite gently on my nipples that I can almost cum right then and there without any other stimulation. I should point out that I’ve never told a guy this: it’s one of those secret things that I leave unsaid, hoping he’ll figure it out and hoping that the involuntary squirming and squealing reaction of my body will encourage him to do again (and again) sometime.

And then there’s my ass. From many years of “girls’ night out” talks with my girlfriends, I understand that some gals like anal play while others just consider the back door to be absolutely off limits for sexual exploration. While I had some early experiences that seem pretty typical for young inexperienced women where a guy tried to enter my butt before it was ready, I was never really what I would call “traumatized” by these dry and uncomfortable experiences. Quite the contrary, I think it must have been the taboo of having someone touch me there sexually that made it drive me absolutely crazy, even when it ended up hurting me there. I told you that I’m a hedonist, and I guess there’s something you should know about hedonists, if you don’t know it already. I savor the sometimes unexpected feelings that my body is capable of giving to me, even when, like tickling, they are not exactly what most people seem to think of as pleasurable feelings.

Those are my sides and my ribs and my breasts and my thighs and it’s just amazing that your gentle stroking touch there makes me curl up and laugh against my will. I even feel when your touch on my bare skin tickles me that I am losing control of my body to you. But if I trust you, even that loss of control gives me an electric thrill in my private places that I can’t make for myself, even with the best battery-operated toy.

But we were talking about my ass, and about the boys who not just tried to but did take my ass when I was young and didn’t know better, who took my ass before they should have, before they had taken the time to make me, to make it, ready. The boys who hurt my ass with their fingers and with their cocks. And even though I knew from my own explorations enough to dream of a boy who gently lubricated me there, and slowly got me ready there with gentle hands, entering and slowly stretching my tight hole a little bit at a time, even without that, there was always for me this delicious feeling that this rough and insistent penetration of my ass was dirty, and even though it hurt me to some degree, the pain of it was completely overwhelmed by the sense that I was letting a boy have my anus!

That, my friend, is the hedonist in me. Oh, dear God, a boy, this boy, is going to touch my anus after all. How nasty and bad and cool and hot and sexy. Oh, God, I am letting him put his hard dick into my anus and it is hurting me and I am getting so fucking wet!

This is where we separate the hedonist from the other girls at my “girls’ night out” discussions. Apparently, ata┼čehir escort for most girls, when the hard, horny tip of the unlubricated cock first makes its way (or tries to make its way) into the impossibly tiny tight entrance to her ass, the girl is all about “stop,” and they never do that again. For the hedonist, this delicious dirty pleasure and pain leaves her thinking “Oh my God I can’t believe he’s actually going to go there; I want to remember every moment of this, unghhh, every moment, ahhh, of this, unnggghh, forever!” While I can tell you that those first few painful explorations of anal sex were enjoyable only in the way that a true hedonist could enjoy being hurt back there, I should tell you that, later, with more experienced and sensitive lovers, the feeling of a well-lubricated cock in my properly-prepared butthole was every single bit as exciting as the feeling of a cock filling my pussy. The pleasure and pain of an inexperienced young boy trying my ass for his first time was barely an appetizer for the delicious main course of anal sex filling me so incredibly full the right way.

When I take a lover inside my pussy, and he thrusts in and out of me, pushing against my G-spot and my clit, there is what I guess I would consider a purely positive stimulation of my sexual places in a way that naturally brings me to an orgasm. But when I take a lover’s hard cock slowly inside my ass after I have been gently lubricated and lovingly and slowly made ready for him there, there is nothing like that feeling of having a hot, living organ inside my backside, filling me so damned full, knowing that he is taking pleasure from the tightness and the taboo of it, pushing in and out against the resistance of my anal muscles to the invasion of it, and I can only say that I just absolutely relish doing it that way. My tight, very full ass, which was not meant to take this assault, is going to make this very real and live penis throb and shoot its sperm deep inside my bowels. And knowing that the view he will have of my smooth, curved butt cheeks, clenching and unclenching against the invasion of his hard and horny cock into my anus is an obscene sight in itself, helps to throw me over the edge. I can tell you that there is such a thing as an “assgasm,” because I have one nearly every time a man has taken me that way. And a butt plug or a vibrator or a set of anal beads has nothing on the feeling of a living, pulsing, hard aroused penis parting my sphincter and sliding inside me, filling me and pumping in and out of me until it shoots a load of semen up into me. When that happens, I know that it is my man experiencing the ultimate pleasure at the expense of my anal muscle, and giving me the gift of the splashes of his hot semen in my stretched anal canal. What hedonist would not suffer a little momentary stretching and pain to know that she was giving this gift to a man?

Similar to the way that I enjoy giving my ass to a man, I also enjoy giving blowjobs. I love knowing that the hard cock I am playing with is hard for me, and I love knowing that the firm flesh filling my mouth is feeling an intense and forbidden pleasure caused by my own saliva and my lips and my tongue.

Now, I have to confess that I don’t like the taste of cum. Obviously I’ve swallowed my share of it over the years of indulging my love of sucking dick, mostly from inexperienced boys or thoughtless men who took the pleasure of my mouth without giving me the choice of how they would finish. But I’ve also had come shot into my mouth a few times by my current lover, who warns me every single time that he is about to come, in time for me to make that choice.

I don’t mind having him cum on me, as I told my lover the one time that he oiled up my boobs and made himself cum that way while I tilted my head so I could stare straight at the tip of his cock as it slid up and down between the girls until he shot streams of cum right at me. I turned my face at the last instant so that his first and hardest stream hit my cheek and jaw, and not my open mouth, with the rest of his orgasm landing on my neck and chest. When he apologized that he didn’t expect it to go that high, I told him that I didn’t mind and I said that I hoped he had fun. But I’m not sure if he believed me, because as much fun as it was to have him stroke his cock between my slippery tits, we haven’t done that again. He did one time pull himself out of my pussy while we were going at it in the missionary position. He had been fucking me for what seemed like an unusually long time and had made me come so many times from nothing but his long, slow thrusts deep inside me that I lost count. When he just kept continuing to slide gently in and out, I whimpered “when are you going to come? I want you to come.” He smiled just a little through that look of intense concentration he can get when he’s holding back, and he pulled back out of my pussy and wrapped his hand around his cock, which had to be sopping wet from me at that point. Stroking it with his hand just a few more times he said “I’m going to, now” just as his first stream of cum shot up and hit me right on my kad─▒k├Ây escort right ear. His later streams splashed across me from my belly to my right breast and shoulder, not having the pent-up force of that first big shot of semen that reached my ear. But aside from that, he hasn’t shown a lot of interest in coming on my body. In fact, I’ve made him come on his own chest many more times than he has made himself come anywhere on my skin. Come to think of it, I might just have to start taking matters in my own hand every once in a while.

I also don’t mind touching his cum, like when I give him a handjob and let it land on his chest and belly (and sometimes, to his surprise, his neck and jaw), and it’s fun cleaning it up with a washcloth, especially when that makes him ticklish, as it usually does. But there’s something acrid about the taste of cum that lingers in my throat for hours after swallowing it that I can just do without. Besides, there are other places inside my body that I would rather feel his cock throb and twitch and splash inside me with cum, places where I can feel his orgasm happening, and it gives me pleasure, too. So I just don’t enjoy swallowing cum.

The man I’m with now seemed to understand this instinctively from the very first time I went down on him. He’s generally very good at controlling himself — so much so that I sometimes have to beg him to come when we’re going at it in the more normal ways. From the very first time I took him in my mouth, when he got close he warned me that he was going to come and moved his hands away from my head so that I could pull away and take him in my hand and finish him where I could watch the fruits of my labor splash up in the air and land again and again in streams on his chest. In fact, he was so completely good about warning me in time that I started to wonder if he had some kind of hangup about coming in a girl’s mouth. Then one night when he was sitting naked on the couch watching TV (as we often did when we were at his place alone), I crawled up beside him and took him in my mouth, and I was taking my time, trying to bring him close to that edge where he would say “oh honey I’m going to come” without actually getting there, stopping every once in a while to just tease the tip of his cock with my tongue or kiss him around the tip until I could feel him relax a bit, and then plunge his cock through my lips and as deep into my mouth as I could to start the process over again, he finally moaned “oh God I want to come in your mouth so bad.” Although I told you that I don’t like the taste of cum, this little revelation came as a pleasant surprise to my hedonist brain. I was glad for us that this was not a barrier that he was unwilling to pass; it was just another sexual choice that we could make together. To reward him for his thoughtfulness about letting me decide when he could cum in my mouth, I decided that I was going to do it for him this time. I raised my mouth from his cock just enough to breathe “really?” to him while I gave him a stroke or two with my hand, and then I took him back inside my mouth before he could answer, an answer that it seems now he was completely unable to give, at least verbally. With the head of his cock held as firmly inside my lips as I could hold him, I bobbed my face up and down in his lap and stroked the wet shaft of his cock with my hand until he filled my mouth with stream after stream of his salty, sticky cum.

Unlike the girls in the movies, who collect a whole load of cum in their mouths and then swirl it around for the camera before making a big show of swallowing the whole thing at once, in my experience in swallowing cum, I prefer to swallow it as it comes, as fast as I can. Not only is it easier for me to swallow several small mouthfuls rather than one big one, I imagine that the motion and the suction inside of my mouth created by my multiple swallows must add to the sensations he is feeling just as he is in the throes of his orgasm. Anyway, no one has ever complained and he sure didn’t complain that night. When his orgasm came to its end, I gave him one more long, deep stroke in my mouth for good measure and then came up for air. I crawled up beside him and smiled and said “how was that?” as I leaned in to give him a long, deliberate kiss. Although my mouth was empty from swallowing him, I still had that acrid taste on my tongue and in my throat and I knew he would taste a few particles of his own orgasm as we kissed. He pulled my head to him and opened his lips and kissed me willingly and passionately, rubbing my back from my shoulders to the top of my butt with his hands.

Usually, when I’ve swallowed cum, I like to drink a little wine to help offset the unpleasant taste that lingers inside me, but I knew he didn’t keep any wine in the house, so that night after swallowing his whole orgasm, I asked him to make me a small martini. It was an unusual request for us, and I didn’t explain, and he didn’t ask. And the taste of martini and cum in my mouth really wasn’t that bad, certainly not enough to overcome the warm sensation of having just given my man an extra special treat. When he handed bostanc─▒ escort bayan me the cold martini glass, he bent over and gave me one more long kiss.

After the time that he begged me to let him come in my mouth, he continues to warn me every time I go down on him just before he is ready to come. And every now and then, when I feel especially naughty, I will keep him firmly in my mouth and keep stroking just as energetically as ever until I take the first shot of his come on my tongue before pulling back and stroking him through the rest of his orgasm with my hand, shooting the better part of his seed onto his own stomach and chest. Judging by his moans and writhing when I let him do this, I think he just might enjoy these surprise “late escapes” by me best of all.

Usually, when I finish him with just my hand, I will play with his softening penis for a minute and then get up to bring him a washcloth and help him clean up the mess. But those times that I let him give me the first splash of cum inside my mouth, he always gently tugs me toward him for a kiss before letting me go to get the washcloth.

By the time my current boyfriend and I met, we were both in our early forties and both experienced lovers. Just how experienced and with what is something I’ve always felt is better left unsaid. Early in our relationship, apparently as a way of finding out what I might be willing to try, he would occasionally make a lighthearted reference to some sexual practice that we hadn’t tried yet, looking for my reaction. My response was always to say coyly that we could discuss anything. At some point, probably when we started to talk a little bit more seriously and less jokingly about one thing in particular — being tied up and spanked — I added that we could discuss anything, but no nipple clamps or medical devices, and no electricity. I didn’t tell him that I had tried two out of the three with a previous boyfriend. Hell, he may think I’ve tried all three, and that’s fine. I do want him to know that we can in fact talk about lots and lots of different ways of playing with each other in bed. After all, there are still a few things I like that we haven’t tried yetntogether or, like letting him shoot his cum on my skin, that I would enjoy more often than he tries to do it.

I said that he would occasionally joke about some kinky sex act early in our relationship as a way of testing my reaction to it. It’s not that he has stopped trying to expand the boundaries that way anymore, by his joking references to something that he really wants to try, as much as it is that we have tried and incorporated so many different things into our sex life, things that the other “girls night out” girls would surely consider wild, that there just aren’t that many crazy new things left to try together.

Sometimes, when I get to his house and come up the stairs from the garage, he will be lying on the sofa in the living room, naked and masturbating. I know that he’s not trying to make himself come — he always saves that for me. On the contrary, I know that he likes surprising me with his hard, bare erection and his brazen stroking of it for the shock value. I’m sure he loves the thrill of lying there home alone naked, stroking his hard cock by himself, waiting for me, only to hear me open and close the garage door, and my footsteps climbing the stairs. If he didn’t want to be “caught” masturbating he could stop stroking himself when he heard the garage door open, but even then he would be “caught” without time for his engorged cock to subside — much less get his clothes on — before I came through the door. I’m sure he loves the giggle and the “oh my!” that usually escapes my lips when I first see him fully exposed to me like that.

Usually when I come upon this little scene, I take his cock into my mouth for a stroke or two before I undress myself and join him on the couch. I especially like to do this when I can tell from his breathing and his especially light way of touching himself that he’s managed to get himself very close to coming before I even got there. Once, when I was wearing a skirt, I took off just my panties and slipped a moistened finger into my pussy to get ready for him and then climbed on the couch and sat down on his cock. We didn’t go all the way right then and there, but I left him with my juices on his hard dick while I went off and got undressed the rest of the way.

On several occasions, when the weather was just right, I have left my townhouse wearing nothing but sandals and a light black raincoat that comes down just above my knees, and made the half-hour drive to his house with my bare pussy trying to peek out of the bottom of the little coat as I drove. I am always completely soaking wet when I get to his house this way. As much as I love the deliciously naughty feeling of being nearly exposed, of my nipples brushing against the smooth liner of the coat, and the cool feeling of air circulating around my upper thighs and my sex, I just love the look on his face when he helps me off with the coat and comes to realize what I have done for him. I can almost see him wonder if I had to pass by and wave at any neighbors when I left my place and walked to my car. And telling him about the time that I stopped in just my coat and sandals at the grocery store to pick up things for dinner seemed to bring him as near to coming as it had me.

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