Archive for July, 2012

Titillating Tuesday

Posted on: July 31st, 2012 by Madison Lake No Comments


Sexy Short Stories to Titillate your Tuesday




They met one tired afternoon, as the summer sun beat down, leaving rivulets of perspiration along creases in their melting bodies.

“What time is it?” Sabrina asked, just after sex on top of his scratchy sofa. She rolled over and pulled her dress underneath her to protect her skin, then lay back down.

They had ended up at his place after bumping into each other at Keystone Kafe not once but four times in three days. Finally, he had asked her to join him for lunch – a sandwich and cold beer for him, a tuna salad and Pinot Grigio for her. He paid of course. The friends who she had been with left almost immediately, giggling and nudging her as if they had all been in on some kind of secret. Eliana said she’d phone later, Rebecca said to be careful. He didn’t care. She was perfect for him, for now, and he always got what he wanted.

“Why, does it matter?” Todd pulled her in, close to his damp chest. He was feeling sexy, his muscular torso sleek and sweaty as if he’d been lifting weights for an hour, or running on a treadmill. She squirmed, not wanting to mesh with his wetness, wanting instead to air out in the gentle breeze coming in through the open shuttered window. She desperately wanted a smoke.

Sabrina rose, leaned on her bent elbow, and looked at Todd now lying flat out on the grey and gold couch, naked, spent. The upholstery felt like burlap against her smooth, porcelain skin, even though he claimed to have bought it new from Crate and Barrel. He also told her it was a sofa bed, and she wondered why they hadn’t opened it up and climbed in, or hadn’t gone into his bedroom and frolicked on his own king-size bed. She began to wonder if he was one of those guys who liked to have sex in obscure places, like on kitchen counters or in hall closets hanging from the doweling between starched shirts, or even more riské, in restaurant restrooms, department store change rooms, private corners of public places.

Sabrina had once dated a guy like that. Being an exhibitionist had been fun for a while, something different to spice things up. It definitely heightened the arousal factor, at first. But very soon the novelty wore off, and after two weeks Sabrina had left him, alone with his pants down in a McDonald’s parking lot. At least have some class, she remembered thinking.

She liked Todd, for now. Liked the way his body moved with hers when they had sex. That was all it was with him. Actually, that was all it was with anyone – Todd, Dawson, even Andie, the older woman she had met in New York. God was she hot. For a minute Sabrina let herself get lost in thought about Andie’s long, silken legs, ready smile, her candor. They had enjoyed a lovely weekend together before Andie’s next flight out. Two glorious days of girl fun; full room service at the Savoy hotel, champagne and chocolate, hot X-rated movies on Satellite TV, music, dancing, sex toys, and lots and lots of tongue. One night, she remembered the hotel bartender had stopped by after his shift to deliver some cocktails. That had been her first threesome, and hopefully not her last. She sighed out loud remembering their three bodies intertwined, him sucking her nipples while she played with Andie. It was so hot. Throughout the night they exchanged roles, rolling around each other on the giant king-size bed, fondling, licking, kissing and sucking, watching each other explore each other. All this had been worth the cost of changing her flight. The thing about older women, Sabrina thought, is that they are experienced, uninhibited, game for anything. Sabrina couldn’t remember ever orgasming as many times as she had that night, as she had with Andie. Just thinking about it made her wet and agitated. She could go at it again with Todd, but this time she’d think of Andie. She rolled over, rubbing herself against Todd’s thigh, wanting him inside her, to finish her off. It would be quick.

Todd was lying with his arms above his head, thinking about Russell. What was it about that shy, nerd of a guy who spent less than a year at the firm with him in Toronto before being transferred to New York? He couldn’t figure it out other than he loved that Russell was quirky – deliciously quirky. Todd was tired of the same old same old. He was sleeping with women, to keep up appearances he supposed, but why? He wasn’t the only gay architect in the firm, and everyone suspected him anyway. He had never been a good actor, or liar. Besides, he knew he wouldn’t find ‘the one’ until he came clean, until he came out, but was he ready?

He felt Sabrina’s wet clit against his leg. He wanted to brush her off, move away. He was dying for a cup of coffee and some time alone. He remembered Russell had given him his new contact information. Should he call him or send an email? Would Russell even respond? Sometimes Todd’s gaydar was bang on, but other times he just wasn’t sure, and this was probably one of those times.

The office party had been a lot of fun. At one point, he and Russell were squished in a corner of the kitchen together, a steady flow of Stella and conversation their only respite. But it was the ease with which Russell shared stories and secrets with him that made Todd’s head turn, and for the first time he felt there was hope in finding his soulmate after all. Then the party took a turn, started getting out of hand with drunk partygoers skinny-dipping in the pool. Seeing their boss naked was just too weird. Russell wanted to leave, but not before handing over his new personal information. Todd remembered the rush of warmth that ran through is body. He had reached out to touch Russell as he rushed out of the kitchen, to let him know he was interested, that he cared. He’d wanted some sort of sign from Russell, but it was too late. He was gone, and never looked back.

“Want to fuck again?” Sabrina asked bluntly, sex flashing from her eyes. Todd turned away.

“Actually, I’m hungry,” he said to the wall. “And I’d kill for an Americano.” She laughed.

“Well fuck me and then kill me,” she said in a playfully seductive voice. She knew he wasn’t interested, knew it would be the last time they’d be together, but she was going to get what she wanted out of the deal. She grabbed his hand that rested peacefully on top of his stomach, drew it down and inserted his fingers into her wetness. Todd’s body hardly reacted, but Sabrina gyrated her hips into his hand, in and out, in and out, faster and faster until her juices were seeping out, ready to explode. Her eyes remained closed, his stayed riveted to a knick in the wall where the taupe paint was just beginning to chip away. He’d have to fix that. Then, without much thought, he stiffened his fingers and reached in deeper, wanting to end this, wanting her out of his house, out of his life. Russell, oh Russell, why can’t this be you?

Suddenly she pushed her pelvis into his rigid palm. “Andie, oh Andie,” she cried out, arching to reach her climax. Warm fluid gushed from between her legs like a geyser, dripping down his wrist onto the rough, scratchy sofa where they lay at odds with each other.

Music Monday

Posted on: July 30th, 2012 by Madison Lake No Comments

History of Sex, Part 28

Posted on: July 26th, 2012 by Madison Lake No Comments

A while back, I wrote a little about the history of vibrators but before our buzzing friend came along, there was the dildo.

Archaeologists date the oldest known dildo 30,000 years old, from the Upper Paleolithic era and made of stone.  That does not sound comfortable at all but desperate times call for desperate measures.  Skipping ahead to the ancient Greeks, their dildos were made of leather, wood, or tar and called olisbos.  Dildos are present in orgy scenes on vases, on their own and being used by women.  Dildos are mentioned in several Greek comedies and were said to be used when the men were off at war and their women needed to scratch an itch.

As always, the Romans were more clinical with their uses of the dildo.  While I’m sure many Roman army wives used it for personal reasons, dildos were primarily an object of worship.  The festival of the god Liber involved a large phallus pulled through the streets and high-born Roman women were deflowered by stone dildos instead of their husbands.  Leave it to the Romans to take all the fun out of dildos.

Over in Asia, Chinese and Japanese women were fashioning dildos from lacquered wood.  To add some friction, they would notch the wood for texture.  In India, the lingam is a representation of the Lord Shiva and was used in ceremonies and for pleasure.  Check back here next week to see how the dildo evolved into the 21st centure…


Twirl of summer…



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Titillating Tuesday

Posted on: July 24th, 2012 by Madison Lake No Comments


Sexy Short Stories to Titillate your Tuesday



Continued from last week…

Sara looked down at the tiles with disdain. The bar of imported soap rested under the sink, lodged behind the P-trap.

* * *

It had been three years she had been doing this – coming to his apartment, making love in his bed, on his kitchen floor, on his balcony, washing her sticky legs in his hot bath. He never came in her place.

Mind you, her place was a mess. She came and went as she pleased. When she was home there was simply no time to clean house. She was halfway into her manuscript, almost to the part where Virgil, the antagonist, makes off with half a mil in gold coins from the New York Mint. She wasn’t quite clear yet what should happen next but cleaning the toilet wasn’t part of the story line. She just couldn’t see the point. And she had stuff, too much of it lying about. Books, since reading was as insatiable for her as sex. Pens with scraps of paper were everywhere with thoughts and dreams and grocery lists. Phone numbers were scrawled on the hallway doorjamb. Newspapers and magazines rested open on the kitchen counter, behind the toilet, on top of the couch so no one could sit. There was no one to sit, but if there had been, there was the unfortunate issue of cat hair. White.

Daisy, her feline companion, left a trail of Persian fluff where ever she went. And she had free roaming rights. Daisy, she felt, was the only one who truly understood her, knew her quirky ways, gave her a wide enough berth. Daisy was low maintenance. Easy to feed and water, fit easily into her life.

Again Sara spied the broken box of condoms. They were Trojans. It had been three years she had been doing this. With him. She had never liked Trojans. She liked Durex, lubricated, if they used them at all.

Sara squirmed and bath water rolled over the back of the tub trickling onto the floor. The candle flickered and dimmed, emitting a smell of burning wax into the lavender tinged air. But then it caught, again brightening the room with a fiery glow. She reached up and stroked her breasts, first one then the other. Her nipples were soft now, the heat of the bath ebbing her earlier arousal. They were small, round breasts that tingled at her touch. She liked him to touch her. Her breasts. She liked him to touch her anywhere. But that was all. Was that enough?

They used to only think of each other. But that was new love. That was before he decided to do his PhD, before she felt trapped. His knowledge of physics fascinated and irritated her at the same time. How could one think about how things worked all the time? Her mind saw color, shape, movement. She didn’t question how or why. It just was. He was more complicated. He fixed things broken, built ideas, drafted with precision, engineered. He questioned everything. She acted on impulse, followed her heart.

Her hands slid down from breasts to belly, where they lingered for a minute or two, fondling. Before she tossed it out, the Shea butter soap had made the bath water and her skin silky. Her hands rubbed along her curves, exploring what she thought he must feel when he touched her. Did she feel this silky to him?

Deft hands defined the firmness of hips, roundness of butt, softness of belly. Her body ached. Was it for him? She arched when she reached her own soft fur, fingers gently groping between wet lips, wet hips.

She knew she could live with a man like Dawson, wondered if she could share her life with anyone really. There was her work, her art. And she had Daisy to consider. Children, well they didn’t even factor in. At least that’s what he told her. Was this selfish? She decided yes.

And what about him? With his organized days and spotless life. Deceptive. Brazen. Cocky. He was so sure. She was so bored. She wanted to mess things up, fuck with his mind. His body she had used. Was this selfish? She decided no.

Sara rose, pulled the plug, and stepped out of the tub. Gently. The whirlpool swirled around and around eventually disappearing down the drain, glub, glub, glub.

She dried herself with his folded white terry cloth, the silky skin now gone out with the bathwater. She left it, the towel, lying in a rumpled heap on the floor beside the lavender ring around the tub.

Her clothes were scattered around his bedroom. Panties inside out on the bedpost, skirt in a ball under the desk beside the hard-drive, blouse ripped open on the 400-thread count duvet. Scandalous sex. Sara would miss it. Dawson continued to snore. He hadn’t even noticed the mess.

Clothes turned right-side-in and back in place, covering now firm nipples and sleek, clean lines. She blew out the candle and walked to the door. She looked at him soundly sleeping on the downy pillow, beside the open window. Candle-less. The early light was just creeping into the room. Sara didn’t dare kiss him. That would be too hard. That would be goodbye. This was just leaving. There was a difference.

The door creaked slightly as she opened it, gently closing it behind her. She walked now, down the hall, leaving behind those polished white tiles with green grout and clean, stacked towels and cum soaked limp-on-the-floor used ones. They were still white. Sara turned her back on the Shea butter soap, sweet as it was lavender, candles in the wind, and condoms that were not for her, and walked out to be part of the traffic at this godforsaken time of the morning.