Mark My Word
You know it's good when he leaves a mark.
I could tell from the first time we’d fucked that he loved sex; though it appeared he’d never been with a woman who was open to exploring it. All that was about to change.
November 16, 2010
You know it's good when he leaves a mark.
I could tell from the first time we’d fucked that he loved sex; though it appeared he’d never been with a woman who was open to exploring it. All that was about to change.
The Brit and I had been between the sheets for hours, yet somehow I was craving more. We lay naked, our breath heavy and slow. I reached across his chest and dragged my nails over his skin. He was taken with me in every way, but most especially how I pushed him to explore sex. The Brit would spank me and I could see his excitement rise. He’d grab my neck and squeeze tightly; he later confessed he’d never that done before and how much he liked it.
I was half way out the door when I felt his hands on my waist. The Brit lifted me onto his kitchen table, pulled my lace La Perla thong to the side and devoured me, again. He ripped off the lace using his teeth and slid himself inside me, taking me harder than ever before. It felt amazing and even though I was going to be so late for drinks, I wanted him to keep going.
Pulling me off the table, he bent me over the grey leather couch. My ass in the air, he continued to work me until I let go.
I woke up the next morning with giant blue and purple marks across my lower back… If we were going to keep fucking in the kitchen, he was going to have to invest in a new table.
Take Things As They Come
When a man calls your phone at 1:30AM, after more than a year sans communication, you know he is only interested in one thing. And seeing as we'd never had sex, I found myself taken aback when he began whispering dirty sentiments through the phone.
Nan Goldin
November 8, 2010
When a man calls your phone at 1:30AM, after more than a year sans communication, you know he is only interested in one thing. And seeing as we'd never had sex, I found myself taken aback when he began whispering dirty sentiments through the phone.
The following morning, in what was starting to feel like clockwork, the phone flashed his name across the screen. The Brit was not giving up easily. The words rolled off his tongue sending shivers throughout my body, making me ache to be touched, kissed and pulled apart.
"Rather than tell me what you want to do to me, why don't I hop into a taxi and you can just do it?" As fun as it was to hear about how hot I made him, I didn't want to talk; I wanted action.
The door to his Tribeca penthouse loft swung open; his lips immediately pressed against mine. His hands skimmed the sides of my waist and hips. Grabbing tightly, he threw me up against the wall and kissed my neck and shoulders.
The Brit grabbed my ass and lifted me up so my legs wrapped around his waist then carried me to bed. After what felt like 12 hours of anticipation, he made me come once; then again, and again once more.
Not exactly what I had anticipated doing all Saturday afternoon; but hey, sometimes you just have to roll with it.
Bondage
The hotel bar is an entity in it’s own right, a place with it’s own rules and social norms. I adore a good hotel bar for many reasons, one of which being the handsome travelers just waiting for a little trouble.
The hotel bar is an entity in it’s own right, a place with it’s own rules and social norms. I adore a good hotel bar for many reasons, one of which being the handsome travelers just waiting for a little trouble.
While in between apartments, I was holding up in the Tribeca Grand for a few days. Having just returned from Miami my skin was tan and it made my hot pink lips even more seductive. I was sipping champagne, letting the bubbles dance on my tongue, while my bartender Justin and I tried to figure out how we knew each other… I have an eye for faces.
The two gentlemen next to me at the bar kept glancing my way. I smiled and introduced myself; one was a complete disaster but the other was spot-on. Tall, handsome, impeccably dressed and English, I’m not quite sure if it gets better than that.
Lets call him James Bond Guy.
James Bond Guy was straight out of a film. Everything about him was utter perfection; a creature created for our viewing pleasure. He told me he worked for the government in England, who was I to question? We shared a few rounds at the hotel bar before he invited me to join him for dinner.
We headed around the corner to a small place with a glaring red light outside. His eyes never left mine the entire meal. The way he looked at me sent chills through me; it was as if he could tell exactly what I wanted to do to him and he was daring me to try. We finished off the second bottle of wine and I tried again, “So what is it exactly that you do?”
Some how our conversation had meandered to the topic of cars, a passion of mine, and I couldn’t quite figure out how anyone working for the government was able to afford a Bentley Continental. That’s when he told me, British Secret Service, MI5. Like anyone with half a brain I immediately shot it down.
We left the restaurant and stumbled back to the hotel, his arm around my waist, guiding the way. Just outside the revolving door, he pulled me inward and kissed me. His hands on my face, pulling my chin upward, I breathed him in deep. His scent was sexual and masculine and his strong kiss was getting me too turned on to resist him.
We stepped into the glass elevator, eager to get upstairs. The door swung open and it was a matter of seconds before my head hit the pillow. His hands sliding up my dress, feeling every inch of my body. I could see how excited he was, he kissed my legs, knees and inner thighs, getting so close to feeling how wet I was for him, then he stopped. James Bond Guy grabbed my wrist and pulled me up to meet his kiss. As we kissed he slid his fingers inside me and I let out a short breath. He pulled me off the bed and led me to the shower… I couldn’t wait to see what he had in mind.