My erotic nonfiction in latest (e)lust

Elust #57 Cammies on the Floor Image
Photo courtesy of Cammies on the Floor

Welcome to Elust #57 -

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #58? Start with the rules, come back May 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

I’ve Got 99 Problems

Vasectomy Blues

I’ve always wanted to call myself queer.

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Aoyama Yuki and My Very First Times

I don’t know how to be happy

 

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Sex News,Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Prostitution Laundering
That Body-safe Sex Toy Could Make You Sick
“Nice Shoes. Wanna Fuck?” — On Pick Up Lines
Rape prevention
Life of a Sheltered Child: Sex Toys (Part II)
A Tour of Fucking Sculptures Sex Toy Studio
Bashing Belle Knox: Because You GET Porn
Would You Pay $133 to See Midori Eat Fruit?

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Heart of Glass
Talking BDSM: Are safewords really necessary?
45 Seconds
I want
Whispered Words
Aftercare: In Kink and Erotica
Ariel Castro: The Man in the Mirror?
We Are Ethical
Apology tokens, punishments, and forgiveness

Erotic Fiction

Very Short Stories – If We Hadn’t Had Sex
Billy
Larry Knew Better
Lasting Impressions
The Boys
Sounds of a Kitten
Chemical (se)X
Shopping Together
Enjoy Being Seduced on the South Bank
Room 6
Caught In The Act
Packing Light
For your thighs only (007 Parody)

Erotic Non-Fiction

Dental Torture
My hand around your throat
Conversations With My Owner
Cuming Without You.
On My Knees Again
It Always Starts With A Kiss
World Champion, Yes, I Can!
Omne Trium Perfectum
When Good Sex Tapes Go Bad
Submission: An Initiation (Part Four)

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Hidden No More
Female condoms are fucking awesome!
Female Ejaculation and How to Achieve It
Mommy Doesn’t Want Sex
How To Train Your Vagina
Camp Dildo
Being slut shamed made me want more sex
Don’t say my name

Blogging

“Hidden” memes
A Brief History of Sex Blogging

Writing About Writing

Openings and Grabbing Your Reader

Poetry

Sense Memory – a Lusty Limerick

 

ELust Site Badge

About 

The Editor-in-Chief of Elust and better known to the rest of the world as Mollyxxx

World Champion, Yes, I Can!

Practice Makes Perfect....

Practice Makes Perfect….

I find the whole idea of a world championship for cock sucking incredibly, gloriously erotic. Why not? The world, at least the Western world, is full of infinite possibilities, and there’s equal opportunity for all women, even me.

Whenever I’m on my knees now (and it’s often), I make believe I’m Claudia. Not Lady Gaga or Britney — my new heroine and latest role model is Claudia. Her fame is not due to mere beauty or luck, but is justly based on merit and perseverance. I believe if I practice a lot and work hard, just as I’m doing now while kneeling before a brand new cock, working on my basic bob and slide, I can become just like her.

Claudia, according to a dispatch from a Romanian newspaper widely reported on the Web, is the winner of the first Oral Sex World Championships. Competitors from all over the globe attended the event at a Black Sea spa. An all-male jury awarded Claudia the $1,000 first-place crown. Their decision was based on “speed” and “artistic merit” in two rounds titled “technical” and “freestyle.”

At first, when I read this, I chuckled, as most readers did, I’m sure. But, ever since, I haven’t been able to get it out of my pretty, come-sucking head — a head no longer chuckling, but giggling and giddy. I’m jealous! Like Claudia, I want to be internationally recognized for my abilities (at least all the guys tell me I’m able)!

The purity of it all excites me: cock sucking for the sake of cock sucking, in and of itself, having absolutely nothing to do with love or any other emotion that might get in the way of technique and performance. But think about the bonding going on between the cock sucking performer, the anonymous owner of the succulent cock, and the observing audience! It’s one of those once-in-a-lifetime, life-altering experiences when minds, not just bodies, truly connect. It makes my mouth water just thinking about it. The idea of it alone is enough. I can’t think of a better expression of eroticism.

I want to be Claudia! The epiphany pops into my head at the exact moment when I’m licking the underside shaft of my latest prize of a penis. Or if not Claudia, at least second-place finisher, shedding genuine tears of happiness for the winning girl. Instead of a crown, I could then wear a tight T-shirt, with my hard nipples poking the fabric, flaunting the fact: “Miss Fellatio World. First Runner-up.” The mind boggles with all the fresh cock I would attract.

My lover has no idea what’s going through my head as I’m giving head. That’s part of the fun of it; I remain a mystery to him. He, on the other hand, is totally exposed, vulnerable to my every tongue-flickering whim. I know exactly what he’s thinking; he tells me so. Even taciturn men feel compelled to talk to me when my mouth is full. While I’m sucking like a vacuum cleaner, they are spitting out appreciative, flattering words:

“Look up at me while you’re sucking, bitch. I want to see your gorgeous, fluttering lashes and grateful, smiling eyes while your sexy lips are around my cock.”

They ask questions: “You like to suck cock, don’t you? You’re just a cock-sucking cunt, aren’t you? Tell me, cunt, isn’t this the best cock you’ve ever tasted? You can’t get enough of my fat, juicy cock, can you? You don’t want to ever stop sucking, do you, bitch?”

Of course, I can only answer with my head — a vigorous nod or a swaying shake. Those well-executed head motions just add to the cock owner’s pleasure. And it is his pleasure, after all, that brings me mine.

Actually, what I want him to tell me is how I’m doing — a real critical review. Vague praise is meaningless: “This is the best blow job ever…Slut, you suck so fine…” Blah, blah, blah. I’ve heard it all before. What I crave — besides cock, of course — is brutal honesty. And the more detailed the critique, the better.

Unfortunately, most suckees are hopeless in this regard. All they care about is “shooting me a pearl necklace” or whether or not I’ll “swallow.” They’re so ecstatic just to get a blow job, they don’t really notice, much less appreciate, my truly expert level of keenly honed presentation.

Do they consider the pronounced, feminine arc of my back and butt while kneeling (evolutionary biologists call this “the fertility curve”)? Can they award points for the dexterous way my hand moves at the base of the shaft, so it’s synchronized with all my various mouth actions at the most sensitive tip? Are they connoisseurs of how even the eloquent (dainty, yet firm) grip of my hand ensures that my finely French-manicured nails are showing? Are they closely observing the vigorous, quick tempo of my acrobatic tongue, lip, and neck movements, as calorie-burning as my aerobics class — without my face working up even one tiny bead of perspiration, much less ruining my makeup (except my lipstick, of course)?

Olympic-level cock sucking is just like ballet. Unless you have actually executed a perfect pirouette on point oneself while dressed in tights and tutu, even the most avid dance-goer hasn’t the foggiest notion of how hard it is to make it look so easy.

What would Claudia do? I figured it out that she probably has her very own professional coach! I decide to confess my need for Olympic training to the owner of one of my all-time favorite, most suckable cocks. He always brags about how many “wenches” have given him head, so I can learn from his critical comparisons and contrasts. But he quickly counter-proposes with what he calls “a better idea.” He’ll set up a School for Sluts. I’ll teach Cock Sucking 101, for which his cock will be my students’ teaching aid. Clearly, he has his own fantasy.

Like most heterosexual men, he just doesn’t get the point. This is not fantasy for me; it is a clearly defined mission, with a measurable, achievable goal: to be Claudia, to reach beyond my grasp of the cock I now have in my mouth, to attain the world acclaim that I know can be deservedly mine. The men I suck must remain really no more than props and I’ll use them as such.

As if I’m on a diet, I make a vow: to ingest several different cocks daily. Variety is important, for you can never tell what shapes and sizes the judges will poke at you. I set up a video camera in my bedroom, to tape each encounter. My trial subjects don’t mind; I make a copy for them; my mouth is the gift that keeps on giving, and they now have a free porno movie to watch whenever they’re horny and lonely.

Style, agility, poise. These are the qualities that my — immortalized on video — cock-sucking images help me to develop. No longer do I have to replay my head action in memory. I confess, watching my mouthful-of-cock self on the VCR is quite a turn-on. But I force my brain to maintain laser-like focus on my quest — perfecting my cock-sucking performance.

Which raises a fundamental question: are the contest judges what the New Journalism termed “participant-observers,” or do they simply sit back and witness? It makes a great deal of difference in how I orchestrate my cock sucking. What’s visually pleasing is not necessarily the most instantly pleasurable sensation for the suckee. So I seek some splendid compromise, trying to score the highest points in both categories — visual and tactile.

Just like this is a Miss America competition, the one single thing I must constantly remember — so that it becomes an involuntary reflex like gagging — is the importance of smiling while sucking. First, you must smile for the camera, judges, and audience, as every girl is taught from an early age to make herself pretty and pleasing to others. Second, of course, you’re smiling specially for the suckee, so that he knows you know you’re extremely lucky to be blessed with his unique cock in your mouth. Plus, from a purely physiological point of view, it’s pleasantly surprising how the facial muscles used in smiling bring added pleasure to the cock. Finally, to be able to maintain that happy expression while an eight-inch cock is being thrust deep down your oral cavity relaxes the throat and mitigates the gagging. I can see Claudia smiling now, as I breathe deeply through my nose, relax my throat, and swallow an enormous brand-new cock. Visualization: that’s key in any athletic training.

I’ll wipe the smile off Claudia’s face when she sees my second-come routine. This is my specialty. Just about anyone with a mouth can make a cock come. But only an expert mouth like mine can create, just minutes later, a second come shot from the very same, formerly flaccid, cock.

A real competitor doesn’t discount the importance of costume, either. Normally, I prefer a snug, sexy micro-mini, exposing my panties when I kneel, together with an extremely low-cut top, so that he can shoot it down my cleavage if he wants. That’s what I’ll wear for the contest, I assume. Or maybe the competition will feature both swimsuits and evening gowns, in which case I’ll pack, respectively, my multicolored string bikini (whose top I’ll shed when I perform) and my creamy Versace knockoff. The eroticism of the latter, I find particularly appealing, mixing high fashion with the lowest, hard-core porn.

For the freestyle event, if the judges allow a costume change, my plan is to don an all-black catsuit, together with a mask like SM people use. The mask will have a huge hole for my mouth, plus tiny, imperceptible slits for my nostrils, so I can breathe when my mouth is full. I don’t even need holes for my eyes; I can see with my mouth. The point here is to present myself simply as a femininely curved, well-toned body with nothing but a come-hole for a mouth.

I bet Claudia hasn’t even thought of that: to present oneself simply as a mouth for cock like the famous old “glory hole” of gay-cruising public bathrooms. There shouldn’t be any decorative distractions, not even earrings, when I lie on my back on the gymnast’s horse — my head tilted upside down over the edge to deep-throat the longest, thickest dong with which the judges want to test me. The more you can level out the bend in your neck, the more your throat can act just like a cunt. That’s one of the nuggets of wisdom you gain only through sucking.

Then, in the same position, I’ll take two cocks at once. So I must remember to ask my dentist for one of those oral surgery clamps to practice stretching my mouth. Also I’ll need lots more collagen shots for my pouty, bee-stung lips, to make them just like a cunt.

A related routine I want to perfect is simultaneously playing a number of cocks like a xylophone. At the World Championships, I’ll have a row of men, maybe ten, lined up on the stage. The trick will be to make them all come at almost exactly the same time. This requires unusual patience and perception on my part, which I’m confident the judges will recognize. When I start to taste the pre-come from one cock, I’ll have to move immediately to the next, and so forth, and then back again.

I’ll need more than a few good men to help me practice this event. So if you want to help my most girly, Cinderella-like dream come true, do be a Prince Charming, won’t you, and volunteer! We’ll make Claudia incredibly, lustfully jealous with my nonstop practicing to take her crown. Although this provides a wonderful excuse to service my insatiable oral needs with countless numbers of men, still my pretty, come-sucking head remains full of worry:

What will I say during the contest’s interview segment? This has to be part of the contest’s new format and it’s as anxiety-producing as how I’ll style my hair that championship day. What will Claudia and the other girls say? What will I say when the moderator asks me the question:

“How would you make the world a better place?”

The Idea of a Woman

What color are my panties?

What style and color are my panties?

My girlfriend Stephanie is vacating the apartment we once shared on the Lower East Side, so what to do with all my stuff I left behind when I moved to Europe last year?  I don’t remember what’s there exactly — probably lots of fashionable clothes that immediately became unfashionable the week after I bought them.  Plus tons of old underwear, pantyhose, camisoles and such.

But I don’t want to tell Steph to simply toss them in the trash, for they’re money in the bank!  Like Bitcoins, a form of international currency!! And like vintage collectibles, the older and more worn, the more valuable they seem to be!!!

I’ve had some experience with men in the past fantasizing about — and fetishizing — my undies, but only recently have I come to understand what an incredible business opportunity they represent.

When I worked as an escort, guys would sometimes bring me lingerie to wear while we had sex, and then take it back home with them as a trophy of sorts.  And one guy, a regular, would wear panties himself to our encounter, then take them off, ask me to then put them on; afterwards, he would use them to masturbate in.  Feeling the silky softness around his shaft was infinitely more fun, I guess, than feeling it deep down my throat.

I’m not being critical or judgmental.  For I’ve often cum in my own panties myself.  When I use a vibrator, in fact, it just feels somehow sexier to leave my panties on.  Anyway….

Over the last few months a bunch of Facebook friends/followers/fans have offered big bucks for items from my lingerie chest.  I don’t even have to freshly wash them — the more spoiled, apparently the better!  I’m beginning to think I’m sitting (both literally and figuratively) on a gold mine!

Come to think about it, maybe the intimates I wear — conveying the idea of me — is so much better than the reality of me.  Hosiery, thongs and bikinis never bitch and complain, never need selfish satisfaction.  They exist just for your pleasure….yours alone.

So take my poll and send me a offer…. opening bid on my bright orange thong, for example, starts at $50!

Featured in e[lust], little ole moi

Feb152014

 

rosePhoto courtesy of Sex with Rose

Welcome to e[lust] - The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at e[lust]. Want to be included in e[lust] #56? Start with the rules, come back March 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

 

Why I Post Nude Photos (and blog about sex)

Discovering Myself Through My Strap-On

Sex Toy Shaming and Bigoted Wise Cracks, FTW!

 

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Aftercare and BDSM Play

Two worlds

 

 

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Erotic Fiction

Come Again
Undiluted
Shudder
Tattoo
And When I Take You…..
Ride on the Night bus
Superotica Valentine – Day 1
The spelling lesson

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Please let me just say “no.”
5 Easy Mistakes to Make While Flirting
SexyLittleIdeas – The Woman in the Dark Alley
Comparisons
Treasured Property
Supporting Love and Freedom
Predicting My Own Future
Let’s Go Down Again
How to eat my pussy
10 (non-sexual) ways to be intimate with your
Permission to be Human: Granted.
Squirting: What Science Says

Erotic Non-Fiction

Date with V. (N. Likes)
Luscious
Saving Movie Night
Wicked Wednesday: Nervous
The Painter
Stolen Moments Turn Into Treasured Memories
The Art of the Blow Job and Deepthroat
Stun Guns & Happiness
Fatal’s First Time (with a Hitachi)
First Session
Probation Officer #145: Bowre of blisse 9
Trust Games

Blogging

you will ask Me to fuck your ass
Fish & Chips
This is not an invitation
Men I Have Known
My Storyyy (Trigger Warning)

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

More Than Whips and Chains
Being shouted at: kink or abuse?
Explaining violence and sex
Awww Yeah – Targeted Marketing!
Grass is always greener – swinging
Lazy Dog Sex Position

Sex News,Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Valentine’s Day Sex Toy Selections
Discovering My Sexuality
Pathologizing Male Aggression

Poetry

Sex is…


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Men I Have Known: Chapter 3

Only later would my butt become pinchable...

Only later would my butt become pinchable…

Some of the most meaningful men in my life have been those I haven’t really known at all.  This was especially true in the beginning, when I was first trying out in public my girlish persona. They validated me, and for that, I salute them – all those anonymous men whose lust I awakened!  Which in turn awakened my slut within.

The proverbial construction workers who whistled and yelled “Hey, Baby!”  Real girls sometimes complain (disingenuously?) about this kind of “unwanted” attention; for girls like me, it provides an incredible rush of badly needed self-confidence.

The timid man — tall, dark and handsome – whom I caught staring at my jean-encased butt as I stood in line for a café latte.  Blushing, he quickly snapped his head away.  As a man myself, I had done that cowardly maneuver too!  So I sent him a lifeline by smiling and saying, “Hi!”

“Hi,” another man says as I’m strolling in a city park.  It’s the first time I’m venturing out wearing such a short, snug skirt!  I smile, so he follows me and stands by my side as I stop to read a historical marker.  He starts talking about the history that happened here; I’m so nervous, I don’t pay attention to the content of his words.  He can tell, so he says:  “Don’t worry, I’m married, a faithful husband.”  Turns out he’s a real estate broker and has a $500,000 house in the neighborhood that would be “perfect” for “a young career girl” like me.  A rich bitch, is that what I look like?  I don’t mind.  Or is it all just a ploy: to take me on a tour of the empty house and then fuck me there?  That, I would not have minded either!

Of Time and Pantyhose

Image

Whenever I pull on pantyhose, I think of Ron.  Ron, one of my first serious lovers…what’s he doing now, I wonder?  

Anyway, Ron had a beard, and the reason he had a beard was not so he would look like a pensive professor, which he was, or a disheveled lumberjack, which he was not, but because he was so damn analytical.  And he was afraid of time, its passage, its fleeting nature.  If he’s dead now, and he could well be for all I know, his fear would of course have been justified (he would have laughed if he had heard me say that!).

So one day he threw all his razors away – or rather, frugal guy that he was, asked if I wanted them for my legs and underarms – and announced that he would never shave again.  At five minutes a day, he calculated, over the course of an average American male lifetime, he would have wasted close to 100 days looking in the mirror shaving.  Shaving!  He spit the word with disgust.

How many days have I – will I have – wasted pulling on and peeling off pantyhose?

Modeling School: More Important in “Transitioning” Than Estrogen Therapy!

Courage = Grace Under Pressure...thanks to Jimmy Choo....

Courage = Grace Under Pressure…thanks to Jimmy Choo….

“Within five seconds of meeting someone, either in business, at school, or socially, you make a critical first impression.  That impression is made up of the following:

55% Appearance.

38% How You Sound.

7% What You Say.

Our modeling school has recognized the importance of a first, and last impression, for 60 years…teaching self-development (finishing) and fashion modeling.

14-week course: Visual Pose/Graceful Movements, Beautyworks.  Wardrobe and Fashion.  Social Graces/Communications.”

The best $1,525 I ever spent!

Even if it can’t buy Love, Money sure helps with Beauty!

The black hat I wear when cleaning out my desk...can't afford to be sentimental!

The black hat I wear when cleaning out my desk…can’t afford to be sentimental!

Rhinoplasty $4,500

Lip Lift $2,000

Corner Mouth Lift w/ extension $1,500

Tracheal (Adam’s Apple) Shave $500

Cheek Implants $3,200

Just uncovered these old bills in all my clutter.  Before I toss in the round file, I thought I’d share.   BTW, I got a big discount for doing all the procedures pretty much at the same time!

Mine is a Featured Post in e[lust]!

Jan152014

 

Elustheader  Photo courtesy of  Gritty Woman

Welcome to e[lust] - The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at e[lust].  Want to be included in e[lust] #55? Start with the rules, come back February 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

 

How children will break UK Internet filters.

Submissive, Not Passive

When Sex and Disabilities Collide

 

 

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Tribute to a Selfie

The Pawn

 

 

 

~ Readers Choice from  Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Blogging

My 20 of 2013
Hello 2014

Erotic Fiction

Call Me Maybe
To Watch…
Holiday Travails
The third message
So You Want to Worship Me…Start Here.
Three Stories Up
Men in cages
Lucky Mascot – Huddle: Sex With Sporty Queers

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Sex Toys Storage: Hiding from People
SexyLittleIdeas -11 Annoying yet Sexual Dares
His PTSD Cheated on Me
Cum
You’re Art but I’m Not
Anger and intimacy
Among a Sea of Submissives
Object
My experiences with unwanted intercourse

Erotic Non-Fiction

Phoenix lies and gets herself in trouble
The Storm Behind the Calm
Why I eat your pussy
Light My Fire – Zoe Tries Fire Play
Spreading Christmas Cheer
I write a letter to The Neighbor
Humiliation
Sa’afia’s punishment night (1st IV scenes)
Both ends of the spectrum
Love of Flesh; Want for Blood
First Blush
Birthday Burning

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Dear Mollena…
The Best Motivator
on liberties taken.
Submission, More Than A Feeling
Breaking Prude – The Dirty Seven

Poetry

Just Touch It
A Time To Cum

Sex News,Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Shoe Fetishism – RZ


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Remembrance of Pain Past….

decafashion4

“I really like your scent,” volunteered the woman standing next to me waiting in line at the ATM machine.  “May I ask what it is?”

Before I could answer “L’air du Temps,” my mind churned with possible implications.  Was she sincere?  Or did she suspect something?  Her seemingly innocent question simply bait, to catch me, the pretender, the ersatz female, the alien in society’s midst?  And my still masculine voice would unmask me?

I smiled, whispered “thank you,” opened my handbag, lifted out the perfume bottle, and smiled again.  Show and tell.  Or show and not tell.

It’s hard now to really remember, much less communicate, all the little, terror-inducing episodes like this when I first came out as a woman, trying to “pass” and not get “read.”  When I did pass, it was exhilarating, the equivalent of getting straight A’s in school, winning the lottery, coming in first in a talent contest, getting the promotion plus huge salary increase, all rolled into one.  But the times I failed were worst than F’s; I remember them still as if a recurring nightmare.

Children and drunks: those were the worst.  Those are the ones any new Tgirl has to watch out for.  They never mince words, never afraid to report, often loudly, what they see — making even the most casual stroll down the street turn into terror.  “Look, it’s a man!”

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