What's a Horny Girl to Do?

WET, LUSTY, HOT, NAIL-WRENCHING, PRIMAL, PRIMITIVE, WALL-HUGGING, BALL-SLAPPING, PULSE-RACING, NEIGHBOUR'S SCREAMING, FURNITURE-DESTROYING SEX: Now that I've garnered your attention, I've been pondering a little upon my contributions to this website recently and wondering if it wasn't time to try my hand at another -- hopefully -- scorching installment.

When I penned my first two offerings, it was always on my mind to proffer a third and lately, as I've an undeniable yen to get primal...

WAIT: That's hardly the exacting truth of the matter. In actuality, as I've found myself in a searing, constant, breathtakingly-insistent, pulsating state of horny arousal -- for the entire last seventy-two hours, mind you -- I thought perhaps the time had presented itself to stop channeling my energies to between my legs and, instead, write some of this heat out of me, to fuck the story, so to speak, and thus dismiss the anticipation of indulging in a batteries required kind of weekend.

Well, and as I pondered a suitably hot topic (noting that the frottage of sturdy oak trees, melting ice cream cones and that even stiff breezes are pretty much doing it for me at the moment) I partook of take-out with my closest friend, Tristan, last evening. Now, when your best friend's a man -- and yes, that does means I'm female -- and we've both previously admitted to our mutual attraction, it happens that the titillating subject of sex rears its succulent, engorged, suckably kissable, erm, head. (Yeah, you can't tell I'm super-starved for sex at all, can you? J)

Me, I love the feel of Tris's tongue sliding along and over my inner wrist; I'm supremely sensitive in this spot and love receiving attention. And, when T does it: whew! I generally have to stop him, because we're friends and not lovers, and somehow panting his name in a sensual frenzy, caressing his stubbled cheeks and loving his ears -- his very own erogenous zone -- does seem a rather overtly steamy way to act. Then again, there was no denying that sharing the details of my sexual encounters with other men made him crazy with desire (and vice versa, I'll admit) and left both of us with a strange, hungry, unfulfilled longing, on more than one occasion. The closest, recently, that we've come to communal release is loaning each other our very own naughty DVDs.

Last time I perused his movies -- with heavy penchant for leather, noting man, woman, and device are interchangeable -- the intimacy of it suddenly hit me: I was viewing my best friend's porn; the art that he had specifically chosen; the bodies and actions that most turned him on. The same images on my screen had appeared on his; they had seen him naked possibly, certainly touching his own balls, stroking his own Sebastian, and more, had viewed him shoot, over and over.

Oh my, how much could a red-blooded girl bear? Would it be taking advantage of him, I wondered idly -- as the Intruder juicily filled his partner -- if I found my present situation affecting? Was I an evil person to notice my slippery clitty crying out for attention? I rhythmically squeezed my legs, pulsing my own pearl, unintentionally matching Big Jock's thrusts on my TV, whilst pondering the problem at hand.

Sliding my hand, feather-light, under the waistband of my white lacy panties I imagined T's face if he knew about my present quandary. He'd want details, of course, just so that he could adjudge the situation fairly, as any friend would.

Suddenly my thoughts traveled to Tris spurting his load in his own living room at this exact same moment in time, him thinking about me watching some of his DVDs, and my lust jumped exponentially. Big Jock lost his appeal as I slid my slick fingers back and forth over my swollen nub, slippery and hot, longing instinctively for those rougher, harder digits of some particular man -- I honestly know not who -- to be doing the exact same things to me.

As I raked my nails over my clitoris, squeezing with too fierce a desire, I was picturing Tris's four-day growth of stubble being rubbed back and forth across my groin, his cleft chin -- designed precisely to fit my tender lady bump -- worrying my clitoris.

Oh, gosh. Oh, this is it. BEAM ME UP, SCOTTY...

Panting, I realised with satisfaction that that was no minor O; that it was a hard, satisfying, toe-curling, muscle-rippling, leg-splaying, jaw-jutting, fire-in-the-veins hard cum. Usually, when I pleasure myself, minors are the rule of the day, with hard-won major O's only pummeling through me when another set of hands, mouth and a cock are present.

Just imagine how much more intense it would have been if he had been here, watching me, smelling me, tasting me. Ooh, just give me a second here...

Whew, I'm back. Where were we? Tristan's Sebastian: well, and at least that's where I was. We're just pals, of course, though naturally enough I've seen his below-stairs. Pish tosh, but I don't precisely recall his Sebastian. In the grand scale of thing, who does remember -- in intimate detail -- the flash of a penis from here and the feel of cock from there? Still, although he's critical of his own manhood (why do men always long for longer for goodness sake?), I do find myself moistening my lips hungrily as I picture his lickably-perfect cut cock head. Oh, it's the type that'd entertain one's mouth and fingers for hours, tongue lashing his maddeningly near-perfect piss-slit and circling it over and back again and round once more, and then on down to the tantilising ridge at his mushroom's base. Oh, and every moment's a fun-filled hedonistic rollercoaster! Add a little chocolate syrup and I could help Tris sustain his erection for a good...well, and my absolute longest-to-date was thirty-one minutes but I'm sure T could inspire me to far greater heights; I'm industrious when I want to be, and this is my kind of sensual torture! J

I do so enjoy making eye contact when I'm sucking. I want him to look into my baby browns and SEE just how much I'm enjoying myself. I want to feel his hips pushing forward, trying to get every millimeter inside my mouth and down my throat, his hands fisting in my hair, my moans and his endearments, worshiping my ministrations, clearly demonstrating his lust and desire.

Hey, we live in a "feedback required" kind of world, yeah? J

Now, as it happens, I'm a ball girl. Whenever my girlfriends gossip about His equipment and discuss the unreserved ugliness of the genitalia that is man, I generally murmur the odd incomprehensible sweet nothing so as not to draw attention to the verity that I worship that whole area. L-O-V-E I-T. I am startled and delighted anew each and every single time I see the miracle of The Erection (and I'm guessing here it's not a shocking revelation that I do, indeed, like to watch), the luscious length just made for my warm, eager mouth, my hot, taut Heavenly Gateway (J), my dexterous and never-tiring and ever-rotating tongue. The way it grows out of its hairy nest with that perfectly-shaped arrow head: mm, yummy. Just what the Doctor ordered! Stat!

(I'm cute, n'est-ce pas?)

It makes me just want to suckle on one this very second! Where's my turgid lollipop?

And then, how did our Maker follow such excellence? Why, with the appearance of two delicious shaggy plums -- the bigger the better in my book -- to kiss and lick and bounce and suck and play with. Oh, mine; all mine! I'm even keen on that sexy masculine odor that accompanies a throbbing, musky Sebastian. And when he bends over, looking for all the world like an old goat, ballock sack hanging down? Well, and all I can hear is my pulse rushing, echoing in my own ears.

Sebastian's are just plain fucking fun. In fact, this whole story can be officially recognised as a typed homage to my Tris's genitalia. He's just kinky enough to like that.

Where were we? Ah yes, tasty fellatio. As I recall, my then-partner in that marathon blow had some problem walking after, and would not even entertain the idea of putting his trousers back on, even after the cum was done, as his Sebastian was far too stimulated to allow any kind of fabric touching it. My jaw was throbbing from over-use and I had to end up backing out of dinner for that night, myself. Still...

To tell the truth, when I've fantasized about T in the past, I've not ventured much farther than the nipples-sucking stage. Imagining his hot, moist mouth in the act of sucking -- hard and powerfully -- on my tight, rosy-pink nipples, makes my pulse flutter in all the right places and my tummy to do flip-flops; picturing it when he has his stubble happening tips me over the edge to minor O, almost always; his hands on my full, silky-soft ta-tas starts my nipples to prickling, and, invariably, my clit to twitch. Quite frankly, just writing about this whole situation does treacherous things to my heart rate and I feel my right hand inching to travel below-stairs for a needy visit.

Tristan has brought me to orgasm before, when we lying in bed and he licked and bit and sucked on one of my previously-mentioned most tender of erogenous zones, the underside of my wrist. Oh, I'm wet and sticky just recalling it. He caressed me with his hot mouth, working me for a good fifteen minutes before he had to race to the bathroom to jack off and I was left bucking into a pillow as my fingers roughly pinched my spasming clitty and muscle-clenching wave after wave of T-induced bliss flooded my muscles through my climaxing quim, wishing he was beside me, voyeuristically watching me touch myself, seeing me perform for him. But of course, as we're best friends and not lovers, that's as far as it went, except that we both lay awake for hours after, me re-living his talented tongue, his stubble and hard teeth, biting at me and thrashing his pleasure through me, wanting to shriek his name and feel his burning, bulging cock fill my snug, dripping, wet cunny again and again, to feel his blistering, spurting jism penetrate deep inside me, and to experience him lose control, to buck like a wild, wanton, savage beast.

Mm, yep: as luck would have it, I didn't get a lot of sleep that night. Coincidentally, neither did Tris. We both got up the next morning feeling a vague sense of thwarted frustration, and really couldn't either of us quite put a finger on the why of it.

T and I have, over the years, quite often discussed our sexual forays and passions and the like, and I imagine both of us now accept this dialogue as an inconspicuous and secretive form of pleasuring each other. When he tells me how he fucked his latest partner and experimented with any number of innovative of positions, my heart races and my little pleasure button jumps spasmodically between my legs; I long to hear every distinct and intimate detail. And too, when I depict my own less-frequent seductions, he begs for full disclosure (and almost-always gets it).

You know, the craziest supposition is forming in my mind at the free-flow recounting of several of these intoxicating moments: could Tris and I actually be hiding our more savage, potent feelings for one another behind the reservations of friendship? Is it possible? Nah! We're pals, remember? Best buddies forever. It's not as though we're lovers, yeah? Well, and at least we weren't up until three hours ago.

Erm, let's move on, shall we?

So, now I've shared a little about my life, what am I going to write this steamy story about?

I love it when my man comes on top of me, Missionary-style, his Sebastian and tongue both deep in corresponding tandem, my breasts bouncing, his gaze locked with mine, my hands on his arse, caressing his buns, fingering his hole, teasing him, urging him on, deeper, harder, faster -- just needing to be pummeled -- his groin pressing my clitty, and his fingers squeezing my nipples. I always experience the same delicious dilemma at this time: I enjoy wrapping my legs around him, urging him on with my hammering heels, and feeling him bucking like a uncultivated, nasty, rabid animal atop of me, and yet I am devoted to spreading my pins as far apart as they will possibly go, exposing every last millimeter of my glorious pussy and hyper-sensitive clitoris. Somehow, for some reason, it helps me to cum harder.

What can I say? I'm an enigma.

Well, and that's my tale and I'm sticking to it. J

Uh, what was my point?

Oh yes, although this is one my favourite ways to have his excited penis enter my eager lurve canal -- most especially when its the first time and nothing else will satisfy the pent-up lust but high-speed and frantic, combative friction -- for some reason only known to the Goddess herself I laid one fleeting glance upon Tristan earlier this afternoon and knew I intended to ride him hard and put him away wet, as the saying goes.

"Take off your trousers and get down on all fours."

"Uh, Elizabeth! What --?"

"Shut up and do it, now."

And, by-the-by, to whichever lay spirit floating out there in the ether that possessed me, I thank you.

To my lustful amazement, T did as he was bid, with alacrity no less. With my clit already on fire I slowly stepped in front of him, slipped my Juicy sweats off and strapped on my dildo. His eyes bulged and his lips were pursed, as he crawled a couple of steps toward me.

"Who's your Daddy, Tris?"

"Uh, you, you, you are," he stammered.

"Look me in the eye when you're talking to me, Boy," I demanded as I began stroking my own first-ever Sebastian, "and address me with a little respect. Say Sir, yes, Sir."

"Sir! Yes, Sir!"

"Now, tell me you want me to fuck you."

Uh, uh..." Tris practically gurgled at me in shock.

He was sitting back on his heels and his cock was twitching and growing by the second. That beautiful teardrop hole of his was whimpering for my tongue but there'd be time enough later.

As my confidence soared, I continued.

"So, you think my little lady-cock won't do the job for you. It's a mere epigone for you? Is that it?"

Still with the glazed look, so I stepped up to him smartly and slapped him. May the Goddess have mercy on me if I didn't have a mini-O right there on the spot and I teetered a little in my heels!

Skin-on-skin seemed to rouse him and he growled my name as he struggled to keep his own emotions in durance.

"Beth," he warned.

I hesitated then, wondering if he wasn't going for it the way I unmistakably was with my glutinous feminine fluids all but running down my thighs I wanted so badly to fuck him.

I've always maintained that one of the highest sexual compliments a woman can proffer her man is contained in those sweet juices between her legs. The more moist she is when her partner finally slides his fingers for the first time below stairs, the more flattered he ought feel: today, with Tris, I was about as drenched as I've ever been in my life. My panties are soaking my chair as I type and my over-sexed and needy clitoris cries for more, every time I think on his mouth.

As we stood there in that brief second, our exchange hanging by a thread and able to go either way: to Heavenly, erotic release or to Hell via Awkward Station, T reached down and began stroking his vivified penis.

Now, if there's anything sexier on this planet than watching your man fondle himself, then Folks, I've yet to find it.

That last thought has just sparked a memory long forgotten: I suddenly clearly recall the initial time I fell into attraction with Tristan. It was at a family dinner he had invited me to, with his parents and brother also attending.

As the meal drew to a close, T -- who was sitting next to me -- picked up their Shitzu, holding it under the arms and allowing it to lick him all over his strongly-stubbled neck. Blissfully unaware of everyone and everything else, enraptured as I was by the nerve-sizzling sight presented me, with the dog dancing its back paws in unadulterated delight across T's bulging cock and sucky balls, I sat slack-jawed, entranced, unable -- or rather, unwilling -- to tear my glance away for even a second. Only the sound of Tris's father insistently calling my name for the third time, combined with my own drool dribbling down onto my arm aroused me from my lustful reverie.

Naturally, I was impelled to hide my unexpected but powerful excitement by grasping my plate and assisting with clearing the table. Unfortunately, my abrupt, well-intended movement caused my clitoris to rub insistently against my damp panties and, unbidden, the image flew to my mind of me -- instead of the dog -- astride T's appetizing manly protuberance, squirming and wriggling in delight as I tongued and tasted his neck, his chin, cheeks and lips, and he impatiently rubbed his rigid member flush against my hot spots, his massive strongly-muscled thighs perfectly sliding between my own, bouncing my wet little tingling clitty to happier places.

I swayed with the sudden, over-powering yearning. With his entire family expressing their heart-felt concern, I rigidly attempted to control my baser instincts, which inclined me to rip the clothes from their eldest son's tantalising body and lap dance us both to orgasm right in front of their, no doubt shocked, countenances.

Ah, memories! And to think, it was the very first time I've ever been jealous of Man's Best Friend. Mayhap it even augers now, years later, that Tristan and I finally give into our heretofore-contained passion for the first time Greek-style with doggie positioning. J And those thighs! Mm, I've masturbated, once or twice, to the mental image of him working out on the leg machines at the gym, packing on the muscle, making them bigger. Yummy, is he not?

Game on, I thought, so let's take it all the way.

"Stop touching your dick; assume the position; and address me with the respect I deserve. Right. Now."

I had to physically restrain myself from pinching my nipples (which I usually only ever like being done when I'm in the height of passion) as he looked me directly in the eye, nodded, and responded with a very breathless, "Sir, yes, Sir," as he again got on to his hands and knees.

Slowly, I couched down in front of him and instructed him to "Lick me" and, watched with hooded, satisfied eyes, as he immediately stirred to comply, his gaze locking with mine.

Whilst I commanded his attention thus, I began undoing the scarf at my neck and smiled lusciously as he stared intently, captivated by my every move, and I ground my plastic play cock into his mouth, feeling the clit stimulator doing its job. Ka-ching!

"Do you want Daddy to ride you hard tonight, Baby? Are you going to be my mount?" I whispered seductively.

"Yes, um, y, y, yes Sir. YES, SIR," he stammered, as I slid my faux-cock from his pliant lips and walked around to his hairy behind, grabbing, as I went, one of his leather couch cushions for under my knees.

"Spread 'em, as wide as you can, Tris. I want to look at your arse. Mm, it looks full of flavor to me. What do you think? Do you want me to taste you?"

"Sir, yes, Sir," he answered with happy enthusiasm.

SLAP was the sound my hand made on his backside.

"More: I want more. Describe what you want me to do you. And" as I wet my lips anticipatorily, "say my name."

"Beth," he panted hoarsely, "I want you to stick your tongue as far up my butt as you possibly can. Fuck me, Baby, please, with your mouth. I beg you!"

Now, I've always been a speedy study, and I'm thrilled to inform you I didn't need to be invited twice.

My hands ran over his hirsute cheeks, so different from my own smooth ones, and without preamble, I gave him one long lollipop lick the length of his succulent crack, just as he seemed to open himself even wider for me.

To be honest, I've never pleasured a man like this before, let alone my best friend with a strap-on lying between my legs. But, as they say, Nirvana is reached by many different avenues, my friend, and mine this night was paved with hot, sideways fucks of my tongue backward and forth, tracing his crack, his rectum, and then down to his beautiful massive balls, which received one quick suck each because I couldn't resist.