The king was laying down on his back, and I was crouching beside him, like I was playing leap frog. I was fellating (is that a word?), and I had to tell him to remove the few fingers he had inside me, for fear I might get overexcited and bite down on him.

I enjoy the role of being a provider of pleasure. I know I do it well, and I know that one cannot give pleasure without receiving it in return - whether it's sex, money, or the pride of a job well done.

This particular night was again after a period of separation. We were in a quaint cabin up north. The circumstances of our reunion were unfortunate (the near amputation of his father's thumb) but beggars can't be choosers.

There's a giddiness that comes with reuniting. That night, however, I was exhausted. As was he, I suspect. Nevertheless, we were particularly acrobatic that night, with me sitting on top of him, reverse-cowgirl style, a position rarely used in our repetoire. I became oddly emotional, with many different thoughts running through my head....

The next day, we travelled even further north (litteraly, not figuratively). The house was being renovated, with people coming in and out. Ha, and so was the King. Going in and out. I was nervous about being heard, but he apparently wasn't. I asked, when we finished, if I could expect more festivities over the few remaining hours we had left. The King looked at me like I had grown another head. Fewf.

It's odd that it is quite difficult for me to get off. Thought it is quite easy on my own, I find it difficult when I have a bit more of an audience. Perhaps it is the position, or maybe I feel I have to be a bit more aware of my surroundings. I'm not sure. I do know I have to make a bit of an effort; and sometimes I just don't feel like it. Again, sometimes I just enjoy being the selfless concubine.

So, later on that evening, we had both managed to squeeze into his single bed - the king, sadly, does not have a king-sized bed.

What I love most about our sex life is the wordlessness of it. There are subtle changes we can read in each other. We've learned each other's language. A subtle look, or a small movement of my hand means I want to push the limits a bit. And we did. Fucking hard and fast and deep, I went into a near trance. I'd resist, and he'd push me down. I got off quickly.

And then - SLAP. It was tentative at first. I almost laughed at first, if only because of the shock. I loved it though. I've never been slapped before - within or outside of a sexual context. My head was screaming HARDER, but I knew any harder would risk a mark, which would be much harder to hide then the bruises on my arms or the bite marks on my boobs.

The poor bed took a beating. The squeeks got louder and faster. Suddenly, he pulled me off the bed, and we ran downstairs, and I positioned myself, holding the stairs for support while he came at me from behind. I yelled and screamed, only to find out the windows were all opened. Oops.

Early that morning, just before I had to leave, I went down on him, teasing and playing. I've been practising deep throating, which The King seems to enjoy immensly. Perhaps this is something I can practise at home?

In a few more weeks, we can hopefully do it all over again. Pun intended.
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I hadn't seen you in a few weeks. Communication was at best sporadic, but when we spoke, the anticipation was palpable. I was so excited to see you again; to enter the comfort zone I'd been without for 2 weeks. I felt insecure and want too see you, I wanted to feel special again.

I spent the afternoon cooking, trying to get rid of all of my anxious energy. You finally showed up at 7 with Georgie. We ate a satisfying meal, a bit too quickly, and went to the mall for a quick purchase. As we were walking, you said softly to me, "Are you ready?", and I knew exactly what you meant. I was instantaneously wet with anticipation. I smiled a broad smile, like a little girl about to eat her first ice cream cone. We quickly got our purchases, and left.

We took a cab home. Georgie was in the front seat, beside the driver, and you and I were in the back. I briefly thought about rubbing up against you, or unbuttoning a few buttons on my blouse, but then you told me where and when you wanted me. You talked softly so no one else could here it, and I knew this was just for me. You wanted me to keep Georgie busy downstairs, and then meet you in the upstairs bathroom, where you were going to take a shower. I felt dizzy and headachy from the tension.

#1 - Shower Sex
I waited on the couch in the living room until you called out to me. I sprinted into the bathroom, where it was hot and steamy. Cliché, maybe, but the perfect atmosphere. You were standing there, naked, and wet. You said you wanted to fuck me, while you kissed me hard, clumsily, passionately, with tongues fumbling, and hands moving quickly. I love it when you kiss me because you don't do it often. You pressed hard against me, water dripping of your hair, onto my face, my shirt, my tits.

You asked me to come in the shower with you, and it seemed to take forever to take off everything - watch, earrings, jewelry, shirt, bra, pants, panties. I finally go in, and you turned on the water. I'd never had shower sex before. It's an amazing sensation; wet, hot, and clean. You kissed me again. You bent me over, and put a few fingers inside me - something else you rarely do - and I nearly collapsed from the sensations coming at me from all directions. I stood on my tippy-toes, trying to get the angle correct. You finally entered me and couldn't help but moan with delight.

I stood up again, turned around, and knelt down. I put my lips around you and could taste the acidic, salty taste of you.. or was it me? After a few moments, you led me out, turned off the water, and instructed me to lay down on the bathroom floor. You asked me if I was alright, I said yes, of course. You entered me again, looking at me, looking at you. I whispered, "I missed you so much", and you dug your head into the crook of my neck, saying "me too". You said "let move to the bedroom". The bathroom was too small, too cramped.

Soaking wet, we wrapped some towels around ourselves and ran to the bedroom, Georgies bedroom. I put a towel on the bed, hoping we didn't leave any trace of ourselves behind. I got on my knees again, and I pressed against you, the moved away, rocking back and forth. I love taking an active role in this position. I felt your hand against my bum, and I told you to do it. You didn't. So I asked you again, this time more directly. Spank me. And you did. Being wet, it stung a bit more than usual. I wanted more, but now wasn't the time.

You turned me around, on my back, so I could face you. Things begin to get blurry, but I can remember you talking, mumbling words, saying how much and how hard you were going to come. I love watching your face... you just look so.. bewildered, like you're not sure what is happening.

#2 - Stripper Sex
We walked in, and there she was. Right out of your Eighteen porn mags. From the waist up, she looked wholesome, and pure, and naive. She also looked about 16. From the waist down, she looked like she'd spread her legs for anyone for $5. She had tiny, tiny shorts on. When she got up to dance, she had a g-string underneath. Her name was Precious. I knew you wanted her. I didn't feel threatened. She was the embodiment of an archetype that turned you on. Nothing more.

I went to the washroom, and by the time I came back, you were gone. I asked Georgie where you went, and he looked a little embarrassed, so I knew where you were. Surprisingly, you were gone for quite a while. You came out, and you were pleased. Later, I found out you left the back room with a raging hard-on, but I didn't notice it. You told me you got to her feel her tits and her ass. You said she was cute and shy and giggled a lot. I smiled. To be honest, there is probably a part of me who was jealous, only because this girl is a lot of things I am not. Thin, mostly. But on the other hand, I know I am things she is not. It's fantasy, in the end.

After a long day, we all got tired. We came home, had chinese food, looked at pictures, and finally got to bed. It was 3am. I was ready to pass out right away; one of the few times I wasn't looking for sex. But we both got into bed. We cuddled, front to front for a while. Wrapped around each other. I nodded off, and woke myself up with my own snore. You turned me around, so you could feel my tits, and I could feel your dick press against the small of my back. I could feel your breath against my neck, which always get me wet. You whispered in my ear that you wanted to fuck me again. I said "Oh, good", delighted at this surprising turn of events. Sleep was the furthest thing from my mind now. You told me the stripper really turned you on, and I told you you could pretty that I was her. You said no, that that wasn't necessary.

The room was pitch black. You ripped off my shorts around my ankles, and turned on my stomach, raising my bum to receive you. In my head, I was that stripper. I didn't do anything, or say anything, but I was.

And then something bizarre happened. You fumbled in the dark to enter me, slipping a few times. Finally, finally, you entered. And it was amazing. You whispered, "why are you so tight?", and, honestly, I didn't know. But I felt like the virginal concubine, and I told you so, "It feels like my first time". I told you I could feel everything, every ridge, and pulse. It was spectacular, indescribable.

#3 - Anal
We awoke at around 11am. I was still tired, having only fallen asleep at 4. You had gotten a sudden burst of energy after sex and kept me awake longer than I would have liked. We spooned again, and I once again felt that familiar stiffness pressing against me. You played with my nipples, and I arched, pushing against you. I asked what you wanted, and you told me, breathlessly. I told you to move over and I went down on you, experimenting to see how you wanted it; slow, and teasing, or fast and urgent. I got my rhythm, and you grabbed my hair, stopping me, and rolling me over, into the same familiar position. After a few thrusts, you told me you wanted to come in my ass. We hadn't done it this way in a long time. It hurts for me, at least in the beginning, and I always feel a bit nervous. You put on the condom, lubed all the important parts, and rubbed just the outside, which felt so good. You started to enter. At the first, it was easy. And then the 2nd... hurt. You tried pushing, and I pushed you away. I told you to let me control it, to push myself against you. It took a few moments. I hate these first few moments, where I am in pain, where I am uncomfortable and wish I could be like other girls who love anal sex. And then, it became easier. I became pleasurable, it became fantastic. When everything is relaxed and looser. The first few times we did this, I could lay there, motionless, waiting for it to be over, but this time, I became an active receiver, pulling myself up against you, feeling you thrust deeper in hard, until I felt you come. I could feel your dick spasm, pulsate, vibrate inside me.

In the morning, while I was making breakfast, you asked me if I had enough sex. I said no. Were you honestly expecting another answer?

Even this morning, my muscles are sore from the last 24 hours of bending, arching, pounding, and loving.
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The King and I went away for the weekend for a wedding. This required staying in a hotel room. As I said, I love hotel sex, but I guess even I underestimated its effects.

Before I moved in April, the King and I had been living with my parents, in separate rooms. Before that, I had been living in another province. It seemed it was feast or famine for us. While I lived away, our periodic weekends together were always fun and satisfying, if not exciting. After spending nearly 24/7 together for a few months, this passion turned into... practically nothing.

Since I moved away (again), we've been having a hard time getting to where we once were. There have been some weekends that have been completely sex-less, which is almost unthinkable to me. However, over the past two weeks, things have improved.


We arrived at the hotel Saturday afternoon. We still had about an hour before the wedding, so we met my parents at the hotel bar for a drink. The King had a beer, and I had a rum and coke. My parents soon found a video lottery machine to waste time and money on, while we drank our drinks and watched CNN on the bar TV. As the King drank his last few gulps of beer, we said "We should go back up to the room". I knew in an instant what he meant. I usually nurse my drinks, but I finished the last half of my glass in about 3 gulps. I don't even remember if I told my parents where we were going, but we were gone. On the ride up the elevator, I got that feeling again. The feeling I used to get when I was 12 years old, and I boy held my hand.

We got into the room, and we both nervously milled about. I don't know why we were inhibited. Maybe we were waited for someone to make a move. I was starting to think he actually just wanted to go up to the room to for some reason other than sex, but I couldn't be that far off, right?

I stood at the end of the bed, rummaging through my purse for the hotel key. The King stood behind me, and I could feel something poking me in the small of my back. I stuck my bum out a bit to push it against him. He let out a little moan, and pushed my back over so I was leaning over the bed. "Perfect" he said. We have been plagued by too low or too high beds when it comes to doggy style. It's like Goldilocks and the 3 little bears, only one of the bears is pumping Goldilocks from behind. Or something.

Where was I?

Right. The sex..

I half laid on the bed, my dress over my hips, and my underwear down to my ankles. The King stopped suddenly, and I said, is that it? In hindsight, that's probably not what most men want to hear, but nevertheless, I was curious about the sudden end to our fun. He said "we have to go". He was right. If we continued much longer, I'd either get a call on my cell, or a knock on the door. Either one wouldn't be pleasant.

Yet, he stood in from of me, pants off, dress shirt unbuttoned, and with a raging erection. He looked at me and I looked at him. I bent down and through my usual technique of slow, teasing strokes out the window, and gave him the most efficient blow job known to man. As he came, he moaned "be careful for your dress".

Not a drop was spilled.

Fast forward to that evening. We decided to skip out on the reception to walk downtown in search for a good bar. Our first stop, however, was a sex shop. We looked around at the merchandise. There was your usual fare of vibes, dildos, lingerie, and bachelor party type toys. Then, the King found this. I had never seen anything like that before, and I thought it would be great to try out. Most of my toys are somewhat vaginally-focused, so this would round out my pleasure chest nicely. It's something the King could enjoy as well. He is definitely a breast man, and loves playing with mine. I don't mind telling you I don't mind him playing with them either.

Essentially, the little pumps work with the same physics as a turkey baster, I suppose. They suck the nipple up, and then you can place these little rubber bands over your nipples, sort of like a cock ring. They are very fun to play with, and are great foreplay. My nipples turned purple after a few minutes, though, which was a little freaky, yet, it was well worth it.

After a while of playing with these, I was fairly aroused. Yet, when I looked over to the King, he was fast asleep. I (as does he) blame the liquor. I woke him up so he could get changed, and as we laid in bed and cuddle, he whispered in my ear, "I'm sorry.". I whispered back "You can make it up to me in the morning."

.....and he did.
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I met Ty through work. He had been hired as a Summer student. He was supposed to redesign our website, and help with other computer-related problems (which up to that point had been my realm). He was the mix of geekiness, cockiness and cluelessness I appreciate. Though he was somewhat attractive, he had glasses as thick as the Berlin Wall, that gave him a Millhouse-esque appearance, but with dark hair. At the beginning, there was no initial attraction (which, except for The King, is always how my relationships begin).

I did something I never do. I invited him out for drinks. He was from out of town, so I thought it would be nice to get to know him. Honestly, I had no impure motives behind the invite. I was, swear to god, just being friendly.

And so, shortly after, we became drinking buddies. We would go out every few nights, and drink, and talk. We talked a lot about him. He told me that he was celebate.

Pardon?

You're how old?

He fed me some bullshit about sex being a distraction, and that it was some spiritual thing. He said he didn't even masturbate. I did not buy it for a second. Sure he was a little strange, a little quirkly, but he did not seem to display the mental strength necessary to refrain from jacking off every now and again. There was something up, but I didn't push the issue right away.

As time went on, I learned he was clearly interested in sex. As is usually the case with me, the conversation often turned in that direction. I kept proding for more information, but he kept up his story, and I kept not believing it.

As the summer rolled on, the liquor kept coming. He was hired on for a bit longer after the Summer. Honestly, at the time, I never thought there was a relationship there. I never really liked him liked him, you know? Which is funny, because usually if anyone pays any attention to me, I'm all over them like a cheap suit. But somehow, sometime, the line was crossed from drinking buddies to....other stuff buddies.

I believe it started at a Watchmen concert. We found a dark corner, with a comfy couch near the back. We were drinking of course, so I can't quite remember how it happened, but all I remember is one of us with ice in our mouth, and then the next thing I know, we were ping-ponging that ice cube back and forth until it melted. It was definitely one of the top five kisses I've ever had, maybe because I didn't expect it. Though he claimed he was celibate, there was no hiding the fact that he appreciated the finer points of sensuality.

The line was crossed. This kiss seemed to make him forget his celebate oath. The next progression happened one night when he invited me his place 'to watch a movie'. Everyone knows where this is going, right? He put in The Fifth Element. We sat on his bed and watched. The tension built. We kissed. At just about the point where the blue opera singer really starts to wail, I was flat on my back, with Ty's head between my legs. It felt glorious. He definitely knew what he was doing. He mumbled "I love this part", while I was thinking the same thing, but my mind was hardly on the movie. I reached down and.... what is this? Rather, what isn't this? The boy might as well have been a eunuch - and he could very well have been, for all I knew at the time. I was expecting a raging erection, and all I found, was... well, nothing. I offered to (asked to) investigate the situation a bit further. He raised his head to my face, and told me, quickly, shyly, that his anti-depressant medication has made him impotent.

SUCCESS!

I was relieved to hear that, for two reasons: He wasn't avoiding sex because he was crazy, he physically wasn't able to, and it was a relief to hear it wasn't a shortcoming on my end. No pun intended.

So, what now?

After a few minutes of mental adjustments on my behalf, I figured I may as well let the boy do what he's good at. The by-product of that situation was that, finally, it was all about me. At least one of us could get off. There was also none of the usual rushness I usually feel during oral sex. Since there is only so much we could do in the run of an encounter, I had time to really enjoy what was happening.

I went home that evening, my head buzzing. Everything made sense now. The best part was that there was still no emotional attachment. Sure, I liked him, and we had great conversations, and, as I mentioned, he was better with his tongue and a few fingers than most guys are with their dicks.

Then the news came that he would be moving back home shortly. This called for a send-off. One evening (I would like to mention right here that this is why blogs are so great: While writing this, I just remembered one of our encounters, and I think now my panties are wet. Makes the afternoon go by much quicker) after a night of booze and pool, we made our drunken way up the trail near my house. Halfway through the trail, he pushed me against a tree, and said he wanted to go down on me right then and there. Oooh. It was late, and there was no one around. Yet, I knew I would not be able to enjoy it because I'd be afraid of someone finding us. We kissed for a few minutes, and kept walking to my house.

I was living in my parents basement at that point, and he needed to come in to call a cab. Before calling the cab, I once again found myself on my back, with the divine tongue of Ty lapping at me like a thirsty dog. What I remember most is the effort it took to remain absolutely quiet so as not to wake up my parents. They never mentioned it, so I guess it was a success.

Right. So, this post is supposed to be about hotel sex, right? I'm getting to it, trust me.

The night before he was to leave, we decided to go out, again, for drinks. Before I left the house I, in my infinite wisdom, packed a goody bag for the night, just in case things took a turn for the best: sex candy (that crackles when licked), chocolate paint, a dildo, and a vibrator rounded out my purse that night.

We were sitting in a small piano bar. We talked about where we could go. We got into a cab, and made our way to nearby hotel. Little did I know, but you cannot check into a hotel unless at least one person has a non-local address. Luckily one of us did. Oh, one little note about this little adventure. The hotel clerk was actually a guy I had dated when I was 16. He was 25 at the time, and is now gay, the last I heard. I don't need to tell you this added a whole dimension of weirdness to the night, especially when he asked us if we wanted porn on the room.

Once you enter a whole room, you can become whoever you want to be, or whoever you're with wants you to be. Ty wanted to be dominated. I'm definitely more on the submissive side, but he was a good teacher. He liked being sucked, bit, pinched. He understood powerplay. At one point, he kissed me, and essentially sucked the air out of me until I thought I might pass out, and held his lips to me until my eyes grew wide and I pushed him off me. It was hot.

I also taught him the finer points of toys. Since his member was...inoperative, we used the several surrogates I had on hand. I would not like to have been in the rooms next to us. I screamed and wailed into the wee hours of the morning.

He wanted me to talk dirty to him. This was one area in which I failed miserably. For some reason, those words don't come easily to me, especially if I'm expected to deliver the lines with any amount of confidence, which any dominatrix should do. What I lacked in words, I made up with in action - he looked like he had been attacked by a grizzly by the next morning.

I definitely consider that night to be a night of fucking. Though there was no intercourse, all the other elements were there.

It was a surreal night. In the morning, at about 6am (we never went to sleep), we decided to take a shower. After all we had shared and did, after being so vulnerable with each other, neither of us could bare to shower with the other. We both thought we should, but we just couldn't.

I remember driving home on the bus, and feeling so pleased about everything. It was nice, and it was over.

...........................


Afterword: I sometimes see Ty online, and we will sometimes drop a line to each other. He is (the last I heard) in a relationship with a woman who has a few kids. Apparently they are fucking like bunnies. He confided to me that if it wasn't for me, he never would have went to his doctor to change his medication because he 'knew what he was missing'. His girlfriend thanked me, too.
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There is something a little dirty about Hotel Sex.

......

I just spent a moment picturing the inside of a hotel bed. Ew. Ew. Ew.

Anyway. Hotels are the ideal place to get a little freaky. Since it is in a new location, there's an attitude of "what happens in the room, stays in the room" mentality. Except if you're Paris Hilton.

My first experience with hotel sex was not as a participant; at least, not a willful one. When I was 18 or 19, a friend had invited me spend a weekend away with her and her boyfriend (clue #1, I know, but I was a very naive 18 year old). She worked for a large hotel chain, so she got the room for practically nothing.

Her boyfriend was a dirtbag. He wore trucker hats, and this was way before they were event remotely kitsch. He was pudgy and dim and had a fine coat of grease all over his skin. Obviously she found some redeeming qualities in him. He must have had a giant cock, I don't know. All I know is, I wanted as little to do with him as possible.

So, that evening, after lots of alcohol, we headed for bed. We were in a room with two double beds in them, so I obviously laid on the side farthest away from the two of them. As I was dozing off, I starting hearing smoochy-smoochy noise. I was a bit uncomfortable, but mostly angry. It finally dawned on me that I was invited to that her mother would let her go away for the weekend. Looking back, I doubt her mother even knew she was dating him.

As I continued to lay there, the smoochy noises turned into heavy breathing, and rhythmic movement under the covers. I was mortified, petrified, and slightly eroticized. I couldn't believe my best friend (at the time) would subject me to this. On the other hand, listening to people fucking was a new experience to me. Being a virgin at the time, it was exciting to see what was in store. I mumbled a bit in my sleep, and moved around so they knew I was still awake.

"Let's move to the bathroom," I heard her whisper. Thank God.

I heard them turn the shower on, and then a whole lot of banging and grunting. I was disgusted, but still strangely aroused.

Our friendship dissolved soon after that. It was a long time coming, and the hotel episode was probably the straw that broke the camel's back. Were something like were to happen again (and it had, in fact) I would (did) react a bit more reasonably. Sometimes, when you need to have sex, you need to have sex now; with or without other people in the room.

Next post: Hotel Room Sex: Part 2 - How to do it right.
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Before I begin, I should point out that my boyfriend of the past year and a half will be henceforth referred to as "The King". We've been together through good and bad, and I hope it keeps going the way it is now. Most of our relationship has been long distance, which has been hard, but is also probably the biggest reason we've managed to stay together.

Sexually, we're highly compatible. I've had the best sex of my life with him, and we both indulge each other's somewhat kinky side. I'll write more about that later, though.


So, this Friday is my birthday. I'll be travelling home to celebrate with my friends, family, and The King. I should be getting home on Thursday night, and leaving on Monday. Friday night, I will be abducted by some friends, so there is potentially 3 nights of sex. Since The King lives with my parents, we always have to be sneaky and/or quiet, so the sex is never as great as it could be, though it is always good.

This week, my mind won't stop imagining birthday sex scenarios. I am really looking forward to it, and I hope the King doesn't let me down.

The King doesn't enjoy kissing, either above or below. I've accepted the lack of cunningulus, because, frankly, I never enjoyed it all that much anyway. However, I need kissing. It makes me wet almost instantaneously. It's an intensely vulnerable thing to do with someone - more than sex. You can have sex with someone, and be completely distant. With kissing, there is no pretending. You cannot be absent when kissing. There has to be passion there, or it shows.

A few months ago, I was preparing supper in the kitchen. Out of the blue, The King came up behind me and turned me around so I was facing him. He leaned down (he's about a foot taller than I) and kissed me, deeply, with tongue. I floated on a cloud for the rest of the day.

When we are having sex, I usually try to steal a few kisses, but I know I'm forcing it, so it's never as good as when it's volunteered. So, on my other blog, I've announced that I need a make-out session - a messy, clumsy, imperfect make-out session. I hope he gets the hint. Yes, I know I asked for it, but if he knows how important is to me, I hope he indulges me. Hell, I give him anal.
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I've created this blog to create a space for myself where I can get a little dirty. I will write about my current sex life, my previous ones, and the sex life I fantasize about having. Ready?
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