Let's face it: sometimes fucking is overrated. The bother, the guilt, the pesky wet spots on the down comforter ... who needs to go through all the trouble? So in today's roundup of some of our favorite moments from the sex blog scene this week, let's follow the lead of those bloggers who eschew the old in-and-out in order to pursue other prurience. Be a sucker for the seductions of a lap dancer or bring home the barfly you refuse to screw. Better yet, kick back and watch as others do the dirty work, enjoy the way he does the housework, or flirt with the ones you can't have.
Join Jefferson in the VIP Room (but remember: no touching!) after the jump.
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Sex Blog Roundup
by Jefferson
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My first thought was to run into the living room and jump in, but I was still so drowsy and comfortable in bed. As I lay there, lazily, I let the sounds surround me. Candy's moaning was getting loader. I snuggled into my blankets, closed my eyes, and imagined what was happening in the other room. I was pretty sure Serge was eating Candy's luscious pussy. I could imagine what that felt like. His strong, insistent tongue, licking and sucking, ferociously exploring the familiar folds of her shaved, full lips.
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The crisp white collar on my button-down shirt... every button the promise of a teasing glimpse of skin. The bra that shows through (in a tribute to the backseat). The pinstripe pencil skirt that sits low on my hips and clings to the curves of my ass. The sheer nude pantyhose that hug my legs and smooth my lines. The grey tweed stilettos that make that sharp, rhythmic "click, click" when I walk--all business, if your business is pleasure.
When I get dressed I'm already planning how I'm going to fuck him.
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We start holding hands, and she found that mine were cold. She offers to warm me up in the back room. I give her a look which brooks no challenge, a look that says "didn't we just talk about my not being interested in anything serious right now?" And she smiles at me and goes for a smoke. This is not the sort of woman that men say no to. I'm not the sort of man who cares.
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Work like a man.
Submit with your masculinity, your power, your strength, your butch little heart. (And the heart, baby, is just another big muscle.)
Get your hands dirty. Actually, get all of you dirty. And sweaty. Pant and break and hurt. Get sunburn across your shoulders and dusty-sweat across your brow.
Get knocked down, and get up again.
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The woman's lips are soft and scared. She doesn't know what to do with her hands, and they swing at her sides. Her husband watches, smiling coyly. I tousle her hair, hold her cheek, press the backs of my fingers into her neck. She relaxes and, at the coaxing of her husband, circles me in her arms. Her clothed body feels strange against my skin. I can feel the sequins and baubles of her dress at my ribs and across my breasts. Her kiss becomes more affectionate, parting with a chaste lip-slap before her arms are dropped. "Thank you," she says, and I'm genuinely flattered. I squeeze her hand before winking and walking on.
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"Ron Jeremy was here last week," she says. "I fucked him!" She says this like she won a prize. And telling me that you just fucked the Hedgehog--no mater how fuckin' big his dick is--surely isn't going to keep me paying you to sit on my lap.
She asks me how old I am, and then says she likes "younger boys." This sounds a lot better. And she's still moving in a way I'd love to explore further. After some talking and humming and staring from the both of us, I let it drop: "You should come home with me tonight."
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See also: Sugasm #93: The best of this week's blogs by the bloggers who blog them (sugasm.com)
Thumbnail via OnlyTease.com (TGP/preview gallery via Ask Jolene)
Previously: Sex Blog Roundup Archive