A Peek At My Pubes Down My Pink Panties

Pink Bra

Bettie, Heads or Tails.

Two equal but opposite views of the great Bettie Page. Like flipping a coin, heads or tails. Either side wins.

New York Times Reports: "Return to a more natural state."

As editor of My Sexy Spot Blog, I strive to bring the best, most accurate, and most historically relevant stories about our understanding and appreciation (and acceptance) of human sexuality. As many long-time Dear Readers know, I have been following and reporting on what seems to be a grassroots cultural shift back toward a more normal (and in my opinion healthy) acceptance and appreciation of pubic hair.

I've noted it in amateur blogs, in the emerging works of Fine Art photographers, and even in the porn industry.

For so long I've seen hope peeking out like the stray untamed hairs from a bikini line. I'm amazed, and thrilled that finally a publication with a lot wider viewership than this humble DIY blog is finally taking note.

Last december, The New York Times blog ran "On Beauty For Women, a New Look Down Under."

Only once before in our history have we reprinted an article verbatim and in its entirety. We felt this article well worth it.
--Annie O.

On Beauty For Women, a New Look Down Under

by Amanda Hess

After years of razors, wax and lasers reducing pubic hair to the bare minimum — or nothing at all — there’s a return to a more natural state.

Marilyn Monroe’s maid claimed she once walked in on the actress naked and splayed-legged, bottle and toothbrush in hand, meticulously bleaching the hair between her legs a perfectly matching platinum. When Monroe danced onto a breezy New York City subway grate in that billowing ivory dress in “The Seven Year Itch,” she layered two pairs of underwear to ensure that her bountiful crop was obscured from gawkers’ sightlines. And when the studio photographer snapped on-set publicity shots of the scene, they were meticulously airbrushed to smooth out the unmistakable texture visible beneath her pleated skirt.

For women of Monroe’s generation, pubic hair was a game of peekaboo — on full display in the privacy of the bungalow, but carefully hidden from popular view. In recent years, the bombshell bush has essentially disappeared. Wax-wielding estheticians and permanent lasers have whittled it down or erased it entirely. Pornography has served up a new degree of bareness. When the paparazzi shoot pantyless pop stars exiting limousines, their cameras zoom in on a barren landscape.

It wasn’t always this way. For centuries of artistic tradition, the absence of pubic hair was merely an illusion. Renaissance artists depicted the female pelvis in smoothed stone or oil-painted shadow. Although a few artists made bids for erotic realism — notably Gustave Courbet in 1866 with the furry black patch in his painting “L’Origine du Monde”— the taboo persisted. The story goes that the 19th-century art critic John Ruskin was so shocked by the discrepancy between the renderings he’d studied and his wife’s naked body that he annulled the marriage. “Though her face was beautiful,” he wrote, “there were certain circumstances in her person” that left him unable to proceed. When the photographer Alfred Stieglitz exhibited 45 portraits, several of them nudes, of his muse Georgia O’Keeffe in 1921, they caused a sensation.

The explosion of the bikini on 1960s beaches changed everything, bringing with it the “bikini line,” which required a precise shave. The beauty industry graciously homed in on this new terrain, first with razors and depilatory creams, then waxes, electrolysis and lasers. Peruse popular nudes over the past decades and you can practically carbon-date the photo by the area’s dwindling dimensions. In the 1960s, the fashion designer Mary Quant got hers trimmed into a heart. Helmut Newton’s 1981 “Big Nudes” series of photographs featured towering heels and equally imposing pubic hair; by the 1990s, Playboy centerfolds had transitioned from a full growth to a teensy landing strip; by the 21st century, the “Brazilian” was established as the new standard.

Did it go too far? Today, the Helmut Newton nude makes for a more aspirational ideal than an unfortunate celebrity crotch shot. The New York waxing emporium J. Sisters displays a 1990s head shot of Gwyneth Paltrow signed, “You changed my life!!” But these days, Paltrow laughingly told Ellen DeGeneres, “I work a ’70s vibe.” Mert & Marcus photographed Daria Werbowy and Naomi Campbell with full, frank pubic hair in a 2010 Love magazine spread, and they look assertive, real, even rebellious.

Even young porn stars are “bringing the ’80s back,” says Nina Hartley, a doyenne of the scene. Stoya, one of the highest-profile porn actresses of the moment, has also posed for the fashion photographer Steven Klein with grown-out pelvis and armpits. “I’ve had all sorts of pubic hair,” she says. “I’ve been completely bald, I’ve had my entire natural bush grown out, and I usually have an arrangement somewhere in between.” It’s worth noting that this look isn’t completely untamed, of course. Many women still attend to the sides and underneath. But there’s something refreshingly retro, delightfully expressive and confidently grown-up in getting back to nature. And Courbet’s “L’Origine du Monde”? It now resides at the Musée d’Orsay in Paris, where — judging by the sale of postcards — it is one of the most popular paintings of all.

Here's the original link to the full article.

American Apparel, See-Thru BodySuit

As a 100% non-commercial blog, we don't endorse any product or company. However, we have been inspired to give props this Valentine's Day to American Apparel.

First, because they made the bold move to put pubic hair and colored-nipples on their window mannequins in their store in Manhattan's Lower East Side. And secondly, this image below. It's right off their website. Unashamed, unappolgetic. A model with nipples and pubic hair. And, we might add, not a lot of makeup, bleached hair, or fake breasts. Compared to a retailer like Victoria Secret, for example, I'll take this any day.

Added bonus: for Valentine's, she's shaped her pubes into a heart. So cute, so sexy.

Can one image on a retailer's website change the negative body image and shaming of natural women's bodies in American society today? No.

Is it a step in the right direction that no other major retailers have dared to take? Absolutely.

Valentine's Day Surprise

Here's another great image that demonstrates that the idea of grooming one's pubic patch into a heart for Valentine's is a classic move. Add some sexy see-through lingerie and that's a recipe for sexy success.

Dani Daniels, Crotchless Crotch Shot, DIY

As Dear Readers know, this blog is dedicated to the spirit of DIY porn. We favor real shots of real folks, just like you and me, rather than the "professionals." But, what good are rules if you can't break them?

Every so often, we can't help but feature a contemporary porn star who breaks with the current trends, and rather than become jut another body, truly stands out as a trailblazer. One such is Dani Daniels. Going against the ubiquitous "all bare down there" look of the past decade, she's a woman unashamed to let her lady parts be furry. 

And, in the DIY spirit, she takes some truly sexy selfies. 

Like this one.

Bettie In Bed

It's been a while since we posted a sexy image of the "infamous" Bettie Page. I use irony quotes because infamous is so pejorative. Bettie was a pioneer.

American Apparel Got Real For Valentine's

Known for its "provocative" ads, clothing retailer American Apparel sent shockwaves rippling across lower Manhattan last month when its Houston Street store displayed lingerie-clad mannequins with nipples and faux pubic fur.

District Visual Manager Dee Myles stated that the display is meant to bring "rawness and sexiness" to the upcoming Valentine's day holiday, and to "spark up curiosity and conversation about what we deem beautiful."

American Apparel issued this statement to the media:

“American Apparel is a company that celebrates natural beauty, and the Lower East Side Valentine’s Day window continues that celebration. We created it to invite passerby’s to explore the idea of what is ‘sexy’ and consider their comfort with the natural female form. This is the same idea behind our advertisements which avoid many of the photoshopped and airbrushed standards of the fashion industry.”

A few detractors have claimed that the marketing move was done more to sell lingerie than to promote pro-woman body acceptance in its natural state. To which I say: duh! 

If a retail giant like Home Depot runs an ad showing a happy family in their backyard having a BBQ over Memorial Day, it's because Home Depot wants to sell you a lawnmower or a new shiny barbecue. Whether or not you have a family picnic is up to you. 

Of course American Apparel wants to sell bras and panties. That's there for-profit business. And, as someone once said: the business of business is business. Ads, by their very definition, are human designs calculated, created, and put to the public eye to arouse interest and spark an emotional response.

There's another old saying: sex sells. 

That's not news--so why can anyone in the 21st Century be surprised, or even remotely offended by American Apparel trying to tap the fact that "sex sells?"

Other major retailers have been pushing air-brushed women with spray tans and plastic boobs.

If American Apparel displays mannequins with untrimmed bushes to sell "sexy," I say: right on!

As long as sex sells sells and people buy sexy, I think it's great to finally be seeing "sexy" as closer to natural than to fake. I personally think it's lovely to see--FINALLY--a mainstream American advertisement that looks like me. Brown hair. glasses, and bush.

(and nipples)

Bumming A Lift

Living in the small ski town, like Vail, Breckenridge or Aspen before they were the mega resorts they are today. Bumming rides to the ski lifts. Guys in jeeps wearing down vests stopping.  I would have loved to be part of skiing back int he day.

The Photo Shoot, An Illustrated Series

Here's a very fine piece of graphic art (cartoon seems not quite right), that captures one of my very favorite fantasies. 

Flapper Style

Perfect Breast, Pierced

The lovely pierced breast of Clandestine Living, as shot by herself. 

You Can Be Anyone in Anywhere America

She loves having sex in a motel room. The ugly curtains and matching bedspread, the bad art on the wall, the TV, the plastic cups wrapped in plastic. The rooms all look the same, feel the same. Even smell the same. Like they could be anywhere and nowhere. It makes her feel like she can be anyone, anything. When she leaves and goes back home, she is married, a responsible professional. When she's in a motel room, she can put on stockings, her black leather boots that she calls her "slut boots."

Sometimes she imagines she's a stripper. Sometimes a prostitute. Sometimes that she's a cheating wife, having an affair. Or a dominatrix. Depends on how she feels at the moment, but in a motel, she can always feel like she can be whatever she wants. Anything goes in the generic anonymous roadside motel somewhere in Anywhere America.

Kate Takes Two

Eva on the Couch

Playful and suggestive. Perfect. From the sexy Eva.

Arty In Body Stocking

Two images from the same photo shoot involving a sexy body stocking. Enjoy!

Eva in Corner

Eva loves to take series of self shots, often in her underwear. This one is in her corner. Simple. Perfect.

Ben's "Basic" Photo Shoot Wasn't So Basic

My friend Ben called me up one night to tell me he'd gotten the new camera he'd been wanting for Christmas. Ben is an avid photographer, and his enthusiasm for it is contageous. I'd say I'm just an amateur photographer. A hobbiest. Ben is a fanatic. He takes pictures of anything and everything. I've never seen him without a camera in his hand. He was really excited about his new camera. It was the very latest, and though it'd been his Christmas present to himself, it had been on back order, and he'd finally just gotten it in hand.

Since he lived alone, he didn't have anyone to show it off to, so he was basically calling me up, fishing for an invitation to come over and show off his new toy.

So I asked my wife, who was in the middle of cooking dinner, if it'd be alright, and she said sure, there was plenty of food, and it'd been a while since we'd seen Ben.

She always liked Ben, because he was super polite. He was one of those guys who had grown up putting women on a pedestal. He'd always say please and thank you and complement the food, and offer to help with the dishes. He was sort of like this overgrown overly eager Boy Scout. My wife thought it was cute. She adored the attention and appreciation.

So Ben came over, and as usual, he complimented her on the great dinner and asked her about her work, and told a few funny stories about his recent photoshoots. The more wine, the funnier his stories, and the more my wife laughed. She was getting flushed. She really loves wine. Personally, I've never been much into wine, and I switched out to PBR. This left the two bottles to Ben and Kate, and they proceeded to drain both.

By now we'd adjourned to the livingroom. Ben and Kate were on the couch, and I was in my favorite arm chair. I was sort of listening in, and sort of spacing out. Ben was playing with his new camera, and had been taking photos all over the room for practice shots. When he snapped a photo of Kate, she struck a silly pose, and that caused him to snap more photos.

She laughed and said that she was hardly the models that he shot for clothing companies. And he, always the gentleman, assured her that she was actually much more pretty, because she had the "girl-next-door" look. He went on to describe how the best models are the ones who look and act natural. He said the worst ones were the divas. They thought they were so hot. He preferred to work with women who didn't even fully realize how hot they were.

Man, he was sure laying it on thick. But it was causing Kate to glow. She loved hearing every word, and was playfully allowing Ben to snap shot after shot of her.

As he continued to complement her poses, her smile, her hair, her nice eyes, she wanted to know more about his work with models. He told her that he'd recently done a lingerie shoot for a local boutique, and occasionally got the request for a private boudoir shoot. This really seemed to interest Kate, and she wanted more details. 

He said that his clients were mostly affluent women from Lake Oswego, late 30s to mid 40s, who were still very into being hot for their husbands. He called them palates wives. He said it was good work and he was happy to help keep a romantic spark in marriages. He said generally it was like clockwork. A client would call and book him for a boudoir shoot for her anniversary. He'd casually say, "Oh, that's lovely, how long have you been married?" Seven years. It was always the seven year slump when people needed a boost. Kate and I were at six years.

"That must be really exciting," Kate said, "Doesn't it turn you on to see those hot milfs decked out in their lingerie?" 

He said it was "good work when you can get it" but that the women who tended to book him all had a type. They went to tanning booths, waxed, wore heavy make up, dyed their hair three-tones of blonde. They were attractive, he said, but not like Kate. 

Kate had brown hair, sort of straight. It wasn't dyed or styled. She didn't wear makeup much, and her skin was pale with light freckles over the bridge of her nose, not at all fake tanned. 

Kate must have really liked being told that she was prettier than his other clients. Everyone likes being told they look good, but women can get competitive about it.

Kate asked how much he charged and he told her he had two packages, the Basic and the Deluxe. The Basic was $500 and the Deluxe was $1000.  The Deluxe involved three changes of outfits, and a special location, like a luxury hotel room, or an in-studio shoot with backdrops and props. The Basic was one outfit, shot at the woman's home, using her available location for the backdrop. He said that when he first started, he booked a lot of the Deluxe packages, but with the economy being down, he'd really only been doing the at-home sessions.

"That sounds really fun," said Kate, "but I could never afford it. We're saving to replace the broken dishwasher." Her mood definitely made a downswing, thinking about the stupid dishwater that had gone out. Ben, who had been excitedly hopping up and down snapping photos with his new camera, didn't want his fun to end, and he quickly said that if Kate was interested, he'd do it for free.

"Oh, no, I can't ask you to do that," she said. "It's your profession. It's how you make your living. I wouldn't ask you to come to my office and process my paperwork for free."

"It's different," said Ben. "Photography is my passion. It's not like work for me, shooting someone as beautiful as you." 

Kate's mood had snapped back from the glum thoughts of the broken dishwasher to her original mood of being flattered and the center of attention. She smiled. Ben snapped another photo. "Perfect!" he said. "Just like that!" And the shutter clicked again.

"Besides," he said, "my portfolio is really one-sided; I only have those fake-tan wives. I don't have anyone like you, natural. You're so much younger, and more hip." (Kate certainly enjoyed hearing this.)

"And it'd really help my portfolio," he added.

"So it'd help you?" she said. 

"Yes, definitely. I don't have any shots from this new camera and it'd help me market myself." 

"I see," said Kate. She seemed to be giving the idea some serious consideration. I guess I already knew the answer was "yes" in her head. Our living room was scattered with back issues of Vogue. Kate loved looking at models, and it seemed like it was always an unfulfilled dream. She certainly had the looks for it, but at 5'6"she wasn't tall enough to be a professional fashion model.

"Well," she said, softly. "If it will help you, I'll do it."

For the first time, Ben let the camera drop from his face. His eyes were gleaming and a huge smile was plastered on his face.

"What do I need to do?" asked Kate.

"Um-um...." Ben seemed lost for words. "Um... well, um.... you could pick out something... um..."

I could tell he was struggling to say "sexy to wear," or something like that. Perhaps it was easier to talk to strangers, the rich wives who were paying him $1,000 for professional photos. With us, we were friends, and Kate wasn't paying him, and, apparently, he really liked her looks. It even seemed like he had a crush on her.

Perhaps that's the real reason she wanted to pose--not purely altruistic to help his portfolio, and not just because she'd had several glasses of wine, but probably because when she's a little drunk, she turns into a flirt and a tease.

Kate got up and went to the bedroom. As she left, her legs wobbled a little, and she swayed.

Once Kate had disappeared into the bedroom, Ben turned and looked at me with his boyish grin on his face, but also a look of concern in his eyes. "Is this cool with you?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Her decision," I said. "I'm not the one modeling."

Kate returned wearing her pink fuzzy robe. It's cute, but she wears it every morning to and from the shower. It's certainly not her sexiest outfit.

Ben seemed elated with the choice and almost immediately began to snap photos. Surprisingly, I realized I was a little disappointed. I knew Kate owned more revealing intimate wear. I guess she was just being modest.

Then, after Kate reached the center of the living room, she unknotted her robe and let it fall to the floor.

For the second time, Ben dropped the camera from his face, and just stared at her.

She stood in the center of the room in her favorite lingerie--the set I'd bought her when we were first dating: a matching set of black garters, black lacy thong panties with little red roses embrodiered on the top, and a matching black bra that cupped only half of her breasts. 

Kate's breasts were small, 34a, and so having them cupped by the bra made them look a full size bigger, and having them half exposed drew attention to her bare nipples. I've always thought that sexuality is not simply what you have, but how you frame what you have. 

Ben's mouth was a-gap. His face frozen with shock.

"Will this work?" asked Kate.

It felt like five minutes passed before Ben snapped out of his stupor and stammered, "y-y-yes. th-that's perfect."

Ben is probably one of the most fast and smooth talking guys that I know. Born in Jersey and of Italian heritage, he wasn't the type of guy at a loss for words.

Having studied every issue of Vogue since she was 14, Kate seemed to know how to strike fashion poses. When she put her hand on her hip, the camera snapped. She turned, the camera snapped. She lifted her arm, the camera snapped. Then she stopped, suddenly realizing that she'd exposed her underarms.

She'd stopped shaving for No Shave November, and through the bleak December weather and business of the holidays, hadn't picked up her razor. Now January, she'd nearly grown out her full tuffs of natural hair.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I wasn't prepared for a photo shoot."

"It's not a problem," Ben assured her. "It's just what  I want--a real woman, not the waxed ones of Lake Oswego. I love it. So bohemian!"

Apparently he'd fully regained his fast talking skills. He'd reassured her, and she resumed her posing.

Ben moved quickly, the camera shutter snapping dozens of images with each flip of her hair, each glance.

He was really into it, and so was she. I was out of beer and excused my self to go to kitchen a get another.  

I took time going back into living room. I wanted to give them space. And, I don't know, honesty, I sort of wondered what Kate would do without me right their. How far would she go? 

Kate was getting into poses. She sat on the couch, her back to Ben. From the kitchen doorway, I could clearly see the thong disappearing between her butt cheeks. Ben approached, and I could tell he was getting a close up.

When she turned around, she opened her legs to the camera. That's when I remembered that those panties were crotchless. The lacy black fabric framed her patch of overgrown curls. 

She had turned around so quickly that Ben hadn't had time to retreat back. He was still close to her, his camera eye level with her crotch.

He hesitated for only a second, and then snapped the camera. He rotated it to get a vertical frame, and snapped a second.

Kate's fingers dropped down and stroked her curls. This caused Ben to snap more photos.

"There's too much hair there," she said, embarrassed.

"No no," he said. "It's natural. it's perfect."

"But you can't really see anything, can you?" she said.

Before he could answer, she parted her pussy lips, revealing the smooth pink folds of her labia. "Does this help?" she asked.

She was really turned on, I could tell, even from a distance. Her lips were rosy, and slick with wetness.

Kate leaned back, one arm over her head, exposing her hairy armpit, and the other hand still on her pussy, holding it open for the camera.

She started gently rubbing herself, touching her slickness. As if to test how turned on she'd actually become, she slipped her middle finger inside her. All the way to the knuckle. This caused her whole body to shiver with the sensation.

Ben's camera snapped. 

She then lay back on the couch. Ben stood next to her, leaning over her, snapping photos. When he stood up on a chair to get a higher perspective, I could see by the tent in Ben's pants. But always a gentleman, he never touched her.

I was standing awkwardly in the kitchen doorway. I wanted to go back to my seat, but things had sort of taken a turn and I didn't want to interrupt.

The more Kate touched herself, the more turned on she got. At one point she moaned, and though I couldn't see where her hand was, I could guess, because I'd watched her touch herself before. When she gets really turned on, she likes to push a finger into her backside. From the expression on her face, I knew she'd just slipped a finger inside her butt.

I wanted to see more, but she wasn't facing me and Ben kept blocking the view as he moved in for different angles. I could tell by the increase of her breathing and her occasional sigh, that she was now no longer holding back, but touching herself as she would alone. Slow at first, but then gradually faster and stronger. One hand rubbing her clitoris, the other hand pressing a finger up into her backside.

Her breathign got deeper, her sighs more fequent, turning to low moans. Her hips began to buck. I knew all the signs. I knew when she was two mintues away, and then one mintue, and then, like a countdown, her breathing sharp and her moans fast and high-pitched, and with a shuttering gasp, she brought herself to orgasm.

She lay there, legs parted, lips open, rosy, dripping with her own juices. Her eyes were closed. I knew she was still floating in bliss.

Ben stepped back and sat down. I used the opportuntiy to return to the living room.

After a moment, she sat up. Ben was flippig through the images he'd just shot. Obviously very pleased, he was grinnign his big boyish grin, and also still tenting his pants. 

At that moment, Kate's eyes, still glossy from the climax, locked onto his pants. Oh shit, I thought.

After six years, you develop sex habits. After making herself cum, Kate always like to suck me. She said that having my cock in her mouth while she was still reeling from an orgasm prolonged the buzz. Normally, she'd beeline for my hard cock, but she'd seen Ben's first and, almost by pavlovian habit, was moving toward it. 

"I really think I should pay you for your work," she said. "It's not fair to you."

"No, no, it's fine. No payment is needed," said Ben.

"I insist," she said, as she came up to him and ran her hand over his pants.

Ben jumped nearly out of his seat. Kate stroked him through his pants and then unzipped him. His cock sprang up, ready. It all happened so fast.

This scene had played out in our house hundreds of times: I'm in the chair, Kate kneeling in front of me, sucking on me while her free hand plays with herself. She loved to time the blow job just right so she could make herself cum right as hot semen splashed down her throat. 

For years I was right in front of her, looking down as her hand and mouth bobbed on my fat cock. Now I was off to the side, seeing the whole scene from a new angle.

I probably should have been raging with jealously. To my knowledge, Kate had never done anything like this; we'd been 100% monogamous our entire relationship. But instead of it seeming like Kate was cheating on me, it was like seeing us having sex--just from a different angle. And it was pretty hot.

I picked up Ben's camera and began to shoot. It's weird but looking through a camera isn't like seeing reality; it's seeing a digital image, like watching a porno.

When we first stared dating, Kate sucked dick like the inexperienced college student that she was. After six years of living together, she was 27, and had learned a few things.

She started with swirling her tongue over the fat cockhead, coating it in saliva, as her hand gripped the base of his cock. Gripping so tight, she nearly blocked the blood flow, causing the cockhead to throb. She licked it like a lopypop, then turned to the shaft, running her tongue up and down the underside, along the full length of the thick vien. Then continuing down, she pulled one of his balls into her mouth and gently sucked. At the same time she released her grip. The combination made him almost instantly shoot his wad.

She sucked each of his balls in turn, and then stopped to look at the hardness she'd created. She let the moment of silence linger. She wasn't touching him and her mouth was mere inches from him. She was, I knew, teasing him. She was building his anticipation. Letting his balls fill with cum.

She knew how guys' bodies worked. She knew they hated starting and stopping. She knew it made their balls fill up, and cause an almost painful pressure. She also knew that made the ultimate release that much sweeter.

What she did next was practically cruel. She let a the saliva build up in her mouth, and then let it drip from her lips onto his cockhead. She let him watch this. Then, when his cockhead was covered in her saliva, she gripped him again with her hand and rubbed him up and down, swirling the spit all over his cock like lube. This caused him to whimper.

She began to rub him, up and down, fast and steady. With the upstroke her hand went over the cockhead, and each down stroke made his balls slap. She was jacking him as hard as a man would jack himself in the morning. She knew if she kept it up, she'd make him explode within 60 seconds. She pushed him right up to the point to shooting his load and then stopped.

She paused to bring her hand down between her legs to join the other. With both hands she rubbed herself as she watched his balls churn and his erect cock twitch.

What she did next is one of the most incredible techniques she's learned. I think it gets her off as much as the guy, and for that reason, it's even sexier for the guy.

With her hands rubbing herself, she lowered her head, and took him into her mouth. The more she touched herself, the more she moaned. With her mouth stuffed with his cock, it was a muffled moan, creating vibrations in her mouth.

She pushed her head deeper, taking him back to her throat. She never mastered true deep throat, but she'd take a cock as far as she could, often gagging as she forced herself to take it deep.

She gulped and grunted as she took it deeper, to the point his pubic hair was tickling her nose. From the way she rocked her hips, I knew she had two fingers pushed up inside her, curving and pressing into her g-spot as she slowly finger fucked herself.

I knew that when she sucked me and touched herself, she would imagine that she was being taken by one man while sucking another off. We'd never had an actual threesome, but it was a powerful fantasy for her. One she used to get her to a powerful orgasm.

Finally with a gasp for air she came up.  She looked like a wild, frantic animal.

I knew what was next.

She grabbed his cock with one hand and began to pump up and down, bobbing her mouth on his cock in perfect unision. She'd make a twist with her wrist on the up stroke. That motion, in combination with a powerful suction of her mouth, would make me cum within a minute.

With her other hand, she fingered herself hard, bouncing up and down on her hand as if riding a cock.

Pushing against her g-spot, she started to squirt. At the same time, his ass tensed as he began to shoot a giant load.

He shot into her mouth, but she was bobbing so fast and hard, and orgasming at the same time, globs of white erupted from her mouth and splashed on her cheeks and chin.

They both continued to cum, Kate squirting and shaking and gulping on his cock as semem splattered everywhere.

Finally she slowed and then stopped. Releasing him from her grip and pulling her hand from inside her.

"Oh fuck," she said, "that felt good." 

Ben slumped back, spent.

Kate wiped her chin and smiled. She still had cum spatted in her hair and eyelashes.

It was time for Ben to leave and he sensed it. He zipped himself up and got his camera. He thanked us both.

No sooner than he'd shut the front door, I laid Kate back on the livign room floor. Unzipping, I pulled my cock out, not even unbuckling my belt. I parted her legs with my knee, and as I lowered myself on top of her, I positioned my cock head between the fabric of her crotchless panties. Propping myself up on my elbows so I could look down at her body, my cock was poking into the briar of wet curls. I was ready to fuck her, and she was ready to be fucked.

With one smoth firm stroke, I drove my cock into her to the hilt. I was deep inside her, hard, pulsing. She was warm, and the muscles of her vagina were still quivering from the two orgasms. She was continuing to have non-stop small aftershocks of mini orgasms as I began to pump.

I wasn't gentle. I was hard. With each thrust, my balls slapped her butt. I rammed her as hard as I could, driving as deep as I could, pushing her hips off the floor with each push. "Do you like it like that?" I said.

"Yes!" she said

"You you want it like that?"

"Yes!" she cried.

I was pounding so hard that her breasts had bounced all the way out of the bra.

I grabbed a handful of hair so I could push against her as I thrust, forcing more leverage, and driving harder and deeper.

"Yes!"she screamed. "Fuck me!"

 I gave her everything I could, as she started to orgasm.

I continued to ram her, knowing I was about to unload deep inside her. Having watched the sex show she put on for Ben, and seeing her suck him off right in front of me, had caused my balls to fill with a massive load. I could feel it churning in my balls and beginning to build pressure.

"I'm going to shoot it inside you," I said.

"Give it to me," she cried. "Give me your cum!"

After cumming long and hard and draining every once, I slid out of her soggy pussy and stood. She remained on her back, limp and sprawled out. She was covered in an thin glow of sweat and her pussy seeped my fresh semen. She looked spent, content, and sated. 

I realized she could still taste Ben's cum in her mouth and feel mine leaking from between her legs. For the first time, she'd been filled by two men. Maybe it wasn't at the exact same time, but she'd just experienced something she'd only fantasized about, and it had left her happy, floating in bliss, wet, sweaty, sticky.

Still laying on the living room floor, in her lingerie, her breasts out of the bra, exposed, her crotchless panties framing her hairy, leaking cunt, she looked like a woman who had just been fucked hard and good. She looked slutty. Beautiful and Slutty. Pretty and Naughty. Mixed opposites that seemed to compliment rather than contrast, all the better in a single image.

I didn't need a camera to capture it. I'd remember the image exactly, always.

Every Picture Tells A Story

photo by Fox Harvard 2013