Pooling: Part 2

(Read Part 1 here.)

James increased the tempo and pressure until Melanie was on the edge of her orgasm, chasing it, pushing her hips back against his mouth.  And he stopped.

Melanie whined.  “Why’d you stop?”

“It’s just for a second,” he said.  “I’ll be right back.  No touching yourself.”

Melanie grunted and splashed water at him.

James got out of the pool and jogged to the slider and into the house, his member erect and bobbing.  He emerged a minute later with the package of condoms from the nightstand and two towels.  He put the towels at the top of the stairs, then tore one of the condom wrappers open with his teeth and rolled the condom on.  He came back to Melanie and resumed where he’d left off.

It only took a few minutes before Melanie was again ready to come, and once again, James stopped.

 “Come here,” he said.  He took her beer from her, pulled her from the raft and led her to the edge of the pool.  He positioned her on all fours with her knees in the water and her elbows resting on the towels he’d left on the deck.  He continued playing with her, running one hand over her slit as his other hand ran up and down her arched back.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly.

He put himself at her opening and waited.  The anticipation was too much for her and she pushed back.  James grunted with satisfaction.  He moved in long strokes so that the head escaped her completely on each stroke, and she whined each time it did. 

“You want me to stay in?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I want you to stay in.”

And with that, he grabbed her by the hips and thrust once, deep and hard, holding the head against her cervix.  She cried out, and then waited. 

“You look so beautiful in the sun,” he said.

Ten seconds went by.  James caressed her back and then returned his hands to her hips.  He thrust again.  This time Melanie moaned.  Eight seconds went by.  Again he thrust hard.  Six seconds.  Again.  Four seconds went by.  Again.  Two seconds.  Again.  And then he was giving it to her, the water around them churning as he pulled her into him, skin slapping wetly against skin.

Melanie moaned and lowered her head to the towel.  She could feel her knees starting to chafe against the step, but she was very close to coming.  She reached between her legs and before she could touch herself James grabbed her elbow and pulled her arm back—not to the point of hurting her, but close.

“Babe…” she whined.

“No touching yourself.  I’ll get you there.”

“Ok.  Let go of my arm.”

James didn’t say anything, and he didn’t let go of her arm.  His stroke slowed slightly.  Melanie started to push herself up so she could turn and look at him, but he pushed her head back down to the towel.

He leaned over her so that his chest was pressed against her back.  “Do you trust me?”

“I think so.  What are you doing?”

“Just trust me, ok?”

“Ok.”  Melanie had no intention of trusting him if this got out of hand.  But so far nothing had been painful except the chafing on her knees, so she gave him a little leeway.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asked.

Melanie hummed.

James started thrusting again and Melanie’s body started reacting.  It appeared she would be able to get there without touching herself, and she was beyond ready for it.

James wrapped her hair around his free hand and held it against the back of her head.  He was thrusting hard and strong and panting into her ear.  Melanie was moaning more with each stroke and trying not to be loud enough that the neighbors would hear if they were out in their yards. 

James whispered, “We’re being watched.”

 

                            *                           *                                  *

Tune in next week for the conclusion.  And don't forget to follow me on Twitter @SexyVegasTA.

Stay Sexy!

— T.A.

Pooling - Part 1

 This week's post is an exerpt from my forthcoming novel. Melanie is in her 30s, unmarried, without children, and she avoids risk in all its forms.  When those close to her challenge her to take a chance on love, she finds herself in a relationship that pushes her out of her comfort zone—sexually and otherwise—and in Las Vegas, that can be a perilous experience. 

 

Melanie slept in.   She slipped quietly out of bed at nine-thirty and worked her way through the house, cleaning up as she went.  She started a load of laundry, stacked the books and magazines, unloaded the dishwasher and took out the garbage.  By eleven a.m. she was in the pool swimming laps.  After doing thirty, she got out to grab some water.  That was when she saw James on the other side of the living room slider.  He stood there in his boxers, watching her, smiling, his bed head making him look like a child.  She motioned for him to come out.

“Hey, handsome.”

“Hey yourself, sexy.  What are you up to this fine day?”

“Just doing some laps.  I was gonna catch some rays for a bit.”

“Need some company?  My tan could use a boost.”

“Sure.”

James pulled off his boxers and threw them on the back of a lounge chair.

“Um, ok.”  Melanie laughed.  “The pool boy doesn’t come until two, so I guess you’re safe.”

James took a few running steps and cannon-balled into the deep end of the pool.  Melanie shook her head.  When he surfaced, she asked, “I’m going to grab some water.  Want anything?”

“Beer if you have it.”

“I have it.  Want me to grab the noodles for the pool?”

“Noodles?”

“You know, the foam things.”

“Afraid I don’t know the foam things.”

“I’ll grab ’em.”

Melanie came back with a bucket of beer on ice and two long, bendable foam sticks. 

“Oh, noodles,” said James.  “I get it.”

She handed him a beer and tossed the noodles in the pool.             

James tucked one of the noodles around his back and under his armpits and leaned back, sipping his beer.  “Nice.  Noodles and beer.”

“I call it pooling.”

“Pooling?” he asked.

“Yeah.  Pool, drinks, lounging.  It makes something lazy sound active.”

“I can think of other ways to make it active.”

Melanie winked at him.  “I bet you can.”

There was an inflatable lounger against the wall and she tossed that in the pool.  She grabbed a beer and asked James to hold it while she situated herself on the raft.

Once she was all settled, James handed her the beer.  She sighed and closed her eyes.  The rays felt good and the water was doing a fine job of keeping her cool.  She could hear James paddling lazily around the pool.  After about ten minutes of silence, he said, “You’re gonna get tan lines in that bikini.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him, smiling.  “As you’re aware, I already have tan lines from this bikini.”

“Haven’t you heard?  Tan lines are out.”

“Are they?  It’s so hard to keep up with these trends.”  She feigned exasperation and waved her hand dismissively.  “I gave up trying.”

“Well then I will take it as my job to prevent you from committing a fashion faux pas with your tan lines.  You can thank me later.”  He put his beer on the deck and paddled over to her at the deep end of the pool.

He swam up behind her raft and tugged at the string at her neck.  She glanced toward the fence on the left side of the yard.  Seeing no one, she sat up and giggled as he untied the string at her back and threw her bikini top on the deck.  She lay back down and he paddled around to the side of the raft.  

“Bottoms too,” he said.

“If you insist.”

She watched him pull her bikini bottoms off slowly.  He was staring at the spot where her legs met.  By the time the bottoms were over her feet he’d forgotten about them and let them slip from his hand and hang in the water.  She self-consciously closed her legs, and her eyes. 

James tucked the noodle around the front of his chest and leaned forward, letting the foam hold his weight up.  He wrapped both hands around one of Melanie’s feet and kneaded the sole with his thumbs.  She hummed with approval.

“Heaven,” she said.

After a few minutes James worked on the other foot, then started rubbing her calves, then her thighs.  By the time he reached her upper thighs her legs parted themselves.  She loved the way his touch felt.  And the combination of being caressed by the sun, the water, and James all at the same time was having a narcotic effect.

He touched her gently, running a finger up and down her slit until she moaned and spread her legs wider.  He spread her wetness around, and she could hear his breathing getting deeper, but when she pushed her hips against his hand, he wouldn’t put his fingers inside her.  Instead, he stopped touching her long enough to pull the raft toward the shallow end of the pool.  Once there, he was able to position his head between her legs and go to work.

 

The sensation was surreal, and Melanie couldn’t help thinking how lucky she was.  This was what she deserved: a lazy Saturday in the pool, soaking up rays, drinking a beer, being pleased by a man who adored her.  She imagined there were other things she’d been missing out on too—more important and profound things—but for now, this was all she wanted.

To be continued...
(read part 2 here)

If you have a kinky story to share, please email me at SexyVegasTA@aol.com.

 

Stay Sexy!

T.A.

The Fetish of a Non-Boy Scout

A few years ago, I briefly dated a guy with a fetish.  Not feet, not bondage, not cross-dressing or role-playing.  This was a fetish that I hadn’t heard of before, and I’d heard of a lot. 

He was tentative about discussing it but still seemed eager to cut the BS and find out if his predilection would freak me out and send me running—it was, he admitted, a big part of his life.  I told him to hit me with it, so to speak.

“Are you ticklish?” he asked me.

I admitted that I was, but was I unsure how this played into his fetish.  Turns out, that was it.  The whole fetish.  He liked to tickle women during sexual encounters and was highly turned on by it.  He was only interested in continuing to date me if I was ticklish, and the more ticklish the better.  (He himself was not ticklish.) 

The armchair psychologist in me preliminarily diagnosed him with mommy issues, as well as a desire for physical power over women.  This is all very garden-variety stuff as far as issues go.  And tickling as a way to feel powerful?  Hardly abusive.  Although I could see how a safe word might be necessary.

After getting to know more about him and his fixation, I decided I wanted to see what this would be like in action.  I had to admit I was a bit turned on by the idea of being dominated by someone in a new way, albeit one I’d never imagined.   And fortunately for him, I was incredibly ticklish. 

Deciding it was time—and being that I’m not much of a game player—I told him over the phone one day that “tonight’s the night,” and, not surprisingly, he was all for it.  We went out for dinner and drinks, and I asked him if he was as excited as I was.  He said that he was, but he seemed more nervous than anything.

Back at his house, we were getting hot and heavy in his bed.  The tickling hadn’t started yet; I figured he’d know when the time was right.  We had shed most of our clothing and I asked him if he had a condom.  It’s such an obligatory question with a seemingly obvious answer, but he got it wrong.

“I’m not really in the habit of using condoms,” he said. “I’ll have to go look for one.”

There are several things wrong with this statement.

Let’s start with the word “habit.”  To say that you are not in the “habit” implies that you routinely have unprotected sex, and to wear a condom would be a unique experience.  For your current sex partner, this conjures up all the nameless, faceless vaginas you have barebacked it with in the past, as well as whatever cooties they may have gifted you.  Not only does this make having sex with you unattractive, I don’t even want to be on your sheets anymore.

“I’ll have to go look for one” implies that 1) you don’t know if you have one, 2) if you do have one, it’s not even in the nightstand and you will be rummaging around in other areas of the house for it—perhaps your roommate’s nightstand, and 3) that if you find one, the expiration date may or may not have passed.

Without a word, I got up and got dressed.  Before I walked out, I said, “You may want to rethink your position on condoms.”  I mean, it’s possible the guy just got out of a long-term relationship in which unprotected sex was the norm.  Frankly, I don’t remember what his story was.  But he knew he was getting laid that night; he should have been prepared.  I know not all women insist on condoms—especially if they’re on birth control—and that’s their prerogative.  But when there’s even a remote chance that it’s a deal-breaker, why wouldn’t you just pick some up?  Sadly for me, I still don’t know what a tickling fetish looks like in action (except for the videos on my favorite porn website, but we’ll discuss that another day).

I’m far from a prude.  In fact I’d consider myself to be a bit on the adventurous side.  But there’s no reason getting dirty has to leave a ring around your life that won’t scrub off.

If you feel that what started out as a pleasantly kinky story took an unfortunate hard left on you, imagine how I felt.  But I hope you’ll find the stories in this series titillating, thought-provoking, and more often than not, hot. 

Feel free to share your experiences related to this topic in the comments section below.  I’d love to hear what all the fun and filthy folks are doing.  And if you have a story you’d like to see posted, email it to me at SexyVegasTA@aol.com.  You may choose to remain anonymous if you wish.

Stay sexy!

T. A.

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Welcome to Sexy Vegas!

 

Call it a smut-seek, a filth-fest, a titillating treat of weekly debauchery.   Call it Sex and the City minus all those pesky relationships.  Together we will explore the sexy side of Las Vegas and the unique variety of erotic fun it has to offer.  Some topics will be freaky, raunchy and taboo, and others will be tame by comparison.  You alone can decide whether this reading experience is appropriate for you. 

As a tie-in, I will also be sharing excerpts from my forthcoming novel.  The protagonist, Melanie, is a Las Vegas real estate marketing consultant who is thirty-(muffled, unintelligible), never married with no kids, and she avoids risk in all its forms.  When those close to her challenge her to take a chance on love, she finds herself in a relationship that pushes her out of her comfort zone—sexually and otherwise—and in Las Vegas, that can be a perilous experience.

I hope you enjoy the ride.  And feel free to share your experiences as well.

Stay sexy!

T. A.