Coming home for Christmas

B is coming home for Christmas!  We only decided about a week ago, and booked the flight together online.  I'm so excited!  It will start what I hope will be a pattern of only ever having two months apart at a time.  I miss her so much.

Pretty much the whole time she is home is planned up.  She has lots of friends to see; I'm worried I may not get my money's worth out of her ;)  We've agreed not to give Christmas presents to each other this year, but to give each other 'experiences' while she's home.  This could include dates, dinners, days out... but I'm hoping it's going to include lots of days (and nights) in as well.

B left behind most of her sexy lingerie - no need for it away from me, I guess.  It's all stored in the second drawer down of our bedroom chest of drawers.  I'm hoping to see her wear every item in there; I miss so much seeing them filled with her beautiful curvy frame.  I type this with them laid out around me, as I check each are ready for her to wear.  I thought I might describe some of them.

The dark red satin underwear she recently bought and wore the last time we had a really hot session.  I found the knickers under my bed about three weeks after she left; I could still smell her on them.  I used them to stroke my hard cock to climax that night I found them.  They feel so much more beautiful wrapped around her.

A crimson red cotton night slip, which I bought for her this summer.  Simple, beautifully cut just inches below her crotch, I remember pushing into her from behind as this hung around her waist.

The pure silk black Lejaby slip; my favourite item of hers.  Expensive, and it shows.  It has beautiful embroidery around her breasts, which are left unsupported by the fabric, and whose erect nipples display tantalisingly through the delicate black.  I bought it for her the last time she was away, as a birthday present when I visited.  Such vivid memories of her stood in front of me, with an innocent finger hanging from her mouth, clad in this sheer silk, looking drop dead stunning.

In contrast, a cheap bright red embroidered waspy, from a high street lingerie chain sale.  She's never worn it, I think she doesn't like it.  Frankly, I just want her to wear it with stockings and prance around the house in heels like a slut, so I can tear it off her.

A black silk top, that I can't remember if its lingerie or going-out wear.  Roushed waist, with broad black silk ribbons around it.  Also from the high street lingerie store, but way classier - the way she'd wear it anyway.

A black satin back-tieing soft corset.  I remember like it was yesterday coming home to find her asleep in bed, wearing this with a pair of black leather boots, with her own juices running down her legs.  She'd put it on, spent the evening masturbating, and left herself there for me to fuck when I came in the door.  She said at the time it was the sexiest she'd ever felt.  I can't argue with that.  That reminds me, I must get the boots out as well...

I love the way my angel dresses, and I love that I have such vivid memories of each one of these items.  I'm sure our Christmas 'experiences' will make many more x

A massage

It was early in the morning the other day and I was angling for some text sex with B as I usually am, and she said she couldn't play because she was going for a massage.  I snuggled back down into my duvet and fell back asleep, only to have the most vivid dream about her massage.

When I visited B in her country a few years ago, we went to her preferred massage venue together, and were treated by three young men who (I learnt as the evening went on) were absolutely besotted with her.  She's always been a very friendly girl, and this combined with the novelty of her speaking their language, and her radiant beauty and gorgeous Western body made her very attractive to these guys.  In fact I would go so far as to say she flirted with these guys, and at the time I found it a little bit irritating.  

So in my dream she was going back to this same massage place.  The three guys buzzed around her, performing the services she had paid for - foot massage, shins, thighs, back, neck - etc.  They worked on her for the best part of an hour, sending into a very relaxed spacious state, where her imagination thrived and she lost touch with where she was and what she was doing.  As two of the guys were working on a shin each, one of them looked up at her, eyes closed and in a dream state, and noticed up her skirt a beautiful damp patch blossoming from her underwear.  The sensuality of this massage was clearly proving too much for my angel B, and in her dream like state, she was allowing the physical pleasure to take hold.

The three guys were all quite young, probably an average of 17, but they were old enough to know what was going on.  At the same time though, they were professionals and tried to ignore the effect their work was clearly having on this beautiful hot white girl.  It became difficult to ignore though, as the wet patch spread and my B started to murmur her soft sexual moans.  She wasn't asleep exactly, but was in kind of that state you sometime find yourself on on the train home, where you confuse your surroundings for the comfort and safety of home.  

There was one guy in particular, of this trio, that B and her friends used to giggle like school girls at - he was the most forthright, and flirtatious, and B had joked that if it wasn't for me she'd be right in there with "massage boy".  He was also the one most clearly overwhelmed by the effect he was having on my girl, and had decided to try his luck.  He, on the left leg, decided to move his attentions up the shin, and onto the thigh.  B's towel and skirt were in the way, so he pushed them up slightly, so he could get better access to her warm flesh.  He proceeded to delicately and firmly massage her upper thigh, his eyes focussed the whole time on the damp patch on her white cotton underwear.  As he hoped, the white patch grew and grew.  As it did, B's breathing became shallower and shallower, and her heaving white chest raised and fell in the massage chair.

Gradually she awoke from her semi-sleep state, not really realising she had been asleep, and grateful to be in the safety of her massage parlour.  She looked down at the two boys working on her legs, and glanced across to see the third boy preparing something in the corner.  At that moment she realised the state of her body, and had a sudden short intake of breath.  The boys looked up at her, with small grins on their faces, trying to remain professional but quietly impressed with their achievements as men.  

The lead boy looked up at B, with an expression that indicated a burning desire to bury his face deep in that damp patch, tear white cotton out of the way with his teeth, and taste the fruits of his labour.  He wanted to lock the door of the massage chamber, and finally claim the prize of the hot white girl that he'd been working on all year.  To taste that heaving busom, and sink himself deep into the soft pink opening of her curvy hips.  He might let the other boys join in as well, see if the three of them couldn't whip her into a frenzy of desire like he'd seen happen on the Internet.  See if she, the older woman, could teach the three school boys a thing or two about life, and give them their first orgasms in such a unique way.  See what this figure of fantasy would look like with a cock inside her, a second in her mouth, and a third in her hands.  Three lustful boys, one desirous yet helpless western woman.

But B merely looked back at him, and asked in her best local dialect for a glass of water please.  The boy covered her up with the towel that was now almost hitched around her waist, and left the room, adjusting his trousers as he walked away.  The other boys felt it best to follow him, doing the same, and B corrected her clothing and set up straight.  There was a smirk on her face, a mixture of confusion and disorientation from her slumbers, of embarrassment and indignation, but with no shortage of minxiness and powerful satisfaction.

The Walls Have Ears

I was almost asleep having had my usual goodnight conversation with G, and feeling relaxed and warm under my multiple blankets when a couple down the hall started to have very noisy sex. They were fucking against some furniture - I imagined them against the door - as I could hear him pounding into her and her body crashing against something wooden. She was almost screaming with longing and begged him to take her faster and harder. Their grunting and panting echoed down the dark corridor and crept under my door and into my underwear. I was tired, and reluctant to give in to the desire that stirred in me.


Suddenly they went quiet and I strained to listen for signs that their passion continued. I imagined taking off my clothes and striding to their door. My breasts high and my hips rounded, so different from the bodies of the women here. They would open the door, disheveled and raw to reveal my pale naked flesh glowing in the dark. I would enter, taking the woman into my arms and laying her gently on the floor. Her sex is swollen and bruised from the wonderful fucking she has recieved. I would lick her thighs, her belly and make my way to her clit to kiss it back to life. A fucking that hard would have made it numb, I want it to be as sensitive as only a woman knows it can be. Her man would be watching, his cock aching and throbbing, also sore from the hammering he had given her. He is standing behind us, watching my ass and overwhelmed by this turn of events. I feel the sensation return in her clit, she begins to rock rythmically into my mouth. The taste of her increases the lust dripping from my sex. I can feel it trickling down my thighs, he can see it glistening down my legs. We are all very quiet apart from the gentle peaceful murmur of the woman whose clit I am sucking. I sit up and twist sideways, pressing our soaking luxurious pussies together. She strokes my breasts, I kiss her legs which are around my face, we rub our clits against each other until we are both drunk with longing.

The man lies down next to us. His penis is now so large that it seems it does not belong to him. He is almost frightened of it. He can't touch it. He just stares at our labial dance. I am the first to move. I sit beside him and run my tongue up the length of his shaft. She sits on the other side of him and repeats this. We lick him alternately, occassionally stopping to kiss and touch each other's breasts. Then she sits on his stomach facing his feet, and I sit on high thighs facing her. We press our sexes around his cock, and glide up and down. The head of his cock presses against my clit over and over again and I know that I will cum. He isn't penetrating either of us, but we are all satisfied. I start to pant and can hardly contain the scream of satisfaction that escapes my body. For one blissful moment, I am aware that he is cumming straight up in a spray that meets our breasts - mine large and full, hers tiny buds.

Alone in my room, I cum with the help of my small vibrator. I lie in the dark, hot and calm. G calls, I had sent him a message to explain that I was listening to them and it turned me on. He missed the action and I could hear his disappointment. A couple in the room next to me had also seemingly been affected, I could hear her soft gasps as he pleasured her but fell asleep before they progressed any further.

Some time in the night, I got up to use the bathroom and could hear the unmistakable sound of a man masturbating in his room. A whole corridor of people filled with lust. Again I felt tempted to knock on the door and offer myself to him.

I wondered how many times G and I had triggered this chain orgasmic reaction. Neither of us is particularly quiet when it comes to cumming. I would love to feel him cum inside me, over me, around me today.

"Do you ever fantasise about me having sex with another man?"

It was a simple enough question, but I really wasn't expecting it.  We were in the middle of a fairly ordinary conversation which had turned its way on to the subject of the porn videos I'd watched that morning.  B wanted me to describe them to her, so my radar was already twitching.  I'd described how I'd seen a video of a woman shaving herself for this man, who then obviously had to test the smoothness of her pussy by getting his face in there for the tongue test.  As he examined her, the camera man put his camera down and decided he had to get involved with her top half.  And B asked me "do you ever fantasise about me having sex with another man?"

The truth is I do.  I think maybe I'm different from a lot of guys in that not only would I love to have a FFM threesome, but I'm totally intrigued by the idea of a MMF threesome too.  There's part of me that would really love to see her working another guy's big hard cock at one end of her body, while I work her at the other end.  It wants to see her slightly helpless and being controlled by two men who are rampant for her body.  Most of the time I love it when B takes control, but this would be a time when she had no choice.  I told her I would love to fuck her from behind, holding on to her hips, as she holds on to a hard cock and lets the vibrations from my pounding enhance her sucking rhythm.

Porn is always better when there's a really fucking big cock involved.  I find a porn movie so lame when it's a chubby bloke with a 4 inch wonder.  It's like anything really - we like our Hollywood actors ripped and good looking as well.  Porn, like most things, is aspirational - I want the guy to be just as hot as the girl, because I want to imagine it's me with that 10 inch shlong pounding the blonde with the fake FFs.  Why else would I watch it?  So maybe that's why this imagery is allowed to extend to me thinking of B with one of these big fat cocks in her hands.  She once told me of an ex-boyfriend who had a cock so large it was almost laughable, they didn't know what to do with it, and I have to admit to allowing that to enter my mind from time to time while I'm 'thinking' of her.  It's a fucking hot image - my beautiful sexy girl with a monster cock in her hands.  Why the fuck not, I can think of that if I want to!

My fantasies about a FFM threesome are also plentiful, and likely the subject of another post in the future.  But I think it all adds up to something we both find very erotic; the imagery of writhing bodies, flailing limbs, being completely lost in a see of sex.  Group sex has also always turned me on.  That idea that you could roll over, fling your arm, move your body, and be touching another body or be entered by another person and not know which one it is or what else they're doing at the same time.  It would take a lot of trust, which would be difficult to have amongst strangers (since we would certainly never do this amongst friends) which is why it would probably never happen.

After this conversation led to a serious session of phone sex, and therefore post coitus, it suddenly dawned on me to clarify with B that I did know the difference between a fantasy and a reality.  Of course my mind loves the idea of a hot svelte female body riding her face as I drive my cock in and out of her, but I'm not asking for us to do it anytime soon.  I get such a kick out of the fact that B's imagination is up for it in the heat of the moment, it's plenty to keep me going.  Unless of course you're offering, darling? x

Soothing Balm

Writing yesterday's post and sending it to G seemed to loosen something between us. It certainly loosened my tongue last night as I came very loudly into his ear while he tried to look busy in a private meeting room at work.

I must have touched myself a little too vigourously as today I feel scratched and sore. I need G's kisses across my sex to sooth the tenderness. I love it when he kisses me there just for the sake of tasting me and enjoy me, but without the purpose of making me cum. I would love that today, I'm wearing a floaty skirt and he could just slip under like the wind and kiss away all the sore patches.

I could also use some of his soothing words in my ear as my overall mood is a little flat today - despite gorgeous autumn sunshine and a long game of badminton earlier.

As I am writing this I can hear G's fnar fnar gags all lined up about what else he could sort out with his soothing balm but I'll leave those lines for him to make.

Call me

I love B so much, it hurts some times. I miss her with every capiliary in my heart, and every sinue of my aching body.  So far, we've only been apart for a few weeks, and we have the best part of a year apart to cope with.  We speak on the phone all the time, several times a day, and we text so much that my service provider wants to offer me share options.  So, its probably no surprise that (at the moment at least) I miss her more physically than in any other way.  I get loads of her personality and humour and kindness through remote means.  But I can't touch her, smell her, see her or taste her remotely.  

Maybe it's because I'm male, but I can never express the way I feel as poetically as B can.  She writes so much better than me - hopefully you'll become a regular reader to this blog and come to appreciate that.  I don't know if I'll ever do the way I feel about her justice in this blog, and how crude my feelings will come across to her and other readers.  But I'll try my best.

So let's start here; I have masturbated at least once a day every day since B left the country.  I am so ridiculously sexually charged without her, and nothing I can do can make me feel better.  Every wank is empty, every porn movie is boring, and even the exciting sex lives of other people on sex blogs across the world are not enough.  The only satisfying sexual release I enjoy is when B and I are on the phone, and I can hear her panting and cumming into my ear.  Phone sex is the only time when making myself cum feels good.

Quite despite what she says below, she's so fucking good at it.  She has an amazing vocabulary, an amazing ability to conjur the exact image of what she's doing and what she wants me to do to her, and nothing turns me on more than hearing her desire.  As she has described in her post below, I'm pretty much always angling for her to have phone sex with me when I call - it usually starts with a cheeky comment, usually on my part, which she'll either spurn or grab on to.  At the moment, it feels like 9 times out of 10 she spurns them, but when she grabs on to them, it's the best feeling of anticipation ever.  A stirring in my loins, a settling into my position; a sort of "here we go then" feeling which is itself enough to make me hard.

I like her to describe what she's wearing, and for her to hold back the description of her underwear until the last minute.  Lacey? Silky? Skanky? I don't care what pants she's wearing, as long as she describes the detail to me, and the state her hot lust has made put them in.  I want to know that her hand is inside them, or over the seam of them, working her clit.  I want to know what I'm doing to her in her mind that is making her hands work herself so furiously.  Am I sucking on her large round nipples, nibbling behind her ear, am I just watching her from the other side of the room rubbing my cock?  Am I working her lips with my tongue the way only I can, how does she taste today, where does she want me to put my cock first?  All this things she'll have an answer to, and it'll be an answer that'll make me harder and harder and harder.

As she gets more and more into it, she gets dirtier and dirtier.  As the words get more breathless, she describes to me how she wants to be pounded really hard, how she wants me to fill every hole, how she needs to taste my cum, wants me to throw her on all fours and fuck her in the arse, then pull out and cum all over her back.  All this is described to me breathlessly, through loud moans (I love it when she's loud) as she continues to fuck herself with her fingers and toys.  My mind is filled with the images she's describing, the image of her on her bed, and the knowledge that one day, eventually, when we're back together, we can do all of this for real.

I know that they're things that she would never say if we were together; a lot of them are things that we won't do when we're together.  But I disagree with her when she suggests she can slip into 'sexline phone operator' talk.  I know her well enough to know what's real and what's forced, and the words that come out of her mouth when she's hot, wet and ready to cum are stream-of-subconsciousness expressions of the flashing of images going through her mind as she's orgasming.  I know her well enough to know she couldn't say those things if she wasn't lost in the moment, and the moment that moment is gone, she stops and goes back to her wonderful, meek, cute self.  She's no phone operator.  I never ever want her to force it or fake it.  In fact, the infrequency of it surely contributes to its specialness.

At the moment it's these things that makes me feel most close to her.  It feels naughty, it feels private, it feels personal, and... it's just so damn sexy.  I get anxious about how to let her know when I want it.  As you've read, it does make her uncomfortable some times.  Perhaps she just needs to know that it's a given: I ALWAYS want to have phone sex with her.  It's a standing order.  So if you ever feel in the mood honey, you don't need to know if I'm in the mood or not.  I am.  Fuck me now, please xx

Wood and lace?

In general, I try not to think about the loss of the ability to be physically close to G, to kiss, to make love, to really feel connected to him. Now that I write this, it is very fresh and raw and it stings. Since we talked about writing about how it feels - physically and emotionally - to be separated by 7000 miles for a long period of time, the loss has been hanging over me like a dark shadow.

Physically, I miss the daily contact. I miss being touched, being hugged, kisses between friends, these plain shows of affection are part of being more isolated here than back home. The next level is to miss G and our daily physical contact - holding hands, rubbing my nose against his stubble, a kiss hello or goodbye. Sometimes I can barely think about my sexual needs as the need just to be touched in a deliberate affectionate way, rather than just jostled in the street of a city of 18 million people, is so strong. A few days ago, I woke up ready to roll over, grab G's cock and make some mischief. Playful early morning sex. In his absence, I took a walk.

Touching myself would have just made me feel even more alone and exercise would distract me. As I walked along, the lace edge of my bra rubbed my nipple hard. I had to choose between the painful sexy sensation and the need to keep my levels of desire at bay. I could feel my underwear was already wet and I was embarrassed to be so turned on in the street. Later in the day, I sat on a cold wooden bench, and the cold hard wood against my bare thighs also delivered the same feeling. Is this all it takes? Wood and lace? I changed my bra to a smooth one and resolved not to sit on benches for the rest of the day. I just couldn't handle any reminder that I couldn't have sex with G.

I sense that our sexual separation is harder on G than on me, and I can tell by the sound of his voice when he calls whether he's aiming for a sexual conversation and how horny he is. This pleases me as much as upsets me, I know him so well I can anticipate how the tone of his voice reflects the state of his cock. It can be very hard to find a time when we both have the time, privacy and space to enjoy each other and masturbate. I am not a natural at talking dirty, or even talking about sex, perhaps agreeing to write this blog is overly ambitious. Perhaps it will help me learn a way to express my desire. 

I love words but lack a suitable vocabulary that describes the subtlety of how I feel, how G makes me feel and what I would like us to experience sexually together. I cringe at every word I think of to describe my own body and sex for me is such an overwhelming stimulation of other senses that I feel thwarted by the requirement to verbalise this into something that translates into something G would find a turn on. When I'm really wet, I'm focused on a dreamlike quality - smell, sensation and colours. Those are things that don't really work when you describe them to someone else - the smell of leather, dark purple, vanilla, the crunch of brown sugar in my teeth. Now, I'm a good student and I can go through the sexline phone operator routine as well as the next girl, but with G my deepest desire is for sex to be real. Not forced, not pretended. Real. This is so much harder to achieve over the phone.

The distance between us magnifies our different approach to sex and feelings of being turned on and sometimes I find this very hard. I find G his sexiest when sex is the furthest thing from his mind, when he works, when he drives, when he concentrates and his jaw is set. I have to work hard to resist grabbing his occupied hands and thrusting them into my wet, lust filled places. If I get playful, he gets cross. Kind of cute, but not the sexual release that I crave. 

I have my period so my body has the ripe heavy fullness that G loves - I am amazed by the weight and softness of my breasts and my scent has changed in the tiny way it does each month when I notice G enjoys smelling my hair more, enjoys the taste of me more and strokes my skin more. Wasn't nature kind to do this? I feel guilty that my body is so ready for sex, and has the qualities that would turn G on, expecially that it's all wasted in a country that would view my double F breasts as fat rather than attractive.

Writing this has focused my attention inwardly and onto the physical state of my body that I have been ignoring for days. The cashmere of my jumper is bliss against my fingers and I remembered how G's hands roved over my breasts the last time I wore it at home. I'm soaking wet and can smell how turned on I am. 

I half imagine that all the men in the room can also smell that I am sitting here thinking swirling thoughts of burrowing my head into G's groin, taking him in my mouth and sucking very hard hard for a few minutes before sitting down on him cowgirl style and riding myself to a very much wanted orgasm.