ErotiMama

Touch me, babe (part 1)

I'd been to this massage studio before. It was pricey but the masseuses were good: highly trained to gently pulverize every muscle into absolute submission. As I sat in the waiting room, flipping mindlessly through an old copy of Southern Living, my mind wandered to the calm, relaxing place where my body would soon join me. But when my name was called I jerked my head up in surprise. It was a man who called my name. I realized that I'd forgotten to request a woman when I made the appointment as I'd always done in the past. His deep voice jolted me out of my tranquil place and back into reality. I sat, bewildered, unable to move. He called my name again and this time, not wanting to appear rude, I shot up and walked over to where he was waiting. My stomach flipped the way it does at the very top of a roller coaster right before you take the plunge. Dear God--he was gorgeous with loose, shoulder-length dark hair, smoldering blue eyes, a husky voice and and broad, strong shoulders. He tipped his head to look down at me and smiled. He could wrap his enormous hands around my waist and they'd meet. It was at that moment it hit me: This man, this man, would be running his hands all over me within minutes.

No man had ever touched my naked body within minutes of meeting me. OK. That's not entirely true. But that's not something a proper mother would admit to and that's how I'd like to be thought of--as a proper mother. I have a three-year-old son and I've been married to my dear husband for nearly 10 years. I've never cheated on him, never even considered it. But I did lead a healthy, adventurous and somewhat depraved sex life during the many years before I met him (much to his chagrin). And simply seeing this dark, imposing man standing before me and knowing that he would be rubbing me down with oil in a dark room where we'd be completely alone stirred something between my legs. I shuddered with dirty thoughts. The mom in me disappeared. That depraved woman was back.

To be continued...

Whispers in the kitchen

"Tell me."

"I want you."

"Yeah?"

"Right now."

"It's early..."

"Right here."

"Are they asleep..."

"Baby...shhh..."

"Mmm."

"You taste good..."

"Mmmhmmm..."

"You want me to stop?"

"Mmmnmmm."

"Is that..."

"No! Don't stop!"

"So sweet..."

"Mmm."

Submitted by: Heather, AKA Epiphany Alone

haiku

your hands warm my breasts

you enter slowly hot hard

at full depth we kiss

Another rainy day distraction

The weather today was awesome. The overcast morning had me sitting at my desk with throbing between my legs. That of course, led to some very moist panties.

 

It was hard for me to concentrate most of the morning.

 

I later was distracted by my actual work.

 

I called the school for after school care and then realized that a resource like that could lend itself to so many possibilities on other days.

 

The wet, yet crisp air was just the perfect temperature for laying around inside with no lights and just the daylight streaming inside.

 

I hope we can enjoy each other again -- it's been too long.

 

--AlwaysTempted

One rainy, overcast day led to this ... (an edited version)

 

I can't wait:
-- to feel your touch -- both outside ... and in
-- to quiver as you glide your tongue all over 
-- to tighten as you slide your fingers inside me
-- to beg you to take me
-- to spread my legs and envelope your hardness

-- to scream with no inhibitions with the ecstasy that follows   
-- to lie with you on a rainy afternoon and do it all over again

 

AlwaysTempted -- a mama who remembers those good ol' days BEFORE marriage and kids

Silk Sheets

I am looking at linens for my bed this time.  Images of you play in my head as I compare the fabrics. 

I am holding a set of maroon flannel sheets when the first shudder hits me.  A vivid image - one I cannot possibly have seen - recurs.  In it, you are on your knees entering me firmly from behind.  I feel the memory of your heat between my legs and my back arches reflexively as I clutch the package to my chest.  Another shopper brushes past me in the aisle, yanking me out of my reverie.  In a moment of embarrassment, I attempt to look as though I am comparison shopping and hurriedly select a different package.

I grab a pair of beige cotton sheets.  Unbidden, an image of you and I in the traditional missionary position shoots into my mind.  The absurdity of this strikes me funny, and as I hold back a giggle, I realize I have no idea what my bedroom ceiling looks like.

The fiery silk set I choose next lies still in my hand.  The slim package feels compact, firm and promising - but no pictures form in my head.  Disappointed, I begin to set the package down in favor of a more modest selection when I suddenly I feel the length of my body along the smooth silk.  The sensation is exquisite, causing my nipples to harden and press against my shirt.  I imagine stretching my arms lazily up, pausing near my breasts, my face, my hair, finally reaching straight over my head by my new headrail.  I watch your smile as you lean to bind my wrists.  When I am tied you remain close, teasing me with your hardness so near and so far.  My back tingles as I wriggle against the silk and I wriggle more because I like the feeling.  I am growing wetter by the moment while you pinch my nipples gently with your lips.  I arch to offer you more of my chest; I arch to try to relieve the tension building between my legs.  I want you inside me, want to ride you from beneath - wrapping my legs around your waist to lift myself off the bed - arching and releasing, want your mouth on my breasts while our hips swirl together until I can’t hold myself up any longer and when I collapse beneath you still writhing you release my hands from the rail and twist over to let me ride you from above, my motions pressing your body into the silk until we can bear the tension no longer and our bodies spasm ecstatically together in long, pulling waves.

The kiss

Sometimes when I'm standing in line at the bank or the post office, my mind wanders as I shift my weight under my grasping toddler perched on my hip, my preschoolers constant whys...

That kiss. Oh my God, that first kiss ran like fire through my veins. Our lips touched so tentatively, so softly barely together. Your hand brushed my cheek, your thumb traced my jaw to my ear. You pulled my ponytail, the sensation made every nerve from the top of my head to the soles of my feet awaken. I gasped. As my lips parted, your tongue touched mine.

My eyes fluttered open to meet yours, you were laughing.

"Wow." was all you said. "Just. Wow."

Submitted by: Heather, AKA Epiphany Alone

One Button

One button is all I undo before I hear you suck in your breath. Glancing sideways I see your head has dropped forward and your eyes are closed – you’re poised – waiting. I trace one fingertip along your forearm, an inch and back, nothing more. Still, you swallow and rearrange your tongue as if you can’t find a good position for it while my pants are on. I add a second finger and move both purposefully as if I have some sort of goal; when I reach your wrist I roll up on the edges of my nails and drag them gently back toward your elbow. This started out as a casual bit of touching – the best I could hope for in a crowded airplane – but it’s turned into so much more. I’m not surprised when my own heart quickens – I’ve lately grown used to watching you for cues to my own mood. I love that you respond so completely to me. A look, a touch, a small sound, nothing escapes your notice and all bring you closer to me. Twisted torture as we try to maintain composure – your resolve diminishing with my activity on your arm; my resolve diminishing with yours. If we were alone, we’d be kissing at least – probing each other with licks and nips, pressing tongues. A vivid flash – I see me naked in your head and you shift in your seat…you see me, too.

longing

longing is exquisite. gorgeous in the way it heightens every sense and makes a person feel as though she's living right on the edge of the world. one wrong move could destroy everything. the right move could take it all to the next, more intense level, and so each glance, touch, word--even thought--is carefully calculated. the air of longing is unceasingly electrified.

there is no choice but to be present in the face of longing. no choice but to lounge around in its selfishness and to test its boundaries because longing is full of questions that need answers. it is addictive and delicious and filled with innuendo. it is a puzzle of desire, duty, hunger, and obligation.

how long can longing hold on to want before it is forced to become something else?

Kristen woke up that morning hungry for him. Her dreams had been anxious, terrifying, processing the real nightmare of the last few weeks. First there was the accident, then the hospital recovery, and now the stress of the lawsuit. Her doctor had declared her fit to return to normal activities, and so she’d gone back to packing lunches, readying the kids for school, and getting herself off to work. She’d dropped hints to Steve that she was also ready to return to normal bedroom activities, but so far, he’d resisted.

Tossing back the covers, she pulled her T-shirt off, slid her pajama bottoms down and tossed her panties onto the floor. She glanced at the clock – 6 am – a solid hour before the boys would be rolling out of bed for school. They had plenty of time.  She wanted him.