Late on a quiet Sunday afternoon, I was lounging on the sofa and S was reading in the bedroom. From the other room she called out, “Do we have talcum powder?” “Nope, don’t think so.”, I replied. After a moment of silence, S came back with, “How about corn starch?” “Sure. In the cupboard, in a round, blue and gold can.” Without responding, she padded barefoot into the kitchen and then returned to the bedroom.

Intrigued, I asked from the couch, “Why do you ask?” In a matter-of-fact voice she said, “Because I was lightly stroking my clit, and I wondered what it would feel like totally dry and buttery soft, like with talcum powder. You know, instead of all wet and oily.”

Can you see why I adore this woman?

Within a bare few minutes, I could resist no longer. I got off the couch, went to the bedroom and laid down beside her on the bed, where she was idly playing with a pussy liberally dusted with white powder. With her welcome blessing, I joined in the experience, and found it was quite lovely. The powder made the skin contact soft and smooth, and the lack of oil meant I could feel every little crease and fold and all the subtle differences in the skin texture. It was extraordinary!

Despite S’ appetite for overwhelming sensations and rough play, an excruciatingly light and fairly slow touch is the surest way to get her off. With my powdered finger feathering up and down the shaft of her clit, she was ready to come in very little time. I teased her for a while, denying her that first orgasm until she begged and pleaded and offered me anything I wanted (like that’s anything new) before I allowed her to have that first shuddering orgasm. Once the dam broke, I continued stimulating her and brought her off several more times before giving her a break and letting her breathe. It was a delightful experience, and one I enthusiastically recommend.

After, her eyes twinkled and she asked hopefully, “What would you like to do next?” I did not have to think very long. “Friday night you talked about wanting to squirt again. Let’s go up to the attic and do that.” S did not need her arm twisted. “Okay!”

I hasten to point out that she hopped in the shower to briefly rinse off the corn starch; we weren’t trying to make a roux here!

In the redwood paneled attic that a friend called our “Fuck Treehouse”, we put down the “sex blanket” (a Liberator Throw) to catch any fluids, got out the NJoy Pure Wand, and brought the jar of coconut oil into easy reach. As aroused as S already was, getting her to squirt took surprisingly little time. Her ejaculate was copious and decidedly milky white. I still haven’t found the knack of making her squirt with my fingers, but the heavy steel barbell does the trick pretty reliably. As I was using the barbell on her, I provided some auxiliary stimulation by playing with her clit, then later very shallowly fingering her asshole. She soaked the blanket quite thoroughly and noisily (and happily, the mattress below stayed entirely dry).

We have gradually been exploring more ass play between the two of us, and this seemed like a good time to push that envelope a bit. (“I’d push her envelope, I tell you whut.”) We took some time to examine in a clinical fashion what she liked and what wasn’t as good. With not even one knuckle fully inserted, I demonstrated lightly jostling and bouncing my finger (her favorite), working my finger in and out without actually stroking the skin (I can demonstrate that better than I know how to describe it), and then stroking my finger in and out a way that actually stroked the skin (which was a little too intense for her).

Equipped with a better idea of what was working for her, I asked her to get on hands and knees. I inserted the narrow end of the NJoy into her pussy and played with that in the usual fashion, soon getting her to squirt a bit more. After a while I bent forward and started lapping at the puckered pink rosebud of her asshole. She groaned deeply, her face and shoulders dropped to the bed and her ass arched towards the sky. We played with that for quite a while, with explosive results. I have become familiar with how fast and how often S can orgasm, in rolling waves one right on top of the other. This was several steps beyond that. She was thrashing side to side, screaming gutturally into the pillow, utterly incoherent, one step away from a grand mal seizure. When that went on long enough that I thought she might hurt herself, I backed off slightly, stopped lapping at her asshole, let her gather her wits, and then resumed the intensity, this time stroking her clit as well. And whoosh, there she goes again. I played through several variations of that, until she begged for a break to have a drink of water.

After the briefest of respites, we decided to very carefully try to narrow end of the NJoy wand in her ass. Still in the “face down, ass up” pose, I held the wand very still and let her gradually work it inside her ass. With me holding the wand still, she could be in control of the speed and depth of the action, pausing to get used to the size and sensation as needed, then working deeper, then waiting, then again. Ultimately, she took the ball end of the wand and perhaps an inch of shaft, and that seemed to be a happy place for her. With the slightest rocking motion of the wand, I started stroking her clit, bringing her to a couple of very happy orgasms with the wand inside her. Emboldened, I slipped two fingers inside her pussy and started playing with her g-spot while the wand was still in her ass. The wall separating the rectum from the vaginal canal is rather thin, and I could clearly feel the hard ball of the wand against my fingers as I stroked her g-spot. She had several more orgasms this way, rather louder and more enthusiastically. On a hunch, I removed my fingers and just played with the wand in her ass, hoping it would tap in a diffuse way against her g-spot. It seemed successful, and she had two solid orgasms with no stimulation aside from the wand in her ass (albeit, stimulating her g-spot indirectly).

When her ass finally reached its limit, I held the wand steady and let her ease forward until the bulbous end plopped free. I reassured her that I saw no sign at all of any tearing, nor any slight bleeding, and frankly, no messy “santorum” either. I gave her well-used asshole a friendly and comforting lap or two, set the wand aside, and fell on the bed beside her as she exclaimed a tired but joyful “Wow!” Then she noticed my cock, which was rather happily erect, and perhaps even a bit larger than usual.

She attempted some profound deep throating, and found the extra smidge of length too much for her throat. She asked me to fuck her instead, and I did so with great abandon. In all honesty, I was so crazy aroused by this time that I didn’t last very long, but it was still enough to give her three or so more orgasms before I reached my own shuddering, groaning climax.

Goddamn. Is it any wonder we so rarely leave the house?

Note: Wow, I threw around a couple of brand names in this post. I want to rush to reassure readers (all two of them) that I have no connection with the companies cited and there’s no compensation whatsoever. I only mention the brands with such specificity in case someone reading thinks to themselves “That sounds nifty! I wonder where I could find one of those.”

I’ve been thinking about boundaries lately, scattered thoughts bouncing around in my head that haven’t quite gelled into a cohesive whole. But here’s some of the preliminary thinking:

Act 1:

– At Burning Man 2014, I participated in the Human Carcass Wash. I could write a huge blog post just on this one topic, but the short version is that it’s an activity where a bunch of volunteer Burners wash a bunch of other Burners. During the orientation, our guide made the point, “Every time a new person steps up to your station, when you help them into the basin you must ask, ‘What are your boundaries?’ Some people will say ‘I have no boundaries, wash everywhere.’ Others may say, ‘I have a bruise on my shin, please avoid that.’ Others might say, ‘Please avoid my pubic area. I’ll wash that.’ Any answer is fine, and those boundaries must be honored. Any person being bathed has the full right to change their answer at any time. ‘You know, I thought I was okay with having my bottom washed, but… umm, no. I’ll get that area.’ And that has to be okay too.”

The most powerful thing the guide said (for me), was the following. “Please remember that your boundaries matter too! Just because someone says, ‘I have no boundaries, wash me everywhere’, that doesn’t mean you’re obligated. If you’re not comfortable touching them ‘there’, then don’t!”

Powerful stuff!

Act 2:

I’ve been ramping up my massage practice, doing several massages a week for the past few months. I’ve been greatly enjoying it, but as the frequency increases I have to be mindful about not zoning out and going through the motions. Massage is not a time for auto-pilot. There have been a couple of occasions when I’ve been just starting a massage and catch myself really leaning into it. “Slow down, this person on your table isn’t ‘Cheer’. Ease into it and then find out how much pressure she wants. You can’t just start at 9 and escalate from there.”

When you have someone on the table, you have to meet them where they are, and work with however much or little they are willing to present to you. I’ve had a client who asked for deep glute work and who left their underwear on. I had another guy on the table for a full massage who wore his jeans on the table! It’s all good. If that’s where their comfort level is, I can work with that.

Act 3:

As I’ve blogged about recently, I have a new partner who is open to some fairly intense sensations and activities. The previous time I saw her, we spent extensive time at the massage table, starting at an intensity of 8 and swiftly escalating from there. I used every bit of my anatomy knowledge, my size, and my muscle to do things that I knew would have her writhing in that fascinating blend of pleasure and pain that she craves so desperately. We spent about ninety minutes doing that, and it was an unqualified success.

We saw each other again last night, and I orchestrated a suite of activities that were completely different from the previous meeting. We started by focusing on her pleasure – what things pushed her buttons, what made her purr, and what things were an inhibiting distraction. As things progressed, I escalated and began pushing her boundaries (or at least tried to). Not with pain this time, or at least not overtly. Instead, I worked on providing pleasure, increasing amounts, from various sources, and with growing vigor. I started with a luxurious spell of cunnilingus, savoring her smell, her taste, the musky flavor that comes with full arousal. I seem to recall her asking for something and responding with a “Hush. This part isn’t for you; it’s for me.” I took my sweet time lapping at her vulva, sucking her lips into my mouth and gently pulling, and lifting her legs while I plunged my tongue into her as deeply as I could reach. Once I had sated my own hunger (for a while at least), I started working on hers.

I gradually eased a finger into her, sliding in and out while I flicked my tongue beside her clit hood. That got a very enthusiastic response and I held there for some minutes, letting her pleasure rise and plateau before I continued. Eventually my finger curled and started stroking her G-spot, which was met with energetic and rhythmic clenching of her hips. Holding tight for the ride and continuing to lick and stroke, I slid my free hand up her torso and found her nipple, which obviously needed rather firm pinching and stroking. I let her energy build and swell over several minutes, until her wailing reached an urgent pitch and her bucking got too frenzied to ride.

In a big rush intended to add to her disorientation, I withdrew, roughly rolled her onto her belly and sank my thumb deep inside her. Just sliding in and out at first, roughly, quickly. Before she could relax into that I changed angles so that the pad of my thumb was stroking over her G-spot with each push. With each stroke, she cried gutturally into the mattress, and finally her hips contracted and her ass rose off the bed to meet my hand hungrily, greedily. I put my free hand on the small of her back and crushed her to the bed pinning her in place while I put my knee between her thighs to keep her open and exposed. Finally, I changed the motion of my thumb completely, leaving it deep inside her pussy and pulsing up and down, tapping, drumming on her G-spot. Her crying became constant and incoherent and it was a struggle to keep her pinned to the bed. I increased the speed and force of my drumming, far beyond what I would even consider with most partners. Finally, with every muscle of her body tensed, rigid, and straining, she rewarded my efforts with a long keening cry and a splashing surge of fluid.

So there’s another kind of boundary, not of pain, but of pleasure, of giving in and submitting, and of taking more than you knew was possible.

Must. Push. Buttons!

Act 4:

That same evening, after a necessary break for recovery, fluids, and laughter, we decided to return downstairs one more time to play with some floggers I’d made. I bound her with some padded wrist cuffs, which I don’t think she was expecting, and started working on her upper back and bottom. I began with a medium-weight flogger and eventually moved up to a heavier one, letting her feel the thudding, percussive weight of each stroke. I alternated targets, working on her back for a bit, then shifting to her ass with no warning. I played with speed, giving her a slow deliberate rhythm, then pausing and letting her dread the next blow. I practiced some crossing strokes, raining down in a fast persistent pattern. She sagged against the cuffs once or twice, only to leap to attention again in response to a carefully placed lash on her bottom. Periodically I would pause the flogging to whisper deep and low into her ear and to glide my fingertips ever so gently across her burning cheeks and shoulder blades. The feathery touch made her writhe even more than the flogging.

With considerable reluctance, I called a stop to the action. She seemed to be in a good space, watching her writhe was so very compelling, and I really wanted to continue, but… that sort of space takes a great deal of thoughtfulness, deep attention to detail, real care and caution. I often think of it as a high wire act. And I was too exhausted (very happily so) from all of the previous activities to be as “on my game” as that kind of play requires. I just didn’t want to gamble with being sloppy or careless when she was in a position so vulnerable and trusting.

Which is to say, I hadn’t hit her boundary, but I very much hit mine.

Act 5:

I’m an enthusiastic bicyclist. (A hell of a segue, I know. Bear with me.) There’s this interesting phenomenon when riding with another person. If you’re riding side-by-side, you can each go at your own pace. At any given moment, one person might be feeling more energetic and surge ahead, while the other person might drop back a bit and catch their breath. Over a long ride, this sort of ebb and flow balance out (assuming roughly equivalent riders) and you both end at the same place at the same time.

However, if you’re riding single file, the person in back is restricted by the top speed of the person ahead. If the follower is feeling bouncy and energetic and the person ahead isn’t… the follower has to wait. They might try to hold a little energy in reserve to accelerate ahead when the leader decides to push, but they basically inherit the limitations of the leader’s pace.

In sex, there’s no one ahead and no one following, but it’s still a group ride. The boundaries of the “slowest” person necessarily set the pace. You might find yourself in a time and place when you wish your companion was going faster so you could really give it your all, no holding back, working towards furious and glorious exhaustion. It’s an amazing, dizzying feeling! And if you ever find such a *ahem* “riding partner”, you’ll soon realize that now you’re the slower one, putting your boundaries on them.

And that’s okay too. Your own limits are just as real and just as valid as your partner’s limits. You might enjoy playing right at the edge of those limits, you might enjoy pushing them a bit, but ignoring them is a really bad idea.

Back in December, my primary partner asked me what I would like for my birthday (in January). I’m pretty shameless about buying myself whatever toys catch my eye, so I always struggle with answering these kinds of questions. I laughing said something about how “a drug-fueled fuck fest is the gift that keeps on giving, and giving, and giving”. And promptly forgot all about it.

On the weekend of my birthday, the aforementioned girlfriend and I traveled to central Oregon to traipse about in the snow, and had a perfectly lovely time. As we prepared for the return trip on Sunday (the anniversary of my birth), I began to get some small hints that something was up. She said small things like, “I’d like to get home by the early afternoon” without offering any reason, and “Let’s not stop to eat there on the way home; you might not want a full belly.” Curious, but completely vague. I enjoy surprises, so I didn’t pry.

We got home, went for a run and showered. Knowing full well that something was in the works, I asked how I should dress post shower. “Comfortably sexy. I don’t think we’re going out.” Of course, one has brief thoughts of fantasies that are far too improbable for reality, but I quickly settled down to earth. “Hmm, maybe she’s asked B over to give me a massage. That would be lovely.” Then the girl tells me if I wanted to indulge in any recreational pharmaceuticals, now would be the right time. *gulp* I’m enough of a control freak that taking a mind-altering substance without knowing exactly what was in the works for the evening took a considerable leap of faith. But I leapt in an ecstatic fashion. And somewhat nervously waited for the other shoe to drop.

About thirty minutes later, the doorbell rang and I nearly jumped out of my skin. She smiled and said, “You should go answer that.” Heart thumping, I went to the door to find… a woman I’ve been seeing lately! And behind her… was the other woman I’ve recently become involved with! They came in bearing pizza boxes, homemade cupcakes, and absolutely mischievous grins. My mind quickly bounced back and forth, “This can’t be what I think it is! Oh my stars, I think it is! No, it can’t! Oh shit, I think it is!”

Some background, for context: “Splendor” has been my partner for a good long while, and knows both of the others socially, but has never err, umm, “gone there” with either. “Cheer” I have known for a long time, but the relationship has only recently escalated to a significantly new level. And “Mirth” is someone I’ve been involved with off and on a couple of times, currently “on” and hopefully done with the “off” problems. Cheer and Mirth had met briefly at a couple of parties, but that was about the extent of their experience with each other. I found out after the fact that about a week ago Mirth asked Splendor what plans were in store for my birthday, and my quote was relayed to her. Bless her heart, she took the idea and ran with it, contacting Cheer and coordinating the event. Such balls!

The Three Graces

Back to the narrative. The girls got a bite to eat while I fidgeted in an anxious fashion, trying to figure out if I was already deeply hallucinating. After a short time, someone suggested that perhaps it was time to find a more comfortable space to lounge. A brief bit of scurrying for armfuls of pillows and blankets and we were soon ensconced in a very cozy nest. Soon enough, clothes were shed, copious amounts of oil were applied to all available flesh and things got decidedly warmer!

I can only pretend to relay the roughest of outlines of what followed; my head was swimming in an ocean of awe, appreciation and astonishment. For a brief time I lay passively and accepted the oily petting and stroking of six hands and many kisses, sometimes from multiple people at once. But I’m really not built for passivity and soon started orchestrating matters. Splendor was placed in the middle and received ample attentions from all of us, with one person leading the main event and the other two assisting in whatever clever ways they could find. And then another person took the lead. And then I took the lead. After we had thoroughly given Splendor all she could possibly handle, we rotated Mirth into the middle and repeated the process. We took a brief break to soak in the hot tub, but swiftly returned for a second act. We repeated the same routine with Cheer, and then I got the finale session in the middle.

Each girl is so completely different in her wants, needs, preferences; I began each session by telling some story about that girl’s kinks (Your kink is okay!), amusing little stories about our early experiences, anything to break the ice and set the stage for what that girl might especially enjoy. And for fuck’s sake, did they rise to the occasion! Every one of them dove into the action with all due vigor and enthusiasm, as though they were long-term lovers. I tried to quietly check in with each of them at various times, just to make sure it was all good and everyone was in their happy place. Each time I was met with a big damn grin and firm instructions to quit worrying so much. I did my best to comply.

The night was such a long series of amazing things, and everything flowed so easily, so naturally, so comfortably, that it’s hard for me to lock down a precise sequence. However, some specific moments remain etched in my brain: The way Mirth lay directly under Cheer and held her down spread eagled to be used and abused. The way Cheer curled up against Splendor in a fawning, adoring, submissive fashion after receiving a series of exquisite bites on her torso that left bruises visible for days. The way Mirth presented herself face down, ass up so that I could make her squirt profoundly, multiple times, to the delight of our audience.

But more than anything, I will long remember and cherish the feeling of love and adoration that filled the space. Everyone was so incredibly loving, open, giving, accepting, supportive… I was just awestruck. And when I remind myself that this was the first time any of them had ever interacted with the others in anything resembling a sexual context, I hardly know how to respond. I am blessed beyond measure.

The following day was a flurry of glowing messages and photos of spectacular love bites. One of the girls said, “I went into it thinking I was doing it for you. I came out of it knowing I did it for me.” I find both ends of that so beautiful, it makes me tear up. That any or all of them would consider doing such a thing for me is an honor I can barely comprehend. That it became such a beautiful, shared, mutual experience for all three of them just fills my heart with joy and love.

The bravery and openness of these women completely awes me. I fail to see how I have earned it, but they assure me I have. I’m going to bust my ass trying to live up to the person they think I am.

A friend (with extraordinary benefits) was having dinner with her best friend and several of their female friends. The conversation turned to a Huffington Post article on “Cliteracy

My friend then mentioned a video I had shared of Betty Dodson drawing the internal anatomy of the clitoris.

Finally, the topic turned to female ejaculation, “squirting”. Of all of the sex positive women at the table, only my friend had ever experienced it before. The rest of the women were listening to her describe it, eyes wide open, mouths gaping. “And I only had it happen for the first time with a new boyfriend last December.” Her best friend thinks for a second and then says with glee, “Oh, Mr Thumbs!”

Yes, dear friends, I was the aforementioned “new boyfriend”, and apparently her bestie remembers me as “Mr Thumbs”.

For reasons I will leave to your imagination.