Memory or fantasy?

P is spreadsheeting her orgasms for me, and every time she updates a cell, I get an e-mail. So. Fucking. Hot.

The game is tied, and nobody’s biting.

The tables turn, and I’m reminded: don’t be a biter.

A belt between your teeth, my tongue between your thighs, and a tap-tap-tap safe signal we both hope you won’t use.

There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

A broken link, a battle of wills, and a very sore cock.

Lilly sends me the sounds she makes when she comes. This time, she outdid herself.

A hotel room, a pillowcase, a tie, a belt, and a dress that doesn’t survive the evening.

The counterpoint to wisdom, of course, is folly. Here’s some of mine.

T and I find ourselves with rare, kid-free hours, and spend them in a tangle of laptops, oral sex, emailed fantasies, and the complicated arithmetic of compersion.