Sexkitten

HAPPINESS

I spotted him in the vegetable isle at the supermarket, there was a woman clutching his arm and smiling adoringly up at him. I knew that he had a girlfriend. They lived together. She’s a school teacher.

I’d never thought about her appearance. Was she prettier than me? Is she thinner? Richer? We always want to know these things, don’t we?

I didn’t. After the breakup we had, I was just glad he had a girlfriend.

Seeing her though, my first thought was, “she’s not his type,” Richard has always been into physically fit women. She didn’t look as if she’d ever set foot inside a gym, though she is in my opinion, a very beautiful woman. I think women are beautiful in all shapes and sizes, colors and schemes.

Richard likes big breasts. She had nipples. He likes ethnic women. She doesn’t seem to have a drop of ethnic blood.

I was glad to see that he was willing to adjust his thinking and able to see deeper than outward appearance. Throw away his list of what makes the perfect woman and open his mind and thus his eyes and heart. Physically I fit his idea of perfection but he hated my independence. He hated my strength. He hated that I saw the best in everything and everyone. He hated that he couldn't change me. I have a long list of things he disliked about me.

I stared at them. They appeared in love—the way she held on to his arm and the way he let her--the way he she was smiling up at him and him looking down at her.

I spent many years with this man, and will to this day call it them loneliest years of my life.

He isn’t a bad person, not a bad man, we just didn’t fit.

I was going to walk away when he saw me. He waved to me. I waved back and met them halfway.

He introduced the woman, “This is my girlfriend Linda. Linda this is Kitten,”

I shook her hand. “Nice to meet you,” I said.

“Likewise,” she said, still smiling but her eyes were cold.

I chatted with them for awhile—her mostly. I wanted to thank her for bringing happiness into Richard’s life. I wanted to thank her for showing him that plumpness can be beautiful too, that big breast are in the grand scheme of things meaningless, and that happiness can come from anywhere.

Our breakup was devastated for him. I worried about him terribly. He didn’t date for two years after I left him.

He still insists that I cheated on him.

I still disagree. For years prior to our breakup sex had dwindled to birthdays and Christmas and then stopped all together. I stayed because we were raising T together. I didn’t want to break up unhappy family.

I threw tantrums and demanded more cock, intimacy, affection.

“If you won’t give it to me, I will go out and get it,” I warned him.

I found a man I wanted to fuck. I went home and told him. “I met this man. I’m going to fuck him. Once I do, there is no turning back. I’ll do anything to make us work. We’ll go to counseling if necessary. Tell me what you need from me to make us work?”

He kept ignoring me.

I had my fling and went home and told him.

I still can’t figure out where the cheating part happened.

But to all his family members and friends I am the woman who cheated on him and broke his heart.

I have no doubt that Linda had heard the same story and the animosity she was feeling towards me was perhaps her being protective of him.

I said goodbye to them. He looks happy. That has always been important to me.

We did not work because we just weren’t right for each other. Sometimes it’s that simple.

GOT MILF?

I received a call from a female administrator at T's boarding school.

"Miss Sexkitten," she said. "I am soooo upset with your son," Her voice was full of so much hurt she seemed on the verge of becoming tearful.

She paused.

I didn't say anything. Three seconds later... "Your son came to breakfast wearing a t-shirt with a very naked curvaceous woman pushing a baby stroller and beneath the picture are the words, GOT MILF?

I didn't get it. I racked my brain. MILF sounded familiar but I couldn’t place it.

"Where would he get a shirt like that?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said, still thinking. I packed his bag. I buy most of his clothes. I'm damn sure I wouldn't buy my thirteen year old a shirt with a naked curvaceous woman pushing a stroller.

"Do you know what MILF means?" She asked.

"No,” I admitted

"It means, mothers I Like to fuck," She said it slowly, stressing each word.

I asked to speak with him. He still refuses to accept my calls. I have not spoken with T since leaving him. I am told to give him time, he’ll come around.

I’m waiting for that day. I can’t begin to convey how badly I want to say I love you.

The administrator told me that my ex-husband had visited.

I got off the phone and called my ex-husband.

“How was your visit with T?” I asked.

“He wants to come home. You should let him come home. You’ve made your point,”

“Did you bring him clothes?” I asked.

“Yes. I also brought him magazines and some other things. He doesn’t like it there,”

“Did you bring him a shirt that says GOT MILF?”

“What?”

“MILF?” I said.

“No. It says GOT MILK? There was a lady pushing a stroller.

“You didn’t notice that she was naked?”

“She’s a cartoon,” He said.

“It doesn’t say got milk, it says got milf,” I said.

“What does that mean?”

I told him.

He busted out laughing. I couldn’t get a word in he was laughing so hard. I could see him clearly, red as a lobster, his eyes shut holding his gut.

Funny?

I think not.

ITALIAN STALLION

I am writing on the computer in the office center at the hotel in which I'm staying. I've been on a business trip for the past three days. I'll be home tomorrow. Nick who is also away on a business trip will be back on Sunday.

A woman knows when a man finds her attractive. It's unmistakable. There are a lot of men at this conference who wants me. But there’s one that stands out more than others, perhaps because I notice him too. He wants to fuck me. He wants to slam me up against a wall, rips off my panties, and fuck me like a mad man.

He has fantasized about sneaking up to my room. He has romanticized us. In this fantasy, our eyes meet across the room, the electricity is between us is undeniable. We give in to each other. This would be an encounter born out of pure lust. And it would be beautiful.

I could tell all this in the sly, sexy glances he sends my way. When I shook his hand, he holds on longer than necessary. It’s in the way he sneaks up on me from behind to get a whiff of my skin. Fucking Italian Stallion!

Of course nothing happened. I did not encourage him. I established right away that I was engaged. I’m not, but who cares?

Did I find him attractive? Yes.

Did I think about him slamming me against the wall, ripping off my panties, and fucking me senseless? No.

Was I curious about him? Yes, for a fleeting moment, but nothing that I was remotely tempted to act on. Fucking Italian stallion!

Why not?

One, I’m committed to Nick.

Two, I’m committed to Nick.

Three, I’m committed to Nick.

Nothing could sway me into action. I’m not on the market, and I don’t have a need for his services. I can say this for sure, on Sunday when Nick comes home, I will be fucked.

I take business trips an average of three, four times per year. Nick takes them every week.

How many times has he come up against situation like these? He’s very attractive, successful, intelligent, and debonair. I’m certain that women approach him all the time. I’m also certain that he comes across other women for whom he lust, and like Mr. Italian Stallion has passionate, thoughts and fantasies about them. That’s just the way it is, and I’m not in the business of lying to myself.

Should I be pissed off?

Why should I? We all have our fantasies do we not?

I have a crush on the actor, Nicholas Cage. He’s the only star I give a crap about. I give a crap about him in the sense that I see all of his movies even if they suck.

I have fantasies about him. But if given the chance right now to lay naked in his arms, would I take it?

Absolutely not.

The question is what does Nick do in those situations?

If the woman for whom he lust invites him to her room, would he be tempted to go?

My friends say that I’m a fool. How can you trust a man who travels like that?

I know only one thing: Distrust is not an option. If it were, I couldn’t, wouldn’t be with him.

FETISH

Nick went away with his ex-wife for a day to deal with a situation with their son.

I pouted like a little girl, threw a tantrum, and pushed him away when he tried to get pussy. Bad, bad Kitten.

And now I regret it.

What the hell was I angry about? I can't come up with a good explanation. I just didn't want him to go.

Was I wrong?

Did I behave like an immature little wench? You bet.

It IS necessary for him to have a relationship with his ex-wife.
They SHOULD show a united front when dealing with issues relating to their children. They SHOULD be civil with each other. Hell, they SHOULD be friends.

I may not like it, but there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. So yes, I should’ve given the man his pussy. I was wrong to let him leave on a week long trip without marking him. His cock should be bruised right now. He should have fresh thoughts of me floating around in his head, on my knees, hot pussy grinding his face, legs spread wide so giving and decadent, and oh so willing to please.

I should’ve drained him of cum, and wear it like gold dusts—

In my hair—

On my face—

My mouth—

My tits—

Belly—

Plastered all over my ass—overflowing from my pussy. I should’ve used him up.

There is so much I should’ve done that I didn’t do. I cannot justify my behavior, but I can say this—I pout because I’m smitten. I want him from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. I can't wait for him to come home so that I can show him how sorry I am.

He is my fetish.

TITILLATING SENSATION

"Let’s go upstairs," Nick said.

"Why?"

"I want to fuck you before I meet with my attorney,"

"What time is your appointment?"

"Two-thirty,"

I looked at the clock. Two-ten.

"You don't have time. We'll fuck when you get back,"

"We'll fuck now. Why are you still dressed?" he said.

He looked frustrated and so damn handsome a titillating sensation hardened my tits and flooded my clit.

"Am I being bad?" I asked.

“Kitten, we have about five minutes. I’m not sure how long this meeting will last. You may not be here when I get back,”

He walked towards the stairs.

I peeled off my t-shirt, stepped out of my jeans, and ran after him.

“How do you want it? Doggie-style? Spread wide on my back?”

“I want you to suck my cock,”

“You want a blow job and pussy in five minutes? We don’t have…” I started.

“Why isn’t my cock in your mouth?” he demanded.

He sat on the edge of the bed. And like the good little whore I am, fell to my knees before him. I took his cock between my eager lips, arched my back, and spread my legs giving him full view of my shaved pussy in the mirror that was expertly placed behind me.

My ass moved back and forth as I deep throat, and devoured him like a cock-sucking nymphomaniac.

Within minutes, Nick’s body went tense. He gripped my hair as if trying to pull me away from his cock yet at the same time thrusting at my face.

“Horny little bitch,” he said.

I spread my legs wider and moaned. I knew the precise moment to reach down and spread my pussy lips.

I had five minutes to make him cum. Three was enough.

TENDERNESS, LOVE & LUST

“What’s the difference between a wife and a job?” Samuel, one of Nick’s friends asked.

“What?” Nick asked.

“The job still sucks,” Samuel said.

The men laughed.

Earlier in the evening, with too much to drink, Samuel told the group of us that the one thing he wanted for V-Day was a blow-job. “My lovely wife here…” he said looking at Amanda hasn't given me a blowjob in years,"

Amanda smiled seeming proud of herself. Why I don't know. “They don’t understand,” she said. “We work hard and take care of the kids, we don’t have time to have sex and give blowjobs,”

She was talking to me. We were the only women present with five guys.

“Speak for yourself,” I said.

She stared at me.

Nick laughed. “I am a lucky man,” he said. “Today is our one-year anniversary. I love this woman,”

Before getting together with his friends we had a private fuck fest. My pussy was still throbbing and full of his cum.

“Kitten I lust for you,” he said after exploding inside me for the fourth time that afternoon.

“Lust, even after all this time?” I asked.

Of course,” he said. I love you passionately. I think passion and lust is the same thing. It’s lust that is going to keep me fucking you like this. It’s what I was feeling this morning when you were on your knees with my cock in your mouth. I couldn’t take my eyes from your bare ass and my cock still wedge between your beautiful lips. It's lust that made me feel as if I would die if I didn’t split apart your dripping cunt and pound you. Lust is what makes me want you again after just having you even though my cock is too sore to go one more round."

"That's interesting," I said.

“Do you want me less now than you did a year ago?”

“I want you more,” I said.

"That's the way it should be, "

I took his arm and tip toed to kiss him.

I was lusting.

“Kitten,” Amanda said. “What do you mean speak for myself?”

“I make time for sex. I think it’s important,” I said.

“Well, I can’t find time. When the kids are grown things will slow down. But right now there’s too much going on to have sex on a regular basis no matter what anyone says,”

I didn’t answer.

I hate when women talk like that. When the kids are grown may be too late. I know all about having a lot to do. But sex and intimacy should never be compromised. A man will take a five minute fuck in the closet, bathroom, garage…. He’ll take it anywhere he can get it.

To all the Samuels all over the world, if it were up to me, you would getting your cock sucked. You would never forget how it feels.

And so I wish every couple out there had a wonderfully, intimate, passionate V-Day. I hope it was filled with tenderness, love, and lust.

EMOTIONAL

"You did what?"

This is the response I get from people these days when I tell them about T. Then the strange looks.

My friends—and this is why they are my friends, don't question me.. They know me.

"Is there anything we can do?" they asked.

I needed to talk.

I’ve been talking a lot. I feel unbalanced. Needy.
I want to get closer to my friends, my sisters, and parents. I can’t get enough of Little C. I want to keep him young and childlike forever.

Nick’s been away for three days. It feels like forever. He’s been there for me. He listens to me. He holds me when I’m frustrated and crying and at my wits ends. He played no part in my decision to send T away. He refused. “He’s your son and your decision,” he said. I’m so glad he took that position. I love him for it.

“When is your traveling going to slow down?” I asked last night.

“Not any time soon,” he said and went into an explanation. I didn’t hear anything past “Not anytime soon,”

I didn’t say much. I’m too emotional. I have a general rule not to say too much when I’m highly emotional. Bad things happen.

Desperation does not become me even though it was boiling and overflowing inside me.

There was a little whiny voice inside me pleading, come home. I need you here with me. Please,” even though I know he’s away on business.

Not cute.

Why make the man feel guilty and pressured and burdened when he’s doing his job?.

But cute or not, I needed some tenderness. I needed him to make love to me. I needed to be so wrapped up in lust that I couldn’t think of any thing else. I needed his cock or his lips to tear from my body a moment where I writhe and scream and hold on for my life as I lose control of everything.

We don’t always get what we want, do we?
I’ve never been in a relationship where my man is gone more than he’s home.
And I find myself having to adjust my thinking and changing my attitude about a lot of things.

“I miss you,” I said.

“I miss you too, love,”

I said good night to him and indulged in myself.

I had my moment.

LETTING GO

My ex-husband tested my strength when life with him presented me with a very interesting and some would say difficult choice. It turned out to be one of the biggest decisions of my life. When I think of that time today, years later, I pinpoint it as the moment I became me.

Just a brief recap: Eighteen years old and married with a new baby, I found out that my now ex-husband was using drugs. He owns a business and was financially secure. We had a great home in a very nice suburban community. It was a perfect life, except—drug use had no part in my fairytale.

I wasn't working and I had no savings. I married him despite my parent’s disapproval. They had other things in mind for me, like college—the audacity of them wanting the best for me!

Life, I knew was going to be tough. But the decision to leave my marriage because les difficult when I stopped thinking with fear behind every thought, how am I going to pay the bills? Who is going to help me take care of this baby? What am I going to do with this baby who was depending on me? I have no money, no savings. Am I going to be homeless?

But scarier than all those scary things was spending my life with a drug addict.
I dissected the situation and based my decision on one significant element, what is best for T and myself?

The rest is history. I kept the house I couldn’t afford for ten years. I finished college. I'm independent and capable and all in all well rounded. I have some cracks in my armor here and there, some bigger than others, but for the most part, I hold it together.

T is gone. I drove my beloved son to boarding school and left him. I’ve been struggling with this decision for months. I wanted the right thing to be me.

I wanted control of the situation even though there were moments of clarity when I realized that I had lost control and for the life of me, no matter what I did, could not get it back.

I wanted to see my son off to college. I wanted a close relationship. I wanted so much that I couldn’t have.

I stopped thinking with my heart. I had to—as I mother I could not think beyond holding on—letting go was not an option, the thought until recently has never crossed my mind. Yet when I dissected the situation, the one thing that presented itself as a possible solution was the one thing I could not comprehend or imagine doing.

But what is best for T, Little C, and myself?

The answer cuts deep. To save him from death and or prison, and what the fuck is the difference any way—I had to give him up.

I use to think that leaving my ex-husband, his father was the most difficult decision I would make in my life, it’s nothing compared to the one I made a few days ago.
I was strong through the process of checking him in and signing papers. I had to—my biggest challenge was ahead, the moment I would walk away.

He kicked and screamed and accused me of being the worst mother—fucking this and fucking that. “You’re destroying my fucking life. How can you do this to me? I hate you!”

I told him that I love him with all my heart. My voice surprisingly calm and controlled, my face gave nothing away of the deep, deep sadness within me. I walked away—steps firm and my back perfectly straight.

And then, it hit me.

I barely made it into the car, my knees buckled and I began to shake uncontrollably. I was sweating, weak and terrified. The deep, deep sadness that before would not reveal itself broke my resolve and destroyed me. I cried like a baby. I cried long and hard and could not stop. The pain felt like an explosion inside me. It was everywhere—and along with it, this sense of emptiness that has not waned one bit in days days.

Still…It was the thing for him.

PATIENCE

I'm not the most patient woman. I cannot stand in long lines without getting rattled. I cannot deal with slow computers without losing my patience and wanting to stomp on them.

This past holiday season like all the others, I didn't buy a single present unless I ordered it online and have it shipped to the person's home. Everyone else received gift cards. I refused to deal with the traffic, long lines, crowds.

One of my friends bought me a membership to Costo. I've never been to one of these stores. I went last weekend. I lasted five minutes. There were too many people. It was taking far too long to get from here to there. I left.

I know that I'm not going to get what I want when I snap my fingers. Life does not work this way. I know that my expectations are unrealistic--I’m not completely irrational. I'm working on my patience level, really. I take deep breaths and count to ten but I'm not cured yet.

I received an email from a blogger who wants to know why I lurk and never leave comments.

The answer: I like you. I like the way you write. I find you very interesting, but leaving a comment requires me to become a member of your hosting site. I have to create an account. I have to answer questions. I have to figure out the letters in the box.

I don't know if anyone else have this problem, but sometimes I get those damn things wrong.

Bottom line, I don't want to have to become a member of anything to leave a comment. I like to read, leave my comment(s) and move on. I don't have the time or the patience to sit around creating accounts all over the place. I won't do it.

I understand the need to screen. I don't think there's anything wrong with taking this kind of precaution. I should probably do this, but I won't.

I chose this open forum to express myself. Since I started this site, I blocked one person. I think now that I was too damn sensitive. I left the door open, anyone has the right to come in and take a peek. I have a comment feature: anyone can comment if they want to and I can choose to respond or not. I can even delete it if I feel like it. It’s that simple, isn’t it?

DELIGHTFUL WHORE

Nick just got back his week long trip—a week in which I’ve exhausted all means of self- pleasure. Porn and masturbation can only do so much.

My pussy went and hungry with anticipation long before I made it up the stairs. Naked before I reached his bedroom. If fucking/making love/mating whatever we call it, is not the deepest form of expression, I don’t know what is. I needed his cock inside me, his lips on my lips—the ones on my face—the ones between my legs.

His phone rang while I was taking off his clothes. He looks at me apologetically. “Baby, I have to take this,”

I pulled down his pants and locked my blowjob lips around his pulsing cock. I swallowed and stroked it.

I could hear the man’s voice through the phone talking about statistics, numbers, and percentages.

Nick was trying to get off the phone. The man kept talking. I was making sucking sounds on his cock and moaning.

He said goodbye and took me from behind. “Yes,” I told him. “Yes, this is what I need,” His cock fills me.

“Yes,” I said.

This is what I wanted, his cock secure between my pussy lips, his hands gripping and spreading my cheeks.

He fucks me sideways with the glow from the bedside lamp shining on my pussy—watching his cock penetrate me. Watching my body shake and shiver with every thrust. Watching me exposed with not a sliver decency—gone is the professional, the mother, the composed in public woman, here in his bedroom, I’m his delightful whore.

“You horny bitch,” he said.

“Yes,” I agreed

Nick does more than make me like a woman, I feel like his woman. He makes it clear and I agree that my pussy is his pussy. He may want me ten minutes after having me—at 3 am in the morning—while I’m sleeping—in his kitchen, garage, and he shall have me.

Later, I lay in his arms. One leg slung carelessly across him, my pussy overflowing with his cum. I feel wonderfully used—marked, violated and satiated. He’d filled me twice in the past two hours. I rubbed my cum-filled pussy against him and purred.
“You want more cock, don’t you?” he said.

“You have a week to make up,”

He chuckled. Rolls me over and mounts me. His cock slid easily inside my slippery pussy.