The Zaftig Chronicles

So where did I leave off? Oh, yeah, the whole squirting thing. Turns out I'm the first woman he's ever been with who could do that. He had lots of questions -- "What does it feel like? Does it feel like a regular orgasm? How'd you first know you could do that?"  I answered respectively: "It feels amazing. It's almost hard to describe but the best way I can describe it is releasing of pressure. It feels like I'm releasing pressure in my vagina. It feels like I have to urinate at first, but then it heightens to a sexual feeling, and all I want to do is push "A regular orgasm feels more like contractions, squirting feels more like pressure. Squirting is more intense, but on a different level -- the intensity is in the release. When I push out, the release is what feels so effing good. It's all about the release. When I have a regular orgasm (clitoral), I can feel it all over my body. It's a lovely feeling. More romantic, sensual. Squirting f...

We finally had sex. Real sex. The kind that leaves you sleepy, exhausted, and tingly throughout the night. I showed up to his apartment, carrying Elexa freshening cloths and condoms. I came ready to go on an adventure, the adventure he promised me.  An adventure it was.    The sex lasted hours. We started at 7 P.M., and ended (by falling asleep in front of his fire place) at around midnight. He tapped into every sexual zone -- toe sucking, massage, and even restraining me while he had his way with me (really loved that!). I was thoroughly orgasmed! Absolutely NO NEED to frake .  He was fascinated by my ability to squirt. He even stopped mid-thrust to examine the liquid. "It's not pee," I said. He looked at me as though I'd insulted him. "I don't care if it is. What does it feel like?" I urged him to continue thrusting and I would describe the process as it happens.  But you'll have to wait to read the rest, I've got a ton of laundry to do. I j...

All he asked for was a simple blow job, and I blew it. He asked me to do one simple job, and I blew it. Literally! I'm on my knees, bobbing on his hardness; my mouth feels like it's ready to have an orgasm. I'm moaning and going to town, it's feeling better to me than it's probably feeling to him.  Then a knock on my office door: "Zaftig, are you sick?" *Paula* asked.  PANIC.  PANIC!  Shuffling quickly, pants zipping, shirt tucking, mouth wiping. "I'm fine, my stomach's a little queasy."  He looked so deflated. "Well, you blew that."  "Meaning the job?" I asked. "You can't be quiet? I'm quiet when I blow you."  "First of all, we shouldn't be doing this at work."  He shushed me. "You blew the job, embrace it." I embraced it. But I missed a deadline for a report I was doing; so technically, I blew two jobs today.

I like spontaneous things. Believe me, I do. But when I have an evening planned that features me going through all my philosophy goodies, ordering-in, and possibly watching a DVD, asking me "Can I come over?" is a spontaneous I don't like.  I'd planned for another me night . Until he showed up. He was coming at seven, just enough time for me to smell good and get touchable and soft, which consisted of me exfoliating with a margarita sugar scrub, and then frantically searching through my underwear drawer for the sexiest underwear I could find.  A woman knows when she's going to be bad. Oh, was I bad . But I wasn't that bad. Here's the thing: Things got really hot while I was showing him my underwear. The way he kissed me made me forget all the rules. He came here to do damage. "Let me..." he said, breathlessly. His warm fingers navigated my dripping sex and massaged my clitoris. I yelped, but I didn't stop him. I couldn't. His head descen...

I admit, I've faked orgasms, but not in the way most people think. When I fake it, it's more like forcing my orgasm to happen. So it's more like for real faking or "fraking" -- fraking is making an orgasm happen when it's apparent my partner is not going to do it for me. There's an art to fraking, which I'll get to later, but for now let me illustrate my last fraking episode. I use my experience with Kevin back in March of this year. Kevin and I had been seeing each other for about a month, when it was time to hit home base. The night began with dinner, wine, the usual. Then we headed back to my place, where we proceeded to eat each other alive. Ten minutes after entering my apartment, my bra straps were snapped; a lone Jimmy Choo, kicked off in the throes of passion, sat on my window's ledge. My underwear and my VS stockings were pretty much the next day's garbage. Atmosphere, he was giving me atmosphere -- ripped clothing, passionate kisses, ...

It's official: I'm a slut.  Things I learned about Him today: He likes licking a woman's anus He has a fetish for feet and fishnets He likes my breasts He likes hand jobs -- the sloppier, the better Did I learn anything about his brain? Of course not . The sluttiness that exudes from my pores prevents every man I meet to forego the usual niceties and get straight down to the action. Did I learn anything from last Friday's encounter? No . I let Him pin me against his desk and suck on my nipples. Oh, Man. I almost came. He held my wrists. I like my wrists held. I straddled his lap and rubbed against him. He lifted my skirt and pulled my underwear to the side and got a good look at Jan's work. He liked it. I'm happy that I wore my new set of VS. He was fascinated by what he saw and when he grazed my clitoris with his thumb, I immediately came to my senses and stopped him. He showed me his arousal. I almost gave in, but I gained control of the situation. "You k...

Last night I went to a wonderful party thrown by my friend Viviane. I love going to Viv's parties, because there are two things I know for certain will be in abundance: Men and good wine. Last night was no exception. I had sex ... technically (I think I better confirm with Clinton ). Anyway, the point is I did orgasm last night at approximately 11:34 p.m, sitting on the edge of Viv's pool, my crotch thrust in the face of a man whose name I didn't bother to learn. And thanks to his game of Let's-See-How-Fast-I-Can-Make-You-Come, I knew that it took him less than five minutes to complete the job. That was that. No numbers exchanged; no small talk; no promise of getting together next week for lunch. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Just a girl and her orgasm. This encounter is so strange, and now that I reflect on it without the delicious pinot noir imbuing my brain, I realize that we didn't kiss or even rub parts. I don't even remember how I ended up being orally pleasured by th...