Author: amiepetite

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To The Hilt

The sides of my wrist were pinked with hyperemia, more blood flow than usual, the way my neck blushes when I’m excited or your ears burn when you’re nervous. My forearm, finally freed, was at the end of its limits and relaxed only very slowly. I’ve always wanted to have a cock so I could feel, from inside, a woman contracting with orgasm, clenching my cock as she shuddered and spasmed. I may not have a nice, thick cock, but I do have very small hands.

I went slow at first, like I need with an unusually thick cock. Let the muscles ringing her pussy relax and give her a chance to slip onto my hand instead of just pushing into her. Just a little stretch and once the thickest part of whatever is doing the fucking is past the choke point, the little pain goes away and all there is is pleasure.

She was worried that it would be too much, after a surgery and long recovery, and after two already fuck-full hours, but he kept watching over my shoulder with delight and encouraging her, reminding her that we were there for her pleasure and I could speak up for myself if I was overwhelmed and that, in the past, when they had gently overcome her resistance, she had been happy they had.

Three fingers, a little less than his cock, slipped in easily. Four wasn’t far behind and in no time at all my relaxed hand, all four fingers and my thumb, gentle and constant, pressed its way in. As I felt my fingertips reach the back of her, I curled them as gently as I could to form a full fist. A loose fist at first, feeling her dimensions and watching her face for cues of pain or pleasure. She gave me excellent directions and encouragement, asking for more, bigger, thicker, stronger.

Given what I know about my own equipment, I wondered if perhaps what she was asking for was more stretch, right down at the base. I tightened my grip to make my fist as wide as I could, turned it sideways to maximize pressure, and pulled back until I felt strong resistance.

If you’ve never felt a woman with a strong pelvic floor contract in orgasm around your wrist, you’ve missed out on a truly incredible experience. I hope feeling it around your cock is as good. I felt like some insane sex goddess, watching and feeling and hearing her come this incredible, fierce, powerful orgasm, back arched and muscles rigid, moans and yells and eventually deep, rich, velvety screams. Her husband watched, absolutely over the moon, as his wife, his woman, got fisted by this slight, busty pro. From the corner of my eye I could see his gaze flickering between my face, her face, and her pussy, dripping wet onto the pillows. The sounds and the smell of her fresh sweat, the sight of her writhing and shuddering, my wicked happy grin, our three naked forms working to give her every sensation she asked for.

With the aftershocks of her orgasm heating us all, I slowly withdrew and thought we were done. He was so excited at the sight of my tiny wet hand slipping out of his woman’s glowing cunt that he asked me to do it again. She was done, she said, but she thought she could handle a few more ins and outs before she would need a cool shower and another glass of champagne. Well, this is what happens when two people who know each other inside and out make suggestions. Neither she nor I knew that she had one, final, loud, body wracking, firestorm of an orgasm left in her.

As I slipped in the second time, I thought it was simply to please her husband. To our surprise but not his, she gasped and suddenly changed her mind about being done. This time, she was warmed up and demanding more. I remembered something he mentioned offhand about her G Spot so I turned my wrist and curled my entire hand up in a ‘come hither’ motion. The flat of my four knuckles put full, broad, strong pressure directly into it.

It’s things like this that make me a little jealous. With 15 years on me and twenty with the same encouraging and open minded partner, she comes harder, faster, and stronger than I do. I wasn’t keeping track but I know I was responsible for at least four orgasms (six if you count his) and got an assist in at least two more. Based on volume and sheer heat, they felt powerful, possibly even overwhelming.

With my fist balled as wide and hard as I could get it, fucking her as fast and as hard as I could, watching and hearing her (and him) enjoying every wet sloppy minute of it, I felt like Aphrodite, Loki, Hera, and Athena all at once. (yes, I know I’m mixing mythologies. You would, too.)

Today I am reminded of last night with every step. Our interlude with the strap on gave me a tender pubic bone and my right forearm and my back are reminding me of just how little I cared about them last night. His length, strength, and vigor left me exhausted inside and her insatiable pussy tuckered out the rest of me. Nothing hurts, darlings. I know you’re reading this and you’ll worry about me. I pay other people money to make me do far less fun exercise and feeling sore the next day is part of the satisfaction. Part of the pleasure. Part of the experience.

Young lady. Nice boy. You two are a gem as a unit and as someone who only knew you for a few hours, I’m pleased on your behalf for your openness, your adventurousness, your confidence, and your inspiration. Would that all wives welcome the chance to come for hours on end. Would that all husbands listened to what their wives wanted and helped nudge them towards it. I’ll see you two again, I’m sure of it. Just give me a few days for my arms to recover 😉

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Imposition

Impostor syndrome (also known as impostor phenomenon, impostorism, fraud syndrome or the impostor experience) is a psychological pattern in which an individual doubts their accomplishments and has a persistent internalized fear of being exposed as a “fraud”.

I know I am not the only one to have ever experienced this terrifying voice in the corner (and sometimes the very center) of your mind. The doubter that suggests you’re not qualified for the position you hold. In some cases this voice can be crippling but in mine, it spurs me. Usually.

Not a day goes by that I don’t remember how well my life suits me, how much freedom and pleasure I enjoy, how (I think) I’m helping folks learn and grow in their bodies, and that it could all come crashing down around my ears at any moment. Every day, or at least every few days, I wonder when my upward momentum will reach exhaustion and begin coming back down. Given all the mediocrity and downright misery in the world, who am I to deserve such joy?

So I try to justify it. I read and write and try to exercise enough to make me feel that I’ve earned my place. I take classes and process information and synthesize it and still I’m pretty sure it isn’t enough. I often seek assurance from close friends that I am actually as good as I think I am and they tell me where I am strong and where I can keep working. And yet the voice never quite quiets.

And yet… My conversations with Betty brought me a strange peace. She asked me: what if I were enough? What would my life look like if I didn’t have to overextend myself and constantly earn others’ approval? At first I tried to give concrete answers but after several unsatisfactory attempts, all I could sob out was that I “just want people to like me!”

After that conversation, two hours that ended, as they always do, in heavy, sobbing, cathartic tears, my imposter syndrome shifted from deeply personal to academic. Something that no longer dragged me into ‘yes’s I didn’t mean but instead informed my decisions to move forward or not, as needed to address legitimate shortcomings. Instead of pressuring myself into tolerating things that stressed me, I can choose to tolerate, or not, as I see fit, without that added layer of guilt or shame.

Though I have not lost my constant sense of faking compentence, it no longer controls me.

Have you ever asked yourself these questions? What if you were enough? What if your passion and curiosity and insecurity were enough to open doors and lead you to greater things? What if learning and growth were choices you made for yourself instead of choices made for you by that doubting voice? What if you made decisions based on what it useful and good instead of on what you think you have to do to keep the illusion? What would that look like?

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Out of Bounds

I get together with my girlfriends sometimes and we talk shop. Things come up, usually just small pet peeves, but also deeper thoughts on our work, how it impacts us, how we can do it better, and how to solve problems.

A week or so ago, I was sitting around chatting and the conversation turned to breaking boundaries. Not when clients do it, but when we do. When, in an FBSM session, I let you taste me or, when in a mutual touch session, we have sex. When the moment moves us to share more than we should because it feels right. In the moment

The three of us agreed that it never ends well, not because we regret the moment or the passion, but because it nearly always leads to unmet expectations. When I’m deep in the middle of a conversation and can’t help but bleed over time, when the call of an orgasm is stronger than the will to deny it, it sets up an expectation for the next time. Or if not the very next time, then one somewhere in the nebulous future.

Though we all agreed, it wasn’t in some sort of female solidarity over men, it was with a sense of sorrow. We three adore our work and our clients and regret that we cannot allow ourselves the freedom of the moment. Nearly every time we break or bend the boundaries, eventually the client provider relationship suffers.

Never right away. The appreciation and feeling of pride lasts a while most of the time. Then the client starts to wonder if it will ever happen again. Then follow feelings of insecurity, of desire, of rejection… Sometimes, with self awareness and communication, these feelings can be headed off soon enough to maintain the relationship. All three of us have lost clients, beloved regulars who fill us with warmth and pleasure, to this trap.

We all slip sometimes. We make mistakes and go too far and wish we didn’t have to regret it. We can forgive ourselves and try to do better the next time around. I don’t regret the times I’ve let excitement carry me away. I only regret the fallout.

So if your provider allows you a bit farther than they are supposed to into their world, I hope you appreciate it for what it is and let it stand on it’s own. All three of us, talented, experienced, incredibly sensuous women, agreed that, were our clients to allow these moments to stand as they are, without letting them inspire future desire, we would feel a much greater sense of freedom in our work.

I wish this to be an inspiration for my readers. An inspiration to appreciate and adore without demanding more. Without asking. Accept your gift, freely given, and cherish it. When you find yourself expecting more and wishing for it, I encourage you to remind yourself that what you have is enough. If the reminder rings hollow and you realize that it is not, thank your provider for opening your eyes, and make changes where they are needed.

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Silk and Roses

She is so pretty! That was my first thought. So slim and innocent, with perfect clear skin and long, thick, corkscrew hair. And her smile! How on earth is someone like this reaching out to someone like me?

Inexperience is nothing to be ashamed of. I have, a few times but less and less as time goes on, made a fuss about age and experience. He was 26 and had never gone down on a girl!?! She was 27 and had never been with a man!?! She was 31 and had never come!?! He was 50 and had never had sex!!?!! These things never *phase* me, but sometimes they still surprise me. Sometimes, my surprise shows, because I have no filter and have internalized beliefs about the world. Oops.

So when she reached out as a young, beautiful, bisexual woman and said she wanted to be with me to get over the hump, as it were, of having sex, I was surprised. And flattered. And excited. And nervous.

You never forget your first. Your first kiss. Your first orgasm. The first time you experience sex you truly want. Being deliberately chosen, *AND PAID* to be someone’s first is a beautiful and heavy responsibility, no matter when it comes in my client’s life.

She was unsure. That she followed up and arrived must have been an internal battle that I”m glad she won. I wondered once or twice if she would change her mind and leave. But she didn’t.

Women are more complicated, more difficult in many ways, than men. Men have this nice, highly visible barometer that tells you clearly and immediately where their sexual desire is*. Women, well, we’re a little more cryptic, and the price for a misjudgment is often higher. When I casually mentioned this, her first thought was to apologize for being more difficult than my other clients. I rarely miss so badly with my words, foolish, self absorbed personality that I can be, haha! Her reaction was such a short hop from what women in the US, particularly shy, pretty ones, are told every day. Don’t be difficult, don’t make anyone’s life harder than it needs to be.

Well fuck that. I want women to own and enjoy their hidden depths! Fuck yeah it’s harder (most of the time) to make a woman come than a man. And to know what’s going to make her come. And to hang on long enough to get it done. Generally, with a penis-having-person, you stroke it up and down. Add lube or a foreskin, a little ball play, and that’s about it. Variations in tempo and pressure, sure, but nothing like the variety in women’s pleasure packaging!

I’ve seen everything from ‘I’m not going to come but that feels nice for now’ to ‘lube your ducking hand and GET IT IN ME’ to ‘Please strap me on this penis shaped rocket and light the fuse’ when it comes to getting women off. I am, very nearly, as clueless as you are, my reader. But what I do have is the ability to read body language.

When someone is nervous, they sweat, they tremble, they avert their eyes, they need a hug and some non-eye-contact cuddling. When someone is comfortable but not aroused, their eyes are bright and willing to make contact, their breath is even, and their speech can be either animated or subdued, but is focused. When someone is aroused in a way that will probably make them come, their hips buck, their breath gets fast and loud, their cheeks (and a lot of other places) get flushed red, often their eyes close, and sometimes they start making noise. These things. I look for these things. If I’m about to go down on someone and they’re giving me nervous signals, I’m going to either stop, or proceed veeeeeeeeeery slowly and check in after making my intentions clear but before actually beginning. Trying to be sexy to someone who is nervous doesn’t work well.

Guys. This is the secret to pleasuring a woman. Not special techniques or ungodly stamina or some fancy toy, just listening to her body and allowing it to dictate where you go.

Sorry. I got a little derailed there.

She was shy, so I am holding the details for myself because I think she would prefer it, but I am compelled to write about the encounter because I think it’s important that inexperienced men and women know that I hold space for you in my practice. That your newness and shyness is charming and sweet and that being chosen to guide you along your sexual journey fills me with pleasure and pride.

So thank you, sweet girl, for trusting me. I hope to see you again and I think it would help but you don’t need it. I saw in you, in only two hours, a little boost of confidence that I think will serve you well. I didn’t treat you the way I did because I was paid to, I did it because you deserve it. You deserve to have input in your pleasure. You deserve to be asked for what you want. You deserve to give and receive the touch you want. You deserve to be with someone who values those things. And also: you’re gonna be great. Whoever you choose to share your self with is a lucky, lucky person.

*About 15% of the time, a boner does not mean what you think it means. I won’t discount this, but I will acknowledge that it’s far more often reliable than not.