Now we’ve all seen lots of porn stars have sex. And of course, porn is everywhere these days:  It’s all over the interwebs—here, here, and here. And it’s on this blog, albeit in written form (ahem).

But how many people have had sex like a porn star? And how many people have had sex in front of one of the most famous porn stars of all time? I don’t actually know the answer to that question, but I do know that at Dark Odyssey Summer Camp, five of us had sex in front of Nina Hartley.

Now, Nina Hartley is awesome, and not just because she is a porn star. She is an outspoken sex-positive feminist and an eloquent advocate for the adult industry. She produced her first film in 1984 and has now reached the grand age of 50. She is still hot, and she is still producing porn. I love her trademark black spectacles (although she is pictured above sans specs). She has been on Oprah defending the porn industry’s right to exist, she enjoys mentoring the younger women in the business, and (I love this) she was at one point threatened with six to 12 years in prison for felony lesbianism—in Nevada, of all places.  Ridiculous!

But I digress: On the first night of Summer Camp, five friends—Jefferson, Smalls, Kay, Vee, and I—had just arrived and were enjoying early evening drinks on the balcony outside our cabin. As it turned out, our cabin was next door to the “Peep Show”—an open-all-hours sex house where exhibitionists can perform for voyeurs behind a Perspex window under tacky red lighting and against a backdrop of deliciously cheesy music.

As we were sipping our pre-dinner drinks, two women suddenly burst out of the peep show cabin, one of them sporting a gigantic red dildo.

“God, that was so hot!” exclaimed the one holding the dildo. “We were fucking on the bed in the peep show cabin with this dildo, and people were watching from the other side of the window!”

“The dildo was really fucking big,” added the other, “I don’t know how my poor pussy managed to take it.”

Smalls rocked back and forth excitedly on her tippy-toes, eager to flirt with the two women. “I bet I can take that dildo,” she declared.

“You’re a big talker!” exclaimed one of the women. “I betcha you can’t.”

“I betcha I can.”

This being sex camp, it didn’t take more than a couple of seconds before Smalls was naked in one of the rooms of the peep show cabin. The rest of us stood in front of the window to watch as Smalls’ cute little legs went behind her head. The two women, who I’m going to assume are lesbians but of course may not be, kneeled at her side, massaging her pussy with the big red dildo before angling it inside.

“Mmm,” yelled Smalls. “Mmm. Fuck! Fuck, yes!”

This was the second time I had seen Smalls get fucked—and boy, was she loud! (The first time was in the car on the way down, when she climbed on top of Jefferson’s cock and rode him in the back seat as we approached the quaint little town of Darlington, Maryland. She was loud then, too.)

Quite a crowd had begun to gather by now, presumably attracted by the shrieks of pleasure coming from Smalls. I stood there with Kay and Vee, watching intently as Jefferson entered the peep show room and offered his dick to Smalls’ mouth, which she took eagerly (causing her loud screams to subside momentarily). By this point, it was all too much for those of us still merely watching. At Kay’s suggestion, Vee and I led Kay to one of the other dimly-lit peep show rooms.

And there, we proceeded to put on a show ourselves.

I can’t remember the exact sequence of events, but I think it went something like this: Kay was lying on her back. I was eating her out; Vee was fucking her face with his cock. We began to establish an audience on the other side of the Perspex window. Then, Smalls and Jefferson entered our room, presumably done with their performance in the other peep show room. And then there were five of us on the bed. Jefferson and Smalls began fucking; I began fucking Kay. Vee fucked Kay’s face. Our bodies became interwined. We were all fucking together, and it was all fucking nice.

And that’s when I spied the woman in the black spectacles: Yes! Nina Hartley, porn star extraordinaire—on the outside looking in, watching our show! At this point, Kay was on all fours, and I was fucking her from behind. Now, Kay is no stranger to public displays: I first met her at Tilda’s party earlier in the year. I remember Kay kneeling naked on the floor surrounded by at least five boys with their dicks out. She was expertly sucking off each cock, one by one, and as she gave head to one she was providing excellent simultaneous hand jobs to two others (let’s just say Kay was all hands on deck). Kay has a well-deserved reputation for administering legendary blow-jobs, with slobbering, gagging, and coming aplenty.

And now, here she was, getting fucked in front of Nina Hartley! What fun!

Now, I find that sex in front of an audience is quite a different experience from sex in more intimate settings. If you’re reading this, I would love to hear your perspective, dear reader (there’s a comment box at the bottom of the page). From my point of view, there’s certainly more pressure—but it can also be very exciting, especially if you can see the people watching you and make eye contact with them. However, unless you can forget your surroundings for a moment, I find that the experience is not as intimate as one-on-one sex; you don’t always feel the same connection with your partner. For this reason, I do my best to forget that people are watching—a trick that works for a few minutes at a time. Invariably, I open my eyes after those few minutes to see ten people observing intently, and the connection I had with the person I was having sex with changes. That’s not to say that the distraction is undesirable; it just makes the sex different.

“Byron,” said Jefferson, at one point during our five-some. “It’s time that you fucked Smalls!”

I nodded eagerly. I was sweating profusely (as I am prone to do), but I was ready for more, and I was certainly ready for Smalls, loud little minx that she is. As I rolled over to grab a new condom, I accidentally positioned my body directly in front of the window.

“Byron, fuck her over there,” suggested Jefferson, who had by now begun with Kay. He pointed to the other side of the bed, away from the window. “You’re blocking the view!”

I’d forgotten again: we had an audience to think about!

I positioned Smalls on her back and entered her.

“Mmm,” she began, “mmm, fuck! Your cock is really nice, and really big!”

Why thank you, Smalls!

I got lost in the moment again. The sex was great, and before I knew it, it was time for dinner, and we were all searching for our clothes, which were scattered in various locations around the room.

We were not to realize it at the time, but our five-some in the peep show cabin had some interesting consequences. Throughout my time at camp, I kept running into people who thought they knew me (as did other members of our gang). The conversation would go something like this:

New person: “Hey, haven’t I met you before?”

Me: “Um, I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

New person: “Oh wait, I know. I watched your show on Friday night in the peep show cabin. You were fucking a girl from behind. A brunette, I believe.”

Me: “Um, oh yeah. Right!”

So the five of us were porn stars for a night. Nina Hartley would be proud—at least, I hope so!

Since returning  from Dark Odyssey, strange and fantastic things seem to have been happening in my life. One such thing occurred this past Sunday: I was nursing a hangover, and was due to head out for a date, when I received a text message from a friend who happens to live a few blocks away. We’ll call him Caesar.

“Want to watch us have sex? We can be there in 15 mins.”

Caesar, you see, had never had sex in front of other people, and he wanted to try it. His girlfriend—well, I will call her his girlfriend, though they only met a week ago—was similarly inclined. Sophie had heard through Caesar about the orgies that I periodically attend, and evidently trusted me enough to be willing to come over to my apartment and have sex in front of me.

At camp, I had been to an excellent class by sex educators Reid Mihalko and Marcia Baczynski, entitled Negotiating Successful Threesomes. This wasn’t going to be a threesome per se, but there were three people in the room and sex was going to happen—how to get things started?  During the class, Reid offered a valuable tip: One person should simply take the initiative and say, “I have an idea,” then tell the others to start doing something. On Sunday I discovered that this tip works very well.

“I have an idea!” I said. “Caesar, why don’t you take your shirt off?”

And that was pretty much all it took. I guess it helped that they were both ragingly horny and, apparently, exhibitionists (my favorite people). Of course, I made them feel as welcome as possible: I dimmed the lights, fixed them drinks, and sat at the other end of the room to give them some space. Within a few minutes, Caesar’s clothes were off and he had Sophie spread-eagled naked on my couch.

What a pair of sluts!

He entered her nice and gently, and then began thrusting. As he pounded her I couldn’t help but notice that his dick was enormous—or at least, larger than average. It’s always interesting to see a friend’s cock for the first time, especially when it’s someone you’ve known in a non-kinky context.

Pretty soon Sophie was on all fours, on a futon I had brought out for the occasion. Caesar was tugging on her hair and fucking her from behind.

“You guys look spectacular,” I said. And they did: They’re a hot couple. I asked Sophie if she would like me to hold her hand while she was getting fucked.

“Mmm, yeah!” she said. I lay down beside her and gently squeezed her palm.

As his balls slapped against her ass cheeks, she moaned, and she groaned.

“Are you normally very loud, Sophie?” I enquired.

“Mmm, yeah!” she replied. “I’m loud.”

“She’s really fucking loud,” added Caesar.

“You’re being loud right now, Sophie. That’s a very good thing.”

“Mmm, yeah!” she cried, and as she did so she stared intently into my face, biting her bottom lip. She squeezed me tightly by the hand. Caesar was ramming his enormous cock into her, occasionally slapping her ass, occasionally pulling her hair.

“Sophie, do you like that I’m watching you get fucked right now?

“Mmm, yeah!”

“I can see the bruise he made on your ass yesterday,” I said. Caesar had told me earlier that he had folded his belt in half and whacked it across her poor little butt. She had enjoyed it, though.

“Mmm, yeah!” she exclaimed. “He’s such a jerk.”

She wasn’t able to construct long sentences, because she was getting fucked.

After a short while, we took a break. Then Caesar fucked her some more while I pottered about in the kitchen making coffee, pouring wine, preparing snacks. When they were done fucking, we all sat around and chatted, sipping coffee and talking about what just happened.

“It feels kind of liberating to fuck like that,” said Sophie. “And it feels great to be sitting here topless on your couch, just hanging out. Why don’t people do this more often?”

“They should,” I said. We got to talking about orgies and group sex—something they had never done. “What is it that you like about orgies?” enquired Sophie.

“Well, besides being incredibly hot, I think it’s a way to commune with others.  I think you can feel closer to your friends if you are comfortable fucking in front of them. Just like when you’ve had sex with someone in your life, you feel closer to them, right? Even if the sex happened years ago. Sex creates a bond that stays with people.”

She looked at me thoughtfully.

“Do you feel closer to us now?” she asked, finally. “I mean, after watching us fucking?”

I thought about it for a moment. “Well, yes,” I said. “I guess I do.”

“I do too,” said Sophie. “And I feel closer to Caesar.” She stroked his arm.

“Yeah dude,” added Caesar. He turned to Sophie: “I feel closer to you now. And yeah, since I had sex in front of Byron, I guess I feel closer to him too!”

So all in all, Sunday was a successful evening, if ever there was one!

Well this is all very exciting: I’m going to Dark Odyssey, for the very first time. For those of you who don’t know, Dark Odyssey is a sex camp, and I will be staying in a cabin with a variety of like-minded people who at various times will be having sex, tying each other down, playing with candles, flogging, whipping, biting—and various other innocuous activities that will hopefully shock and entertain at the same time. There are numerous workshops and presentations: Advanced Caning, Fire Play, Beginning Needle Play, Cock Sucking: Tips and Techniques (hmm, can I be a model for that one?), Erotic Breathplay, Kinky Twisted Tantra. And then there are the events. My favorite: “Live and Let’s Fuck” — to which I was warmly invited by a very enthusiastic fellow at this month’s Pleasure Salon. Live and Let’s Fuck has a James Bond theme and apparently a game is involved of some kind. I suspect there will be Bond girls to play with. (See the awesome flyer above—hope y’all are cool that I reposted it).

So Dark Odyssey sounds like a lot of fun. Since I haven’t been before, I’ll save most of my commentary for when I get back. And, of course, I really have to recommence my regular blog posts—I’ve been a very bad blogger lately. I have so many updates to share!

In the meantime, if you see me at camp, don’t be shy. Come over and say hi!

I can’t get enough of this story of outrageous exhibitionism: A couple of days ago, a very naughty couple were cautioned by the police for having sex on the lawn (see above) at Windsor Castle—while the Queen was in residence, no less! According to the Sun newspaper: “They stripped for action after an all-day booze bender in which they sank Champagne and wine in the Royal town’s bars.” They were watched by over 100 people for twenty minutes, including some Japanese tourists who filmed the action on their video cameras. Finally, armed Royal Protection Squad officers stopped them, while they were still in the act, and took them down to the station.

Now, cruelly (or not, depending on one’s desire for fameball status), the Sun has identified the pair as Phil Carden and Joy Taylor, and published their pictures all over the newspaper. That’s right, just to make sure everyone knows exactly who they are. In today’s edition, the reporter interviewed Joy’s next door neighbor (oh, and Joy is American, by the way), revealing that the neighbor has to close her window during the summer because Joy is so loud in bed.

Oh the shame! Not.

Now, I’m pretty lucky nothing like this has happened to me. Lord knows, it could have. I have found that it is easy to get caught up in the moment: Last summer, for example, Kate and I nearly got caught by a police patrol having sex on a public beach in New Jersey.

How on earth did this happen, you may ask?

Well, it was midnight, and the beach was deserted. We were—yay—a little tipsy and, after finishing a bottle of champagne we nestled up in each other’s arms on a towel watching the waves crash ashore. We were right in the middle of the beach, and we determined that this would be the perfect place to have sex. Right now.

I urgently tugged off Kate’s top. Lifted her skirt. Removed her panties. And then we began fucking, in missionary position. There was a full moon, and it was beautiful to fuck in the open, with the sand scratching our bodies. We really didn’t care if anyone saw us. Initially, we were still partially clothed, but—and this is where getting-caught-up-in-the-moment comes in—we decided it would be more fun to take off all our clothes. Why? Oh, you know, just so that if somebody did come by, we would have absolutely no way of covering up in time (hmm, I guess).

After a little while fucking naked in missionary position, we switched: Kate straddled atop me, facing the ocean. Her tits were bobbing in the moonlight now, her hair billowing in the wind. I rammed my cock into her from underneath, really hard, and we both screamed and moaned and cried at the tops of our lungs. We came together that night: she first, bucking against me, yelling my name. Then I spurted inside her (we were not fucking other people at that time, and we had both just got tested). It was fucking hot, let me tell you.

It was pure luck that we didn’t get caught. We had finished—and put on most of our clothes—by the time the police beach buggy arrived. The buggy roared across the beach, headlights blazing in our direction, and we would certainly have had no time to stop if we had still been fucking.

Like Joy and Phil, I would have blamed it all on the alcohol.

Anyway, the officer pulled up in his buggy, and shined a flashlight on our faces.

“So…”, he began, “What are you two up to tonight?”

I gulped, guiltily. “Um, chilling out?”

He gave us a very knowing look. “All right,” he said. “You kids have fun.” And then he sped away.

Phew.

The other week, I received a rather intriguing email from Jefferson. A friend of his, Meg, was going to be over at his place for a couple of days, and he thought it would be nice if I stopped by and fucked her. Now, how often does one get an invite like that? There was just one thing: Meg, he explained, is a pain slut. She likes to be flogged, caned, bitten, and bruised.

“I think this could be a unique experience for you in your evolution as a Dom,” wrote Jefferson. “You haven’t yet been with a pain slut.”

I hesitated for a moment: I’ve been dominant in some of my recent sexual adventures, but only mildly so, and I certainly don’t consider myself a sadist. Above all, I like to think that I am a nice boy (that’s in my profile, yo). My goal has always been to make women feel comfortable and give them as many orgasms as possible, with the not quite original idea that this should keep them coming back for more (and more, yes more!)

However, I thought of the movie Secretary, how much Maggie Gyllenhaal enjoys her submissive role to James Spader, how he bends her over his desk and spanks her and forces her to perform awkward and uncomfortable tasks, and how much she enjoys it all. And so it occurred to me: If it’s thrilling for the recipient, shouldn’t it be thrilling for the, ahem, sadist?

Some people just like sex a little harder. And some like it really fucking hard.

“Why don’t you two undress each other and start fucking?” said Jefferson in his usual casual manner, shortly after he had introduced me to Meg. We were standing in his living room, wine glasses in hand—the same living room in which Laken had been eaten out as cake only a few weeks before.

“Just so you know,” warned Meg, “I bruise easily. It must be my pale skin. So don’t be alarmed.” She added: “Oh, and feel free to hit me everywhere, except for here.” She pointed to her face and chest. And then she grinned. Man, she was serious about this.

We kissed a little, and hugged. I grabbed her ass and rammed my knee between her legs, as I am wont to do. Our clothes came off in a couple of seconds. As my jeans dropped to the floor Jefferson grabbed the buckle of my belt and dragged the belt out of its loop. I pushed Meg down naked onto Jefferson’s leather sofa. Her pretty face eyed me in anticipation. I stood over her, my erect penis pointing—nay, quivering—in her general direction.

With the middle finger of my right hand I gently explored her pussy.

She was soaked.

“Condom,” I requested. Jefferson, still fully clothed, handed me a condom.

I knelt on my knees on the floor, splayed her legs a little, and entered her. “Ah!” she gasped. I began to thrust. I could hear her pussy squelch as I pounded again and again. She felt good.

It was then that the real naughty, pain-related stuff began.

Jefferson folded my belt in half and began thwacking it across Meg’s nipples. Lightly at first, then a bit harder. After a moment or two, he paused. He glanced at her, his brow furrowed, as if evaluating how much pain he had delivered. He evidently concluded that she had the capacity to take more, because now he proceeded to lash harder, across her breasts and onto her belly.

Her breasts started to flush red. Her belly buckled.

“Ah!” she gasped. I couldn’t tell if it was the belt, or the fucking, but she was certainly getting a lot of stimulation!

Eventually, we moved into the bedroom, and Jefferson brought out his canes. He had three of them, each of different thicknesses, each of bamboo. And he kept them in a cotton pouch: The master and his tools.

“Now,” he began, turning to me, as Meg lay face down on the bed, “you can cane her wherever there is muscle: here, here, and here.” He pointed with the cane first to her lower buttocks, then to her thighs, then to her calves.

He continued, “Be careful not to cane her here, or here.” He pointed the tip of the cane to the fold of her legs and the small of her back. “Too many nerves, not enough flesh. It hurts there.”

What a thoughtful sadist!

Jefferson began with a light rhythmic tapping on Meg’s buttocks, which he achieved via a simple repetitive flick of the wrist. He targeted the lower portion of her ass: “That’s the most sensitive part for a woman.” He increased the speed, stopped for a moment, then handed the cane to me. I copied his motions, and Meg’s butt grew redder, then began to turn purple. Each time I hit her, she sucked wind between her teeth. Gosh, it must have hurt!

“More!” she cried.

I thwacked her thighs, then her calves, then her butt again. Then we turned her over.

“I think you need to fuck her again,” said Jefferson. “While you fuck her, I will bite her.”

And sure enough, as I entered her, he dug in to her left breast with his teeth. He bit for what seemed like an eternity, deeper and deeper. She let out a little cry.

I almost couldn’t believe we were having sex like this! It was, yes, hot, but also strangely fascinating: This sex consisted of both pleasure and pain—pain which, for Meg, had the happy effect of heightening her experience. By the time we had finished with her, she had been bitten deeply on both breasts, she was bruised and swollen, her body red and purple, marks everywhere.

And we were not yet even done.

Earlier in the evening I had spied a Crockpot in Jefferson’s kitchen. The Crockpot had been turned to a high heat, and inside the unit—in a bed of scalding water—lay four melted wax candles, each in its own glass jar. Now, to conclude the evening’s entertainment, Jefferson carried the Crockpot into the bedroom—carefully, as one might transport a birthday cake lit with fairy candles. However, rather than singing Happy Birthday, he began pouring hot wax from the glass jars onto Meg’s bruised and battered body.

“The closer to the skin that you pour it,” he explained helpfully, “the more it hurts.”

“Oooh!” cried Meg. “Ahhh!” Her arms flailed from side to side as we took turns to pour the wax. As more of it dripped, the wax formed a solid white veneer over her naked body.

When we were finally done—with the caning, the wax, and the biting—I held Meg in my arms and kissed her. “Very good,” said Jefferson, to me. “I can see that you are excellent at aftercare.”

“But Meg,” I asked, turning to her. “How was that really? It looked awfully difficult at times.”

I was anxious that I hadn’t caused actual unwanted pain, especially given my inexperience at this type of thing.

“It was awesome,” she replied. “I am completely finished—my body is so beaten up. I don’t know how I am going to sit in my car and drive tomorrow!”

“Sweetheart,” I said, perusing the numerous bruises, examining the welts on her butt. “I would say that you are more than finished. You are destroyed. You are obliterated. Devastated, wasted, annihilated.”

I looked her up and down one last time. “You, my darling, are totally fucked.”

She giggled. She seemed to enjoy my choice of words.

As I said, some like it hard.

So, I realize that I haven’t posted in a while. This, for a change, is not because I haven’t been busy with new adventures: I’ve actually been very energetic, with numerous updates to overshare! Watch this space; I’ll have more of those in a subsequent post very soon. No, it’s been more about getting around to writing up the entries, putting fingers to keyboard—I would have said putting quill to paper, but that would have been too cute, too… Byronic.

You should also notice a few other changes to this blog. For those who’ve been asking me recently, I wanted to document the inspiration for my name (or, to be more accurate, my blog pseudo-name). To wit: George Gordon Noel Byron, the 6th Baron Byron, was a dashing English poet of the Romantic school, who lived from January 22, 1788 to April 19, 1824. He has been described as a rebel, an iconoclast, an author of ironic verse, a “bad boy celebrity in a time before celebrity became commonplace”. He had numerous love affairs, and after kicking up a tremendous sex scandal in his native England with the married Lady Caroline Lamb and her cousin Anne Isabella, promptly departed for the Continent, hoping that In Italy, Greece and the Balkans his sexual deviances would be marginally better tolerated. You can find the details here, and here, and it’s all rather scandalous.

Now, I would not for a moment purport to live up to the legend of Lord Byron, nor even come close. In many ways, I would not want to: By all accounts he was a deeply troubled man, reckless and self-destructive, ultimately unsuccessful in love. I hope to do a little better than that, and—more importantly—provide some entertainment along the way. As always, if you have any comments, if you would like to write to me, or—horrors!—meet up with me, my email address is byronadventure AT yahoo DOT com. I welcome all comers.

“Oh, look, isn’t she such a pretty cake?” exclaimed Tilda, as she pranced around the table drizzling chocolate sauce onto Laken’s nipples, before applying a nice squiggly pattern across both of her naked thighs. She plucked a strawberry and planted one on each nipple, and a third onto our cake girl’s belly button.

“Hmm, I can’t wait to eat her,” added Jefferson. He meant it literally, of course—though for now, he was content to tease the underside of her arm, gently caressing it with the sharp tip of a knife.

Then, on top of her cute slender body, he planted three sponge cakes: one just above her clit, another on her belly, and a third on her breasts. We each took turns to apply toppings, one on each sponge: red velvet, piña colada, and strawberry. For good measure, we sprinkled powdered sugar everywhere, and all over Laken’s naked body.

“Are you comfortable?” enquired Lily, always attentive to others’ needs.

“Mmm, yes,” replied our cake girl, nodding.

“Hey, the cake talked!” exclaimed Tilda, “Did you see that—this cake talked!”
We all laughed. It was fun to objectify our subject like that!

It was another Sunday night at Jefferson’s. There were six of us, standing naked around a table that Jefferson had set up in his living room. Laken—the star of the evening—had taken off all her clothes and was lying across the table. She was to play the role of cake, and we were to treat her as such: Drip chocolate over her, eat strawberries off her belly and her breasts, tell her what a good little cake she was, and smack our lips at how nice she tasted. The scene was set—candles were lit, dessert was served, naked guests were present.

By the end of the evening, we had all literally devoured her, sweet girl that she was.

After we had helped ourselves to the sponge cakes, which we ate from plates and from her naked body, one of our gang moved to the chair at the end of the table, sat down, and helped himself to dessert—namely, her clit. As he flicked his tongue back and forth (unavoidably rubbing his forehead in red velvet topping), Laken moaned in pleasure and arched her back. Jefferson sprang onto the top end of the table and, kneeling over her head, offered his dick to her mouth, which she accepted readily. Now it was Laken’s turn to eat! She took it from both ends, and as she did so, what remained of the piña colada cake on her belly shook violently. It was a pretty sight!

After a while, Jefferson took his cock out of her mouth and shifted to the bottom end of the table, next to her pussy. He scooped up the remaining cake, squelched it together in his hands, and rubbed it all over her tits, stomach, legs, and ass, until it formed a thick, curiously reddish goo. We all pitched in, getting very dirty, smothering cake goo everywhere.

Jefferson mounted the table again, this time from the bottom end, and eased his hard cock into her pussy. We watched as he pounded her, caressing her body with our hands as he fucked her. She gasped in excitement.

Given that we were all naked—and now actual sex was going on too—I found it hard to control myself. Lily looked so hot standing there in her librarian glasses, watching the action from the other side of the table. Suddenly, I grabbed her by the arm and led her into the kitchen, away from everyone else (she didn’t need much encouragement). We kissed, and I gently lifted up her hair so that I could sniff the back of her neck and peck at her collarbones. I caressed her nipples, sucked on them a little bit. Then, grabbing her ass cheeks from underneath, I eased her off the ground and into my arms, holding her up by the ass cheeks. Lily is much shorter than me, and when I do this, I love the way she wraps her legs around mine and allows me to carry her in various directions, as if she were my little toy.

“You don’t mind if I throw you around the room, do you?” I said, playfully. “I’m just going to toss you from corner to corner, depending on where I feel like putting your body.”

“I love it,” she gasped. She clenched her arms tightly around my waist (for dear life, no doubt!)

I slammed her against the wall, against the refrigerator, against the window. I finally settled her firm little butt cheeks on the kitchen countertop, right by the sink. I wanted to fuck her right here, but Lily is shy about that. Our friends were walking past us all the time, and we could hear them chatting in the other room. I heard Laken recounting her recent experience to the other guests, decompressing. So, no, Lily wouldn’t want to be fucked here.

We kissed for a while, then I took her down off the countertop.

At this point, my erect penis was jabbing into her belly like a stick. She glanced down at it. I knew what she wanted next, and I was going to make sure she got it.

“Suck my cock,” I commanded.

She bent down on her knees, and went down on me, right there on Jefferson’s kitchen floor. The lights were on, and I could see her lovely face really well.

“Ah, that’s good,” I sighed.

Lily is excellent at taking a cock deep into her mouth. What’s the phrase? Deep throating, that’s it! You see, these are the benefits of sex with a sex blogger: They know exactly how to do everything, and I mean everything.

“That’s really hot,” I said, watching her lips curl around my thick cock. She looked up, her deep dark eyes staring back at me, observing, eagerly trying to read my reaction. Then she went back to work, sliding her thumb and forefinger up and down the base of my shaft, slurping hungrily as my cock jabbed the far reaches of her throat.

“Oh Lily,” I said, “You really are such a slut!”

She nodded eagerly. Lily loves being called a slut.

So yeeeah, I guess you could say that Lily and I got a little distracted following dessert. I hope Jefferson doesn’t mind, given that we were invited over for cake, not to have oral sex in his kitchen. He didn’t seem to object—Jefferson’s good that way.

After a while some of our visitors headed home, and eventually Tilda kissed us all goodbye and headed out too. Lily and I stayed for a drink with Laken and Jefferson, chilling out, sipping vodka and cranberry juice, talking about, ya know, stuff. Laken told us that it was extremely hot, the experience of being dressed up like a cake and eaten.

I’ll say. Laken was totally hot to eat. She was such a tasty little cake!

(More tasty cake pictures, below).

I am so happy to announce that I finally joined Twitter—that well-known tool of self-aggrandizement that allows one to share one’s innermost thoughts and actions in real time. Hmm, this could be dangerous! Actually, what particularly enthralls me about Twitter is the open conversations that occur between users regardless of who may be reading. You’ll know this if you follow a lot of sex bloggers: On Twitter, relationships blossom, flirtations flourish, friendships develop—and frenemies stalk.

The next thing you know, people will be fucking on Twitter. Oh wait, but they kind of are—judging by the amount of sex-tweeting some folks are doing already.

Time to join the fray, I say. Follow me on Twitter, here.

So, I signed up as a beta tester on Bedpost, thinking it might be fun to put my sex life up on the innernets (oh but wait, didn’t I do that already?)

For those of you who don’t know, Bedpost is an on-line application that lets you document who you’ve had sex with and on which dates. It also allows you to rate how good each encounter was, and it can create a bunch of nifty charts plotting your sex life for your narcissistic enjoyment.

It’s not a bad application, but I noticed a few glaring omissions. For example, there’s no support for group sex. And, more obviously, Bedpost doesn’t let you build a network of friends or share your sexual profile with others (some would say overshare—but I digress). It would also be nice if everyone had their own profile page, and friends could post comments like “I’m so sore this morning, thanks for fucking the daylights out of me last night.” Don’t even get me started with the potential for sharing photos and videos. The fun could be endless.

I can also think of improvements that would be really valuable. Since Bedpost keeps track of how long it’s been since its users last had sex, it could automatically generate an email alerting one’s friends to an urgent need: “Sara hasn’t had sex since last Tuesday, you should message her.” (Okcupid, for example, sends out alerts when a user hasn’t received a message from anyone in a while.) The system would also know when to send the message because, of course, everyone would have filled out a questionnaire asking how long they can go without sex (hey, everyone has a different tolerance for abstinence; mine is about two weeks. Ahem.)

So with refinement, Bedpost could alleviate dry spells for many people, which would take us one more step to making the world a better place.

That’s my two cents worth—just thought I’d share that with, ya know, the innernets.

“Would you like some more wine?” enquired the servant boy, and before I had processed the question my glass was being refilled with another splash of Sauvignon Blanc. I glanced to my right, where Jefferson had been holding court on the couch with some of the other party guests. He stood up—suddenly, as if about to make a grand announcement. “Okay everyone!” he exclaimed, “I just want to say that farrrr too many people are wearing clothes right now!”

I glanced back toward Lily, with whom I had been chatting since my arrival about an hour before. “It looks like things are about to heat up,” I said.

“Yes it does,” she replied, arching her eyebrows and shooting me a knowing look. Lily had been to Jefferson’s orgies before, and she knew exactly what was going to happen next.

Oh, the fun of orgies! And this one, for me, was particularly special. It was my first experience of a sex party at a private apartment in New York City. Most of the guests knew each other; they were friends. And for those chancing to read these words: Y’all were rad. Thanks for welcoming me into your kink.

Luckily, I did know a couple of folks in advance: Jefferson, of course, and Tilda, who was the host this evening. And then there was Lily, with whom Jefferson had set me up a few days before.

Initially, Lily and I were chilling in the kitchen, being shy—or at least, pretending to be shy, so as not to be total sluts. We had a clear view of the living room, where clothes were coming off. It was kind of hard to chat with Lily while trying to tune out the slapping and moaning. One man was fingering Miss Molly on the couch, and another guest was getting her butt spanked with a paddle. There were squeals, there was laughter, there was fun.

To ensure that everyone was well attended to, Jefferson had arrived at the party with his servant boy in tow. The servant boy’s job was to answer the doorbell, take coats and jackets, and refill guests’ drinks. Under no circumstances was he to take off his clothes or touch the guests. However, he was permitted to watch the guests make out and have group sex. This is something he loved to do very much.

Meanwhile, I thought Lily was quite entrancing. After a short time we began kissing, and before long, I couldn’t help myself from slamming her against the door of the refrigerator, where I held her by the arms so that she couldn’t move. She didn’t seem to mind this, but her wine glass nearly tipped out of her hand as I gripped her. “Let me hold that for you,” interjected the servant boy, who had been quietly observing us from a distance of a couple of feet. He took the wine glass from her quivering hand and stood back to watch some more.

I kissed Lily, playfully teasing her lips with my tongue. I took off her top, and she removed mine. After fumbling with the clips for what seemed like forever, I finally removed Lily’s bra. As her breasts came free they bounced in the air like young roes jumping on the hill.

At one point Tilda breezed into the kitchen, naked. She reached behind us to the refrigerator door and opened it—“Sorry kids! Just need some ice!”—before scampering back to the bedroom.

I sucked on Lily’s nipples for a while. Lily said, “Hmm, that’s nice, but I also feel a little exposed.”

Exposed? Well, yes, there was quite a crowd watching, not to mention the servant boy, who on the face of it was diligently fulfilling his role as our slave—except that in a twist of irony he was really the one with the power, since our performance had been his pleasure. Anyway, since Lily was feeling overexposed, we took a little break. We retrieved our wine, she retrieved her top, and we chatted with the other guests for a while.

The servant boy approached us: “I just want to say, you two are awesome.”

At this point people were fucking all over the apartment. A couple of girls were taking it in turns to get whipped and paddled in the dining room, leaving large welts that we had the pleasure to examine later. Then Lily and I met our threesome partner, a tall, vaguely androgynous boy wearing garters, who Lily knew already and whose name turned out to be Jed. The three of us moved to the couch and while I kissed Lily, he went down on her. This time, all our clothes came off. We moved to the bedroom, ostensibly for a little more privacy (that’s what Jed and I told Lily, anyway).

In the bedroom, the lights were on, and two couples were already fucking on the bed. There were shrieks of delight. A small group of people were in the corner of the room, chatting and giggling. As we walked by, Lily suddenly became very serious and whispered in my ear: “Listen, I just want to say that I cannot have sex with you for the first time at a sex party!” She added firmly, “This is only our second date, and I don’t normally do this.”

Ahem.

We made our way to an empty air mattress that Tilda had thoughtfully provided and, while I went down on Lily, flicking my tongue across her delicious clit, Jed offered his cock to Lily’s mouth, which she took eagerly. She must have given him a pretty nice blow job because he spouted his cum all over her naked body, which she then gleefully licked up.

At this point I was extremely hard myself. However, as Lily had wished we did not “have sex” at the orgy—not under the Clinton definition, anyway. No, our first time fucking was a far more dignified experience (I am, of course, being facetious). After our little threesome on the air mattress, the three of us said our goodbyes, thanked the host, and piled into the back of a cab together. We dropped off Jed on the way, since he lived nearby. Then Lily and I went back to my place, to bed.

And there, we had normal people’s sex—with no one watching, no one there to hold our drinks.

It was very, very pleasant.