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Keynote speaker Haya Shalom held the audience thoroughly spellbound at the symposium of Jewish feminists in Tel Aviv; everyone, that is, except the event organizer.

A genuine social activist with a sterling curriculum vitae, the 36-year-old Hanna Kosinski meant to concentrate on the much anticipated discourse of the high profile guest. Instead she had deliciously risqué thoughts of Sean Murphy, her goyische husband, paramour and muse.

Hanna, like many audience members, racked up significant frequent flyer miles to attend the symposium. More importantly, after months of preparation, she arrived from London several days in advance to finalize all details of Shalom’s much vaunted appearance.

And yet, as the acclaimed feminist gradually spoke, an unpredictable shift captured Hanna’s attention. Sean was lying nude beneath her in the queen-size maple sleigh bed of their Notting Hill flat, with his arms pinned firmly. In the distinctive English morning sun, Hanna appeared as a sex goddess. Sean was entirely at her mercy.

The longing for gratifying sex with Sean was involuntary, a lust as natural as breathing, and in no way did this denigrate the larger reality of the symposium. Equally instinctive was Hanna’s aroused clit.

She gently nuzzled Sean’s nipples, holding his wonderful cock ransom by suspending her hot, wet pussy above the tip, just enough so he could feel her glistening warmth.

Hanna did not allow his throbbing cock any further entrance, withholding her favor for what seemed forever.

“Please, I beg you,” Sean implored. “I need to be inside you.”
“What do you mean?” Hanna teased, allowing her blond hair to fall gently across his face.
“Hanna, I’m so hard. I’ll do anything to have your pussy.”
“Sean, you really must be patient. It’s not good to hurry.”

Hanna withdrew from this arousing position and lowered her body so she could perform dedicated fellatio.

Starting at the tip of Sean’s cock, with feathery licks, and tiny kisses, Hanna took the head in her mouth, just up to the rim, feeling the edge with her teeth – very gently, swirling her tongue around it lightly.

“Oh, my fucking God,” he gasped, as his hips began to twitch in abandonment.

Hanna knew Sean was a recovering Roman Catholic, who only spoke to God during moments of orgasmic crisis. She was only too happy to be the priestess of sensuality; this was part of her Jewish culture – in a way

Slowly, Hanna’s luxuriant mouth closed down on the head of Sean’s sensitive cock, and sucked softly, yet with delightful intensity.

She increased the depth of him in her throat, taking as much of Sean as she could, only to pull back and gently run her warm lapping tongue up his shaft … then down … then up again.

“Oh, Jesus,” he moaned gratefully, already massaging her hair. “Oh, yes.”

Hanna’s fingers curled around Sean’s shaved balls, cupping them within her palm, gently squeezing and caressing them. She felt them rise and could hear him nearing delirium;
this only aroused her even more.

Hanna took Sean as deep into her throat as possible, and sucked him hard. She bit down on his shaft, gently but firmly … not to hurt him … I would never hurt you, baby … but enough to make Sean groan audibly with pleasure.

“Oh, baby. What are you doing to me? This is paradise.”

Hanna released her warm mouth, and then sucked him hard again … released her warm mouth, and then sucked him hard again – repeating the pattern over and over.

Sean’s cock grew more solid and full by the second, as Hanna heard the anticipatory catch in his breath.

Hanna moved back to the head, and sucked hard on it, as she trailed her elegant fingernails up his shaft, and down, tickling Sean to an almost unbearable level.

Hanna’s teeth mirrored her nails, as they dragged softly across the rim of Sean’s rounded head, only to take him in deep again, sucking on his shaft, stimulating his wonderful cock with her mouth to give Sean the exquisite pleasure of her unique talents.

Sean quivered helplessly, and Hanna loved to hear his moans of pleasure increase. She amplified her efforts … taking him deep, sucking hard, returning to the head, stimulating the rim, and back in deep, biting down gently… her hands massaging his balls all the while… taking him back deep into her mouth, sucking him while she teased him with her tongue and she felt him stiffen greatly.

“Oh, please. My darling Hanna … now … must have you … your pussy.”

Sean’s beautiful Jewish princess finally relented, enveloping his throbbing erection deep inside her. Hanna was deliriously impaled on his cock when Shalom’s voiced boomed over the PA system. “..and finally, a big thank you to our organizer, Hanna Kosinski!”

Hanna shook herself from this hedonistic reverie, automatically stood, nodded and promptly resumed her seat, having acknowledged the accolade; this ostensibly to prevent the applause from escalating further, but in reality to continue her salacious musings.

Instantly Hanna’s mind returned to her fantasy: Sean.

Beneath her curvy and voluptuous body, he smiled up at Hanna with his heavenly blue eyes. His solid, powerful member drove deep within her, exciting her beyond all reasonable thought.

Sean massaged Hanna’s enchanting ass as he plunged between her sopping thighs. Gradually he worked his index finger into her anus and stroked this forbidden passage.

The intimacy intoxicated Hanna.

“Oh, Sean. My Sean. What have done to me?”

Ever mindful that she was surrounded by 500 other feminists, Hanna quietly and gently bit her tongue, just enough to keep herself from audibly crying out.

erotica, fucking, sex, sex blogs

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I’m on the platform of crowded Shinjuku Station in Tokyo, waiting for the Limited Express to Yokohama, when the 7:20 p.m. train arrives promptly and impatient commuters scurry for available space. A new Haruki Murakami novel in English translation from Kinokuniya Books remains firmly in my grasp. An efficient, uniformed conductor in his mid-30s packs us in tightly before doors shut and the train leaves quickly for the southern suburbs along Tokyo Bay.

Circumstances present a young Japanese woman standing directly before me, facing the door, and there is little room for movement. I’m the sole gaijin (foreigner) in the vicinity, yet no one takes any special notice.

Train etiquette in Japan discourages most social discourse; even cell phone conversations are taboo. I imagine that the faceless woman before me is in her late 20s because of her soft, black hair, and the pleasing scent of Calvin Klein’s Euphoria along her neck and earlobes. She listens to an iPod nano, and wears a short dress at mid-thigh with long high-heeled leather boots. My cock is already hard and this embarrasses me a little.

The woman moves back slightly, right up against my chest and at once endows me with new hope. Lately I’ve nursed the typical heart-ache over a busted affair and I’m still swallowing down my disappointment. Yet my unidentified companion instantly stirs me to persistent arousal. It’s good to be alive, I acknowledge in age-old male fashion.

With discrete audacity I use my free hand to massage the young woman’s derrière and, surprisingly, she offers no resistance. In fact, she is compliant and the absence of panties is apparent with each continuous stroke of my adoring palm. I love this physical trait of a female, yet this young woman’s ass is perhaps without equal. My enchantment is profound.

The crush of people around us is unavoidable as the Limited Express speeds toward Yokohama, zipping past one platform after another of commuters waiting for the local train. As my hand attends to the cleavage of this young woman’s inviting ass, working its way toward her moist labia, I can’t help but recall a snippet of Auden’s As I Walked Out One Evening:
“You shall love your crooked neighbor
With your crooked heart.”

Many British can’t forgive Auden for his defection to America in 1939 – but his gift survives it all.

In this moment I do love my neighbor, and for encouragement she widens her stance by a fraction. The evidence of her approval is clearly on my fingertip. There is nothing as delectable as a wet cunt.

It’s true, I have fingered many women. I have fucked most partners, yet only loved a few. Funny, how I think of only you as I finger this stranger on the train. But, I do. I think of how I love you – still.

Obviously I’m in an Auden mood, and with revision I think:

“You were my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.”

Ten minutes from Shinjuku the conductor announces in English our arrival at Yokohama Station, and the Limited Express glides to a smooth stop. Before the compartment doors spring open, I withdraw my finger reluctantly from this strange young woman. My hand is enveloped in the exquisite smell of her unique femininity. She doesn’t bother to acknowledge me and disappears quickly among the crowd.

None of this means anything. What matters is that I still look for you everywhere I go.

erotica, sex, sex blogs

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