**I recently returned from spending ten fantastic days with Ann St Vincent. These posts about the visit aren’t going to be in any specific order, there is too much to write on too many topics. So, don’t look at these like one long story, they are more like post cards or snap shots from a fantastic trip.**
Before you all get worked up, this isn’t erotica, sorry. For now, it’s just some fun stories involving sex.
Ann has a fantastic capacity for orgasms. With the right stimulus she can just roll through orgasms like no one I’ve ever seen, one after the other, after the other, after the other. She told me once, somewhat embarrassingly, that’s she’s sometimes disappointed with sex if she only cums once because she knows how easy it would be to keep having the amazing orgasms.
I have this addiction to finding my partner’s most sensitive places and giving them as much pleasure as possible, for as long as possible. I’ve described myself before as a conductor, playing my partner to the greatest crescendos possible.
Can you see where I’m going with this? I love to play and she’ll just keep cumming. We’re like a can of Pringles, once we start we can’t stop. We’ll just keep going and going.
There were many times on this trip that even after I came the fun still continued. She could easily keep cumming, why stop just because I’m done for the moment? After I came I would finger her through orgasm after orgasm until my hands literally gave out or she needed a break. Yeah, if it weren’t for the physical limitations of our bodies we probably never would have left the bedroom.
One of those times, after I came I asked her if she wanted more. She did, she wanted me to go down on her. Ok. I got down between her legs.
After a few seconds of licking I noticed that she tasted funny. Ann typically has almost no taste at all, so the difference was obvious to me. It wasn’t bad, just different. Huh.
I realized why about half a second before Ann asked me “if I minded my own taste”.
Now, there are very few things in life that truly disturb me, but semen is one of those things. I actually trained to be an EMT for a while, bodily fluids, excrement, whatever, but semen is one of the few things that really, really gross me out. How women (and gay guys) deal with it and give blow jobs, I can’t fathom.
I know, I know, my own fucking body makes it and it wasn’t like I was tasting someone else’s cum, but I had a very hard time fighting back the waves revulsion.
“I’m trying desperately to ignore it,” I told her. She laughed.
No, I didn’t stop. And “desperately trying to ignore it” was true, I was using all of my brain power to block out the thought. I focused very intensely on her body and tried not to think about anything else.
Afterwards, I took a shower and scrubbed my goatee extremely thoroughly. I think I would have thrown up later if I looked in the mirror and saw any dried white chunks in the hair.
It was late one night, we’d been been going at it like Energizer bunnies. I came and fingered her long enough that I’d gotten hard again.
Ann had cum some uncountable number of times, she was panting next to me on the bed. I gave her a sly smile, pointed to my erection, and asked if she wanted to go again. I was partially joking because we were both exhausted, but I wasn’t going to let that slow us down if she was up for it.
Flopped bonelessly on the bed, she looked at me with a very contented, tired smile.
“No, you’ve slayed me,” she said. “You’ve slayed the beast.”
I sat up with a huge grin and asked if I could quote her on that. She laughed and said sure. (The actual quote is under some debate, but we’ve agreed that at the very least she did say “You’ve slayed me”)
What she might not have realized is how that was like telling me I’d just broken one of the Guinness World Records. I wanted to hop out of bed, raise my arms to the sky and dance around the room. Many, many times on Ann’s blog she’s described her “insatiable” sex drive and how almost no one can keep up. So, actually satiating her, slaying the beast, was no minor accomplishment. It was fucking momentous.
Maybe I’ll get that put on my tombstone: “Slayed Ann St. Vincent in bed”