Mirror, Mirror…

nudemirror

The power of the imagination is incredible,
as this letter will attest.
What is your favorite fantasy?
What gets you aroused, every time?

Write me at eonserotica@gmail.com
or

Dear Eon,

I have a recurring fantasy in which a mirror plays a major role.  I picture myself naked, approaching a body length mirror mounted on the wall.  I see my pale skin, my skinny frame.  I see the nest of dark pubic hair between my legs.  The soft pale worm of my flaccid penis dangles there, unimpressive when unaroused.
I smirk.  I know how much it grows.  I feel the first flush of pleasure in the knowledge of how surprising my erection can be to a first time viewer.  I remember times where I waited until I was totally limp, small and cold, before disrobing to begin my seduction.  The look of uncertainty on her face as I encourage her to touch it, stroke it.  The incredulous shock that grows on her face even as my cock grows, and still grows.
Once a woman asked me, “When does it stop!?” with a pleased laugh.
I am well endowed, and this pleases me, because clothed, I am not much to look at.  Bony, long and narrow limbed, hunched of shoulder, long-necked with a large Adam’s apple.  Truly, an awkward storklike man.  I have very large hands and feet.  I find this makes it more believable, when I plant the idea in a woman’s head that I might be well hung.  She looks at the parts she can see, the hands with the long, strong fingers, the long feet, the prominent nose, and she thinks, “Perhaps the rest of him, too?”  A woman’s curiosity about a man’s penis will often get her into bed when she has misgivings about the rest.
So I look into the mirror, and I am satisfied with what I see, because I have discovered how to use it to best advantage.  The warmth of my self-regard is spreading through me, now, and my erection begins to grow.  I step closer to the mirror.
The man in the mirror looks me in the eye.  His dark pupils dilate.  He watches me as hungrily as I watch him.  I see the flush of arousal on him, watch him reach for his manhood.  He strokes it unconsciously.  I feel myself grow in my hand as I watch him grow, and I know that he is feeling what I am feeling.
His testacles dangle loosely.  I watch them tighten up towards his body as his ardour grows.  Knowing his eyes are on my genitals thrills me.
I step closer still.
The head of my cock touches his.  Natural lubrication leaks from our tips, mingles.
I glance up to find a smirk on his face.  He turns away from me, glances back over his shoulder.  Leaning forward, he braces himself on the wall behind the mirror and spreads his legs, presenting his ass to me.
I grip the base of my throbbing cock.  My pulse makes it judder and bounce with every beat of my heart.  He slowly flexes his ass cheeks, baiting me.
I step into the mirror.
My hands grip the mirror image of my own hips as I pull his furnace heat back against my crotch.  My skin sticks slightly to his skin, which is my skin.  I feel the sensation of touch, doubled, both sides at once.  Toucher, and touched.  I am sweating, eager.  I press the head of my cock against his asshole.  I feel my asshole pucker, resist.  A shiver of anticipation prickles my skin.  I feel the goosebumps raise beneath my hands.
I spit on the head of my cock, rub the slippery saliva around his asshole with my fingers.  My own asshole twitches at the slick sensation, and I force it to relax.  His anus opens to my cock.  I press inside, slowly, and feel my cock gripped by the hot vice of his asshole.  I feel his cock enter me, pushing past the tightness of my sphincter and probing deeply.  I thrust and receive simultaneously.  I take and am taken.
In the mirror, I pump my cock into his ass even as I am taking his cock in my ass.
The culmination is an overwhelming concatenation of sensation.  The spurting jets of cum leap forth, and I spill my seed inside him.  I feel the hot liquid as it fills me.  The pulsing of his cock as he thrusts and groans in his pleasure.  The slick grip of his asshole as it milks the final drops from me.  The shaking in my knees in his knees.  The tightness in my stomach in his stomach.  The hand reaching around to grasp his cock my cock as it strokes him me to another bucking orgasms and he empties himself into me as I empty myself into him again.
I step back from the mirror.
Seperate from the fantasy.
Sex with myself.
My semen slides slowly towards the floor.

This is my favorite fantasy,
H.V. in MB

*Image from Internet*

To My Daughter

momdaughter

Good evening, and welcome to Eon’s Erotica.  You should write to me!
eonserotica@gmail.com

I rather enjoyed the following submission, which is another anonymous note titled simply, “To My Daughter.”  I thought that an odd way of addressing a letter to yours truly until I read the content, which comes across very much like advice that an older woman might wish to pass along to the next generation.  Something discovered the hard way, that might save a daughter or granddaughter a great deal of unnecessary pain.
I can understand not being able to write this sort of thing directly to your daughter.  So many people don’t discuss such things in polite company, or even in private.  So if, by chance, this well-meaning advice-giver noticed their daughter enjoyed reading a certain erotica site, it is conceivable she took it upon herself to deliver her message in a less direct fashion.
I probably flatter myself, but even so, I’m honored to be a hypothetical go-between.
I hope my hypothetical readers enjoy!

To my daughter,

I have always loved touching myself.  From an early age the magic of my fingertips has been a key to unlock the doors of pleasure.  My access to breathless realms of sexual satisfaction, requiring no permission but my own, has been powerfully liberating.  I have never required a man to bestow such joys upon me.  Rather, men have been more like sexual accessories; often an enhancement to the act, but never strictly required.

Few men, in my experience, posess the interest or the patience to completely map the pleasurable pathways of even a single woman.   Is it not laughable, then, that men count it a point of pride to have slept with as many women as possible?  This is akin to claiming you are a lover of fine wines simply because you drink a lot.

A true connoisseur enjoys his wine slowly.  He notices in the process all the subtle differences between this particular vintage and the last.  He is blessed to enjoy such a heady brew and he knows it.  This truth is evident in the rapturous transportation he displays when given the opportunity to indulge his palate.  See the way he closes his eyes while inhaling deeply of the wine’s unique bouquet.  See the way he swirls such a small sip over his tongue.  He truly tastes it as if for the first time.  When he does swallow, he does so with immense satisfaction.  His eyes open slowly, and he gazes with fondness upon the bottle, the vessel that contained such a rare delight.  Such a look acknowledges the wine’s perfection.  In that moment, no other wine exists but this one.

A woman could accept her lover having many partners, were he always so attentive to her unique savor, quality, and worth.  What should she care if another was pleased just as much if she herself never failed to be satisfied by him?

Such lovers are a rarity, so it is my advice to you to always be attentive to your own needs.  An orgasm must be pursued.  Lead your lovers by the nose, if you must, until they cannot fail to scent their elusive quarry.  Do not allow them to loose their arrows until you can be sure of the kill.  Le petite mort, as the French call it, is worth un peu de travail.  Lacking a properly responsive partner (what are you wasting your time for, dear?) do not hesitate to chase that golden hind yourself.  Let your man sweat and grunt.  Your fingers will get you there more surely than any of his animal efforts.

A lover should not necessarily be slow but, like any good craftsman, he should take his time to be certain of properly completing his task.  What use is a fence with no gate, a house with no roof, a kitchen without counters?  We wouldn’t accept such shoddy efforts from contractors, so why do we accept half-finished work from lovers?

If I have learned one thing from masturbation, my darling, it is that my evident confidence, my self-satisfaction, my independence, is a powerful aphrodisiac.  Are you putting up with a man who does less than he should to please you?  Heavens!  Whatever for?  Stop it this instant!  Reject him and begin pleasing yourself!  In short order you will have them lining up for a glimpse of your mystique.  You can pick and choose, and hold your lovers to a higher standard, so long as you love yourself.

This is an unassailable truth, but it only applies to those who work to love and accept themselves in every way.  To you I say:  this can begin in bed!  We are naturally inclined to love those who bring us pleasure.  So pleasure yourself, and love yourself for it!  And when you find you adore yourself, flaws and all, your confidence will soar, and so too will your magnetism take flight.

A good lover is not a man who arrives with a briefcase full of orgasms to bestow upon you like so many gifts.  A good lover is a man who joins you in releasing the orgasms already locked within you!  Better yet, he is a man who rejoices to discover a strong woman already in command of her own pleasure, who can release her own orgasms as needed.

After all, there are two of you in that bed — there is no need to rely on him alone!

*Image from Internet*