I’ve written before that the path to sexual nirvana is through hot women. The hotter the girl, the steamier the sex. Simple formula. So put away your Zen and the Art of Existential Orgasm books and your handcuffs and mood lighting and liquor and rohypnol and owl masks and instead focus on landing yourself a hot babe. No need to overcomplicate things. Your penis cannot be fooled.
Once you’ve satisfied that basic requirement for nutblasting sex, there are ways to turbocharge the sex into the stratosphere of awesomeness. When you mix together certain ingredients you can achieve paralytic sexual bliss; the kind of orgasm that will stiffen your entire body as if it were a mere appendage to the centrality of your dick, and seize your brain in a white light-pricked near life experience.
Public sex is a necessary precondition. There needs to be a real threat of getting caught. You must also be outdoors in the woods, communing with Mother Vulva. The crackle of twigs underfoot, the sun streaming through a canopy of oak leaves, the chittering of small and not so small woodland creatures, and the invigorating organic aroma of pristine air and decomposing brush will throw in stark relief the animalistic nature of your love. There must be people in the vicinity. The thrill of seeing people while fucking and not being seen by them is incomparable. It’s like a one-way mirror where the observed subjects going about their daily mundane routine act to heighten the depravity on the other side. If some of those people are children under the protective wing of their parents, even better. The wicked ascends on the backs of the innocent. The risk of despoiling in a most evil fashion the purest among us will inflame your lust.
There must also be clothes in the way. You will feel your boner harden like steel-forged nipples when you have to push up a skirt or pull aside running shorts and panties to gain access. Clothes — and the clumsy grappling to move them out of the way — will pump your blood with the urgency of fast and furious sex.
Your woman must be either an angel on earth, or a dirty whore. A middle of the road typical chick with gangbang experience under her belt or a commitment to the three date rule isn’t going to cut it. If you want to lift yourself to the heights of ecstacy you must feel like you are piercing the womanhood of a truly uncorrupted vagina, or, on the opposite end, spiraling downward into the pits of sin with a filthy slut.
One of the most exciting sexual experiences I ever had happened in the woods, mid-day, springtime. We had just finished a hike and I pulled her off the designated path deeper into the wood. She was wearing loose-fitting running shorts. She was married, and I knew this. I was fucking a cheating whore. I pressed her chest against a boulder that fully concealed us from view and yanked aside her shorts for rear entry. We heard voices approach. She balked, unconvincingly. No no no I don’t think this is a good idea. Ignoring her, I drove it in hard hoping to make her yelp in pain and was surprised by the wetness of her pussy. She had lubed up in mere seconds. The voices neared us. Some were the high-pitched squeals of children. I looked around the boulder and saw through the low branches of the trees a troop of girl scouts clambering down the hiking path, a few parents strolling lazily beside them. Forty feet separated the girl scouts from the penetrance of my manhood into my married whore’s cunt. They stopped; I held steady, cock buried to the hilt. A squirrel rummaged through dead leaves on the ground. My lover twitched. I had my hand her throat and felt her pulse with my fingertips. My grip tightened. One of the girl scouts wanted to go in the woods for a pine cone. We heard her pleading with her father. She took a few steps toward our boulder of love, then turned back around when someone shouted “doggie!” and they all went racing toward a labrador that had jumped in a large pond. The voices receded. I resumed my pumping action, inflicting scrapes on my lover’s cheeks and arms from pushing her against the stone. Her knees went wobbly with orgasm and she slipped down the rock a few inches, stifling the moan that wanted to rip out of her lungs. I halted her stumble and with a mighty final thrust unloaded inside her, a river of molten balljuice flooding her hole, my bulk mashing her face into the boulder. White spots danced in my mind as my peripheral vision temporarily faded. I had timed my blast perfectly to the happy squeal of a distant girl scout.
Later we passed them and the wet doggie who had jumped in the pond. I petted it on the head and exchanged pleasantries with the parents.
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