Saturday, July 20, 2013

Reverso world.

This is what I have been left with, her blog.  She told me that her writing was for me, so I took it.  I am the man that she was writing about for a while.

The following exchange is how she baited me to the violent end of our relationship.

pnwbbc4u 30M
Bainbridge Island, Washington
written 8 months ago:
Looking for some play in kitsap, and came across your profile.
So your wanting some zing in your relationship?
If you have no zing, I would like to give you some.
I am liking your fetish list. I am into a lot of the same stuff.
Just going to be raw here, I want to fuck are you game?
pippi-stockings 31F
Belfair, Washington
written 8 months ago:
I don't know, send me a pic? Also, do you realize I'm 7 months pregnant? What do you think about that?

The day before this exchange, wherein I pretended to be a Pacific North West Big Black Cock for You (pnwbbc4u), I had a long conversation with her about her removing a link to my fetlife profile from hers.  We did not have that kind of relationship any more.  We were co-parenting.  I was living in the studio apartment, and there was no sex between us - there was no more us, aside from the kids.  She had mentioned that she enjoyed the idea of cuckolding, I wanted nothing to do with it.  She assured me during this phone conversation that she had no intention of doing that, and she was going to be up front and honest about everything from now on.  I did not believe her.  I created a fictitious person, and sent her a offer of sex.  When I got home that day I asked her if she had any luck with her fetlife account, any letters, any leads, anything?  Her reply was "nope nothing at all".  Later that evening I told her that I sent the letter that she responded to, she punched me in the face and pushed me toward the door yelling "leave now".  I asked her again to remove any links between us on line, she punched me again.  I got on to the floor hands and feet in the air "please don't hurt me anymore" is what I was saying.  She kicked me in the ribs breaking three of them.  This getting on the floor thing I will cover more in a later post, suffice it to say it was the only way I could get her to stop attacking me - it did not work this time.  She took the same follow up actions she had for every event like this one, saying that I was violent and crazed to all her friends and family.  This has happened a few times.  The craziest was when she broke my nose in my studio, woke the kid from a sound sleep, and screamed to the night "I can't believe you are doing this to us!"  

Friday, March 4, 2011

Au Revoir

The tagline of this blog is "a blog about sexual encounters from an adventurous young bottom."  While I'm still adventurous, young (depending on who you ask), and enjoy being the bottom, I'm not blogging about sexual encounters these days.  Who "I am" and what I'm doing has undergone a huge evolution in the last year.  I'm reserving all the previous posts as drafts, with the exception of the first one.  The idea is that I'll hold this place and that first post as inspiration.  I may feel the urge some time to resume telling stories with a scintillating bend.  Until then, stay loose, laughing, and lascivious,

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

The "Read Me" Diary, for Daddy

April 14, 2010
Dear Diary,
Daddy talked to Julie today while i made sandwiches.  i could see her eyes looking at him. i thought about her eyes looking at Daddy later, and i thought i remembered too, the way Daddy's body looked at Julie.
They're a cute couple, i thought.  When i recalled that, a few moments ago, i hoped she'd be forthright about her crush on Daddy.  I hoped Daddy would encourage a crush by me, on Julie's boyfriend.  i remembered how Julie had told me about his big dick.  That's how she got preggers, she told me.  She said he knocked all her birth-controls out of place and she still couldn't resist him.  Then i thought about what she said, about "one night things" and thought, well, maybe we maybe could be a family some day.  A love glistening family.

i remembered Daddy saying he thought Julie was a "sweet young girl."  i know how he likes sweet young girls.

All of a sudden i wasn't thinking anymore.  I was visualizing--imagining.  Me and Julie kissing, sucking.  Me and her man kissing, touching.  Daddy cheering me on.  Three of us wet, practically drooling...

Would Daddy... could i imagine now... that it was him who had to say "Go"?

Then imagine!

Julie's boyfriend's big you-know-what in my mouth.  He'd start slowly.  Maybe Julie could touch and rub me for a bit - give me soft instructions on him.
Daddy could kiss Julie too.  i'd like to see him hang and fist her while I suck her tits or Daddy's cock.

Oh >:-/
if Daddy ever found this, i don't know what all he'd do... 

Monday, March 1, 2010

Get Back to Work

Giving up my independence has not been an easy transition for an unspeakable amount of reasons.  Not only have I given up smoking, being able to drive myself everywhere, and determining my own grocery list, but my orgasms have become linked to my man's.  This is actually a result of my own sensitivity and some unconscious training I gave myself years ago, than anything my man has or has not done.  He'd have me coming all day everyday in an ideal world.

He is away at some appointments this morning.  This morning is also a morning in which I was unable to come and became frustrated.  After hours of attempting to clear my mind, then finding myself unconsciously pulled to pornography online, I accepted that I must find a way to give myself orgasm.

I didn't search too long for porn simulating truck stop fantasies similar to my own, before deciding this was enough.  It worked (I didn't even get to the end), got me focused enough to go back to work, and increased my desire for a ball gag exponentially.

Friday, February 26, 2010

dominant people v. Dominants

Directly after reading the assignment post my man asked a good question.  I often wish I were tape recording conversation so I could transcribe it here.  In hopes, I guess, to spark further thought and discussion in the arena.  So! Moving on...

He asked, "what's the difference between a dominant person and a Dominant?"
My response was couched in personal experience which I related as a means of answering him and probing further into my own thought.

SM 101 - Assignment

I've been in a very cavernous place called OVERWHELMED and it's prevented me from thinking, and therefore, writing clearly about sex, sexuality, and our BDSM experience.  Today, feeling frustrated by that and unmotivated to do sensible things, like look for a job or take a shower, I picked up The Bottoming Book again.

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Being Ingrained: A Short Interview with My Man

I asked my man a few questions about our progress as a 24/7 couple.  

We've found a sliver chain necklace that works well as a daily reminder of a collar.
me: I whined a lot about the collar you bought me being uncomfortable and you didn't force me to wear it.  Has it become a training collar?  
Him: It has.  

me: I know that I've been starting a lot of sentences with verbs.  
Him: I have noticed it too.  And you've been asking questions that begin with "Can you [do this or that]?" which is basically the same thing, but yes.  Go on.  
me: I've noticed that you haven't been reacting immediately.  I've been trying to do my best, but I think I become indignant without reinforcement.  [laughter] There's a tension in me about trying to do my best and be good, and wanting to lash out or misbehave because of the indignation.  
Him: Where's your copy of the Tao Teh Ching? This book has helped me often in my life.  Here's the quote I want you to read.
The highest type of ruler is one of whose existence
the people are barely aware.
Next comes one whom they love and praise.
Next comes one whom they fear.
Next comes one whom they despise and defy.

When you are lacking in faith,
Others will be unfaithful to you.

The Sage is self-effacing and scanty of words.
When his task is accomplished and things have been
All the people say, "We ourselves have achieved it!"
me: I've been wanting to write [here] and I've been unsure how to talk about the reality.  I've been drawn to thoughts of our humanness.  You've never had a real shot with a slave who desired to submit to you and I've never really had a master. 
Him: We have made significant progress though.
me: Yes.  When I've felt indignant about not having reinforcement, I've told myself that you're aware of my behavior and that your are not reacting, to my fumbling the rules, on purpose.  I've stayed away from losing faith and all the bad things that come with that.  
Him: I like my style of leadership.  I think I'm a good leader.  It takes time to build real loyalty, which is what I inspire in people.  People who have served under me [in the Navy] have always appreciated my leadership style.  When someone says they'll follow me into battle that means a lot to me.  It means they're willing to die for me.  I think you should consider that quote and think about the recent changes in your life.  I don't think you would have made a lot of those changes if it weren't for me.  I think you've made significant improvements with me.  Maybe you just weren't ready for my style.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Zen and the Art of the Blowjob

The many details of today feel like they're running in fog from my memory while thoughts of remembering yesterday and the day before, those details, come crowding in.  My memory is apparently a high traffic zone presently.  I just gave the best blow job of my life.

I Learned This While Discussing Energy

Biology time! There are three terms for creatures that birth living young, viviparous, oviparous, ovoviviparous.

Viviparous creatures give birth to walking, squawking, living young. Think vi- as in vibrant, bright, living. Oviparous creatures lay eggs with living creatures in them. Think ov- as in ovum, oval, egg. That one's not too crazy, but get this: ovoviviparous creatures, aside from being fun to name, lay their egg babies inside themselves, then hatch them internally. It seems then, that that super fun prefix, ovovivi- means living and egg combined.

I asked my master, after learning this lesson, if all the animals who give birth are women. He was practically answering it before I asked, and told me one of my favorite facts, which I already partially knew. Seahorses are the only exception. Except they have an exception too, which is that the males don't actually make the egg, their lady friends do. After the egg is made, the papa seahorse goes over to the mama seahorse and is like, "Hey, why don't you let me take that egg off your tail and go buy yourself something sweet?"

Saturday, January 30, 2010

Reason No. 2

Hello again! I'm back for the third installment of "Why I Am a Mastered Slave."  We're on point number two in the top 5: 2. I have some areas where stronger discipline is needed.

Now, I'm a pretty tough woman.

I wound up receiving an unexpected, but important gift today.

This morning found me nursing a tiny hangover and craving a diner kind of breakfast.  Being ever cunning, I declared this weekend my birthday weekend, so I could have even more of an excuse to indulge in greasy hash browns, sugary ketchup, and 3 egg omelets, for instance.  My birthday is Monday, so it's not an entirely out of whack proposal.  Last night we went into the big city to see a fantastic jazz/funk band and thus, my "party" mode was primed.  We made the strong choice though and stuck with our well-being instead pecan waffles.  This being my birthday weekend and a Saturday, we decided not to do anything of great responsibility, but instead drive to the nearest mall so I could buy myself a moleskin weekly planner.  I wound up receiving an unexpected, but important gift today. 

Friday, January 22, 2010

From the Desk Of...

For all you readers missing the sex, I am back with a story from this morning. We both have the privilege of being home today. I have spent the majority of the morning writing on various topics, and tidying in between. My man found himself inadvertently tied to his desk as well, urged to write our mission statement at last. We'd been up for about three hours when he received a call requesting him to step out briefly. He said he'd be right there, as I typed away at my keyboard.

My man set his phone down carrying a furtive desire in his belly. He came into my office, which is also our bedroom, shirtless, unbuttoning his jeans and wearing his house slippers, which are really iron toe "chucka" boots from his navy term. With no words he stepped up to my right arm and presented me with his flaccid cock. With no words or thought I opened my mouth to take him in.

Reason No. 1

I promised, in Top 5 Reasons Why, that I would talk about why I am a mastered slave.  Beginning with no. 1 of Why I Am a Mastered Slave: 1. It is my karma to reunite the male and female energy

Holy jeez, could I have been a little less specific?

Monday, January 18, 2010

We might have been brown nosers. A bit of a teachers pets or wall flowers.  We strive for recognition in different ways.  I do my bidding sweetly and with streams of unconscious self praise. 

I promised, in Top 5 Reasons Why, that I would talk about why I am a mastered slave and I know I mentioned it again in my last post, but most just rambled in metaphors and imagery so I am here to do that now.  Beginning with no. 1 of Why I Am a Mastered Slave:
1. It is my karma to reunite the male and female energy

Holy jeez, could I be a little less specific? A few definitions of belief are required now.   Disclaimer: the following "definitions" are from my perspective.

karma: a theme, or behavior pattern, which persists in a person's life and may serve as s life lesson.
female energy: the qualities of receptiveness, birthing, nurturing.  sometimes discussed as passive yin, sensitive.  related to life and death generally.  major archetypes are mother, little girl, temptress, whore, witch, goddess, crone, naivete

male energy: the qualities of penetration, giving, aggression.  sometimes discussed as active yang, strong.  major archetypes are related to action and journey generally and, in humans, as protector, provider, husband, father, brother, 

According to my second college edition 1984 Webster's New World Dictionary my thinking is in line with Buddhism and Hinduism.
karm-ma (kär'mð, kur'-) n. [Sans., a deed, act, fate]  1. Buddhism & Hinduism the totality of a person's actions in any one of the successive states of his existence, thought of as determining his fate in the next
Biology time!  There are three terms for creatures that birth living young, viviparous, oviparous, ovoviviparous.  Viviparous creatures give birth to walking, squawking, living young.  Think vi- as in vibrant, bright, living.  Oviparous creatures lay eggs with living creatures in them.  Think ov- as in ovum, oval, egg.  That one's not too crazy, but get this: ovoviviparous creatures, aside from being fun to name, lay their egg babies inside themselves, then hatch them internally.  It seems then, that that super fun prefix, ovovivi- means living and eggs combined. 

I asked my master, after learning this lesson, if all the animals who give birth are women.  He was practically answering it before I asked, and told me one of my favorite facts, which I already partially knew.  Seahorses are the only exception.  Except they have an exception too, which is that they don't actually make the egg, their lady friends do.  After the egg is made, the papa seahorse goes over to the mama seahorse and is like, "Hey, why don't you let me take that egg off your tail and go buy yourself something sweet?"

(Any readers who are generally uninterested in spiritual topics?  How do these ideas sit with you?)

The Point Is

Something that a lot of non-BDSM, or non-collared, people don't understand is that we slaves choose slavery because it makes us happy to do so.  We are not a bunch of broken and lost-cause people who can't think for themselves.  It is commonly understood, in the BDSM world, that a bottom with no opinion is an energy sucking bore for a capable and thinking top.  A strong top needs a strong bottom just as a sadistic top needs a masochistic bottom.  The point of BDSM is to live on the edge, to live life in the extreme.  The point, to reiterate, is to live large.

Thursday, January 7, 2010

Top 5 Reasons Why (plus 4 others)

[Y]ou need to learn to be honest with yourself. Figure out what you will and will not do, and what is a "maybe". Search inside yourself for what you really want, and when you find it, be honest to anyone you talk to. Don't agree to something long-term that you know you will not be able accomplish. Ask yourself some hard questions. The rest of this article will give you aspects to contemplate so you can base your decisions on reality, and not someone else's dreams of how it should be. - from "So You Want to Be a Slave: The Realities"
I read paragraphs similar to above beginning in the late spring of 2007. It was all about sex to me then. My thinking was bound by three columns of sex acts labeled yes, no, and maybe. (Or, in the BDSM world, please, peanut butter, and maybe.) I made arbitrary decisions about piss, spit, and humiliation. Arbitrary, because I was a topless bottom. A master-less slave. As the first man who wanted to master me put it, I was wanton.

My master, aka my man, gave me the article quoted above last week and asked for my thoughts on it. I was so excited by my reactions, our discussions, and my constant excitement to write that this blog was more seriously formed. I have 3 major steps of reaction to the ideas in this article and I'm going to write about them now. I'll wait here while you take a few minutes to process that article.

The first thing I trip over in that article is the neo-cultural imposition in the grammar. I am opposed to the following grammar: "my Master said He wanted me to come in." I am not going to take time out of my creative process to remember to capitalize male pronouns in the middle of a sentence for my man's honor. He doesn't care if I do or don't and so, I reject the importance that has been placed on this tradition. I understand it, I just don't care for it and boy, does it feel good to say so!

I will use the common BDSM abbreviation "D/s" (Dominant/submissive) because it is understood by sexual "deviants" everywhere. Greetings fellow deviants!

These varied reactions this article spurred create a tension which I find interesting, and if you make it to the end of this entry, then I guess you find it interesting too. If you have reactions yourself, please do share them. I'd love to hear ALL viewpoints.

Reactions/Counter-reactions to "So You Want to be a Slave"
1A. I don't want my opinions, desires, and tastes, to always be moot!!
1B. A situation in which my opinions, desires, and tastes were unaccounted for would make me unhappy. My man doesn't want me to be unhappy.

2A. I don't want my entire existence to be predicated on making him happy!! I feel that existing solely to entertain and please another may imply that my own pleasure is worth less. I am not worth less!
2B. My man wants me to be happy and to achieve my dreams. If he tells me to do, or not do, something, it is because he is thinking of my higher aims.  He loves me and is helping me reach my goals.

As I mentioned before, I used to think that D/s relationships were ALL about sex when I began my exploration of them. All I knew was that my panties, if they were still on, got real wet when someone talked dirty to me, spanked me, got rough with me, and that I wanted MORE.

Now, when my man talks about the fact that my cunt, ass, mouth and everything in between belong to him, are his, I get even wetter. It still is not "just sex." There are understandings between us that make this language and these ownership triggers happy and freeing. I'm getting very excited thinking about all this so I'm going to make another list:

Why I Am a Mastered Slave
1. It is my karma to reunite the male and female energy
2. I have some areas where stronger discipline is needed
3. I want help
4. I want to help
5. I crave kinky sex

For summary's sake I want to also recap the points above that have been presented (and in some cases not yet discussed).
1. I'm not going to capitalize Master etc. just because it's traditional. (see paragraph 4)
2. My D/s relationship is only partially about sex.
3. My man wants me to be happy.
4. My man is helping me reach my goals.

I hope you're excited to read and comment more about these points because I'm excited to write about them! Only, I'm going to do it later. I'm tuckered for now.

Rule No. 1

There are some basic rules in my relationship that must not be broken. The brevity of the rule and the degree to which it is the degree to which I break it dictates how I am punished. Here's one rule I struggle with more than others:

"You are not to give orders. Sentences that begin with verbs are orders."

Now here's a bit about that rule. It was created for me by my master. He is even so kind that he explained exactly why the rule was made. To understand it you have to know about my mother. Let me get right to the point and say that she is more than a little bossy. She's not a control freak so much as she doesn't consciously realize that people might be able to do things appropriately of their own accord. She also has Multiple Sclerosis. I'm not going to get into the details of it, because I doubt I'll talk about my mom frequently here. However, my theory is that her bossiness was at least doubled by her fear of losing mobility and perhaps doubled once more just by virtue of her being an aging Jewish lady.

Now you know I'm Jewish on my mother's side too! See how fun this can be?

Anyway, back to the context of the "no verbs" rule, as I think of it. This rule is very tricky, since the simplest concepts of being are ruled linguistically by VERBS. But more on my struggle with it in a moment... the rule was created because my master wants me to be the best me I can be. The me I dream of being.

I have lots of dreams. I make them into goals or stories. I work hard and I'm training to work more efficiently so I can realize even more of those dreams. One of my dreams is to be ready to market myself as a healer. I want to market myself so that more people, who are looking, can find me and come get healing. I suppose one of the things I believe I need to do in order to achieve this goal more fully is get more training at listening. In order to listen to others more intentionally, I must first listen to myself. I must speak with intention and cut out the bossy sharp edge in me.

Here comes some of my soon-to-be-famous wisdom

Bossiness is a behavior born of fear. People are bossy because they don't believe that they will be satisfied -- that they will receive enough. They have a fear of there not being enough for them. Fears, unexamined, become behaviors.

Let's counter that. Love, becomes behavior too. Most of us, in culture "these days", are not trained to be running on the fuel of love. We have very little love inside ourselves that we didn't have to consciously grow. I mean, of our own accord. Intentionally. Fear, however, we are fed practically as soon as we are sucking our new mama's teat. I don't mean to sound dramatic about it or anything, but think about it? Can any of you who read anything anywhere argue with me?

I wish you would.

It makes sense that a slave would have rules. It's the basic premise of slavery that decision making is out of the slave's hands. Why would I choose such a life? Well that, my friend is a very good question.

Introduction to Your Author

Greetings! My name is Shasta and I will be escorting you through A Rose for Your Buttonhole. Shall we get the basic information out of the way?

I love my birthday. It's soon! On February 1st I will be this many (28). That makes me an Aquarius. For any of you who care, my rising sign is Libra and my moon is in Taurus. My Venus is in Capricorn, but I don't know much about the effects of that yet -- which some Capricorns would say is par for the course (can I get an 'amen,' Capricorns?).

Sorry about the tangent, just having some fun. (But really...)

Those who often come by this infrequent blog might be wondering why I've suddenly decided to "introduce myself". I'll try to be brief, which would be unusual for me:

I have recently, and seriously, decided to commit to consensual slavery.

It all began in May, last year. Or was it in October of 2007? Really, I said "Yes" to my master in August, 2008.

It hasn't been until now, nearly half a year later, that my decision has become a clear reality for us. No more rose colored glass day dreaming for this girl; my life is in a brand-spanking-new phase.

Before, however, I get into those juicy (and interesting!) details -- more about Your Author. My decision to separate, in writing only, my sex from my life was made slowly. I've compartmentalized my writing persona. Some day I may write children's books, or teen angst novels, and I won't get very far if it's widely known that I'm a slave. As my master says, "We don't really have sexual freedom."

Another thing that will become clear about me, if my conveyance is precise enough, is that I am optimistic about people. You know how they say "hope springs eternal"? That phrase was coined on my behalf in another life. Never the less, I have learned that stereotypes are born from the shared consciousness of our culture, which can carry very real consequences. Lots of folks in the D/s world are quite protective of their identities "in real life" and I'm just going to assume that it's true when some guy says he's been fired or exiled because it was discovered that he asks his wife to step on his ballsac after dinner at night. Just an example. And moving right along.

I will write about my spirituality on this blog. My relationship is based firmly in the more veiled worlds of experience, and so is my thinking. I will, at times get intellectual on yo' asses, and write about theory. I will pose questions. I will sometimes be remarkably silly. I will be in full view. Spread eagle. I will make puns (there's already been one). I'm going to fucking geek out here, and I don't care who knows it.

Now onto a list! I'm getting tired of deep explanation right now. Purple is my favorite color since forever. I am more sensitive than a slug on a freeway. I like to wear aprons. I have grown up voices and little girl voices. When the doggies I live with don't listen, I growl at them through gritted teeth.

I'm going to remember to be really honest about my behaviors, and give context and consequences. As I mentioned, I did not become a slave overnight. In fact, I have only just begun devoting myself to it full time. I will talk about experiences I had with men who were not my master. I will use false names and locations, but the time-line and events will be real. I will not lie about myself, but I will also not divulge information that could be useful in court. Here are some truths I wrote down earlier today that I'd like to share upfront. I smoke pot recreationally. I sometimes struggle with anxiety. I wonder how those two are linked. I'm not a health nut per se, but I am on a quest to be as healthy as I possibly can. I'm about to learn all the reasons why I reject the phrase "New Age" and write an essay on it. If that essay sounds interesting to you, let me know and I'll share it once it's written.

Ok, lists! I like them and could keep going on with details about me, but I'll give you just one more for now: I have a heart tattooed on the inside of my right forearm. I got it for, from, and with, my master on our second date.

Tender Hard Poem, from my man

4:42 AM
sleepy sleepy
wooo! When I wake up I think of you. What a nice place you make.
what a diamond studded destination.
mmm sleepy
wondering how well you do in a situation where no noise can be made.
kids in the next room must be quiet.
shhhh while I try to make you noisy.
shhhh while I slide into my favorite attire.

This blog is going to evolve to discuss and document my evolution into a consensual slavery with my man. I'll probably start soon and I'll probably start with a post on Why I don't stick to tradition in writing from the slave perspective.

Until then, feel free to read the post that got me started thinking about it more on Internal Enslavement.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Meat Chex

Have been "living in sin" with my kin for two and a half weeks. We have been employing techniques to allow for my orgasms sans moaning. It was hard at first, but with some creative gyrating and facial contortions I finally came 'til I saw stars one night not long ago.
(and again and again)

My man and I remember to take our days off of working when the family members are away at their jobs. This morning the precursor to routine stretches and breakfast was me at his groin on my knees.

"Come up here and kiss me," he demanded. "Mm-you taste like cock."
I purred, "Your cock tastes like pussy."

He pushed me back to my knees and was kind enough to get down into my throat before coming. I much prefer the choice of "spit or swallow" to be over-ridden by deep throat ejac.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Afternoon Break

I keep thinking I'm going to get to stage two of this fantasy, but I haven't. This time a guest interrupted our progress. Read how.

It's a cool, sunny September day and he and I are doing house-work. He's doing something outside as I wash dishes in the afternoon light by the window. I see him suddenly, standing in our dirt driveway and he calls to me, "Shasta put on those thick red leg warmers of yours and come down here." I dry my hands, find the knit leg warmers he's talking about, and go downstairs. I go outside in what I have on, which is one of the many reasons I love living out here where it's rural. I'm wearing the softest of his old button down work shirts, panties, and now the red leg warmers pulled up to my knees.

Friday, August 28, 2009


Daddy's going off the grid tomorrow for a week.

I decided to get sauced tonight.

This is what I'll be listening to.
A Cat Called Diddy Wah

Diddy Wah reminds us that they don't make nostalgia like they used to. ...Sock hop anyone?

Wednesday, August 26, 2009


I flew to my man over a week ago. I wore the specified outfit. Getting dressed was very exciting.

Alma Hatch, Rose Hole

p. 69 The Man Who Fell in Love with the Moon

Alma coming and coming, and screaming and coming. Me coming then, too. No words left, only not-talking passing through me into her. Through her, my body pulled up sweet to her sweet, to sunlight on a white bird way up high in the blue, flying.
Alma Hatch's body was sarsaparilla or hard candy in a dish or an all-day sucker. Something so sweet and pink and sticky you got it all over yourself. Something once you starting in on you couldn't stop til you made yourself sick. Always smelled of roses, too - roses mixed with woman smell. Alma Hatch was always putting rosewater on her. Behind her ears, under her arms, on her wrists. Sometimes, she'd just sit her ass down in a puddle of that stuff and suck rosewater up insider her. If you walked into a room and Alma Hatch had been in there during the last twenty-four hours, you'd know by the roses. Pink roses. Not red, white, or yellow - pink. Nipples were pink, woman's hole was pink, lips pink. I swear Alma Hatch was no white woman. She was a pink woman.
"Best whore in the state," Ida Richilieu would say about Alma years later. "What makes Alma so good is that she looks like a rose, smells like a rose, and then fucks your thorns loose."

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Naughty at the Desk

7:57 am
me: leaving for bus soon. looks lovely out. skirt no panties...gonna be an interesting day!

11:53 am
me: I'm gonna run outside for a breath of fresh air now.
H: are you wearing any panties?
me: no...
H: are you at your desk?
me: ...yeeees
H: is anyone around there?
me: ...nooo
H: hm. how does your pussy feel? is it wet or dry?
me: well, I'd say it's moving to the wet end of the spectrum now
H: why don't you, when no one is around, put your fingers up there and find out for me
me: [giddy hesitation. looking around and humming. compliance. naughty delighted savor.]

me: are you expecting something more? it smells good. wet.
H: no [laughter] I just like knowing your over there at your desk with you hand in your pussy. you're such an innocent good girl. thanks for letting me dirty you up.

very much my pleasure.
i'd like, some day, to feel satisfied with my written descriptions of the electricity H (or many wanting to dirty me) create in that naughty box of mine.
electric. throb. drip. swell. puff. grab. pull. shoot. strike. pulse. seethe.
adjectives that will likely prove useful in the paragraphs to be written.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Emily Dickinson

Hadj: Pain's successor will not find us for many years
me: who's pain's successor?
Hadj: Ownership, its replacement

There is a Languor of the Life
More imminent than Pain —
'Tis Pain's Successor — When the Soul
Has suffered all it can —

A Drowsiness — diffuses —
A Dimness like a Fog
Envelops Consciousness —
As Mists — obliterate a Crag.

The Surgeon — does not blanch — at pain
His Habit — is severe —
But tell him that it ceased to feel —
The Creature lying there —

And he will tell you — skill is late —
A Mightier than He —
Has ministered before Him —
There's no Vitality.

Friday, July 24, 2009

There is a Languor of the Life

"I have found a new whore/personal blog to adore. Maybe I'll read you a post some time. I feel myself wanting to morph...make my more sultry whore dreams a reality under your steam"

I am offhand about this in some ways. I am lacking the energy or desire to delve deeply into any more relationships, but lacking also any interest in dating when what I want to do is be fucked. I don't want to top from the bottom either, or I would have told the boy from last week he could have me. All he had to do was reach out and grab. He learned this in a small way when he pulled me tight for a giddy kiss. It was sweet and seemed to come from place of mannerisms that are alien to me now. "I'm gonna have to go out for ice cream with you more often!" he called over his shoulder, picking up his dropped bicycle. I wonder what his cock looks like, I thought, smiling and waving goodbye.

"What do you want to do with him?"
Hadj inquires. "I think," I respond "the question is more, what do I want him to do with me?"

Yes, you can buy me dinner and yes I will suck your cock with vigor for dessert. Yes, I have been practicing at home.

I morph, taking shapes I perceive as desirable by others, easily. I lose myself in these projections and eventually self-destruct and flee. Hadj knows all this. He sees me there and monitors me closely to ensure I become no one else in our life together. The goal is for me to keep being me. What then, do we do with the resurgence of interest in whoring? I know he has always preferred the company of whores - befitting my fetish for him as a(n ex) Navy man. I know also that my interest in whores and whoring began to surface just about three years ago, and that my link to the profession is becoming more seasoned. But, I am ever an innocent, sometimes foolhardy. I walk these lines very slowly knowing that I am probably clueless.

It dawned on a me, a year later, that my neighbor propositioned me, didn't just "ask me to dinner", despite the fact that he prefaced his invitation to dine with, "Are you interested in...the entertainment industry...?" In my defense, the question was, mostly, in context. I lack the capability to see what others are thinking even when I know what they are feeling.

My interest in sex-work began at money. I am coming to see more clearly now the differences some women have in their reasons for turning to this profession. I read Hadj's reviews on the whore boards of his region and become ferociously aroused. I want to want the men, and I want to please them. The money seems to be shrinking into the background as part and parcel of the job's entirety. It used to be quick, big cash. Now it's personal. It's desire. It's the whore in me coming of age.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Squid Pro Quo

I fucked up on Sunday in a big and a few small ways.

I had my old friend Pete over. We've been friends since we were 17. We went and had a few Guinesses down the street. We split the bill. Pete still lives with his parents in the suburbs we grew up in, while he waits for his rock band to get bigger, or his patience to deteriorate entirely. He works only part time at the Walgreens photo counter and he is always strapped for cash. I'm strapped for cash because I put myself through college on private loans and because I've been too stubborn in my lifestyle to have a roommate for the last two years.

I knew some sexual friction was present, but I didn't know what the outcome would be. When, on the phone with my Daddy before going back in to chill with Pete, I was asked how things were going I said I thought Pete and I were eternally platonic. He'd made no moves and I hadn't either. I like being used to not making the moves. I like the simplicity of obvious and traditional gender roles these days. I went back inside. An hour later I was riding Pete's cock.

I had not planned on that. I had hoped that perhaps I would suck him off. That I would have the opportunity to practice the jaw relaxing skill I've been working on and to affirm my deftness as a good little cock sucker. I did get to do so, and got praised too. I had fun sucking his long, hard cock and knowing he was watching and loving it. The orange flavored condom even tasted good. He moaned and told me how good I was when his head rolled back. He told me I "should take off my shirt", because nice boys don't know how to order around nice girls quite right.

"You should take off your shirt."

"Take off your shirt."

"Get this fucking shirt off."

36 hours later I had to make a confession to Pete that I should have made before I ever climbed on top of his cock. When he asked me later how I could have over looked the thing I confessed I realized and told him two things:
1. because I got carried away in the heat of the moment (slut)
2. because I'm not used to fucking someone without lots of very explicit talk about the fucking/sucking/slapping/tying up that will occur.

Had Pete and I met without all the familiar history I would have disclosed to him while still on date number 1. I don't go on dates with new people without the hope that fucking will happen. I did go out with Pete hoping that some sucking or making out would happen, but I really wasn't sure. Also, I don't really know how to be at ease, as the little slutty sweet I am, with Pete. I know how to be good old Shasta; friend with history, buddy, tom-boy, pal. It's a weird mental shift for us both (that went really well over all).

Bad little girl mistake number 2. I am also supposed to get dinner in exchange for sucking cock, but I let myself think, it's Pete. This is a practice swing. He's so broke. The truth is more that I don't know how to verbalize this quid pro quo set up. Daddy is going to tutor me on language soon. In the meantime I practice feeling as sexy as I am on my own - so I can own my trade. Confidence is the key to pandora's box.

Well, confidence and knowing I don't want to break Daddy's rules on accident or on purpose, out of ignorance or out of sneakiness. Sometimes I have to swallow the old innocent so the sweet slut can grow as big as she aught to.

I'm going out with a brand new possible suitor tonight. He's only 24, but he's cute. Think he can play in the kitchen with slut girl, or is he too inexperienced/immature? Can I tell him what trade options there are, or am I too shy and sweet? This innocence thing is a double edged sword sometimes.

Two new rules for me:
1. Don't jump on the cock and ride it to its "Most logical conclusion." Suck it.
2. Quid pro quo for Daddy and me.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

A Dirty Limerick from my Love

Displeased with shastaschism.
Feeling like a cataclysm.
This long distance trick
is somnambulistic.
Empty hands and dreams of shastajism.

Monday, June 29, 2009

Woke Up Needing Soothin

Nina Simone, I Want A Little Sugar In My Bowl

Oh anxiety. Oh Daddy. Won'tcha come give me some sugar?

Sunday, March 29, 2009

Sex Dream

I'm at a dance, a sock hop in my poodle skirt and white anklets. I'm alone in room outside the dance hall when I meet up with Stacy October. Stacy and I want to fuck. We climb up a hay loft to a bed and my roommate Ana is there. Stacy and I get under the covers and try to be quiet but Ana knows and gets up. She is angry and storms out. I follow apologetically, she accepts. I remember my old bedroom upstairs.

I take Stacy and run into two other girls who want to come; we say it's fine. Stacy begins telling me that her canal is high - her cunt stumps people, it seems. I fuck her. It is delicious and feels so amazing to give a longstanding dyke, since high school, an orgasm. I am privileged to eat her gorgeous red pussy. She cums and ejaculates like a cock with more precision. She shoots her cum. It is red. She shoots it all over the room in streams. I am delighted.

One of the other women is grossed out but the other is into it. The scene changes.

Stacy and I are clothed and going back to the dance. Stacy mentions spanking and I want her again. I take her back to a room and am just beginning to slap her fine tan ass when a panic hits the air. She dresses instantly and goes out, I follow behind. It is a chaotic crowded room and I don't know where she's gone.

People begin screaming, the lights go out. Some one is trying to make an announcement. I hear the exits are sealed but head for them anyway. It is pandemonium, no one is leading so I go my own way. I make it outside cautiously and see a far off explosion. People are scarce now and there are a lot of airplanes over head. I hear some yelling "China! China!" and I don't know if they're enemies or allies. I continue ahead to a hill. I climb it.

I realize I don't know what's over the hill simultaneously as a war character mounts it. He is a solid man with a hard chest and barrel belly. He is wearing a gas mask, faceless. The sky is in it's purple pre-dawn state as the man towers, a dark figure over me.

I wake.

Friday, March 20, 2009

Are you my Daddy?

It's Friday night. I want fun (I am a girl after all) and maybe just need to whine for a sec before I pick myself up and go find it. I am deprived. I am deprived of depravity. I have what I want, a lady I adore, friends I am blessed with, a path clear and bright, but you know what I don't have? Kinky-Hot-Take-Me-Fuck-Me-Use-Me-Hard-Fucking.

And goddamn it's been a long time. That old cockhungry feeling may be returning, but that's not quite it. I have toys aplenty and a lady not afraid to wield them. I begged her, "Please, please fuck me, push me down on my knees" and she did that, expertly. Something's missing...

I want to be owned. Sigh. No, I want to be abused then coddled: repeat.

I know I can't be right now, there is no one available to the task. I have trodden back and forth the bridge of my last partner's patience. I considered burning it up once or twice, and I'm glad I knew better. Something about him has changed me. I can never go back. I can't have him now, mostly due to the distance between our homes (not to mention his being on a date tonight), but his stories, rather than getting me randy, are making me mopey.

Where, oh where are you my daddy? I'm here, in the windy city, waiting, cooing, needing to be seen and cared for...

picture sneakily nicked from Lola

Sunday, December 28, 2008

Lady Maria

i began watching Lady Maria from the second She walked in. i saw Her get a very attentive foot massage. i felt mild longing as i watched her tickle the sub attending her with a crop while She carried on a separate, seemingly casual conversation with another Domme. i followed her with my hungry eyes as the minutes passed.

She disappeared for a bit, and i watched a little plastic girl toy get tied up and teased into ecstasy by the rope Master. Then, She returned, walked Her sub to the spanking bench nearest where i stood. She instructed him to remove his pants and get on the bench. he did so, She walked away, as nonchalant as ever. She kept him waiting this way, his ass in the air, raucous couples teasing him for nearly 15 minutes. i watched Her glide back, a determined pallor cast over Her deep eyes.

She stood behind him and began spanking him with a firm hand. She warmed him up and then went at his ass with a leather flogger, then a crop, until his face was red and sweating and Her nipples were rocks beneath Her vinyl top. She unceremoniously pulled his boxers down to his knees to reveal a blushing bottom, to the hoots of smaller minded onlookers near by. She walked away again. My Date chuckled at my new obsession as i panted over Her.

i relished the waiting She tortured this sub with. i took notes on Her every step and wondered where She went off too to let his steam back build. i rested on the arm of a couch a few feet closer to the bench and joined in waiting with him.
She returned.
Wearing a strap-on.

i tried vainly to block out my racing pulse and the guffaws of the nearby stooges and kept my eyes fixed. She walked around and sat in a chair, legs casually splayed before Her subject, and twisted off the cap on a bottle of lube. She dropped the cap and it rolled out of sight. i started a little then forced myself to remain seated. i wanted very badly to get on my knees and crawl around on the floor to find the cap for Her. i wanted Her to pat my head condescendingly and tell me i was a good girl.

She squeezed lube into Her hand and began stroking Her cock. She slid two fists up and down Her shaft until, in the mirage of my mind: She was shimmering, Her cock was shimmering, and my cunt was glowing crimson in the juicy shimmers of it all. i licked my lips. i glanced at my Date across the bench and He smirked at me. Oh ho, my heart palpitated roughly.

This play couldn't last forever of course, She had to deliver eventually. Before She got up and walked around to Her sub's ass i moved again to reposition for an even better view. i walked back to my Master for the night and leaned as He roughly whispered thoughts into my flaming red ears.

The tips of my ears turn scarlet sometimes, when my arousal is loosely contained.

Lady Maria went to town. She smacked his ass again and again, warming him up. Then She moved immediately from Her violent arm swinging to thrusting. She had held the cock's head to his anus and generously let him ready himself. She placed Her hands firmly on his haunches. She bent her knees and straightened Her strong back. i shamelessly drank in the hardness of Her nipples fighting against the taught latex. i mentally licked the sweat from Her shoulders and neck. i psychically placed myself behind Her, pressed against Her, readied myself to thrust with Her. Finally, She penetrated him. Slowly She slid in each millimeter of Her cock and he pulled his head back in the ecstasy of feeling each bit of one's interior walls stimulated simultaneously. he moaned his mouth into a silent O. i moaned to myself a little and pushed my own ass against my Date slowly, as if i were the one receiving this act.

She worked Her way into it until Her fingertips were white with gripping, Her feet in their dainty strappy heels planted, Her knees bent and spread; She fucked that man until i was blue and begging.

The John

It's May. May is verdant seedlings, buds readying to pop, copulation crazed spring fever. I'm a jitterbug in a musky breeze. I haven't seen my boyfriend in 5 months and my local fuck-friends have all dried up leaving only remnants and debris: unused phone numbers, mix tapes, lube stained bed sheets. My spring fever turns into cock hunger. I got an itch even my best vibrator can't cure.

This is the tale of a big ache that finds remedy with an on-line cruiser.

I had been noticing that in the BDSM world, kink and play took time. Also, it often did not include the kind of cock to cunt action I was craving; no matter how much waiting, baiting and finally, begging I did. The john baited me with a two line e-mail; some play on words hinting at rough sex. His next e-mail bluntly drew out our mutual kinks. He was looking for a woman to tie up, so I proposed a trade. The stipulations from me were simple: hard and ideally to orgasm. "I usually can only come from anal" he said. I told him to meet me at 8 and that I wasn't promising anything.

I arrived at the bar in his neighborhood early. The chill wasn't quite gone from the air as I waited outside. Despite living alone, I'd been having problems with the Egyptian neighbor downstairs making remarks about hearing me "making love", and thought an escape route would be more easy to execute than an eviction process should something go wrong.

Waiting wasn't as difficult as I imagined it "ought" have been. I cooly postulated about societal rules, radical self actualization, and what my Grandmother would think. Another average looking guy approached, but this one was searching for a set of eyes to contact. I smiled, he held the door to the bar open.

Despite our shared mission we made small talk for half a beer, perhaps to show how civilized we "normally" were. The second half of the beer was consumed quickly as deviance danced in my eyes. He said, "You wanna do this?"
So suave. So succinct. So..."dude".
I chuckled, "yes," I did, and continued to observe the scene. His house was close, and I have no idea what we talked about because I was thinking about his cock. What would it look like? How long would it be? How girthy? Cut or not? Curved? Would he really fuck me hard enough? The word echoed in my head: hard, hard, hard. I fixated on the image you see in most het male porn: In Out In Out Red Wet In Slit Out Cream In Out In Out...

In his room, a bottle of Chardonnay, The Shins, a hookah. He has sleek metropolitan taste, an architect degree, a hippified past turned consumer future, framed prints above his bed, candles, a weight bench on top of which sits a duffel bag. We make more conversation, though it comes easily and soon the first bottle is gone. I think about sobriety and kink. He again says, "You ready?" but this time, there's a difference. He's switching gears, going to a head space that intones: I am in control. I let a sparkle twink in my eyes: "Sure Am," and lick my lips.
My clit, growing rotund and hard, begins to pulse.

He pulls out lengths of rope and begins unraveling them. He tells me how usually the sub would do all the untying and tying of the ropes before and after play. I sit, and wait, and wonder what I need to do to get what I want. I cannot know at this time, but I will not find my power back in this interaction. I will give it up willingly, concede it to a person I have no emotion for, and let his desire dictate the realization of my own.

The john hogties me. I'm on my belly with my arms bound behind me at their wrists. My wrists are bound to my hips, rope runs the length of my girl-seam to my tail-bone and is then bound to my ankles. He makes a gag, also out of the rope, and The Shins continue play. I am not in the blissfully high space that BDSM practitioners can get to, but am distant. I'm acting, for his sake, and observing from my internal vantage point with keen interest. I am disappointingly analytical.

His tying takes 20-30 minutes, he is clothed and I naked. I'm drooling all over the gag and am immobilized, the rope in my cunt is rubbing and it feels good. My muscles begin to strain, the pain is different, I am not controlling it. The pain brings me back to a human state, I am soft, immobilized, and contorted; finally I am getting turned on.

The john reaches back into his big bag of tricks. He flogs me lightly, then builds up steam. He moves from synthetic flogger to bamboo rods to paddle. My ass is unseasoned as of late and my lowered pain tolerance surprises me. When I am not committed to the one mastering me, I do not push my endurance. I yelp and squirm through my gag, and like any unfamiliar Top should, he backs off. My impatience is growing, I want what I have come here for.

He relents. It is 1 am. He leaves my reddened ass cheeks and I hear the unzipping of trousers. I crane my head around to see a nice looking cock in the brief glimpse I manage. He is arrow straight, practically parallel to the ground, nicely round and thick, about 6.5 inches hard. I'm pleasantly surprised and already bucking for it. He snaps a rubber on and barks at me to get the gag back in my mouth.

The grand entrance, my favorite of any phallic entrance, is sublime. The eager nerves lining my tunnel ricochet with glee. The second and third thrusts are as good as the first and he begins to ramp up his speed, I give a squeal of delight, but the gold is not to be mine on this voyage. The john leaves me dangling, tangled in ropes and unfulfilled too soon. He does not come, simply stops after less than ten minutes and gets cleaned up. He unties me and goes to the kitchen for another bottle of two buck chuck. I am disappointed.

I am not mortified or bitter though, and stay longer. His conversation is as stimulating as it need be at 2 am on a work night and The Whigs are now lulling me and my worked muscles to dreariness. He says I can stay if I like. I am skeptical but very tempted. I have nothing to lose, so bluntness is working in both our favor. I ask if he will cuddle and he promises. He finished off the second bottle while I wonder about his drinking habits and ask him personal questions. He cuddles me well and all night.

At 5:30 his alarm begins going and I do my best to ignore it. He does the same until I feel him roll over and spoon me close. I know what's up, I love morning wood. He presses his warm body and thickening cock against my sleep droopy ass and sighs. I pretend to be asleep. He snuggles closer still and I give an "mm" in response. This goes on and I'm smiling with my eyes closed, having fun playing and being warmly tired.

When his alarm goes off again, he kills the buzzer and rolls half way onto me. His hands begin to rub and probe and I moan responsively. His voice comes rough and fatigued in my ear. His breath is hot, he knows my body is willing. He says, "You didn't think you could come to a stranger's house for sex and not get fucked in the ass did you? You didn't think you were going to get away that easy, did you? Whore?" I fill up swollen and wet and respond humbly, small, "No. No, of course not."

Sunday, November 2, 2008

The Egyptian Fantasy

As I walk home in urgent arousal the familiar phrase of "cock hungry" plays in my thoughts. I scan the real and imagined partners of my past for fantasy fodder and lock on my Egyptian neighbor downstairs. His advances have been obvious in the past and I like the way his voice sounds when I imagine him fucking me like the American slut that I am. As soon as I return home I grab my smallest vibrator. Its hooked end and fast pulse setting will provide my cunt the stimulation desired while I furiously jangle the hard button of my clit.

I rush to my bathroom, the only room in my tiny studio with a door to keep my attention starved cats out. I climb into my bathtub wearing a tee-shirt and clutching my Sliquid. I return to my fantasy building:

I walk downstairs wearing a tight, short, black dress and my girly pink bra. I knock on his door and ask to come in when he answers. He looks baffled by this intrusion. Once his door is closed he looks me up and down without hiding his desire.

He asks the perfect question, "What do you want?"
I reply, my voice a deep path and say, "I want you. I want you to sit down."
He sits and I toss two condoms on the couch next to him. I answer further,
"I want to kiss you and I want your dick."

This man from a wildly different culture does not overreact, his time in America has molded him, though forward women are hard for him to accept at first. He thinks for a moment before responding that he would like to see my breasts.

I stare into his dark eyes as my desire pushes further into the forbidden with thoughts of him forcing himself on me, thoughts of being used for his satisfaction, but not my own.

I step closer to where he sits and turn my back to him, "Unzip my dress, just to my waist, please." He makes a noise in his throat and does as I request. I remove and fold the front of my dress down. I turn to face him again and he clucks his tongue, registering my lacy bra with the small rose between the cups, then I remove it. He holds his hands out, I give it to him. He puts the bra in one hand and with the other reaches for me. I climb onto his lap, straddling him. My dress hikes up around my hips and I am not wearing panties. I can smell the humid landscape of my cunt.
He is slow to move, but kisses my neck, then chest. He inches his full lips south and takes my large, bumpy aereola into his mouth. Instantly I arch back and moan. I fucking love having my tits sucked.
His eyes peer up at me when I look back down to see his dark hands on my pale chest. His chocolate lips on my pale breasts. He stops to ask me to moan again. I think of all the times he's heard me above him, loudly enjoying my lovers past and answer, "It's likely." He seems satisfied and begins sucking my tits in earnest.

The first orgasm is building strength in my gripped leg muscles and pelvis. I breathe deeply to let it form. My head rushes and my clit begins to feel as though it is contracting, my puffy labia throbs, my hips thrust and I gasp as the waves of pleasure crash on my cunt, my belly, my lungs and chest. I rest for a minute and resume the fantasy in narrative free mental images.

Dark lips on pale pink hard nipples. Grinding hips leaving streaks of pussy juice on his jeans. Hard cock pushing up through the fabric. Wide brown eyes on the stains my gyrating leaves.

I grab the little vibrator and spit on it. I find the fast pulse setting and shove it into my hungry cunt to gear up for orgasm number two. My beating heart and swirling fingers leave no time for further fantasy. Deep breathing has no use here.

My hips raised, my head butted against the bathtub wall, my big leg muscles tensed: I come hard and go limp. I begin giggling and feel satisfied, aglow after my orgasms. I slowly get up and light headedly walk to the computer to share my indiscretions with strangers of the world wide web.

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

Two friends are better than One

Let me tell you about a dream I had. It's about my new friends, Shayne and Chill. Shayne and Chill are 2 cool cats who just moved to my hood from the liberal left coast. They're outgoing and social. When I met them, I let me eyes wander up and down their different bodies. Shayne's a short and slim woman with great curves and a sexy Monroe piercing. Chill's tall and lanky, with quirky style. He's got those sinewy arms where the muscles and tendons are easy to see. I love imagining arms like that grasping hard cock or pumping into wet holes. I kinda hoped they were singles, maybe 2 queers. Then again, maybe they could be a kinda queer couple, that'd be fun.

I met them at an otherwise boring soiree. Afterward I was turned on from mingling with the possibilities these two presented, if just by living down the street. By the time I got home my snatch was tingling from all the fantasy I cooked up.

Chill is behind Shayne with her pants around her ankles. His big hands grip swaths of her juicy peach ass while she bucks up back at him. The dimples above her tail catch sweat while I rock on the couch getting my paws wet. In a feat of fantasy Chill pulls her easily up and around to his front. She sits on his cock, as he holds her up, and locks her ankles behind him. I rub my clit against my jeans. I rock back and forth on the seams watching, and swimming in the sound of their moaning.

I almost didn't make it through my house door with my clothes on. I fell to my knees then face down on my bed. I popped open the snaps on my pants and dove at my cunt, heaving and panting. I started out simple, just wanting my clit. I massaged my hard bead, then grabbed a vibrator. I rocked on it, thinking about his hands, her ass, her lips and tits until I came and came and drifted off to dreamland.

And dreamland was good to me; let me keep the ride going. In my dream, I got to be bad. Shayne was not physically present in my dream. Her absence helped up the naughty ante. Say you found your hot girlfriend arched back with another sexy woman lapping at her juice, how upset would you be? It was me and Chill in the dream, a much less acceptable standard.

He and I are in houseful of faceless strangers. Somewhere in the house, unsuspecting, or maybe jealously lurking, Shayne was mingling too.

I help Chill with something, maybe spiking the punch. Then Chill helps me find the other living room. He is a very accommodating man. Chill stands closer to me, like we might kiss. His face looks down and his lips part. I whisper something and he makes me laugh. The tension of desire is building in my stomach; it is like we are in a game, a fantasy dream dance. The scene shifts again.

We're at a party and he's looking at me. He's flirting and pinching. It's all I can do keep a hint of innocence.
In so many fantasies I feel my cunt throbbing. In real life before I've been thankful that my hard-on is invisible when standing. No matter how big my larger than average clit gets, it can't be seen through my panties.

My dream self wonders if he can't see my thoughts expanding. I'm having visions of fucking him, riding him hard. I'm on my knees totally naked; I'm blowing him. I suck him. My face is wet with stringy saliva and my throat is full of his long firm sword.

There's another scene change and we're in a hallway. Never far from the sensual imagery and sensation is the even more exciting thought that Shayne is just around the corner, just about to walk in on us. Maybe I'm bent over, with my clothes on but disheveled, and with Chill's thick, hard cock pelvis deep inside me when Shayne rounds the corner and freezes in horror. The shame of being an adulterer and betrayer ups the thrill.

Chill embraces me in a shadow and pulls me into a kiss. Shayne's sure to find us but I can no more ignore my hunger for this man than I can for oxygen. I'm dizzy and out of control. Quickly he gives in to his sex and his hand glides down my body. Just as Chill begins to squeeze my ass and I'm about to commit another cardinal sin
my alarm goes off and I wonder again if they might like to swing.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Under the Hood

My silver Nissan had two doors and pop-up headlights. As I sped down the summer back roads I thought about the story I'd heard at camp in which a woman fucked herself on the stick shift of her boyfriend's car. I eyed the gear shift curiously. I shifted into fifth and hugged the curves while blowing my speakers and screaming along.

Of the summer before my junior year I remember driving most. I remember determinedly smoking stolen cigarettes, cruising around aimlessly, and panting for sex. By the time I was 16 I'd been busy pushing hairbrush handles, empty beer bottles, and my determined fingers inside of myself for at least a year. The first time my burgeoning boyfriend got me alone he laid on top of me as we kissed. I played coy to hide my fear and pushed my hands into his pockets to slow him down. The square condom wrapper in his pocket caught me off guard, "I'm not going to have sex here! My cousin's just down the hall!"

Sheepishly he said he'd only brought it "in case". I smirked and enjoyed his hard-on against my leg and kissed him a minute longer. I walked down the hall toward the group of teenagers and television feeling red and disheveled. I wasn't used to this type of explicit behavior with boys.

Soon after the beginning of the school year, we spent an hour or two, as the blue sky darkened, leaning against each other and smoking rebel cigarettes on his front stoop. My cotton underpants were so sticky as I shyly looked at him that I was certain he could see my arousal.

My school-night-curfew approaching I turned to him and saw the lights of the baseball field nearby reflecting in his dark eyes. His hands went to my waist when he leaned in and quickly roamed to my hips, then sides, then low back. My "nice girl" persona still intact and nervous, I kept my hands above his waist; on the back of his neck and in his hair. He whispered to me about "doing it" and "did I want to?" When I asked "where" he nodded toward his back yard, "Out here. No one will come out and it's dark enough." In the first of many "checkmates" from my cunt I agreed.

My reluctance to lie down in the dirt for My First Time led us to his older brother's car, which was locked. I heard the hood give beneath me as I eased my back onto it while being groped and kissing. His hands left my body to reach into his pocket. I felt my First embarrassing intercourse moment as I waited for him to get the condom on. The more embarrassing reality of sex sped into images stolen from Skinemax and lewd chat rooms.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Who is blamed for the fall of kingdoms?

If my bookkeeping is detailed enough I’ll be able to go back to see if the waning moon is the trickster egging me on.
There are boring parts of the story, but I’m not going to start with socks getting bunched in the heels of my shoes, nor how I spent 5 minutes in the bathroom talking to the turtle when I realized I didn’t have my phone. That’s for later. That’s the color.
I’ll start at the end actually. The end is the part where I dreamt things and I don’t want the ethereal fog of that memory to burn off while I type the stuff that’s more solid. It’s the bits right before waking that I remember of course, the tip of the iceberg – if you will.

I talked dirty to Tony, but didn’t see him. I was speaking as if one of us was a God and the other could hear by some force of omnipotence. I talked using ‘dirty’ nouns like cunt, cock, and feather and Tony walked from his bedroom onto my dream stage in a vintage button down, spring fabric fedora, and bouncing straight hard on. I placed us next to an elevator and added a camera person as well as onlookers, 3 of them, 6 floors up. We enter the elevator and I drop to my knees before him.
The camera person stands back in the corner and somehow we are well lit enough to be filmed. I get ready to fulfill my hunger on his dick. We love being watched and I love giving blow-jobs. I love sucking and looking up. I love sucking and hearing moaning. I love sucking and running my hands up a torso, I love seeing a head loll back and a throat grow taut. The camera is on us; I am dripping, the bell dings, 6th floor.
Two men and a woman, all in business suits, are waiting at the door open. Two of them gasp audibly; one of them is unmistakably aroused.
Think about it, really. Which of the two? Whose sex drive was always idling? Who is blamed for the fall of kingdoms?