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.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
Lament.
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
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.
Lament.
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.
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."
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.
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.
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.
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?
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?
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