Last Night

Last night I got a spanking. A good, sound spanking.

With the cuffs on my wrists and my arms pulled and chained behind me, I was led into the bedroom. There, in front of the bed, he pulled down my pants and my panties. He undid the chain on my wrists and positioned my arms to the front of my body. Pushing me forward so that the upper half of my body was on the bed and my bottom hanging off the edge, he began. A methodical, even, smack from one cheek to the other. Then he stopped. He spread me apart, my legs, my cheeks, my lips. He felt how wet I was.

"I think you like this", he said.

Oh yes.

And then he began again. More swats, maybe a little harder this time. Then he plunged his fingers into me. Pulling out the wetness that was now close to dripping down my legs.

Pushing me up on the bed he pulled the chain around the small headboard. He pushed a pillow under my abdomen, and spread my legs so that he could see me. More spanking, more fingers searching, probing, filling me up. Then he fucked me. And fucked me. Oh, so, good.

Later, as I lay on my belly with my head to the side facing him, still chained to the bed, going nowhere, we chatted. Talking about what other painful things he could do to me with the right tools (a flogger? cuffs that fit better?), the subject of the spanking came up. I don't remember exactly what was said, but it was mentioned that the spanking I got was mild. To illustrate, he gave me 3 or 4 swift, VERY hard swats on my bottom and the back of my thighs.

"This", he said, "is a discipline spanking."

The difference between what I got earlier and those few demonstration smacks was stark.

Today I wrote him to reiterate how much I enjoyed our time together -

"I can't help but think about the many things, both painful and restrictive, that might be in my future."

And he returned with -

"....painful and restrictive....good choice of words."

Language

I think we all can agree that language and the psychology of certain words and phrases has a very strong and powerful affect on our sex lives. Even the quietest, meekest, most uncommunicative has to admit that a soft word whispered in the ear at the moment of climax can make it just that much better.

Of course, for me, I'm much happier if those quiet syllables equate to something dirty, perverse. Whisper "whore" in my ear and I'll drip all over the bed.

In the not so distant past I lay cross length on his bed, my yoga flexible legs spread apart and up and practically over my head, exposing my sex to him in a most vulnerable and accessible way. Pushing down on my thighs, holding me both apart and still, he plunged his cock into my pussy.

"Mmmm...you're just a fuckhole, aren't you?"

I gasped for air as he said this. Gasped as he pounded me.

"Just a nice place to put my dick."

I could feel the juice from my now overflowing cunt dripping down my ass onto the bed. I moaned, "yesssss...".

"You like being just a cunt, don't you?"

Yes. Yes, I do.

He plowed and I screamed as I left the earth and took off on that sea of unreality.

Timer is Everything

My good friend Rupert up at the Chateau keeps a countdown timer on his blog so that we, his loyal fans, can track and commiserate with him during the long stretches through which he suffers between sexual activity. Or, maybe I should say between coupling. We KNOW he has uni-sexual activity. :)

I don't keep a timer (although there's a really loud, ticking one in my head - you can't hear it?) but I can report that I hadn't had sex with another person since January. I don't have an exact date on that, but we can say somewhere around the 25th. Close enough. So, seven (7) months since I was fucked.

Well, reset the timer people. We have lift-off. And a nifty lift-off at that, with more on the horizon, I believe.

And...are we ready?...And, it seems he has similar proclivities as well as being a decent, fun, helluva guy.

Let the hair-pulling commence.

All kidding aside -

YAY!

The Cycle of Life

I guess I should be happy, or grateful, or relieved. And, I suppose, I am all those things. I find lately, I'm horny again. Thinking about sex again. A lot. At work. Thinking about sex at work. I don't mean having sex at work...you know what I mean. But, that's not the point. The point is that it's back, I guess. With less of a vengeance, but back.

The problem is that I don't want random sex with a stranger. Well, not really. I mean, if the right stranger came along, I would fuck him for sure. But, I want more. I want a partner. I want a master. Of sorts. I'm always a bit ambivalent about the whole master/slave whatever thing. But, I want that power. That power over me.

I've been dating a little. No-one particularly particular yet. But, you never know who's around the corner. Or so I keep telling myself. I've been praying for miracles. I just have to be smart enough to recognize one when it's in my face. That's the challenge. My own ability to be intelligent enough to see what's being presented to me.

All that aside, I want it.

I want my hair, which is quite long now, to be wrapped up in his fist. I want him to pull my head back and push his cock into my mouth. I want him to tell me, as I kneel before him, helpless to his force, to spread my legs, to touch myself as he fucks my mouth. I want to hear him groan with satisfaction as I do.

I want to be on my hands and knees on the bed while, behind me, he spreads me apart and examines me. My cunt wet and swollen. Dripping from his words as he tells me what a whore I am for showing myself to him in this way. As I push back a little farther, knowing this spreads me apart even more.

I haven't thought of these things in months and now these fantasies fill my head. I can hear in my mind the sound of his hand smacking my bottom red and sore and his derisive laugh as he plunges fingers into me and finds I'm so wet the two or three fingers he uses are not enough to create any friction.

I want it, now. I want it, again. I need a miracle.

The Perfect Table

Bacchus at Erosblog refers us to this gallery of pictures because he's impressed by the variety of facial expressions the model treats us to throughout her examination.

What I am drawn to, however, is the table. This is the table of my fantasy and the moment I saw it I wished I could find an opportunity to get my check-up in that office.

It is perfect.

This picture is intriguing, as is the ample girth of the cock she's being impaled with, but look at the table. The restraints in exactly the right location to lock her wrists in place to the side of her head.


In this picture, you can see the stirrups that support her thighs and can comfortably (a word I use here lightly) hold her in place.



Oh yes, the perfect examination table for my doctor (and his nurse, of course) to test my many reactions to their ministrations.

The Club

"I want to go watch them."

"Oh, I don't know. They look pretty private, over there."

"It's a sex club, there's nothing private about it. Come."

He grabbed my arm and pulled me up from the couch we were on and, giving me no choice really, led me over to another couch on the other side of the room. It was at an L shape with the couch occupied by a man and his 2 women. I say this because it had already been explained to us that this man was with his wife and his girlfriend. At the moment, one of his women, the brunette, was kneeling between his legs and sucking his cock. His rather excellent cock, I might add. Thick and long and cut and hard and...

So, we watched as her head bobbed up and down, making his cock appear and disappear, making his head loll to the back of the sofa and his eyes close as he got lost in the pleasure. The other woman, the blond, sat to the right of him. After a bit he turned towards her and kissed her as he continued to be serviced by the brunette.

We sat on the couch and watched this scene in the semi-darkness of the club as the music pounded downstairs on the dance floor. Other couples wandered in and watched a while, too. People came and went, watching, touching, focus shifting and shifting back again.

"I want you to suck his cock. I want to watch you suck his cock."

"Oh, I don't know. I mean..."

He walked over to the group and, leaning in towards the man, whispered something in his ear. The man looked over to me and nodded. Oh no, I thought. Oh no.

"Get up."

As I got up and was led towards the trio, the brunette got up and moved over to the left making room for me. I was nervous and not the least of which to find that these women would not be very happy at this intrusion. I knelt between his knees and looked up into his eyes, which were a warm, deep brown and he gave me a little lascivious smile. Somewhat tentatively, I put my hand around his cock and pulled it into my mouth.

And then I felt her hand on the back of my head. Stroking my hair and then my back, and then down to my bottom. Her face close to mine as I sucked and licked and sucked her mans cock. I pulled my mouth up and off his cock for just a moment, my hand still stroking up and down and in just that second she pulled my face towards her and kissed me. A soft, deep kiss, her tongue pushing insistently into my mouth. Even through the the music, I could hear him moan his approval as he watched.

I gently pulled away and continued my ministrations to his increasingly large erection. Now tasting a bit of precum. And, I was joined by her mouth. Mine on his cock-head, her tongue licking up and down the shaft. Every now and then our tongues would touch, our lips would meet, our focus shifting back and forth from each other to our task.

Through the stupor of my excitement I finally noticed that her shirt was raised up and her breasts were exposed. Her man had a hand on her nipple and was pinching it. In between licking or sucking his cock, in between me guiding it into her mouth, she would stop and her eyes would close and I could hear a little gasp of breath as he pinched just a little harder.

I stopped for a moment to breath and found another pair of lips meeting mine. He had pushed the head of the blond woman on his right down towards us and we kissed, her and I. More soft kisses, more hot tongue swirling in my mouth. More cock.

I don't know how long this lasted. Not long enough, certainly. I wasn't there when he came and don't know who dealt the last blow, so to speak. But, I will remember and relive those moments, in a dark and noisy club with 3 strangers I'll never see again, as some of the most exciting in my life.

Gone, But Not Forgotten

This blog has taken a decided turn towards the non-sexual, of late. Well, mostly. Maybe I should qualify that and say that it's turned away from being graphically sexual. And, turned away sounds like I'm shunning it. I'm not. What am I trying to say?

I miss writing about sex. I miss writing the nasty, smut filled, hot and moist prose that were the impetus for this blog. I miss writing about it, I miss thinking about it, I miss having it, I miss being charged by it. When I began this blog I was obsessed. I was a woman on a mission (or a rampage). I wanted sex, all the time, with almost anyone. Well, I'm pickier than that. But, at the time, not so much. I had a constant hum in my cunt. A continuous buzz and I was always wet. I could hardly focus on day-to-day activities and tried to arrange my day-to-day activities to be about sex. It was all I could do not to masturbate numerous times throughout the day. Sometimes, I would.

And the sex I wanted was not run-of-the-mill. I wanted hard, aggressive, painful sex. I wanted to be taken. Spanked, exposed, inspected, and hurt.

It's what I still want, really. I could never tolerate being "owned", but I want someone who will use me. Regularly. Use me and love me.

So, even though I'm not writing much these days about it, and even though I'm not really thinking about it much, either (depression has a way of nullifying sex drive), it's there. I haven't become vanilla (although, I admit, if I fell in love with someone and he couldn't go to these places, I would let it go).

I guess there's hope (whaddaya know). Even just briefly writing this for you now stirs something in me. A little bit.

Erotic Personality

Here's something that is not in the least bit surprising.

I found this quiz at Remittance Girls blog.

I took Sage Vivant's Erotic Personality Quiz and discovered I'm a Romantic!

What is your Erotic Personality? Find out now..


Here's what it says about me:

The Romantic can think of nothing more erotic than being saved from peril. They are not necessarily helpless people, but the notion of being saved makes them feel desirable and sexy. The Romantic needs to feel sought-after and practically worshipped before sex can be on the agenda. They imagine partners who not only make passionate love to them soon after saving them, but they imagine those partners will know how to please them without any instruction whatsoever. Their lover’s sexual finesse inspires their own, heightening their capacity for sexual pleasure. The Romantic is especially fond of people who can read their minds and deliver the sexual excitement that they secretly desire.


And I wonder why I'm single.

And according to this I'm not really submissive. They describe "The Bottom" as the submissive. Whatever.

Solicitation (this is not what you think it is)

Recently, in conversation with a friend, I was lamenting (as opposed to whining) about not finding a partner. I wondered aloud about soliciting help in finding, perhaps, some clubs or parties here in Gotham that might interest me and my predilections, and aid in the search for someone to, um, fulfill them. I thought he, being the sophisticated (and handsome) Dom that he is, might have some contacts. Instead he said, "Put your blog to work for you!" and suggested I solicit information from my readers. What a great idea!

So, dear readers, I urge those of you who are either in the vicinity (of NYC) or are familiar with it and it's dark underbelly to write me with your intimate knowledge of clubs, parties, orgies (I'm infinitely inspired by AAG and her forays), or other equally decadent venues. We (myself and a kinky friend in crime) would be grateful to know what you know on this subject so that we can merrily continue down the road of sin and perversion.

I imagine a little night life (read: sex life) might quiver the muse.

Impressions of O

I'm somewhat ashamed to admit I have never read The Story of O. I realize this is requisite reading for a budding, or even veteran, player in a D/s dynamic, but I simply have not put it on my reading list.

That has changed and it's going to be the next thing I read.

Last night I watched a film called The Writer of O. A biopic of Dominique Aury, the author of the Story of O.

A French writer who was highly respected and afforded a position of honor in the French literary community, she successfully crafted this tale of love and submission, perhaps the ultimate submission, as a gift for her lover. And as a dare. Her lover and employer, Jean Paulhan suggested that a woman could not write erotica. That they were not capable of envisioning such tales. She set to, and did, prove him wrong.

The film itself did not, I suspect, give the author her due. There were wonderful segments of interviews with her many years after she came out as the author. She had a sharp and visionary mind. She strongly, and rightly, believed that women had the capacity to be as immoral as men. That their imaginations and fantasies could easily wander towards scenes both loving and tempered and brutally erotic.

There were some contradictions in the film that confused me as to the position the filmmaker was taking towards the prose in The Story of O. Specifically, enactments of scenes from the book, where O is being made into a slave, would be cut with scenes of butchery (and I mean that literally - of animal slaughter) and images of slaves, shackled and led along. I couldn't understand if this meant the filmmaker did not approve of the Story, and so this montage was meant as a criticism? That's how it appeared. And yet, in the interviews with Aury, as well as interviews with other players in her life - publishers, biographers, friends - we're led to see the author as a strong, smart, courageous and immensely creative woman.

Contradictions aside, I found the film illuminating. I believe it will set a groundwork, a reference, for me as I read the book. Knowing the authors intentions, to write both a love letter and a polemic on women's ability to be as licentious as men will, I believe, inform my impressions as I read The Story of O.

Two Little Words

As a writer, I think I have a grasp of the power of words. They evoke emotion and reaction. They inspire ideas and actions. And, as in the case of writing about sex, they arouse. But, I never knew until recently the power that 2 words held over me.

When spoken to me, or even written, I'm immediately transported into another place within myself. It's a place where I'm extremely aroused and submissive. I am happy and compliant. I go to a quiet place. I become content, even for a moment. I take in a breath and it's all there.

It's a phrase that conveys praise and asserts control, all at once. And I long to hear it. I want to deserve it, and my actions, my acquiescence, has its utterance as the goal.

So, tell me... am I a good girl?

A Perfect Piece of Fiction

I'll tell you what's been getting me lately. And, by "getting me" I mean "getting me off".

First, though, let me say that I haven't had sex with another person in, oh I don't know, a month? Maybe a little more? So, I'm left to my own devices. And, by devices, I mean my fingers, generally, and sometimes a dildo. I'm not a fan of vibrators. I've used them, but find the sensation too extreme. After using them consistently for a while I become over-sensitive and it takes too much, and sometimes too long, to come. So, I eschew vibrators and rely on my good, old right hand. It's fabulous.

Anyway, in the hopes he doesn't mind my linking to his site, I want to share with you this fantasy that Roper from Confessions of an English Gentleman has so brilliantly developed and shared with us and what I've been coming back to over and over. And coming to over and over.

As in the fantasy, I picture myself in the lap of my lover, whoever he may be. I picture his hands on my thighs, holding them apart so that the stranger sitting between my legs has a perfect view of my mostly waxed, and very wet, cunt. I see the strangers fingers pushing up into me as my lover watches and makes me watch. I drip at the thought of a stranger, someone my lover has chosen, looking at me and touching me. And watching me as I spread myself for him and come completely open and exposed, while he ravishes my holes with his fingers.

A stranger. I am enamored with the idea of exposing myself, of opening myself, my cunt specifically, to a stranger. Of being seen by a man I don't know. Seen and appreciated. Seen and touched. Seen and instructed in what actions to take. Told to spread myself, to show myself, to masturbate, to come. By someone I don't know.

And yet, I also crave intimacy. Because I have no illusion that what I describe here, simply exposing myself to a strange man, is intimate. I have done it, more than once now, and I know this - it is vulnerable, it is sexual, certainly, and sensual, perhaps, and for me incredibly arousing. But, it is not intimate. There isn't closeness, except in physical proximity.

And that is what attracts me so to Ropers Fantasy No. 11. It combines both the trust and intimacy and ability to share something so private with someone I love and the debauchery of a stranger finger fucking me. It is, really, perfect.

Thank you, Roper. For, somehow, climbing into my head and pulling out such a perfect piece of fiction that I can ride on over and over.

Note: Obviously, I'm over my little moment of feeling supremely unsexy. Whew! As I seem to do with everything lately, I've decided to blame it on hormones. So nice to have a scapegoat.

OverExposure

Lately I've been thinking about exposure. I've been thinking about how excited I get, butterflies-in-my-belly, swollen and wet, little impish smile excited when I either think about or, better yet, am asked to expose myself. This could be any degree of exposure. As open as fully undressed, legs spread, examination. Or as subtle as standing before my viewer, with my legs only slightly apart. And, anything in between. I am, once again, somewhat shocked at myself. I spent many prudish years not wanting to be seen at all. Practically no part of my body, no less my cunt! And now I crave it to be seen.

I know that there are lots of exhibitionists, with varying degrees of and desires for exposure. Some have to get it in public. Like the subway for example. I read somewhere that the R train in NYC has the highest rate of flashers, so depending on your mood, you may or may not want to take the R. Or in a park, or just walking down the street. I don't mind this, necessarily. I've progressed enough in my sexual education (and debauchery, of course) to be able to shrug off a cock being pulled out for the owners gratification. It's not exciting to me, but whatever. I've never been flashed by a woman. I'm waiting for that day!

I have no need to flash in public. Recently I was e-mailing and IM'ing with a man (whom I had a very boring date with so you'll not be hearing of him again) who proceeded to tell me of his fantasy to have me out with him, no panties, short skirt, on a bar stool, flashing other men in the bar...I don't need to finish. You get the gist of it. I don't find this exciting. I don't want to randomly flash men in a bar. I want the intimacy that comes with close, physical proximity. I want to see, not shock and delight from some guy who thinks he's seeing something he shouldn't, but excitement in the eyes of the beholder. Excitement and lust. Lust and want. Then need. A need to touch.

Recently I went out with a man who I met through craigslist. This man was the model for the subject in this story. He really did post an ad on CL similar to the one I describe in the story. And, I really did answer.

The story is fiction, based on fact. What did happen was dinner. A lovely dinner, on a hot summer night, at an outdoor cafe. We drank a bit, and talked a lot and flirted blatantly, both knowing what had brought us there. We talked around it. We talked about it. Moving towards some resolution, but we didn't know what.

I'm a little ashamed of what happened. A little ashamed, but also incredibly excited. The restaurant was emptying out and things were quieting down. After talking for some time about his "fetish" for large labia, and about my answer to his call (the only answer, by the way), he asked me if we should go into one of the small, unisex bathrooms. I knew what he wanted. He wanted to "see" me. I said yes.

After paying the bill, we headed for the restrooms and, luckily, they were both unoccupied. We went into the larger of the two and locked the door. And kissed. That was nice. And then, "Can I see?" I hesitated for a fraction of a second, knowing full well that his simple question had me excited. Damp.

I unzipped my jeans, locked my thumbs on the sides and, grabbing my panties on the way down, pulled my clothes to my knees. As I stood up, he squatted down and, for a minute, just looked at me. I spread my legs a little wider, so that he could see them. The dark, wrinkled flesh that was the object of his desire. Without taking his eyes from my pussy he asked if he could touch.

He moved a hand forward and immediately held onto my lips. Touching them and squeezing them, and making me moan. "Perfect", he said. "Just what I was looking for."

For a few moments he tugged and squeezed my labia, until he could see, I suppose, the reaction he was creating. He pushed one, then two fingers up in to me and, there, in a small, not entirely clean, cafe bathroom on the Upper East Side, I came as quietly as I could as a man I'd never met finger-fucked me with not a small degree of skill.

And I wonder, is this the extent to which I'll go to expose myself? Is this how great my need is that I'll allow myself to participate in something that, for most, would be considered abject, at the worst, undignified, at the least? Do I have to censor my actions so as to keep myself from falling lower into some pit of loathsome behavior?

Perhaps.

Admittedly, though, I think of this often. I dwell on it, the picture of it in my head, the feeling of it between my legs, the gasp as his fingers first touched my full, swollen lips. I think and I masturbate and I want to do it again. I want to show myself to someone who wants to see me. Who wants to appreciate what I'm giving him.

It is, I realize, an incredibly submissive act. To be asked to show my pussy to someone simply because it excites him to see it. And to comply. The reasons for excitement are myriad and I love that. It excites him not only to see my naked cunt, but he's aroused by simply asking. By my saying yes. And, maybe he sees, for that fraction of a second, my struggle with the request. And that adds to his arousal because he knows this is, even if only slightly, hard for me to do. And, he's excited because he knows I'm excited. He knows, perhaps, that this act of exhibitionism stirs something in me. He knows it and can see it made manifest in the moisture on his fingers as he fondles my lips.

I want to do it again. Maybe with the same man, who can get a better look next time. Or, maybe with another. Someone who, with maybe a little more understanding, can make his request in such a way as to imply it is not a request at all.

A Night Out

I walked into the club on his arm and immediately noticed there wasn't loud, pounding music. It was soft and jazzy. Sexy. We walked over to the bar and he ordered us drinks. Looking around I saw people milling around, talking to one another, introducing each other, singles and couples alike. I noticed 3 people walk to the back and slip through a dark curtain. I wondered what was back there and imagined there was a VIP lounge.

As we sipped our drinks and chatted about the decor and how pretty the people were, a couple approached us. He seemed to know them. Not as good friends, but as people he'd seen before. We introduced ourselves and chatted about the crowd, the weather, etc. He and the man in the couple stepped aside for a moment and spoke quietly about something while she and I made small talk. When they returned the couple walked off and, following them with my eyes, I watched them walk through a curtain in the back of the room.

Turning to me he said, "I want you to masturbate for those people. They want to watch you." I looked at him for a moment, not knowing what to say. He had said things about taking me to a club and making me masturbate for a crowd, but I didn't realize it was anything more than fantasy used to make us both hot. He waited patiently while I integrated this information. I panicked, for sure, but also realized I was excited, and not a little, at the thought of that couple watching me.

I picked up my drink, took a big swallow, and said okay.

"Good girl", he said. Smiling, he led me through the bar to the curtain and through it we went.

We came into a corridor off of which there were rooms without doors. Instead of doors the entryways had either beads or strips of sheer curtain material so that everything within the rooms could be seen from the hallway. We walked slowly down the passage and looked into each room. There was something different in each one. Anything from a man and woman simply having sex, to a room seemingly crowded with people, some watching, some engaging in all variety of activity.

We came to a door in which "our" couple was waiting. The woman was sitting in her partners lap. He was clothed, but she had shed most of hers, except thigh highs and a push up bra out of which her nipples, hard and rather large, protruded. They looked up as we came in and both smiled.

My companion put his arm around my waist and gave me a little squeeze. I looked at him and felt a little bit reassured, but my stomach was turning somersaults. He walked me to the bed in the room and told me to take off my skirt and panties and shirt. I was left, then with only my bra. Once I'd removed these things he took the cups of my bra and pushed them underneath my tits so that they were bare and propped up. He grabbed a nipple and pinched and pulled it as he came close and whispered, "You're going to be a good little whore and masturbate for these people. They're going to watch you expose yourself and drip for them." As he hissed these indecencies into my ear, I nodded my ascent and became wetter and wetter. "Dirty fucking whore."

He indicated I was to get on the bed and kneel upright, with my legs spread. Standing beside the bed, with his arm around my waist and his mouth next to my ear he said, "Go ahead, slut. Spread your legs and touch yourself. Do it just the way you like it while these people watch you."

It was at that moment I realized what was really happening. Before I think I was in some kind of denial, or daze, but when he ordered me to masturbate, it all became clear and sharp. And I was suddenly terrified.

I looked over at the couple who had now turned to look at me, obviously expecting a show. She had her back to his chest and he, almost absent-mindedly, was playing with her pussy between her outspread legs.

"Do it", my escort hissed at me. "I know you're wet and want this. Just do it."

Reluctantly I moved my right hand down to my crotch and slowly began to touch my lips. I couldn't look at the couple as I did this, but fixed my gaze at a spot on the floor. Tentatively I put my fingers on my pussy, gently touching my lips and beginning to spread them apart. I moved my hand down a bit and pushed a finger within the swollen flesh and found myself to be so very wet, I gasped a bit. I was so humiliated at doing this, but my body belied my feelings of embarrassment.

Finding myself in this state aroused me even more and I began in earnest to rub myself. Pulling the wetness up to my clit, I began to circle what was becoming a hard nub of pleasure.

"Show off your pussy, slut. Spread yourself for these people. They want to see how wet you are. They want to see your pink slit."

As he instructed me to expose myself, he reached a hand over and began to pinch the nipple closest to him. And not gently. Pinching and pulling and digging his nails into my breast, he continued to issue instructions as to how I was to spread myself, to pull the lips apart, but to continue to masturbate. The pain spurred me to pleasure myself more, if only to counteract the degree to which my nipple hurt.

"Look at them. Look up at them. Watch them watch you, whore."

Through half-closed eyes, I watched as the man pushed his fingers into the woman’s cunt as she pushed her pelvis forward into his hand, moaning and arching her back to force his hand farther up into her. I could hear the squishing sound of her wetness. Both their eyes were glued to my hands as they spread my lips and rubbed my clit. Seeing their excitement, spurred me on even more.

As my left hand spread my lips wide, exposing all that hid within the folds of my large, dark labia, I sat back on my heels with my legs spread wide, and I imagined they could see up into me. My fingers flew over my clit and my excitement rose.

"They want to see you fuck yourself. With something big."

This last was said with a sadistic relish I had come to recognize and fear. I looked over and found in his hand maybe the biggest dildo I had ever seen. It was 10 inches long, if it was an inch, and the diameter I couldn't imagine, except that I had never seen anything like it. Covering it with a condom, extra-large I imagined, he handed it to me. Reluctantly I pulled my right hand away from my now dripping cunt and grabbed hold of this monster.

"Spread your legs wide, slut. Very, very wide, and push this cock into your cunt. Force it in, if you have to." Pause. "Or I will."

I put my bottom onto the bed and spread my legs wide, with my knees up and placed the head of the cock at the opening of my cunt. I was sure it wouldn't fit. It couldn't. I pushed the head with a small amount of pressure and it wouldn't budge.

"Harder. Push it in harder." He leaned over and with both hands on either side of my dripping hole, he pulled my cunt apart.

And I pushed. And, with a loud, painful, satisfying moan, the cock slipped into my cunt and slowly I pushed and pushed till it was in as far as I thought it could go.

"Mmmmmmmmmm. Good", he said, as he watched with lustful eyes as the dildo disappeared from view. "Now, fuck."

And fuck I did. I pulled it in and out and in and out, over and over, farther and farther. My legs spread of their own, my knees pushing up towards my chest as I reveled in the feeling of being so completely full. I became unaware, for a moment, of my surroundings and focused only on the intense sensations of being so full and so wet and the pleasure.

With my left hand I moved the cock in and out of my stretched hole and with my right I continued to rub my clit. Fucking and rubbing, that’s all I knew. I was full and the feeling of my fingers on my clit were exquisite. And then I remembered I was being watched. I opened my eyes and looked down between my legs and the three other people in the room were now standing around the bed, watching me and touching either themselves or each other. The sounds emitting from my throat, growls and moans, were involuntary and loud. The realization that they were intensely excited from watching me masturbate pushed me further into the haze.

And then two more people entered the room. Two men, one naked, one naked from the waist down. Both in various states of erection. My companion looked at them and moved over a bit to make room for them at the foot of the bed. And then he looked at me, and I at him, and he smiled that wicked smile. And I spread my legs wider and watched as one of the new men began to stroke his cock.

And that was it. Watching these strangers, real strangers, people neither of us knew even casually, watching them watch me masturbate in the most open and exposed way possible brought me to the edge. To the cliff. And I held it for a moment, knowing that the longer I could hold it, the harder the fall would be. When I knew if I held it longer it would be lost I let go and my entire body shook and shook and a scream came out of my mouth and the world was only this. I was slightly aware that my spectators also moaned and groaned as they watched me climax. And I found satisfaction in that.

As the shaking subsided and the glorious contractions ebbed, my legs slowly came down and moved onto the bed. He came to me and slowly pulled the dildo from my cunt. I closed my legs and curled up into his lap as he sat on the side of the bed. The men drifted from the room and the couple gave a little wave and left, as well. I just lay there, shaking, as he stroked my hair and whispered his praise to me.

“Next time,” he said, “they'll watch you suck my cock while you fuck yourself.”

Next time!

Her

She kissed away my tears as they ran down my sun drenched face, adorned by a red imprint of her hand. A tight fist full of hair pulled my head back a little more, pulled me closer to her lips so she could lick my cheeks and whisper in my ear.

"Are you sure this is what you want, slut? I can be mean, I warned you. Did you know how mean? Did you consider how much I might hurt you?"

I had no words for her, I simply shook my head as well as I could with my skull completely in her control.

I didn't know.

I did know.

Her free hand made it's way to my cunt and without preface she plunged three, harsh fingers into what had become a dripping mess.

Laughing, "I guess it doesn't matter what you thought might happen. Here's the evidence it's what you want."

With a sharp tug to tighten her grip on my head, she pulled it back a little more and pushed and pushed her hand into my hole, my legs instinctively spreading apart a bit more, my ass pushing up as she fucked and fucked me, savagely splitting me apart. And laughed.

Laughed at my transparent and desperate need to be used.


For G

Body Secrets

I asked, "How did you know?"

"How did I know what?"

"How did you know, you know...I mean..."

"You mean, how did I know what you need?"

"Yes."

"Your body told me. Your body told me its secrets."

Greedy Eyes

In some situations, some very specific situations, I am truly an exhibitionist. Generally, I can be rather modest. He says I look like the girl next door and the only clue as to my true identity is an earring I have at the top of my ear. Even that, these days, isn't really a sign of anything untoward.

It all changes when someone wants to watch me masturbate. Something about being watched makes me crave exposure. And, not covertly. I throw off the cover and spread my legs if eyes are on me. If the person watching is watching for their pleasure, not because I want them to, I'll spread myself wider still.

And that's what was so perfect. So perfectly nasty. He wanted me to, no, he demanded I masturbate for him. He wanted to see how my finger rubbed my clit, in perfectly rhythmic circles. He wanted to see my lips, swollen and full with my intense excitement. He commanded me to open myself to him, to spread my full lips, without masturbating, but just open and exposed for him to see me. To look inside.

A stranger. A man I'd never met before. Watching me perform the most intimate act.

Lying between my splayed legs, he watched as I brought myself pleasure. Watched and stroked and whispered reminders of what a slut I was, a dirty whore. My breath became shallow, and then I held it. I held my breath in tight, spreading myself wider for him to see and for me to access directly my hard nub, my erection. He pushed a finger, no two, into my aching cunt and began to push on the spot he had found earlier. The spot that made me drip juice down the inside of my thigh. As he rubbed inside, and I out, his eyes on me, riveted to the image of us both working me into a frenzy, I peaked. I reached that spot, that edge where it all stops - sound, movement, time - for just a second and then it crashes, the sea into itself, throbbing ecstasy over and over. In my head, my mantra kept me there, brought me there, "Watch me, watch me, watch me."

In this way, I am an exhibitionist. A showman. A performer. I want it to be intense and moving and, above all, exciting. Erotically satisfying. When my audience and I are entwined in this act, and greedy eyes are gorging on the feast of my debauchery, I become, if possible, more swollen still.

Phone Sex

"I'd like to watch you masturbate. Standing in front of me, with your legs spread. I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you with your fingers in your cunt. Would you like that?"

"Oh my god, yes."

"mmmm...or on your hands and knees, one hand underneath you, rubbing your clit. My fingers pulling your lips apart, probing your wet pussy, maybe pushing a finger into your ass. How would that be? If I put a finger deep into your ass while you masturbated?"

"please, yes"

"What's that? Please?"

"Yes, please."

"Please what?"

"Please, put your fingers in my ass."

"You like that? You like to have something in your ass?"

"oh, yes. I do."

"Are you on your bed now with your legs spread?"

"Yes."

"Have you taken your pants and panties off?"

"Yes."

"Are you masturbating?"

"Yes, I am."

"Good girl."


I'm such a good girl. Dripping and plunging my fingers in and out of my cunt while this lovely man tells me how dirty I am. Pushes me in all the directions I want to go. Tells me about the spanking I get for being so slutty. Describes his cock driving into me with my legs around his neck while he pinches my nipples within an inch of their puckered lives. Relentlessly whispering naughtiness into my ear while my fingers dance over my clit, faster and harder. Frenzied. I come hard, for him.

We try for a moment to talk about other things, but before long we're both stroking again. He tells me how hard his cock is. How his hand strokes up and down, his damp, pre-cum covered hand.

"Would you like to watch me stroke my cock?"

"Yes. I like to watch."

"That turns you on?"

"mmmmm...."

"Would you like me to fuck your mouth? Push my cock deep into your throat with my hand in your hair?"

"please..."

"Masturbate while I fuck your mouth. I want you to touch yourself while you suck my cock."

He likes to watch. He says he makes all his lovers masturbate for him. I have no problem with this at all. In fact, this feels very compatible. Like a good fit. My hand on my pussy, his cock in my mouth.

I come again, for him. I'm such a good girl.

We meet on Sunday. Drinks and some dinner, then off to his house to play. He suggests that maybe, while we're in the restaurant, he would ask me to put a finger in my cunt and then push my finger into his mouth, so he could taste me. Other diners would see me put my finger in his mouth, he says.

"You would make me do that?"

"Oh yes."

We meet on Sunday.



Who needs alt when there's Match dot com?

The Words I Love to Hear

"...I know how you love to be submissive, how you want to be taken, to be fucked, to be used... how much you need to feel that hand in your hair, tugging you back sharply... my cock thrusting deep into you from behind... holding you right there... making you beg... making you beg me to fuck you, to make you cum, hard, all over my cock... leaning over you and hissing in your ear, calling you those forbidden names... "you're such a little slut, Eve... such a dirty fucking whore... tell me what you want... tell me how you want me to fuck you..."

I'm sure my friend won't mind my repeating here what he wrote me. He knows me so well. Knows what moves me to the core. Moves me to push back, hard, on that cock inside me. Knows what a pleasure whore I am.

He seems confident there is a man who can take me in hand. Take me into his hand. Or whatever way he wants me. I'll ride on his confidence for a while. Or borrow it. In the meantime, I'll have his words to keep me company...hissing in my ear as I provide myself with the gratification I crave.

House Afire

Will you save me, Mr. Fireman? Can you save me from myself? From the thoughts running around in my head, like hamsters on a wheel in a cage?

Make me your slut. Pull me and push me, shape me and mold me to be your whore. When I hear your voice, I react with wetness, slowness, an inability to focus. I whisper to you, unable to speak clearly from the place I now inhabit. Your place. Your space where my will is yours.

Up against the wall, your body pressed hard against my back, your hands moving over me, slowly and quickly, finding the places they long to rest. Pull my shirt up over my breasts. Grab a nipple and with slow, progressive, savage pressure, sink me into your lair. Where you know I'm yours, unequivocally.

I'm on my knees for you, before you. Your hand grips my hair, a big handful tight and sharp pulls me closer to you. Pressed against my lips, your damp cockhead pushes into where it belongs. My mouth, my throat, I gag as you push in and out of me, looking down at me growling, smiling as I struggle to please you, and breathe.

Discipline me. Punish me for transgressions great and small. Or because you know it will keep me where you want me. Dripping and compliant. Your strong hand on my ass, pelting me into obedience.

In the finally without end, behind me, not gently, you fill me and fill me and satiate my hunger for you. I have begged for you. Please, let my cunt gorge on you. Push my walls to their needy limit. There is no overdose, there's never too much even as I scream and shudder and my body tenses and relaxes into the pleasure that surrounds your cock and pulls from it your last thrust and quake as you spill your passion into me, and into me, and into me.

Will you save me, Mr. Fireman? Can you carry me down from my burning desires? Rescue me from my need for you to have me, save me, own me.