My skin, my body is tingling. My ass is red and warm from her hands and his eyes. My breathing is shallow. They trade places and he saunters up, ready for his strike. I brace, I breathe, I wait.
I hear them talking about me and I fight to keep my head in the room. His voice is slow, Southern honey while hers is a sharp smoke, with movement and purpose. And with all of that swirling, I hear them say I have been a good girl and I cannot help but smile. My muscles sink into the table just a little and I breathe with a little less fear.
He begins to tell me about why I am here. He moves over the story slowly, savoring it. Every word which drips from his mouth must taste like candy the way his tongue rolls over them in the most beautiful drawl.
Slowly, he pours oil over me, and I know what is next. I am giddy. It spills out like his words, flowing with all the time in the world. It leaves slicked patterns of chills over my legs are arms.
And then his hands begin to move. I am rapt in his strong, hands with their thick fingers and wide reach over my flesh. As he caresses, presses, molds and manipulates my skin, my flesh and my nerves, I feel as if I am drowning in pure bliss and I move into every stroke.
He speaks slowly as his hands work my oiled body, caressing and loosening every knot, every tightness, every slight imperfection to which my muscles cling.
I am lost in this world, my eyes sliding shut as I fight to keep them open. I am lost in a spell of whispered words, strong hands working my body, my skin still sizzling on the lingering coals of my paddling.
I lay there, slowly losing touch with my own existence as I feel my juices run down between the full cheek of my ass. I am dripping from the sensation.
This is my reward, and I am soaking in every moment of it. He speaks, his voice caressing my skin right along side his hands. It sends waves, electric floods through my body, working into the crevices. I can feel the ripples making my hips and legs and arms rock and pulse. The energy spills out of me in gasps and whimpers and moans which emanate from the base of my throat.
As my muscles lose all tension, it does not shed but shift. I can feel my cunt pulsing, tight and empty and wanting. I can feel my clit swell, throbbing and engorged.
I can feel her smile upon me, and it's a warmth which makes the whole room tingle. Her pleasure is tantamount to either of ours and it's palpable. We move, we emote, we twist, we touch to please her. And in this moment, she is pleased.
"Please" I finally whimper out.
"Yes?" He asks.
"Please may I touch my clit?" I beg, already half whimpering.
They both laugh, and I feel almost bashful. They discuss briefly, reviewing my performance for the day. I know in my heart I have tried as hard as I could have tried, and I can only hope that I have earned a reward.
When I see the vibrator come out, I almost clap with excitement. I hear it whir to life and my heart flutters. The wait before I feel it is eternal. I hear nothing, see nothing, I can only feel. The pulse emanates and returns to my clit, and every thump is powerful.
When it reaches my clit I almost scream with relief, the same as any steam-filled valve being released.
I begin to writhe almost immediately. It is so close to being too much. He holds it onto my clit in movements and pressure which begin painfully slow. It grinds down, every vibtration, every roll of the head making my clit more swollen and more at ease at the same time.
It is not long before I begin to cum to beg. I am loud, I am screaming, I am granted permission, and I am cumming for him, ruining all the precious relaxation from the massage.
I am jelly. I have no bones, no joints, no cartilage, I am simply spent on the table, breathing hard. They watch me, smirking at my predicament. At my will to move and do more to please but my body's unwillingness to ruin this feeling.
I look up and he is looking down on me, my naked body, my twitching cunt, watching me. It is his turn. He has given me the glow I now wear, and it is his turn.
She comes over, her smile letting me relax. If she is pleased, all is well.
"You've been a good girl." I nod thanks. I am still non-verbal. "Are you ready to serve again?" I nod again, feeling my lips curl into a smile.
I am rising back to life as she commands him to strip down. I watch as his cock appears, swollen and thick. I kick my lips against my will as I watch it bob and drip precum. I want it in my throat, but that is not my job today.
I have been so intent on watching, I didn't even notice she had moved close until I hear her in my ear.
"Stroke his cock." I nod as she maneuvers him onto all fours in front of me. I watch his body tense, watch the muscles flex and release. I watch as curiosity, fear moves into his face. If I had any question that he belonged to her completely, they are gone as his nerves blossom before me.
I reach forward, my lips so close to his skin I can almost taste it. I feel them brush against his tanned, taut flesh, the ridge of his jaw, the heat of his throat. I kiss, delicately, testing the feeling more I enjoy it. I am not afraid, but I am curious.
I grab his cock and feel him shudder. I exhale.
I squeeze it slowly, letting my fingers trail over the length, my thumb finding the tip - finding it wet and coated.
"You may kiss him." I nod. She has given approval. It will please her.
I continue to stroke. I pulse my hand around his cock, working my fist tight and then loose. I pump, dragging my hand up and down, squeezing and then releasing the entire way. I slide my hand to the head, pulsing around the tip, feeling precum ooze onto my fingers. The pads of my fingers find the base of the slit, just under the lip of the head and play it like a piccolo, flitting deep and soft over the soft skin.
I can still feel cum dripping out of my cunt as I lean in and begin to kiss him, tasting his tongue and finding only the sweetest Southern honey. His tongue is forceful and resigned to mine at the same time. I am kissing him and he is allowing it.
I feel him exhale against my mouth and when I look up it is clear why. She is behind him, working her way slowly into his ass. I exhale as I see her, intent and focused, fucking him, her fingers moving in and out.
I squeeze, trying to match her rhythm. I pump his cock as she works another finger into his ass. He moves against me, my lips balanced right on his pulse, which races. I watch her intently, trying so hard to be a simply extension of her control.
His moans and mine form a soft chorus of enjoyment. His cock swells in my hand as she pushes in another finger. His lips find my mouth and tear at my own. I stroke his balls with errant fingers, feeling them bulge in my small hand. My mouth finds his neck, his jaw, my tongue strokes the crest of his cheekbone.
His tanned skin is rippling over the muscles in his back. It glistens with the sweat which has sprung up. I watch his hips buck against her hand, which is pushing further and further into his ass. She is electric, radiant as she presides over this whole scene. I watch her slightest movement for cues and find his cock against with his my hand. I squeeze harder, stroking him with more urgency. As his hips move faster, I become more insistent on his orgasm. I want it. I want to see it splayed over the table, splashing and speckling my thighs.
His moans become more insistent, and ask for permission in their own right. She holds court, and all the energy in the room is manipulated by her. I can breathe only when she breathes. She is working his ass effortlessly, her focus so intent it almost hurts.
He begins to beg, and I begin to tremble. His desire is palpable. I can taste it in the sweat which glistens on his face. I can feel it in the tongue which enters my mouth. It grows in his cock, which is swollen and dripping down my hand.
She grants permission and he cums. I gasp at how his body bucks, rocks, moves, pulses, tightens, explodes. It is impressive in its power. I can feel his cum dotting my thighs. His groans make me tremble. His sighs bring me back to earth.
I re-find my place, kneeling on the table. I am ready for what is next. I am thrilled for what is to come.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Friday, December 23, 2011
The spell is cast. (Part 1)
They said that things had started long before we saw each other. Well, he said that she had started things long before we saw each other. I believed him, if only because when I get around her I am so taken, I can barely catch my breath. That kind of magic doesn't just materialize. When I see the alter, with the candles, the trinkets, I realize that I should have been more caught off guard than I actually am.
I sit, trying to keep my posture as they lounge in thick, padded chairs in front of me, questioning me. I sweat, a little breathless and trying to wear my nonchalance like a shield against my own vulnerability. It feels precarious, though, and I try simply not to let my voice falter, betraying my calm exterior.
His voice has a slow, long drawl like the pouring of honey. It's rich and creamy and thick. It doesn't so much wash over me as wind around me in serpentine lyrics. As he tells me about the alter I'm looking at, about how Mistress has been planning, thinking about this moment, crafting the energy days in advance, I am all of a sudden heavy lidded but not tired. I am simply taken.
I have come to prove myself, my worth to these two. She is a demanding Mistress with a firm hand and a smokey voice. It is her pleasure which must be captured. She has been training him for years, and he has earned my training as his privilege. There is so much in these first precarious moments. Will I be a good enough prize? Am I worth training? Will I make her smile? Will I make him hard?
And it begins. She commands me to dance for her, to strip the few pieces I have covering me. I nod, rising. I begin to sway my hips to the music, hoping to find some rhythm in the flesh itself - praying that my curves will find music. I drop my bra, my tight nipples meeting the warm air of the space. My panties slide off next, riding down the curve of my ass more actively than passively. And I am naked, still swinging my hips, letting my body roll to the beat I have found in my head.
The beat fades as she commands she to stop, to crawl. I follow her directions as she points, directs me with her voice. He watches. He is in the center of all of this. His gaze makes me wet. Her commands make me drip. I want to show off, but I am not yet so bold. She tells me to pick three instruments from her beautifully organized wall.
I want to give her variety, choice. I am confident that I can take all of these implements, but the obvious power in her arms makes me quiver before her. I pray that no one notices - no one takes points away for what I can only describe as a very, very justified, anxious knot which is tightening. If I were a guitar I would be sharp, but there is no easy fix to my tightness.
I choose a paddle, a cane, and what would best be described as a terrifying looking switch. They will hurt immensely. They will prove I am serious.
She sits with a world of grace on the table where I had previous perched so nervously. She coaxed me over and I laid tentatively across her lap. She is telling me what a privilege this is and I already know. The way she speaks I can almost feel her tongue cross Ts and dot Is.
And then I feel it. Her hand comes down in the first blow. He is watching from a chair, staring at my ass as it reddens from her forceful arm. He is watching, hand up to his mouth, cock hardening in his pants as I squeal and wiggle on her lap.
I am trying not to move, take every blow in an acceptance which might look almost stoic to the untrained eye. To anyone who cannot see my mouth open and gasping, desperate for breath and relief. But it is not my place to ask for relief. It is my place to take it like a good girl.
I want to be a good girl.
She moves to the implements and I ride every wave that comes from her smacks. I am now not even concerned with the eyes on me or the noises coming from me, but instead I fear the cum which may be dripping from me as I writhe over her lap.
My ass is white-fire-hot to the touch, and with every wallup I can feel the energy moving through the paddle and into my skin. I can feel his eyes searing that firm dominance even deeper.
If I am a good girl we will both be rewarded. But first, Mistress must be happy. I have to please her, both for my sake and his, and I feel the weight of that upon me, driving the blows deeper. There is so much I want to do to prove I will be good, and all of it is coming down in blow after blow on my ass.
I begin to wiggle a little more but try and hold myself still. I desperately want my reward. I want it for me, and I want it for him. He has served her so well for so long, he deserves whatever reward she is going to give - even if that means more pain for me.
I ache as I writhe. Her strikes show no sign of fatigue or distraction. As the final blows come down I can feel whimpers sliding from my lips. When she finishes I am breathing hard. I can't tell if it's from the pain or the pleasure, but I don't mind either way.
"I think it's time for your treat." She says to him, her voice languid and smokey.
He nods, rising. I immediately search for a bulge in his pants. I love seeing a man hiding a swollen cock behind trousers. Those bulges are my treat.
She commands me to turn over, lay on my back, and of course, I oblige, closing my eyes, readying, preparing, breath and eyelids heavy with anticipation.
I sit, trying to keep my posture as they lounge in thick, padded chairs in front of me, questioning me. I sweat, a little breathless and trying to wear my nonchalance like a shield against my own vulnerability. It feels precarious, though, and I try simply not to let my voice falter, betraying my calm exterior.
His voice has a slow, long drawl like the pouring of honey. It's rich and creamy and thick. It doesn't so much wash over me as wind around me in serpentine lyrics. As he tells me about the alter I'm looking at, about how Mistress has been planning, thinking about this moment, crafting the energy days in advance, I am all of a sudden heavy lidded but not tired. I am simply taken.
I have come to prove myself, my worth to these two. She is a demanding Mistress with a firm hand and a smokey voice. It is her pleasure which must be captured. She has been training him for years, and he has earned my training as his privilege. There is so much in these first precarious moments. Will I be a good enough prize? Am I worth training? Will I make her smile? Will I make him hard?
And it begins. She commands me to dance for her, to strip the few pieces I have covering me. I nod, rising. I begin to sway my hips to the music, hoping to find some rhythm in the flesh itself - praying that my curves will find music. I drop my bra, my tight nipples meeting the warm air of the space. My panties slide off next, riding down the curve of my ass more actively than passively. And I am naked, still swinging my hips, letting my body roll to the beat I have found in my head.
The beat fades as she commands she to stop, to crawl. I follow her directions as she points, directs me with her voice. He watches. He is in the center of all of this. His gaze makes me wet. Her commands make me drip. I want to show off, but I am not yet so bold. She tells me to pick three instruments from her beautifully organized wall.
I want to give her variety, choice. I am confident that I can take all of these implements, but the obvious power in her arms makes me quiver before her. I pray that no one notices - no one takes points away for what I can only describe as a very, very justified, anxious knot which is tightening. If I were a guitar I would be sharp, but there is no easy fix to my tightness.
I choose a paddle, a cane, and what would best be described as a terrifying looking switch. They will hurt immensely. They will prove I am serious.
She sits with a world of grace on the table where I had previous perched so nervously. She coaxed me over and I laid tentatively across her lap. She is telling me what a privilege this is and I already know. The way she speaks I can almost feel her tongue cross Ts and dot Is.
And then I feel it. Her hand comes down in the first blow. He is watching from a chair, staring at my ass as it reddens from her forceful arm. He is watching, hand up to his mouth, cock hardening in his pants as I squeal and wiggle on her lap.
I am trying not to move, take every blow in an acceptance which might look almost stoic to the untrained eye. To anyone who cannot see my mouth open and gasping, desperate for breath and relief. But it is not my place to ask for relief. It is my place to take it like a good girl.
I want to be a good girl.
She moves to the implements and I ride every wave that comes from her smacks. I am now not even concerned with the eyes on me or the noises coming from me, but instead I fear the cum which may be dripping from me as I writhe over her lap.
My ass is white-fire-hot to the touch, and with every wallup I can feel the energy moving through the paddle and into my skin. I can feel his eyes searing that firm dominance even deeper.
If I am a good girl we will both be rewarded. But first, Mistress must be happy. I have to please her, both for my sake and his, and I feel the weight of that upon me, driving the blows deeper. There is so much I want to do to prove I will be good, and all of it is coming down in blow after blow on my ass.
I begin to wiggle a little more but try and hold myself still. I desperately want my reward. I want it for me, and I want it for him. He has served her so well for so long, he deserves whatever reward she is going to give - even if that means more pain for me.
I ache as I writhe. Her strikes show no sign of fatigue or distraction. As the final blows come down I can feel whimpers sliding from my lips. When she finishes I am breathing hard. I can't tell if it's from the pain or the pleasure, but I don't mind either way.
"I think it's time for your treat." She says to him, her voice languid and smokey.
He nods, rising. I immediately search for a bulge in his pants. I love seeing a man hiding a swollen cock behind trousers. Those bulges are my treat.
She commands me to turn over, lay on my back, and of course, I oblige, closing my eyes, readying, preparing, breath and eyelids heavy with anticipation.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
This is how fetishes are made.
I love when he cums on me. I love when he shows his ownership by exploding all over my tits, my face. They become his. They become his property and he will make me wear his cum as long as he likes. He will make me lick up every drop, gathering it with my hand and making me lick my hands clean over and over. He will make every drop that does not dry go into my mouth after he has decorated me with a sign of how much he has enjoyed using me. I am a favored toy.
I love when he makes me nothing more than this. I am only a favorite toy for him to use. I am for display. I am a kneeling, wet, plaything which he has just cum upon. Which he has just made a receptacle for his wet, sticky cum. I am nothing more than the damp rag he cleans up with. And I can only enjoy this place, knowing that I am nothing more than this. I am owned. I am property, chattel. I am for use. I am for destruction.
I love when he make me wait for it. I kneel, mouth open and tongue hanging just slightly out like a willing, wanting dog. He may explode, shooting it straight into my throat, allowing me to swallow as I close my lips around his cock as he fills my mouth. But it's the anticipation, watching his jaw tighten as he prepares. Watching him hold his cock with the tip just resting on my tongue, and knowing that it is coming, is the sweetest of moments. I about about to receive my prize.
I love feeling it hit the back of my throat, and feeling the power of his cum. It's explosive, almost cruel in how it glides down my throat whether I like it or not. If I'm not careful, I will cough but I will be careful. When he cums this hard I know it will splash, force itself deeper into my mouth immediately, spray onto my chin, cheeks, across my nose, into my hair. He is reckless with his cum, and I am simply canvas.
I love when his cum becomes a part of pleasuring him all over again. It slowly pours from his cock, laying in a long string on my tongue like honey and I hold it in my mouth before using it to suck his cock all over again. Covering his cock in his own cum, and then licking it off all over again, I am his assistant, I am in service completely.
And in this moment, (in this coffee shop), if I think and try and fight and struggle, I can just barely taste his cum right now. There is nothing more that want.
I love when he makes me nothing more than this. I am only a favorite toy for him to use. I am for display. I am a kneeling, wet, plaything which he has just cum upon. Which he has just made a receptacle for his wet, sticky cum. I am nothing more than the damp rag he cleans up with. And I can only enjoy this place, knowing that I am nothing more than this. I am owned. I am property, chattel. I am for use. I am for destruction.
I love when he make me wait for it. I kneel, mouth open and tongue hanging just slightly out like a willing, wanting dog. He may explode, shooting it straight into my throat, allowing me to swallow as I close my lips around his cock as he fills my mouth. But it's the anticipation, watching his jaw tighten as he prepares. Watching him hold his cock with the tip just resting on my tongue, and knowing that it is coming, is the sweetest of moments. I about about to receive my prize.
I love feeling it hit the back of my throat, and feeling the power of his cum. It's explosive, almost cruel in how it glides down my throat whether I like it or not. If I'm not careful, I will cough but I will be careful. When he cums this hard I know it will splash, force itself deeper into my mouth immediately, spray onto my chin, cheeks, across my nose, into my hair. He is reckless with his cum, and I am simply canvas.
I love when his cum becomes a part of pleasuring him all over again. It slowly pours from his cock, laying in a long string on my tongue like honey and I hold it in my mouth before using it to suck his cock all over again. Covering his cock in his own cum, and then licking it off all over again, I am his assistant, I am in service completely.
And in this moment, (in this coffee shop), if I think and try and fight and struggle, I can just barely taste his cum right now. There is nothing more that want.
Sleeping Alone.
Last night I came thinking about you pushing my face into the bed, fucking me mercilessly. My ass and thighs were already red from a harsh beating, and I thought I had finally reached my reward for taking it like a good girl for you. My ass is still warm from your hands, your toys, your will. You pounded my cunt hard, until I was on the verge of tears, and then slow, fucking me with deep, long strokes which made me push back into your cock. I would get closer and closer until I started to beg you to cum, and then you would pound again, making sure it hurt all over again. I felt so powerless, so at your control. When you finally said I was allowed to cum I was so on the edge I exploded, screaming both for the first time in full voice from pain, but also in full voice with a desperate, clinging, powerful orgasm with your cock buried inside me.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Brooklyn Bridge, 10:30pm
I'm in a coffee shop right now, I should mention. I was supposed to work on my thesis, but my mind is just buzzing from a wonderful night and I can't seem to wrap my head around Ellul right now in a way which would be fruitful.
I keep pressing my legs together trying to gain some pressure, but without a hand in between my legs, pushed deep into my tights, and fingers pushed deep into my cunt it all seems like a pathetic attempt to regain something which can only be elusive right now.
As soon as we got in the car I pulled his hand between my legs. I just needed him to know how wet I was. That even though nothing could happen tonight, how much I wanted something to. His jaw dropped at how soaked I was. I always say that I get wet... really wet... and for some reason people simply don't believe me. Or they think that I have a different perception of "really wet" than I should. When I tell them it's half pride, half warning, but for some reason they think I'm significantly daintier than I actually am.
I push his hand deeper, grind down on his palm, which is covered in my cum already. I grind for pressure, to feel the warmth of his fingers inside me. His fingers flick over my pussy and I tremble.
When he pulls his hand away, his fingers are covered, soaking, and my cum drips off of them. I immediately lower my mouth to them, licking them clean, leaving him only with the scent of my cunt as we cross the Brooklyn Bridge, artificial lights skimming through and across the windows.
I stroke his cock through his pants, and feel every ridge and pulse. The thin fabric of his far too expensive pants prevents nothing. I squeeze, I stroke, I delight in his sounds.
I can still, if I close my eyes and remember just right, feel his cock in my palm. Feel it swell. It's really a very nice cock. Beautifully cut and of perfect thickness. I want to ride it and feel it swell inside me.
I fumble towards his belt and he unzips his pants, instead, pulling his cock out. I stroke at first. I want my mouth on his. I want his tongue against mine. I want his teeth on my lips and my inner thigh. Right now.
I can't tell if it's the memory or the door which keeps opening, but I get chills which keep running through me, and makes my breath catch.
I stop kissing him... which I should never, ever have done... and lower my mouth to his cock. I press it to the back of my throat, feeling my spit drip down over it. The cars moves, slows, stops, moves again, but it's all lost to me. I just want his cock inside me. I think briefly about the driver, but sadly it's only a fleeting thought. I think about the cock in front of me more.
His sounds spur me on, both to suck harder and to push it deeper into my throat. He pushes against me and I just barely gag on his cock. I pull back and lick the head of his cock, letting my tongue slide into the slit. I want to taste his cum desperately. I want the taste of him to fill my mouth and slide down my throat.
I sip tea, surrounded by a myriad of people who don't know how wet I am. Who have no idea that all I can think about is his swollen cock in my mouth. I hold my cup and smile. They would never guess.
I keep pumping his cock with my hand, eager. I usually enjoy giving blow jobs. I love sucking it into my mouth, teasing it out, making it last as long as I can. I love running my tongue over the tip, stroking the shaft in a firm grip and then teasing it with my fingers. I love sucking cock.
But not last night. Last night all I wanted was his cum. I wanted him to cover me in a full load, pumping his cock until it exploded over me. I wanted to see it unleash his white, hot, sticky cum all over my face and tits. I want him to cum in my mouth and let droplets spray onto my chin and drip down. I want it to crescendo over my body, to splash over my ass and decorate the tattoo on my back. I want him to make me his, claim his territory.
But all I can do, in this tiny car, is suck. I am forceful and eager with my hand. I have a goal, and it is not simply pleasure. I want to swallow every drop of cum he can muster.
I suck furiously, pumping my head up and down. I feel him tentatively place a hand on the back of my head, and while I don't often enjoy this specific move, the contact and pressure are perfect. I want him to press my head down, to feel his fingers tense in my hair.
Despite the un-included third person in the car, there is nothing furtive to this. There is only disregard and base need.
I stare around at the people in the coffee shop and they haven't noticed how my breathing is frighteningly staggered. I can't help it. I try and relax a little but my legs are twined together and my nipples are painfully hard against my bra.
I often think back and wish I had done things differently. I wish I had kissed him more. I wish I had felt his hands more on my bare skin. I wish for more of everything, more time, more words, more fucking, more privacy, more space, more of everything good. I wish I am sitting on his desk being fucked and not in this chilly coffee shop. But this is just as fruitless and I refuse to be anything less than pleased and wet.
His hand on the back of my head, and I am only more eager. I suck. I press. I ache. I pull.
I can feel his fingers tighten and I know I will get what I want.
He groans in the back of his head and pushes forward, up, tightening his grip on me. I want more and more and more and he cums.
It spills into my mouth, filling, warm and thick. It runs down my throat as I swallow in gulp after gasp. I want to let it run out of my mouth, dripping back down his cock so I can clean it up all over against with my tongue, but in the car this is unfeasible. I swallow, hair held tight, head held down. He tastes like exuberance. He tastes like want. He tastes like richness and royalty. He tastes like I imagine things taste like when I imagine tastes.
I wipe the corners of my mouth and let him find his breath. I lay my head on his chest and just watch as the car slows, but still passes, the front of my building. I say nothing.
I keep pressing my legs together trying to gain some pressure, but without a hand in between my legs, pushed deep into my tights, and fingers pushed deep into my cunt it all seems like a pathetic attempt to regain something which can only be elusive right now.
As soon as we got in the car I pulled his hand between my legs. I just needed him to know how wet I was. That even though nothing could happen tonight, how much I wanted something to. His jaw dropped at how soaked I was. I always say that I get wet... really wet... and for some reason people simply don't believe me. Or they think that I have a different perception of "really wet" than I should. When I tell them it's half pride, half warning, but for some reason they think I'm significantly daintier than I actually am.
I push his hand deeper, grind down on his palm, which is covered in my cum already. I grind for pressure, to feel the warmth of his fingers inside me. His fingers flick over my pussy and I tremble.
When he pulls his hand away, his fingers are covered, soaking, and my cum drips off of them. I immediately lower my mouth to them, licking them clean, leaving him only with the scent of my cunt as we cross the Brooklyn Bridge, artificial lights skimming through and across the windows.
I stroke his cock through his pants, and feel every ridge and pulse. The thin fabric of his far too expensive pants prevents nothing. I squeeze, I stroke, I delight in his sounds.
I can still, if I close my eyes and remember just right, feel his cock in my palm. Feel it swell. It's really a very nice cock. Beautifully cut and of perfect thickness. I want to ride it and feel it swell inside me.
I fumble towards his belt and he unzips his pants, instead, pulling his cock out. I stroke at first. I want my mouth on his. I want his tongue against mine. I want his teeth on my lips and my inner thigh. Right now.
I can't tell if it's the memory or the door which keeps opening, but I get chills which keep running through me, and makes my breath catch.
I stop kissing him... which I should never, ever have done... and lower my mouth to his cock. I press it to the back of my throat, feeling my spit drip down over it. The cars moves, slows, stops, moves again, but it's all lost to me. I just want his cock inside me. I think briefly about the driver, but sadly it's only a fleeting thought. I think about the cock in front of me more.
His sounds spur me on, both to suck harder and to push it deeper into my throat. He pushes against me and I just barely gag on his cock. I pull back and lick the head of his cock, letting my tongue slide into the slit. I want to taste his cum desperately. I want the taste of him to fill my mouth and slide down my throat.
I sip tea, surrounded by a myriad of people who don't know how wet I am. Who have no idea that all I can think about is his swollen cock in my mouth. I hold my cup and smile. They would never guess.
I keep pumping his cock with my hand, eager. I usually enjoy giving blow jobs. I love sucking it into my mouth, teasing it out, making it last as long as I can. I love running my tongue over the tip, stroking the shaft in a firm grip and then teasing it with my fingers. I love sucking cock.
But not last night. Last night all I wanted was his cum. I wanted him to cover me in a full load, pumping his cock until it exploded over me. I wanted to see it unleash his white, hot, sticky cum all over my face and tits. I want him to cum in my mouth and let droplets spray onto my chin and drip down. I want it to crescendo over my body, to splash over my ass and decorate the tattoo on my back. I want him to make me his, claim his territory.
But all I can do, in this tiny car, is suck. I am forceful and eager with my hand. I have a goal, and it is not simply pleasure. I want to swallow every drop of cum he can muster.
I suck furiously, pumping my head up and down. I feel him tentatively place a hand on the back of my head, and while I don't often enjoy this specific move, the contact and pressure are perfect. I want him to press my head down, to feel his fingers tense in my hair.
Despite the un-included third person in the car, there is nothing furtive to this. There is only disregard and base need.
I stare around at the people in the coffee shop and they haven't noticed how my breathing is frighteningly staggered. I can't help it. I try and relax a little but my legs are twined together and my nipples are painfully hard against my bra.
I often think back and wish I had done things differently. I wish I had kissed him more. I wish I had felt his hands more on my bare skin. I wish for more of everything, more time, more words, more fucking, more privacy, more space, more of everything good. I wish I am sitting on his desk being fucked and not in this chilly coffee shop. But this is just as fruitless and I refuse to be anything less than pleased and wet.
His hand on the back of my head, and I am only more eager. I suck. I press. I ache. I pull.
I can feel his fingers tighten and I know I will get what I want.
He groans in the back of his head and pushes forward, up, tightening his grip on me. I want more and more and more and he cums.
It spills into my mouth, filling, warm and thick. It runs down my throat as I swallow in gulp after gasp. I want to let it run out of my mouth, dripping back down his cock so I can clean it up all over against with my tongue, but in the car this is unfeasible. I swallow, hair held tight, head held down. He tastes like exuberance. He tastes like want. He tastes like richness and royalty. He tastes like I imagine things taste like when I imagine tastes.
I wipe the corners of my mouth and let him find his breath. I lay my head on his chest and just watch as the car slows, but still passes, the front of my building. I say nothing.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Remnants
After he made me kneel on the rice, the scars lasted for longer than I anticipated. Small red welts covered the delicate space just below my knees.
I was angry at first, pouting that my body had weakened enough to show the memory of his work. But the more I saw them, the more they allowed me to remember that moment, kneeling in front of him, begging with only my eyes and tears. I could feel the sting of him slap on my face again. I smelled the sweat which dampened my chest as I became more and more resilient.
That is, until I touch them. Days later, I am masturbating, taking another break from the day or waking up, or finding some other excuse to cum.
My knees are bent, my hand buried in my cunt. I am soaking, working towards cumming, trying to pull back and wait, forcing myself to be patient.
I rub my clit slowly, flicking it, rubbing it in slow circles over and over. My mind wanders here and there, but it goes blank when I hit a nerve and a shudder runs down my spine.
My other fingers are slowly moving in and out of my cunt. Nothing too fast, nothing too thrilling, simply the enjoyment of the feeling of my fingers moving over the throbbing walls of my pussy. I love to be fucked deeply, to gasp as a cock hits the hilt of my cunt. But that's not today. Today is easy.
I begin to work myself up once more, noting that the time is ticking away and I do have things to get back to today. My fingers begin to work faster, making my toes curl around the edge of the bed. I was impatient now, waiting to cum and get up so I could go and finish the list of things waiting for me this afternoon.
The pressure inside me began to build. My legs grow tight in want. My muscles tense and wait. I want to push myself over the edge slowly and cascade down.
But then I touch them. One hand on my cunt, I take the other, still slicked with juices, and wrap it around my bent knee, pressing directly into the cuts which still burn, igniting pain I was not anticipating.
The shock is not unwelcome by a long shot. The moment of kneeling for him flood back. My fingers begin to press harder, tender spots stinging and making me want to cry while it shoots back down through my spine like an electric shock.
I cum. I cum hard. I cum harder than I was anticipating. I cum harder than I remember cumming in ages. I explode, squirting onto the unprotected sheets, juices dripping down and between the flesh of my ass. I am covered.
The sting hangs on for hours after I have cum. The clean up takes ages. I am again angry and wet and horny and frustrated. What bliss.
I was angry at first, pouting that my body had weakened enough to show the memory of his work. But the more I saw them, the more they allowed me to remember that moment, kneeling in front of him, begging with only my eyes and tears. I could feel the sting of him slap on my face again. I smelled the sweat which dampened my chest as I became more and more resilient.
That is, until I touch them. Days later, I am masturbating, taking another break from the day or waking up, or finding some other excuse to cum.
My knees are bent, my hand buried in my cunt. I am soaking, working towards cumming, trying to pull back and wait, forcing myself to be patient.
I rub my clit slowly, flicking it, rubbing it in slow circles over and over. My mind wanders here and there, but it goes blank when I hit a nerve and a shudder runs down my spine.
My other fingers are slowly moving in and out of my cunt. Nothing too fast, nothing too thrilling, simply the enjoyment of the feeling of my fingers moving over the throbbing walls of my pussy. I love to be fucked deeply, to gasp as a cock hits the hilt of my cunt. But that's not today. Today is easy.
I begin to work myself up once more, noting that the time is ticking away and I do have things to get back to today. My fingers begin to work faster, making my toes curl around the edge of the bed. I was impatient now, waiting to cum and get up so I could go and finish the list of things waiting for me this afternoon.
The pressure inside me began to build. My legs grow tight in want. My muscles tense and wait. I want to push myself over the edge slowly and cascade down.
But then I touch them. One hand on my cunt, I take the other, still slicked with juices, and wrap it around my bent knee, pressing directly into the cuts which still burn, igniting pain I was not anticipating.
The shock is not unwelcome by a long shot. The moment of kneeling for him flood back. My fingers begin to press harder, tender spots stinging and making me want to cry while it shoots back down through my spine like an electric shock.
I cum. I cum hard. I cum harder than I was anticipating. I cum harder than I remember cumming in ages. I explode, squirting onto the unprotected sheets, juices dripping down and between the flesh of my ass. I am covered.
The sting hangs on for hours after I have cum. The clean up takes ages. I am again angry and wet and horny and frustrated. What bliss.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
The things we do to grow...
I am bent over, my tits pressed against the black vinyl. I can't tell if I'm breathing hard because I am afraid or I am letting the full weight of my upper body hang on this barely padded spanking bench. I can't tell because I am both. I can feel my body tingling with waves of fear. Everything is on edge.
My hands are bound behind my back, red plastic-y duct tape. My fingers try and find each other, but my wrists are crossed and I can only feel them wiggle in desperation. I'm sure he enjoys this look. I know he must like the fact that I am helpless, so purely in need of him.
My eyes are covered, my head wrapped countless times by the red tape. I fear it's going to rip out my eyelashes until I realize that the tears which have sprung so unwillingly from my eyes are protecting them. It pushes my hair slightly into my face, but mostly it crushes down on my nose and temples.
I can only hear my breath, feel it grow ragged. My ass is already red and sore from the power of his hands. His large hands, his long fingers are tender and merciless. I hate how much I ache for them. These hands which give both a relentless grooming into his strong, good girl. These hands which make me cum until I can't fathom being more spent.
But he does not use his hands right now. He picks up a wooden brush and begins to beat my ass. No matter how nervous, how warmed up, how desperate I am to gain his approval, there is nothing which can prepare me for this. The pain is white, blinding.
Every time the hard wood lands I cry out, my knees buckling at least slightly. I want to stand straight for him but every time I feel the brush my body insists on responding. My body wants to much to run, and I should crumple onto the floor and beg for mercy. Every instinct I have ever learned is screaming to make this blistering pain end. If I even whispered "stop" I know he would at least pause and I could get some sweet relief for my flesh. I can stop this at any moment, despite my palms damp with sweat as they squeeze tight enough to draw blood from my own nails. I can beg him for mercy and he would relent.
But despite my body's desperate pleas, the thought of asking for mercy never crosses my mind. It is not my call to make. I can take the pain and for his approval I would take much more.
And so they continue and I can only scream and cry and pray that he will be satisfied with this beating soon. Once he is satisfied with my performance, I will be sated in knowing that I have made him proud. I would not be able to live with myself if I failed him.
He finally places the brush down and I feel his hands on my skin. I can feel the pressure, but the feeling has not yet returned. Tears simply dampen my eyes and smear my makeup below the duct tape.
White heat replaces numbness and I can simply feel a deep aching. My breath is weak, ragged, and I know I'm shaking. He stands behind me, holding onto my hips and I struggle to touch him more. I want to feel his body against mine. I want nothing more.
I can feel his hard cock under his pants and this is my reward. I breath deeply for the first time. His pleasure makes me feel proud.
He nudges my legs outward, and I step wide, refusing to pull back from his touch. I need more. I would beg for more if I thought it would do anything more than annoy him. He will give me my reward when I deserve it.
I breathe once more, but it against goes ragged as pain begins to set in in new waves. His hand rests on my spine, and I can barely hear him through the duct tape and my own weeping.
"Focus, baby."
I nod in the slightest twitch. It is time to regroup, possibly for another beating.
I gladly resume my position, rigid and bent over. There is sometimes a moment where I wonder how I could take some much, where I question this.
I do not have this moment.
He reaches to my cunt and it is dripping. His fingers dip into my cunt and are quickly soaked with my cum. I moan, feeling my pussy tighten around him. I push down on his hand, wanting more and more of his hand.
"You're a horny little slut, aren't you baby?"
I nod eagerly.
"You're my whore, aren't you?"
I nod even harder as his fingers begin to move on my clit.
"You'll fuck anything I tell you, won't you?"
"Yes yes yes." I finally squeak out.
I feel him move away just slightly, and then I feel the hairbrush on my thighs again. It strokes over the skin, the wooden ridge tenderly grazing the soft flesh that would burst instantly under a powerful stroke with the wood.
But this is not on his mind.
I feel the handle of the brush push at my cunt. He does not hesitate. My cunt is soaked and swollen and ready for anything to slide inside and he takes full advantage of this. The brush slides up to the hilt with ease and he begins to fuck me.
My hips rock against the wood and I can feel the bristles roughly move against my pussy. His fingers move on my clit and I lean into his body for the first time. I gasp, whimpering, groan. There is nothing more I want than to be fucked for his entertainment.
He thrusts forcefully, the butt of the handle pounding into my tight cunt. I can feel it slamming into my cervix and I simply pump harder.
My cunt tightens around the awkwardly swollen end of the brush. It rubs me in ways I don't know how to process. I cry out with pure lust, shifting against his solid body. It anchors me as I rock my hips harder and harder. My juices are dripping down over the handle and his grip tightens.
I bend my knees to feel it deeper inside my pussy. My noises are growing louder as I still struggle for balance. My hands work against the duct tape and I wish to whatever God I still believe in that he would just touch me harder, more, longer, anything to get him inside me, even if I have to soak his touch through my skin.
He continues to fuck me with the brush. I wonder if he will be able to grip the handle again enough to beat me (if he likes) now that it's covered in my juices. I know they are soaking into the black, stiff bristles. This brush will never be free of the smell of my pussy.
I can feel my cunt awkwardly tightening. His fingers move on my clit and I begin to pant, tensing. I am focused now. The pain is gone, and now there is only want. Want to cum, want to collapse, want to explode and squirt all over this brush, the floor, my panties, his hand. I try and open my mouth to cry out, but the duct tape pressing on my nose makes it hard. I try my best.
"Fuck it, baby."
I do.
"Do you want to cum for me?"
I do.
"Then do it."
And I do.
My hands are bound behind my back, red plastic-y duct tape. My fingers try and find each other, but my wrists are crossed and I can only feel them wiggle in desperation. I'm sure he enjoys this look. I know he must like the fact that I am helpless, so purely in need of him.
My eyes are covered, my head wrapped countless times by the red tape. I fear it's going to rip out my eyelashes until I realize that the tears which have sprung so unwillingly from my eyes are protecting them. It pushes my hair slightly into my face, but mostly it crushes down on my nose and temples.
I can only hear my breath, feel it grow ragged. My ass is already red and sore from the power of his hands. His large hands, his long fingers are tender and merciless. I hate how much I ache for them. These hands which give both a relentless grooming into his strong, good girl. These hands which make me cum until I can't fathom being more spent.
But he does not use his hands right now. He picks up a wooden brush and begins to beat my ass. No matter how nervous, how warmed up, how desperate I am to gain his approval, there is nothing which can prepare me for this. The pain is white, blinding.
Every time the hard wood lands I cry out, my knees buckling at least slightly. I want to stand straight for him but every time I feel the brush my body insists on responding. My body wants to much to run, and I should crumple onto the floor and beg for mercy. Every instinct I have ever learned is screaming to make this blistering pain end. If I even whispered "stop" I know he would at least pause and I could get some sweet relief for my flesh. I can stop this at any moment, despite my palms damp with sweat as they squeeze tight enough to draw blood from my own nails. I can beg him for mercy and he would relent.
But despite my body's desperate pleas, the thought of asking for mercy never crosses my mind. It is not my call to make. I can take the pain and for his approval I would take much more.
And so they continue and I can only scream and cry and pray that he will be satisfied with this beating soon. Once he is satisfied with my performance, I will be sated in knowing that I have made him proud. I would not be able to live with myself if I failed him.
He finally places the brush down and I feel his hands on my skin. I can feel the pressure, but the feeling has not yet returned. Tears simply dampen my eyes and smear my makeup below the duct tape.
White heat replaces numbness and I can simply feel a deep aching. My breath is weak, ragged, and I know I'm shaking. He stands behind me, holding onto my hips and I struggle to touch him more. I want to feel his body against mine. I want nothing more.
I can feel his hard cock under his pants and this is my reward. I breath deeply for the first time. His pleasure makes me feel proud.
He nudges my legs outward, and I step wide, refusing to pull back from his touch. I need more. I would beg for more if I thought it would do anything more than annoy him. He will give me my reward when I deserve it.
I breathe once more, but it against goes ragged as pain begins to set in in new waves. His hand rests on my spine, and I can barely hear him through the duct tape and my own weeping.
"Focus, baby."
I nod in the slightest twitch. It is time to regroup, possibly for another beating.
I gladly resume my position, rigid and bent over. There is sometimes a moment where I wonder how I could take some much, where I question this.
I do not have this moment.
He reaches to my cunt and it is dripping. His fingers dip into my cunt and are quickly soaked with my cum. I moan, feeling my pussy tighten around him. I push down on his hand, wanting more and more of his hand.
"You're a horny little slut, aren't you baby?"
I nod eagerly.
"You're my whore, aren't you?"
I nod even harder as his fingers begin to move on my clit.
"You'll fuck anything I tell you, won't you?"
"Yes yes yes." I finally squeak out.
I feel him move away just slightly, and then I feel the hairbrush on my thighs again. It strokes over the skin, the wooden ridge tenderly grazing the soft flesh that would burst instantly under a powerful stroke with the wood.
But this is not on his mind.
I feel the handle of the brush push at my cunt. He does not hesitate. My cunt is soaked and swollen and ready for anything to slide inside and he takes full advantage of this. The brush slides up to the hilt with ease and he begins to fuck me.
My hips rock against the wood and I can feel the bristles roughly move against my pussy. His fingers move on my clit and I lean into his body for the first time. I gasp, whimpering, groan. There is nothing more I want than to be fucked for his entertainment.
He thrusts forcefully, the butt of the handle pounding into my tight cunt. I can feel it slamming into my cervix and I simply pump harder.
My cunt tightens around the awkwardly swollen end of the brush. It rubs me in ways I don't know how to process. I cry out with pure lust, shifting against his solid body. It anchors me as I rock my hips harder and harder. My juices are dripping down over the handle and his grip tightens.
I bend my knees to feel it deeper inside my pussy. My noises are growing louder as I still struggle for balance. My hands work against the duct tape and I wish to whatever God I still believe in that he would just touch me harder, more, longer, anything to get him inside me, even if I have to soak his touch through my skin.
He continues to fuck me with the brush. I wonder if he will be able to grip the handle again enough to beat me (if he likes) now that it's covered in my juices. I know they are soaking into the black, stiff bristles. This brush will never be free of the smell of my pussy.
I can feel my cunt awkwardly tightening. His fingers move on my clit and I begin to pant, tensing. I am focused now. The pain is gone, and now there is only want. Want to cum, want to collapse, want to explode and squirt all over this brush, the floor, my panties, his hand. I try and open my mouth to cry out, but the duct tape pressing on my nose makes it hard. I try my best.
"Fuck it, baby."
I do.
"Do you want to cum for me?"
I do.
"Then do it."
And I do.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
To make good use
"Fuck her."
She holds onto my hair. I am surprised she said anything audible for me at all, as I've only been hearing remnants of sentences and ideas all night. They only make sense when something happens, and I can piece together what the original was, but this is simply a command and I know what is coming.
She has put a blindfold on me, which she knows I detest. She knows it fucks my entire sense of control, but she detests that even from the bottom, I think I have control.
My arms have been tied behind my back for so long they've gone numb. Another rope pulls my arms down by the elbows to hug my body and wrap around a long leather bench over which I bend.
Her hand remains on the back of my head, despite the rustling I hear. I know this must be him preparing something. He moves around, close to her and then away.
I brace.
He doesn't respond, but he doesn't need to. He is in just as much control of me as she is. But she is just as much control of him as he is of me.
I hear movement, but I can barely register it. And then I hear a zipper. I shift my hips, and her hand tightens in my hair, throwing me off again. She doesn't want me prepared for his cock.
If I wasn't fucking dripping wet already she would have insisted I stay dry to make it hurt more.
She is a fucking bitch. She is amazing.
Two of her fingers find their way into my mouth and I begin to suck. She chokes me with them and I sputter but continue. Despite being tied back, I am eager to please her fingers. To feel them shift in my mouth. Spit fills my mouth as she pokes at the back of my throat.
It begins to pool in my mouth and I do not hesitate to let it run down my chin and drip heavily onto the floor.
I couch slightly around her fingers and she takes this moment to pull my mouth open and shove her hard cock into my mouth. As she does this he pulls my hips and shoves his cock inside me as well.
I am filled.
They both begin to fuck, and I feel myself opened and destroyed altogether. As she slams my throat he destroys my cunt. They are hard and wanton and have no pity for the girl tied down.
I want them to use me. I want them to cum. I want them.
She holds onto my hair. I am surprised she said anything audible for me at all, as I've only been hearing remnants of sentences and ideas all night. They only make sense when something happens, and I can piece together what the original was, but this is simply a command and I know what is coming.
She has put a blindfold on me, which she knows I detest. She knows it fucks my entire sense of control, but she detests that even from the bottom, I think I have control.
My arms have been tied behind my back for so long they've gone numb. Another rope pulls my arms down by the elbows to hug my body and wrap around a long leather bench over which I bend.
Her hand remains on the back of my head, despite the rustling I hear. I know this must be him preparing something. He moves around, close to her and then away.
I brace.
He doesn't respond, but he doesn't need to. He is in just as much control of me as she is. But she is just as much control of him as he is of me.
I hear movement, but I can barely register it. And then I hear a zipper. I shift my hips, and her hand tightens in my hair, throwing me off again. She doesn't want me prepared for his cock.
If I wasn't fucking dripping wet already she would have insisted I stay dry to make it hurt more.
She is a fucking bitch. She is amazing.
Two of her fingers find their way into my mouth and I begin to suck. She chokes me with them and I sputter but continue. Despite being tied back, I am eager to please her fingers. To feel them shift in my mouth. Spit fills my mouth as she pokes at the back of my throat.
It begins to pool in my mouth and I do not hesitate to let it run down my chin and drip heavily onto the floor.
I couch slightly around her fingers and she takes this moment to pull my mouth open and shove her hard cock into my mouth. As she does this he pulls my hips and shoves his cock inside me as well.
I am filled.
They both begin to fuck, and I feel myself opened and destroyed altogether. As she slams my throat he destroys my cunt. They are hard and wanton and have no pity for the girl tied down.
I want them to use me. I want them to cum. I want them.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
And then there were two.
I kneel, wearing little more than lace and good will. There is a black collar around my neck, thick leather which is just tight enough to be felt constantly. The collar has a single ring on the front, and it hangs with a looming weight. It will be pulled. It will be used.
I am not alone. I kneel next to another girl. Beautiful. She waits with me. We don't look at each other because when we do, we smile. There is something about waiting next to another pretty girl that makes me heart skip. She will be my partner in this crime.
We wait, hands delicately lilting on our cold, bare thighs. Our nipples are hard, four tight points waiting straight across for attention, red lace and then blue lace pulled across. I can feel the heat from her body next to mine. We are both warm with nerves, yet our skin is dotted with goosebumps. I want to just ask her what she thinks will happen. I want her to know I'm nervous and ask her is she is, too.
He is having us wait, and I know he's listening intently. He knows our voices, so whoever speaks will be beaten, probably by the other one.
When he finally walks in we are at full attention. I rise just slightly, my posture perking and stiffening. My hands are behind my back, holding onto my forearms. I am on my knees, but not resting. My black platforms just barely kiss as I make sure my feet are together, though my knees remain wide. I have been devoted to his training, and now simply get excited to perform my tasks for him. His smile of approval leaves me wet and tingling.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her smiling as well. She is poised and at attention. I also see her looking at me out of the corner of her eye and we cannot help but smile wider.
He sees this and slaps me across the face. He chooses us at random to punish. Sometimes she is punished for my mistakes, and sometimes I am rewarded for hers. It catches us off guard, but it means we are inextricably tied together.
We rise and his hands drop to his side. We know.
We both rise onto our knees and, with a smile to each other, I begin to work on his belt while she rubs his cock through his pants. He begins to get hard as he smiles at his girls. We are devoted to his service. We are devoted to his attention. But most of all, to his pleasure.
She rubs her cheek against his pants, stroking his clothed thigh with her soft skin. I am the first to reach his cock and stroke it slowly with my hand. I kiss the head softly, tenderly. I kiss down his shaft, my lips full and pressing onto his swollen cock. As I slide my tongue back down to the tip, her mouth moves up and begins to fully kiss his balls. Her lips are full and wet and beautiful. I begin to suck slowly on the head as her tongue runs up and to the base of him.
I finally feel a hand on the back of my head as he pushes himself into my mouth. As her tongue begins to work his shaft, my mouth starts to slide down. I suck and slide until my lips meet hers.
We both slide back down, my lips sliding back to the head. Her tongue works the base of his cock, working back down to his balls, sucking them into her mouth. I watch her suck them as I feel precum drip onto the back of my tongue and down my throat.
We nudge closer, and finally our knees meet. My hand finds her thigh and hers mine.
As his cock hits the back of my throat, I feel drool begin to run down my chin, dripping heavy onto the floor, hitting my tits on its way down. She squeezes my thigh slightly and I know she wants her turn.
I pull back and eagerly move my tongue over his shaft. He has his hand tight in my hair, but lets me do as I please. I lap quickly, playing my tongue over and over his shaft. She begins to suck heartily, and I move back down to his balls, pulling them completely into my mouth. They fill my mouth, and my tongue curls around them. I feel them tightening and I can only run my tongue harder, more eagerly.
She sucks him hard. We are both so eager we are squeezing each other's hands. I finally pull back, my tongue finding his shaft again, as does hers. It is only a moment before our tongue work each others and his cock at the same time. Her mouth is just as wet and swollen as mine.
He tells us to get back and we do, rising to perfect attention and leaning back just slightly as he grabs his cock, spraying wave after wave of cum over our tits, necks, chests. When he is done he will kiss both of us on the top of the head and leave just as quietly as when he came in. We will clean each other off. We will curl into a ball together, and know that we have done well today. And then we will sleep.
I am not alone. I kneel next to another girl. Beautiful. She waits with me. We don't look at each other because when we do, we smile. There is something about waiting next to another pretty girl that makes me heart skip. She will be my partner in this crime.
We wait, hands delicately lilting on our cold, bare thighs. Our nipples are hard, four tight points waiting straight across for attention, red lace and then blue lace pulled across. I can feel the heat from her body next to mine. We are both warm with nerves, yet our skin is dotted with goosebumps. I want to just ask her what she thinks will happen. I want her to know I'm nervous and ask her is she is, too.
He is having us wait, and I know he's listening intently. He knows our voices, so whoever speaks will be beaten, probably by the other one.
When he finally walks in we are at full attention. I rise just slightly, my posture perking and stiffening. My hands are behind my back, holding onto my forearms. I am on my knees, but not resting. My black platforms just barely kiss as I make sure my feet are together, though my knees remain wide. I have been devoted to his training, and now simply get excited to perform my tasks for him. His smile of approval leaves me wet and tingling.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her smiling as well. She is poised and at attention. I also see her looking at me out of the corner of her eye and we cannot help but smile wider.
He sees this and slaps me across the face. He chooses us at random to punish. Sometimes she is punished for my mistakes, and sometimes I am rewarded for hers. It catches us off guard, but it means we are inextricably tied together.
We rise and his hands drop to his side. We know.
We both rise onto our knees and, with a smile to each other, I begin to work on his belt while she rubs his cock through his pants. He begins to get hard as he smiles at his girls. We are devoted to his service. We are devoted to his attention. But most of all, to his pleasure.
She rubs her cheek against his pants, stroking his clothed thigh with her soft skin. I am the first to reach his cock and stroke it slowly with my hand. I kiss the head softly, tenderly. I kiss down his shaft, my lips full and pressing onto his swollen cock. As I slide my tongue back down to the tip, her mouth moves up and begins to fully kiss his balls. Her lips are full and wet and beautiful. I begin to suck slowly on the head as her tongue runs up and to the base of him.
I finally feel a hand on the back of my head as he pushes himself into my mouth. As her tongue begins to work his shaft, my mouth starts to slide down. I suck and slide until my lips meet hers.
We both slide back down, my lips sliding back to the head. Her tongue works the base of his cock, working back down to his balls, sucking them into her mouth. I watch her suck them as I feel precum drip onto the back of my tongue and down my throat.
We nudge closer, and finally our knees meet. My hand finds her thigh and hers mine.
As his cock hits the back of my throat, I feel drool begin to run down my chin, dripping heavy onto the floor, hitting my tits on its way down. She squeezes my thigh slightly and I know she wants her turn.
I pull back and eagerly move my tongue over his shaft. He has his hand tight in my hair, but lets me do as I please. I lap quickly, playing my tongue over and over his shaft. She begins to suck heartily, and I move back down to his balls, pulling them completely into my mouth. They fill my mouth, and my tongue curls around them. I feel them tightening and I can only run my tongue harder, more eagerly.
She sucks him hard. We are both so eager we are squeezing each other's hands. I finally pull back, my tongue finding his shaft again, as does hers. It is only a moment before our tongue work each others and his cock at the same time. Her mouth is just as wet and swollen as mine.
He tells us to get back and we do, rising to perfect attention and leaning back just slightly as he grabs his cock, spraying wave after wave of cum over our tits, necks, chests. When he is done he will kiss both of us on the top of the head and leave just as quietly as when he came in. We will clean each other off. We will curl into a ball together, and know that we have done well today. And then we will sleep.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Show your girl some love
So as many of you know, in addition to being a wanton slut, I'm also a community organizer with the Sex Workers Outreach Project here in NYC. We do everything from public advocacy to community support to know your rights trainings. Among a lot of other things. The challenge? We're a completely volunteer-run, grassroots organization. That's right - no formal funding, no paid staff.
I've been doing community organizing with this group for two years and I can't say enough for the group and how transformational it is to have something like this around. I joined the group as a community member and almost three years alter I'm still there as an organizer, and I can't stress how important this work is.
And now for the ask: we have the opportunity to go a conference in a few weeks which reaches a whole new area: adult film. Below is a blog entry about why this is so important, but long story short - adult film is one of the most organized, well-funded areas of sex work. They do lots of advocacy, but rarely on behalf of the actors. We will be the only advocacy and rights organization at the conference, and without that voice, these concerns will once again be brushed aside. They've comped us all the registration fees, but it still costs us a good chunk of change for the rest of the fees. We're already paying our own transportation, hotel, etc, so we're really just asking for help covering our fees and printing and we only have FOUR days left to raise the cash! Which is why I'm asking.
Now here's the second pitch. For anyone who donates over $50, I will write you your very own blog entry. Tell me what turns your crank, and I'll write something super dirty just for you. Send me an email telling me you donated and what you like to hear and cross my sick little fucked-up heart, it's yours. In addition to whatever other cool swag you'll get.
So for everyone who wants to garner favor and love: http://www.indiegogo.com/Help-SWOP-NYC-Attend-Exxxotica
Thanks all! Promise something dirty is on its way!
Why this is Important:
Next month will conclude a series of conferences for the adult film industry which have cris-crossed the country in the last few months. In its fifth year, Exxxotica now boasts an average of 20,000 attendees at each exhibition, bringing together adult film stars, devotees and exhibitors of every stripe. This year, SWOP-NYC has been invited to join in the event, and we are excited for the opportunity to attend, and reach a whole new group of people with our work and our advocacy.
But this event is bigger than just new membership. The adult film industry is an important area in the field of sex work, and one which is often overlooked in sex industry advocacy. One major difference between the adult film industry and many other sectors of sex worker are that it operates within legally established bounds, meaning many of the challenges around legalization are faced in a very different arena. But this also means that adult film performers are one of the most organized areas of the sex industry. The industry has a strong voice in expanding what is legally permissible, and has the capital and voice to engage directly in the political system to advocate for expanding its borders.
What is still lacking, though, is a stronger voice to advocate for the rights of performers, both at work and in their day-to-day lives. Adult performers still face issues such as stigmatization, mandatory health testing, privacy and copyright concerns, and exploitation. Just this year filmmaker and sex educator Tristan Taormino was uninvited from speaking at Oregon State University’s conference on “Modern Sex” for her body of work in progressive, often education-focused pornography. Three months later a site calling itself “Porn Wikileaks” revealed the legal names, stages names, home addresses, and HIV statuses of 15,000 current and former performers. According to a Gawker article on the subject, the site (which has since been closed) not only reveled in revealing legal names of performers, “but their addresses, family members’ information, copies of state identification—even Google Maps pictures of their homes.”
These very real hurdles are human and labor rights violations which are the exact reasons why advocacy exists, and what is needed is a voice not for the industry but for the worker. SWOP-NYC is ready and primed to be that voice. By attending the Exxxotica Conference, SWOP-NYC will be the only group bringing this much-needed message to a community primed and ready for change.
For the event, SWOP-NYC is trying to raise $1,000, both for attendance and the printing of new materials (including a swanky new t-shirt!). Please help SWOP and SWANK bring this message to an industry which is ready for action by donating today. We’re offering some great donor rewards for those who are kind enough to show their support.
I've been doing community organizing with this group for two years and I can't say enough for the group and how transformational it is to have something like this around. I joined the group as a community member and almost three years alter I'm still there as an organizer, and I can't stress how important this work is.
And now for the ask: we have the opportunity to go a conference in a few weeks which reaches a whole new area: adult film. Below is a blog entry about why this is so important, but long story short - adult film is one of the most organized, well-funded areas of sex work. They do lots of advocacy, but rarely on behalf of the actors. We will be the only advocacy and rights organization at the conference, and without that voice, these concerns will once again be brushed aside. They've comped us all the registration fees, but it still costs us a good chunk of change for the rest of the fees. We're already paying our own transportation, hotel, etc, so we're really just asking for help covering our fees and printing and we only have FOUR days left to raise the cash! Which is why I'm asking.
Now here's the second pitch. For anyone who donates over $50, I will write you your very own blog entry. Tell me what turns your crank, and I'll write something super dirty just for you. Send me an email telling me you donated and what you like to hear and cross my sick little fucked-up heart, it's yours. In addition to whatever other cool swag you'll get.
So for everyone who wants to garner favor and love: http://www.indiegogo.com/Help-SWOP-NYC-Attend-Exxxotica
Thanks all! Promise something dirty is on its way!
Why this is Important:
Next month will conclude a series of conferences for the adult film industry which have cris-crossed the country in the last few months. In its fifth year, Exxxotica now boasts an average of 20,000 attendees at each exhibition, bringing together adult film stars, devotees and exhibitors of every stripe. This year, SWOP-NYC has been invited to join in the event, and we are excited for the opportunity to attend, and reach a whole new group of people with our work and our advocacy.
But this event is bigger than just new membership. The adult film industry is an important area in the field of sex work, and one which is often overlooked in sex industry advocacy. One major difference between the adult film industry and many other sectors of sex worker are that it operates within legally established bounds, meaning many of the challenges around legalization are faced in a very different arena. But this also means that adult film performers are one of the most organized areas of the sex industry. The industry has a strong voice in expanding what is legally permissible, and has the capital and voice to engage directly in the political system to advocate for expanding its borders.
What is still lacking, though, is a stronger voice to advocate for the rights of performers, both at work and in their day-to-day lives. Adult performers still face issues such as stigmatization, mandatory health testing, privacy and copyright concerns, and exploitation. Just this year filmmaker and sex educator Tristan Taormino was uninvited from speaking at Oregon State University’s conference on “Modern Sex” for her body of work in progressive, often education-focused pornography. Three months later a site calling itself “Porn Wikileaks” revealed the legal names, stages names, home addresses, and HIV statuses of 15,000 current and former performers. According to a Gawker article on the subject, the site (which has since been closed) not only reveled in revealing legal names of performers, “but their addresses, family members’ information, copies of state identification—even Google Maps pictures of their homes.”
These very real hurdles are human and labor rights violations which are the exact reasons why advocacy exists, and what is needed is a voice not for the industry but for the worker. SWOP-NYC is ready and primed to be that voice. By attending the Exxxotica Conference, SWOP-NYC will be the only group bringing this much-needed message to a community primed and ready for change.
For the event, SWOP-NYC is trying to raise $1,000, both for attendance and the printing of new materials (including a swanky new t-shirt!). Please help SWOP and SWANK bring this message to an industry which is ready for action by donating today. We’re offering some great donor rewards for those who are kind enough to show their support.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Open Letter.
To my dearest xxx,
I wish you are here but sadly, you're far, far away tonight. I want to kiss you but that's all I can do and the thought is practically painful.
Bad hurt.
I sit with my legs closed, squeezing them now and then to try and gain some pressure as I busy my hands. My clit would be raw with unsatisfying cold and emptiness if I let myself play as much as I want, trying to get the high of your hands.
I tried to watch porn, but there was nothing inspiring. I watched women and men getting fucked in position after position which we have or should have used by now. I watched cum shots until they bored me. I couldn't bare another girl on girl 69.
But I will wait. I would rather ache. I would rather wait, letting my wetness pool in my panties, letting blood and pressure build. I'll let it stew inside me, growing slowly like vines over my body until I can't take it anymore and I fuck myself wildly. Later. Alone.
I'll do everything I'm sure people already think I do. I'll mount vibrating appliances, fill my holes with dildos and thick vegetables. I'll call myself names, fucking wildly, with the purest sense of abandon. I'll play Russian roulette with fantasies, waiting until the chamber clicks and I feel like I'm going to die. I'll cum in rivers and screams and tears so hard I fear I may pass out. I'll gasp for air. I'll be sore tomorrow, and feel shame for my recklessness.
All in a wish for a single strong hand of yours coming strong across my face, the richest pain settling into my cheek and jaw.
But still I wait.
This is as close to chaste as I will ever be.
Devoted,
yourgirl. whore. girl.
I wish you are here but sadly, you're far, far away tonight. I want to kiss you but that's all I can do and the thought is practically painful.
Bad hurt.
I sit with my legs closed, squeezing them now and then to try and gain some pressure as I busy my hands. My clit would be raw with unsatisfying cold and emptiness if I let myself play as much as I want, trying to get the high of your hands.
I tried to watch porn, but there was nothing inspiring. I watched women and men getting fucked in position after position which we have or should have used by now. I watched cum shots until they bored me. I couldn't bare another girl on girl 69.
But I will wait. I would rather ache. I would rather wait, letting my wetness pool in my panties, letting blood and pressure build. I'll let it stew inside me, growing slowly like vines over my body until I can't take it anymore and I fuck myself wildly. Later. Alone.
I'll do everything I'm sure people already think I do. I'll mount vibrating appliances, fill my holes with dildos and thick vegetables. I'll call myself names, fucking wildly, with the purest sense of abandon. I'll play Russian roulette with fantasies, waiting until the chamber clicks and I feel like I'm going to die. I'll cum in rivers and screams and tears so hard I fear I may pass out. I'll gasp for air. I'll be sore tomorrow, and feel shame for my recklessness.
All in a wish for a single strong hand of yours coming strong across my face, the richest pain settling into my cheek and jaw.
But still I wait.
This is as close to chaste as I will ever be.
Devoted,
your
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
The New Girl Regrets
I know he is displeased. He has told me to meet him on a corner and now I wait. I arrived a few moments early, hoping to prove my dedication. He has instructed me to wear a t-shirt, skirt, shoes, and nothing else. I am without a jacket or umbrella, though it is chilly and drizzling.
I cross my arms, shivering. My teeth chatter and I feel goosebumps rise up my legs and coat my arms. My nipples tighten to the point of pain. The minutes tick on and I realize I will wait until I am crippled and sick if he doesn't come.
I wait, looking from side to side as I wait on the corner. The wind begins to pick up and I am cold deep into the core of my being. I press my legs together for warmth, rubbing my arms up and down in a desperate wish to no longer hurt.
When I finally see him approaching, covered by a large umbrella, I smile. A familiar burst of excitement cascades through me and is displayed readily on my face, but then I remember what I am facing and my joy withers in its wake.
When he approaches, I am not only aware of how unhappy he is with me, but afraid of what he will do. He speaks little, and his eyes can barely acknowledge me. I feel tears perching, ready to spring. The weight of his ambivalence is destroying me.
"Come." He says as he sees me, and I follow him obediently. If he told me to suck his cock right there, I would have. If he told me to strip down and sit on the dirty, wet ground, I would have. If he told me to leave him alone for ever, I would have cried.
I do not try and speak while we are together, just trailing behind him, head bowed. We walk to a building not far. He opens the door and I enter the building, my heart beginning to squeeze and pulse aggressively, slowly choking on blood. I can hear my pulse in my ears, feel it in my eyes. I am so nervous that I almost trip, and he still says nothing.
He walks in front of me, waiting at and inside the elevator, and then in front of a door I can only imagine is his. He opens the door and leaves the lights off. Muted sunlight sneaks in through the clouds and hints through the thin shades which are drawn. I can see both just enough and not nearly enough in the same moment.
"Take off your clothes." The door closes behind me, sealing my fate.
I strip slowly, taking off damp shoes, my skirt, and my t-shirt, folding them and leaving them in a pile next to the door. He takes my hand, squeezing it firmly in his much larger fist. I follow slowly, my feet making soft whispers on the wood floor. I keep my head down and so it is a small lifetime until I see it.
There is a large swath of rice spread out over the hardwood floor. My shoulders slump and I almost pull back, knowing what I am about to face. I open my mouth and feel the same tears which were held so gracefully before come to life and begin to spill.
"Come on, baby."
I nod, looking up at him, my face worn with self-pity.
"Are you really crying already? It's just rice. Now come on, you know you have earned this."
I nod again, looking down. I slowly succumb, lowering myself onto my knees, onto the rice, feeling it settling onto the floor and into my skin. I wince as the tears dry, and I find resolution to take my punishment.
The rice presses unevenly, sharply, into the flesh of my knees and shins. I shift, but that only makes it worse. I try and remain still, resolute.
He begins to walk. "You know what you did, right?"
I nod.
"Tell me."
"I spoke out of place. I was disrespectful."
"You were."
I was.
"I'm sorry, Sir." I hear him pick up what I can only assume is an implement I will soon regret exists. "I'm so, so sorry, Sir."
The rice feels like it's piercing my skin. I can only imagine the indents which will form underneath me.
"How sorry are you, baby?"
"I regret it every waking moment. I want you to forgive-"
"I didn't ask what you want, I asked how sorry you were."
The familiar swipe through the air lets me know before it even hits my skin that it is a cane. In a blinding flash of white heat it climaxes on my ass. I lurch forward, opening my mouth to cry out and finding only silence. Every time I move, the rice digs in further.
"I'm sorry, Sir. I regret it every waking moment. I wish I had not been so careless."
He strikes me again, softer. The pain is still evident but I know not to move. The more firmly I take these swipes the less it will hurt and the more he will know my apology is sincere.
"Count, baby."
And I do, all the way to ten. I am burning. I am numb. I am in excruciating pain. He places down the cane and walks to the chair I am facing.
"Tell me why you did it."
"Because I'm stupid." My tear have dried on my cheeks. He slaps me across the face, his hand firm and resolute.
"No, you're not stupid. I don't deal with stupid girls. You're a smart, thoughtful young woman. Now. Tell me why you did it."
I struggle to breathe and he takes the silence to reach over and push down on my legs, grinding them into the shards of rice on the floor. I sniffle, wiping my nose and trembling.
"I don't know, I fucked up."
"You're a smart girl, think about it." He gets up again, and tells me to count. He picks up the cane, this time laying 15 stripes over my ass. I feel his hand move over the welts that begin to form. His fingers are delicate over the marks but it still sears at my skin.
He comes to sit down in front of me again, waiting for the right answer. I hunt for it.
"Tell me why you did it."
"Because I was afraid." He slaps me again and I can feel my own pain mixing and diluting with anger. I am angry at him, I am angry at myself. He can see my jaw grow tight, my eyes narrow.
"Do you want a break?"
I am softened, visibly, and I nod. He holds out his arm and I stand. He brushes rice front the indentations in my knees, working them clean, and rubbing them softly. They are slowly coming back to life.
"You're a good girl. Act like it." I nod. "Are you ready?" I shake my head, my bottom lip trembling again. His hand skates over my face, his fingers grazing my cheekbones and jaw. "You're ready, baby."
I nod, lowering again. I see a glint of a smile in his eye and I know. As I lower back down a new wave of pain is born anew, stronger. Everywhere which was painful before hurts again, deeper, and I cry out softly from the pain. Places which had not hurt began to hurt all over again. It was a mistake to stand up, it was a mistake to sit back down. He pushes my legs down harder into the rice and I begin to cry again. Full sobs turn to whimpering, which turn to heavy breathing, which turns to seething rage. This is a test I will win. I refuse to lose. I refuse to tell me that I am not sorry enough to take his punishment.
He sees the resolution in my face as my jaw tightens and begins to laugh.
"Oh my sweet, sweet girl." His hand runs over my face again. His thumb touches my lips and I kiss. He coaxes my mouth open and I take his thumb into my mouth. I suck softly and then firmly, licking the thick, rough pad of his finger. I want his cock, but I will take this.
He lifts my head with his thumb and I look at him, aggression poorly disguised.
"I like seeing that fire, baby."
I take more of his thumb into my mouth. I feel my teeth graze and my eyes shoot to his. He is curious. I slowly let my teeth come down on his thumb, just testing to see what he'll do. My teeth sink firmer into his thumb. He does not move and I press harder, tighter on his finger. I see him almost wince and I do not let go. My teeth remain resolute and I almost forget the rice cutting through the skin of my knees.
"Let go." I wait. "Let go or I'll beat the shit out of you right here." I pause, debating, my eyes never leaving his. Finally, after a long minute I left go and in the same motion he pulls his thumb from my mouth and smacks me hard across the face. My face remains turned as my breath heaves loudly. He grabs my chin and turns my face. My eyes have never been tighter.
"Now what the fuck were you thinking with that, baby?"
"I want you to know what you have." My teeth remain clenched.
"I know what I have." He pauses. My anger does not. "I have a beautiful, smart, strong, thoughtful, obedient girl."
I nod, still resolute in my posture. I can imagine blood beginning to drip onto his beautiful floor. I can only imagine him forcing me to lick it up later, but now I only want to continue bleeding.
"Now tell me. Why did you ask what you did?" I pause again, and in this silent moment he pushes in my legs again, grinding them into the rice and slicing them open anew. "Come on, prove to me you're a good girl. Confess."
"I was angry." I finally wail. He stops and sits back. "You said that I had been careless before, and you were going to replace me, and I was hurt and wanted to hurt you."
And he has his confession. I don't know how to feel anymore. I am angry and hurt and still desperate to prove how sorry I am for all of it.
He nods, stroking my face again. He pushes my hair back. "You aren't getting up yet." I nod. "What if I asked you to stay for another hour?"
I pause, staring at him, breathing hard. We wait, and I struggle. I finally shake my head. He laughs and my shoulders drop. "Oooh, a chink in her armor."
I nod. "I would try."
"You would die trying." I nod. "That's why I'm here, baby. I'm not going to let you get hurt." He walks over to stand in front of where I'm kneeling. I lean against him, my cheeks covered in dried tears and streaks of mascara. "Make me cum and you can get up."
I eagerly tear at his pants, opening them as fast as I can. I pull out his cock and try and swallow it whole. I am eager and aggressive, sucking as hard as I can. I hear him moan, his hand going to the back of my head. He is surprised by the force with which I take him inside my mouth. I squeeze his cock in my hand and suck on the head, licking over the head, tasting the precum which has been dripping out of the slit. His noises encourage me to suck and pump harder. I want desperately to stand, and to feel him cum in my mouth. I want to taste him.
He pushes into my throat and I fight to pull back, feeling myself gag as he forces himself deeper inside me. I pull back momentarily, a thick line of drool still connecting my tongue and his cock. I gasp just enough before he pulls my head back down onto his cock and I continue to suck and lick and fuck him.
His grip in my hair pulls stronger and the closer he gets, the more eager I get. I begin to swallow deeply, pulling more and more of his cock into my throat. I am choking struggling, gasping, but I can feel drops of precum sliding faster down my throat.
My hands squeeze his balls, tugging slightly as I try and reach my tongue that far.
He finally pulls out and begins to cum, loudly, as stream after powerful stream lands in lines across my face and cheeks. He covers me, exploding into my mouth, across my face and eyes. It drips down onto my tits. I am as breathless as he is.
He waits a long moment, catching his breath, and I hold onto his legs tightly. My knees tremble, waiting to stand. He pulls me up and picks up my shirt hem to wipe off my face.
I collapse against him, cum and tears still staining my cheeks as trickles of blood begin to find my shins, my ankles, and finally, the floor.
I cross my arms, shivering. My teeth chatter and I feel goosebumps rise up my legs and coat my arms. My nipples tighten to the point of pain. The minutes tick on and I realize I will wait until I am crippled and sick if he doesn't come.
I wait, looking from side to side as I wait on the corner. The wind begins to pick up and I am cold deep into the core of my being. I press my legs together for warmth, rubbing my arms up and down in a desperate wish to no longer hurt.
When I finally see him approaching, covered by a large umbrella, I smile. A familiar burst of excitement cascades through me and is displayed readily on my face, but then I remember what I am facing and my joy withers in its wake.
When he approaches, I am not only aware of how unhappy he is with me, but afraid of what he will do. He speaks little, and his eyes can barely acknowledge me. I feel tears perching, ready to spring. The weight of his ambivalence is destroying me.
"Come." He says as he sees me, and I follow him obediently. If he told me to suck his cock right there, I would have. If he told me to strip down and sit on the dirty, wet ground, I would have. If he told me to leave him alone for ever, I would have cried.
I do not try and speak while we are together, just trailing behind him, head bowed. We walk to a building not far. He opens the door and I enter the building, my heart beginning to squeeze and pulse aggressively, slowly choking on blood. I can hear my pulse in my ears, feel it in my eyes. I am so nervous that I almost trip, and he still says nothing.
He walks in front of me, waiting at and inside the elevator, and then in front of a door I can only imagine is his. He opens the door and leaves the lights off. Muted sunlight sneaks in through the clouds and hints through the thin shades which are drawn. I can see both just enough and not nearly enough in the same moment.
"Take off your clothes." The door closes behind me, sealing my fate.
I strip slowly, taking off damp shoes, my skirt, and my t-shirt, folding them and leaving them in a pile next to the door. He takes my hand, squeezing it firmly in his much larger fist. I follow slowly, my feet making soft whispers on the wood floor. I keep my head down and so it is a small lifetime until I see it.
There is a large swath of rice spread out over the hardwood floor. My shoulders slump and I almost pull back, knowing what I am about to face. I open my mouth and feel the same tears which were held so gracefully before come to life and begin to spill.
"Come on, baby."
I nod, looking up at him, my face worn with self-pity.
"Are you really crying already? It's just rice. Now come on, you know you have earned this."
I nod again, looking down. I slowly succumb, lowering myself onto my knees, onto the rice, feeling it settling onto the floor and into my skin. I wince as the tears dry, and I find resolution to take my punishment.
The rice presses unevenly, sharply, into the flesh of my knees and shins. I shift, but that only makes it worse. I try and remain still, resolute.
He begins to walk. "You know what you did, right?"
I nod.
"Tell me."
"I spoke out of place. I was disrespectful."
"You were."
I was.
"I'm sorry, Sir." I hear him pick up what I can only assume is an implement I will soon regret exists. "I'm so, so sorry, Sir."
The rice feels like it's piercing my skin. I can only imagine the indents which will form underneath me.
"How sorry are you, baby?"
"I regret it every waking moment. I want you to forgive-"
"I didn't ask what you want, I asked how sorry you were."
The familiar swipe through the air lets me know before it even hits my skin that it is a cane. In a blinding flash of white heat it climaxes on my ass. I lurch forward, opening my mouth to cry out and finding only silence. Every time I move, the rice digs in further.
"I'm sorry, Sir. I regret it every waking moment. I wish I had not been so careless."
He strikes me again, softer. The pain is still evident but I know not to move. The more firmly I take these swipes the less it will hurt and the more he will know my apology is sincere.
"Count, baby."
And I do, all the way to ten. I am burning. I am numb. I am in excruciating pain. He places down the cane and walks to the chair I am facing.
"Tell me why you did it."
"Because I'm stupid." My tear have dried on my cheeks. He slaps me across the face, his hand firm and resolute.
"No, you're not stupid. I don't deal with stupid girls. You're a smart, thoughtful young woman. Now. Tell me why you did it."
I struggle to breathe and he takes the silence to reach over and push down on my legs, grinding them into the shards of rice on the floor. I sniffle, wiping my nose and trembling.
"I don't know, I fucked up."
"You're a smart girl, think about it." He gets up again, and tells me to count. He picks up the cane, this time laying 15 stripes over my ass. I feel his hand move over the welts that begin to form. His fingers are delicate over the marks but it still sears at my skin.
He comes to sit down in front of me again, waiting for the right answer. I hunt for it.
"Tell me why you did it."
"Because I was afraid." He slaps me again and I can feel my own pain mixing and diluting with anger. I am angry at him, I am angry at myself. He can see my jaw grow tight, my eyes narrow.
"Do you want a break?"
I am softened, visibly, and I nod. He holds out his arm and I stand. He brushes rice front the indentations in my knees, working them clean, and rubbing them softly. They are slowly coming back to life.
"You're a good girl. Act like it." I nod. "Are you ready?" I shake my head, my bottom lip trembling again. His hand skates over my face, his fingers grazing my cheekbones and jaw. "You're ready, baby."
I nod, lowering again. I see a glint of a smile in his eye and I know. As I lower back down a new wave of pain is born anew, stronger. Everywhere which was painful before hurts again, deeper, and I cry out softly from the pain. Places which had not hurt began to hurt all over again. It was a mistake to stand up, it was a mistake to sit back down. He pushes my legs down harder into the rice and I begin to cry again. Full sobs turn to whimpering, which turn to heavy breathing, which turns to seething rage. This is a test I will win. I refuse to lose. I refuse to tell me that I am not sorry enough to take his punishment.
He sees the resolution in my face as my jaw tightens and begins to laugh.
"Oh my sweet, sweet girl." His hand runs over my face again. His thumb touches my lips and I kiss. He coaxes my mouth open and I take his thumb into my mouth. I suck softly and then firmly, licking the thick, rough pad of his finger. I want his cock, but I will take this.
He lifts my head with his thumb and I look at him, aggression poorly disguised.
"I like seeing that fire, baby."
I take more of his thumb into my mouth. I feel my teeth graze and my eyes shoot to his. He is curious. I slowly let my teeth come down on his thumb, just testing to see what he'll do. My teeth sink firmer into his thumb. He does not move and I press harder, tighter on his finger. I see him almost wince and I do not let go. My teeth remain resolute and I almost forget the rice cutting through the skin of my knees.
"Let go." I wait. "Let go or I'll beat the shit out of you right here." I pause, debating, my eyes never leaving his. Finally, after a long minute I left go and in the same motion he pulls his thumb from my mouth and smacks me hard across the face. My face remains turned as my breath heaves loudly. He grabs my chin and turns my face. My eyes have never been tighter.
"Now what the fuck were you thinking with that, baby?"
"I want you to know what you have." My teeth remain clenched.
"I know what I have." He pauses. My anger does not. "I have a beautiful, smart, strong, thoughtful, obedient girl."
I nod, still resolute in my posture. I can imagine blood beginning to drip onto his beautiful floor. I can only imagine him forcing me to lick it up later, but now I only want to continue bleeding.
"Now tell me. Why did you ask what you did?" I pause again, and in this silent moment he pushes in my legs again, grinding them into the rice and slicing them open anew. "Come on, prove to me you're a good girl. Confess."
"I was angry." I finally wail. He stops and sits back. "You said that I had been careless before, and you were going to replace me, and I was hurt and wanted to hurt you."
And he has his confession. I don't know how to feel anymore. I am angry and hurt and still desperate to prove how sorry I am for all of it.
He nods, stroking my face again. He pushes my hair back. "You aren't getting up yet." I nod. "What if I asked you to stay for another hour?"
I pause, staring at him, breathing hard. We wait, and I struggle. I finally shake my head. He laughs and my shoulders drop. "Oooh, a chink in her armor."
I nod. "I would try."
"You would die trying." I nod. "That's why I'm here, baby. I'm not going to let you get hurt." He walks over to stand in front of where I'm kneeling. I lean against him, my cheeks covered in dried tears and streaks of mascara. "Make me cum and you can get up."
I eagerly tear at his pants, opening them as fast as I can. I pull out his cock and try and swallow it whole. I am eager and aggressive, sucking as hard as I can. I hear him moan, his hand going to the back of my head. He is surprised by the force with which I take him inside my mouth. I squeeze his cock in my hand and suck on the head, licking over the head, tasting the precum which has been dripping out of the slit. His noises encourage me to suck and pump harder. I want desperately to stand, and to feel him cum in my mouth. I want to taste him.
He pushes into my throat and I fight to pull back, feeling myself gag as he forces himself deeper inside me. I pull back momentarily, a thick line of drool still connecting my tongue and his cock. I gasp just enough before he pulls my head back down onto his cock and I continue to suck and lick and fuck him.
His grip in my hair pulls stronger and the closer he gets, the more eager I get. I begin to swallow deeply, pulling more and more of his cock into my throat. I am choking struggling, gasping, but I can feel drops of precum sliding faster down my throat.
My hands squeeze his balls, tugging slightly as I try and reach my tongue that far.
He finally pulls out and begins to cum, loudly, as stream after powerful stream lands in lines across my face and cheeks. He covers me, exploding into my mouth, across my face and eyes. It drips down onto my tits. I am as breathless as he is.
He waits a long moment, catching his breath, and I hold onto his legs tightly. My knees tremble, waiting to stand. He pulls me up and picks up my shirt hem to wipe off my face.
I collapse against him, cum and tears still staining my cheeks as trickles of blood begin to find my shins, my ankles, and finally, the floor.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Sometimes it takes some help
The house is empty. Not just of people, but of everything- no furniture, no pictures, nothing to let anyone know anyone had ever lived there. The electricity doesn't work, so it was easy to crack a window and slide myself in. He, on the other hand, needed to wait until I could open a door for him.
The walls are pale and the floors clean. When I lay on my back in the foyer of the house, there is nothing to look at so I can only close my eyes.
He slides down my skirt and then panties, and we make no small talk. He folds them putting them aside and slides between my knees on the cold tile floor. I would have put the skirt under my ass to keep me warmer, but that makes no sense tonight.
He begins to suck my clit, using the slightest pressure from his lips. I let out the slightest of breaths and he continues, teasing me with the lightness of his touch.
He moved in with his tongue, knowing this will get me fucking wet. We have all the time in the world and he has clear instructions. I don't want to hear him, just feel him. I open my eyes periodically, and each time remember that there is nothing to look at.
I lift one bent leg and place my foot on the shelf of his bare back. I push softly, gently forcing him down into my dampening cunt. He's supposed to make me fucking drip.
He works his tongue over and over, up and down in long swipes. I can feel my pussy beginning to ache, feel my clit swell between his lips, under the heat and pressure of his tongue.
I begin to moan, not holding back any noises, moan, groan, gasp, whimpering, scream or otherwise. He arch my hips up into his mouth. He flicks his tongue softly over my clit. He teases even as I push.
When I pull back he dives in, sucking on my swollen clit, and slides two fingers into my pussy. His thick fingers begin to pump into my cunt, slowly, making sure I feel everything. My pussy is aching, pulsing around his fingers, finding my G-spot and curling into it. This is the reason he is here. I love how his fingers fit inside me, the way they move and stretch my tight cunt. I can feel my juices dripping down to my ass, pooling on the cold tile beneath me. I have always been able to get soaked, truly, honestly soaked, so this is no surprise. As he pumps, more and more spill out below me. His tongue begins to lap it up. It is a fool's errand to try and get it all, as the more he licks, the more I soak the floor and his mouth.
A third finger finds its way into my cunt and stretches it further. He is focused, centered, on his one single goal.
My hand finds the back of his head and my fingers grip his hair. I push up into his mouth. I am aching to cum, but the better angels of my brain stave me off. My moans are loud and echo in the empty rooms. There is an orgy of cries going on in the house right now.
His other hand, which is situated on my inner thigh finally shifts, and I nod in approval. He slides fourth finger briefly into my cunt, stretching me to the point of anguish, and my whimpers become weighted. As soon as it is in, it is gone.
I feel his gilded finger sliding against my ass. He continues to finger me, though his hand has slowed considerably. Dipping in and out, he is at once fucking my ass as well, slowly letting his finger dip inside me. He pumps me, deeper each time. I am filled as he fucks my ass and cunt together. As I feel him go deeper, I moan louder, my other foot planting squarely on his other shoulder.
I tense, trying to stave off my orgasm. I hold on as hard as I can. As I push harder, he knows I am close. His eyes look up while his mouth stays on me. I nod, leaning up to squeeze my hand in his hair tighter.
I tense, I feel it coming. I move my foot to his shoulder and push him. He pulls back, pulling his fingers from my cunt and ass. His mouth stays at my pussy and I cum, tensing and exploding.
I squirt, cumming in a fountain into his mouth and splashing down onto his chest. It cascades out of his mouth and runs down his neck. As he shifts I keep cumming, covering him, letting him lap and swallow and drown in my cum.
I drop my head back, simply laying in a pool of my cum. I am spent, empty. My legs collapse onto the tile, and when he tries to speak I shake my head. He has done his job, and I'm uninterested in anymore.
The walls are pale and the floors clean. When I lay on my back in the foyer of the house, there is nothing to look at so I can only close my eyes.
He slides down my skirt and then panties, and we make no small talk. He folds them putting them aside and slides between my knees on the cold tile floor. I would have put the skirt under my ass to keep me warmer, but that makes no sense tonight.
He begins to suck my clit, using the slightest pressure from his lips. I let out the slightest of breaths and he continues, teasing me with the lightness of his touch.
He moved in with his tongue, knowing this will get me fucking wet. We have all the time in the world and he has clear instructions. I don't want to hear him, just feel him. I open my eyes periodically, and each time remember that there is nothing to look at.
I lift one bent leg and place my foot on the shelf of his bare back. I push softly, gently forcing him down into my dampening cunt. He's supposed to make me fucking drip.
He works his tongue over and over, up and down in long swipes. I can feel my pussy beginning to ache, feel my clit swell between his lips, under the heat and pressure of his tongue.
I begin to moan, not holding back any noises, moan, groan, gasp, whimpering, scream or otherwise. He arch my hips up into his mouth. He flicks his tongue softly over my clit. He teases even as I push.
When I pull back he dives in, sucking on my swollen clit, and slides two fingers into my pussy. His thick fingers begin to pump into my cunt, slowly, making sure I feel everything. My pussy is aching, pulsing around his fingers, finding my G-spot and curling into it. This is the reason he is here. I love how his fingers fit inside me, the way they move and stretch my tight cunt. I can feel my juices dripping down to my ass, pooling on the cold tile beneath me. I have always been able to get soaked, truly, honestly soaked, so this is no surprise. As he pumps, more and more spill out below me. His tongue begins to lap it up. It is a fool's errand to try and get it all, as the more he licks, the more I soak the floor and his mouth.
A third finger finds its way into my cunt and stretches it further. He is focused, centered, on his one single goal.
My hand finds the back of his head and my fingers grip his hair. I push up into his mouth. I am aching to cum, but the better angels of my brain stave me off. My moans are loud and echo in the empty rooms. There is an orgy of cries going on in the house right now.
His other hand, which is situated on my inner thigh finally shifts, and I nod in approval. He slides fourth finger briefly into my cunt, stretching me to the point of anguish, and my whimpers become weighted. As soon as it is in, it is gone.
I feel his gilded finger sliding against my ass. He continues to finger me, though his hand has slowed considerably. Dipping in and out, he is at once fucking my ass as well, slowly letting his finger dip inside me. He pumps me, deeper each time. I am filled as he fucks my ass and cunt together. As I feel him go deeper, I moan louder, my other foot planting squarely on his other shoulder.
I tense, trying to stave off my orgasm. I hold on as hard as I can. As I push harder, he knows I am close. His eyes look up while his mouth stays on me. I nod, leaning up to squeeze my hand in his hair tighter.
I tense, I feel it coming. I move my foot to his shoulder and push him. He pulls back, pulling his fingers from my cunt and ass. His mouth stays at my pussy and I cum, tensing and exploding.
I squirt, cumming in a fountain into his mouth and splashing down onto his chest. It cascades out of his mouth and runs down his neck. As he shifts I keep cumming, covering him, letting him lap and swallow and drown in my cum.
I drop my head back, simply laying in a pool of my cum. I am spent, empty. My legs collapse onto the tile, and when he tries to speak I shake my head. He has done his job, and I'm uninterested in anymore.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
The New Girl Travels
We sit in the airport, waiting patiently. He sits in a chair, a copy of the Journal casually marking his hands black, and I sit on the floor, kneeling in front of his legs. My head is perched on his knee, eyes closed and feeling sedated by the turmoil around us. This is one of those places where there is so much happening that no one notices us, and we are free to act as we normally would.
I feel him shift under my head and take little notice. He strokes my face softly and I rouse from what was at best a half-sleep. He hands me a small pouch and nods to the bathroom.
"Be a good girl."
I nod and stand, leaning down to give him the slightest of kisses on the lips. He allows this affection so rarely, that I tread lightly and feel buzzed from the slightest bit.
I sit in the stall in the bathroom, quietly opening the package, already certain about what I will find. As predicted, I pull out a pretty pink plug, and a short, remote-controlled vibrator. I stand, pulling up my skirt (he would never allow me to wear panties) and suck first the plug, sliding it into my ass, and then the vibrator, slipping it somewhat carelessly into my cunt.
I walk out to him and hand him the empty bag, curling back up at his feet and resting my head back onto his thigh.
We wait, his hand mindlessly stroking my hair. He boards, my step only a pace behind him at all times. With every step, I can feel the plug in my ass moving. Every time I twitch it brushes a new part of me, and I struggle to walk normally.
I smile at everyone but per his instructions, do not actually speak to anyone. I bat my eyelashes, nod, and remain quiet. To make sure, he will watch when I go to purchase my food or a drink. I almost always end up pointing, and often receive something I don't want simply out of frustration. But in his unwavering kindness, he will often take it back up and exchange it for me, knowing what I wanted in the first place.
He sit next to each other on the plane, I in the window, he in the aisle seat. He likes to be my barrier to the rest of the world, my obstacle and my guardian.
I lay my head against his arm, which is solidly on the armrest in the middle. Curling up, everything has slid into a comfortable place, and I am free to relax a bit. I feel my eyelids sliding shut, and I nuzzle more against his bicep.
It is not until we are up in the air that I am jolted awake. I let out something which lives between a yelp and a gasp, much to his enjoyment and the surprise of many other passengers. The other passengers look over at me with some interest and I wipe my eyes, caught off guard by their attention.
"You ok, baby?" He kisses my temple, and they watch a performance they don't even realize is for them.
"Yeah, I'm sorry, must have just been a nightmare."
"You must have been out." They all turn back to their magazines and books and I yawn softly.
I feel it again. I see his hand. He has the remote in his hand, thumb perched over the button. The vibrator inside me goes off in shocks. It buzzes once softly, and then pauses, again stronger and then pauses, once more, hard, making me clench my pussy around the small pink piece of plastic. I open my mouth and no sound comes out, but I squirm my hips slightly. My cunt tenses and my ass squeezes the plug. He watches me carefully for my reaction and I squeeze his forearm.
And then it is gone. I breathe deeply and sit back. He relaxes a bit as well, remote firmly set in his hand. I squirm a bit, trying to regain the feeling. I shift my hips forward and over a bit, straining and squeezing.
He sees me and places a hand on my thigh, squeezing. His thick, strong fingers find my joints and dig into pressure points and squeeze. I do not move an inch. I open my mouth slightly but nothing comes out. My eyes water from the incredible pain of what feels like his hand pulling my knee into several pieces.
He pulls his hand away and pain and relief flood back into my leg. I let out the tiniest squeak and choke a little on my own breath.
His lips find my ear. "You're my good girl. Stop pretending you don't know any better."
I nod, wiping the tears which have pooled and melted just under my bottom lashes.
I sit still, pouting, and he waits for it to be over. My shoulders relax just slightly and I feel the vibrator buzz inside me. I tense, squeezing around it and breath a little heavier, a little faster. My hand lays over his and my fingers lace between his from the back of his hand. He lets me, squeezing my fingers in his own as I tighten my cunt and roll my hips. I tighten my legs, and I can feel my ass tense again. I squeeze everything. My tits rise and fall faster, firmer.
The lights on the plane dim and the vibrator goes off. I let out a quick breath and lay my head against him again. He mumbles something and I sit up, letting him push up the arm rest. He reaches forward and grabs the blanket.
"Lay down, put your head on my lap so you can sleep."
I nod and curl up, letting him cover me with the blanket. I nuzzle my cheek against his cock through his pants and I can hear him smile.
"Good girl."
He lets me nap for a bit longer. Every time he shifts, I do as well. It startles me a little, forcing the plug in my ass to move, but I adjust and settle again and again. Flight attendants come by and offer this or that, but neither of us take much notice. Service stops slowly, and the plane quietly goes to sleep.
With a buzz, he wakes me. I startle up, rubbing my eyes.
"Yes, Sir?"
"When this goes on, your mouth goes on my cock." I nod, pulling the blanket up higher. I unzip and unbutton his pants, slowly, making sure he remains covered.
I lay my head back down and his hand goes to stroke his cock. It is moments before I feel him buzz. My hips flex slightly and my mouth finds the head of his cock. I softly begin to suck, my mouth already wet and wanting. I hear him release his breath softly.
The buzz stops and my pussy tightens again. I pull my mouth back, and make sure he remains covered.
As soon as I pull back, it goes on again and I dive back down into his lap, lowering my mouth deeper onto the shaft.
I am reckless and eager with my tongue, over the head and down the shaft. I am eager, and the hand on the back of my head says it is appreciated. My hips push forward, and my hand goes down to press my clit through my skirt.
The buzzer stops and I pulls back, covering his cock with my body as I press against him and pull my hand out from under the blanket. I look up at him and smile, and he just barely laughs at my eager smile.
We play this game for a while, with me bobbing up and down on his cock. He never gets close, never ever grinds, just enjoys as I immediately perk up, bouncing down onto his cock. There are moments of turbulence when I can't be certain that the vibrator is on, but consider it more important to stay on his cock. The last time I come up for air there is a thin string of drool dragging down from my lips to the head, which I immediately wipe away.
I kiss his chest softly as I see the flight attendant at the end of the aisle. He turns, seeing her approach with another round of drinks, and turns to look down at me.
"You'll make me cum before she gets to me, and I'll get you a Gingerale. Ok, baby?"
I nod, taking a deep breath, readying myself. The vibrator goes on and it's like a gunshot inside me. I am immediately on his cock, bobbing, knowing that people are waking up around us. He turns slightly and pulls the blanket over me, just enough to give me coverage while I suck. I swallow, my throat tensing around the head of his cock, squeezing.
The vibrator inside me is on high and I can barely focus as it is. My hand is between my legs, pressing on my clit through my skirt. Because I am not allowed to wear panties, I know there is a wet spot forming on the fabric. I don't care who sees or knows, I simply want to stop the ache which has been building in my clit for hours now.
There is a moment of more turbulence and I bounce on his cock, shoving it deeper into my mouth and throat. I choke a bit and pull back, but the hand on the back of my head pushes me back down. He wants to cum as badly as I want him to.
I prop up just slightly on my knees and my hand goes to the shaft of his cock, pumping it into my mouth. I can taste drops of pre cum on the back of my tongue just as they are already gone into my throat.
My hips buck forward against my hand and I can feel his breath change as his body presses against my face. I can hear the drink cart and I move furiously, pumping his cock in ragged jerks. My hand slides up and down, his cock covered in my spit already.
The cart approaches and his hand gets tighter, pushing my head down and then letting me up just to breath in deep gasps which I keep silent. He pushes me down again, even longer. I am struggling to breathe. My hands begin to tremble as I ache for oxygen. And I am let up. My eyes well with tears more and more each time as I struggle not to gag. He pushes me down one more time, his hand so tight on the back of my neck that I don't even bother to struggle, and he cums, shooting his load straight into my throat. I swallow wave after wave of his hot, sticky, thick cum, letting it wash over my tongue and down.
When I am sure he has no more, I pull back, trying to compose myself as I lift my head. The flight attendant is only a row or two behind us and it is just enough time to smooth my hair just slightly. I close his pants quickly and when she finally makes it to our row, I am wiping the mascara-thickened tears from my eyes.
I smile at the waitress. I know I must look like a mess, as she takes pity on me.
He orders me a Gingerale.
I feel him shift under my head and take little notice. He strokes my face softly and I rouse from what was at best a half-sleep. He hands me a small pouch and nods to the bathroom.
"Be a good girl."
I nod and stand, leaning down to give him the slightest of kisses on the lips. He allows this affection so rarely, that I tread lightly and feel buzzed from the slightest bit.
I sit in the stall in the bathroom, quietly opening the package, already certain about what I will find. As predicted, I pull out a pretty pink plug, and a short, remote-controlled vibrator. I stand, pulling up my skirt (he would never allow me to wear panties) and suck first the plug, sliding it into my ass, and then the vibrator, slipping it somewhat carelessly into my cunt.
I walk out to him and hand him the empty bag, curling back up at his feet and resting my head back onto his thigh.
We wait, his hand mindlessly stroking my hair. He boards, my step only a pace behind him at all times. With every step, I can feel the plug in my ass moving. Every time I twitch it brushes a new part of me, and I struggle to walk normally.
I smile at everyone but per his instructions, do not actually speak to anyone. I bat my eyelashes, nod, and remain quiet. To make sure, he will watch when I go to purchase my food or a drink. I almost always end up pointing, and often receive something I don't want simply out of frustration. But in his unwavering kindness, he will often take it back up and exchange it for me, knowing what I wanted in the first place.
He sit next to each other on the plane, I in the window, he in the aisle seat. He likes to be my barrier to the rest of the world, my obstacle and my guardian.
I lay my head against his arm, which is solidly on the armrest in the middle. Curling up, everything has slid into a comfortable place, and I am free to relax a bit. I feel my eyelids sliding shut, and I nuzzle more against his bicep.
It is not until we are up in the air that I am jolted awake. I let out something which lives between a yelp and a gasp, much to his enjoyment and the surprise of many other passengers. The other passengers look over at me with some interest and I wipe my eyes, caught off guard by their attention.
"You ok, baby?" He kisses my temple, and they watch a performance they don't even realize is for them.
"Yeah, I'm sorry, must have just been a nightmare."
"You must have been out." They all turn back to their magazines and books and I yawn softly.
I feel it again. I see his hand. He has the remote in his hand, thumb perched over the button. The vibrator inside me goes off in shocks. It buzzes once softly, and then pauses, again stronger and then pauses, once more, hard, making me clench my pussy around the small pink piece of plastic. I open my mouth and no sound comes out, but I squirm my hips slightly. My cunt tenses and my ass squeezes the plug. He watches me carefully for my reaction and I squeeze his forearm.
And then it is gone. I breathe deeply and sit back. He relaxes a bit as well, remote firmly set in his hand. I squirm a bit, trying to regain the feeling. I shift my hips forward and over a bit, straining and squeezing.
He sees me and places a hand on my thigh, squeezing. His thick, strong fingers find my joints and dig into pressure points and squeeze. I do not move an inch. I open my mouth slightly but nothing comes out. My eyes water from the incredible pain of what feels like his hand pulling my knee into several pieces.
He pulls his hand away and pain and relief flood back into my leg. I let out the tiniest squeak and choke a little on my own breath.
His lips find my ear. "You're my good girl. Stop pretending you don't know any better."
I nod, wiping the tears which have pooled and melted just under my bottom lashes.
I sit still, pouting, and he waits for it to be over. My shoulders relax just slightly and I feel the vibrator buzz inside me. I tense, squeezing around it and breath a little heavier, a little faster. My hand lays over his and my fingers lace between his from the back of his hand. He lets me, squeezing my fingers in his own as I tighten my cunt and roll my hips. I tighten my legs, and I can feel my ass tense again. I squeeze everything. My tits rise and fall faster, firmer.
The lights on the plane dim and the vibrator goes off. I let out a quick breath and lay my head against him again. He mumbles something and I sit up, letting him push up the arm rest. He reaches forward and grabs the blanket.
"Lay down, put your head on my lap so you can sleep."
I nod and curl up, letting him cover me with the blanket. I nuzzle my cheek against his cock through his pants and I can hear him smile.
"Good girl."
He lets me nap for a bit longer. Every time he shifts, I do as well. It startles me a little, forcing the plug in my ass to move, but I adjust and settle again and again. Flight attendants come by and offer this or that, but neither of us take much notice. Service stops slowly, and the plane quietly goes to sleep.
With a buzz, he wakes me. I startle up, rubbing my eyes.
"Yes, Sir?"
"When this goes on, your mouth goes on my cock." I nod, pulling the blanket up higher. I unzip and unbutton his pants, slowly, making sure he remains covered.
I lay my head back down and his hand goes to stroke his cock. It is moments before I feel him buzz. My hips flex slightly and my mouth finds the head of his cock. I softly begin to suck, my mouth already wet and wanting. I hear him release his breath softly.
The buzz stops and my pussy tightens again. I pull my mouth back, and make sure he remains covered.
As soon as I pull back, it goes on again and I dive back down into his lap, lowering my mouth deeper onto the shaft.
I am reckless and eager with my tongue, over the head and down the shaft. I am eager, and the hand on the back of my head says it is appreciated. My hips push forward, and my hand goes down to press my clit through my skirt.
The buzzer stops and I pulls back, covering his cock with my body as I press against him and pull my hand out from under the blanket. I look up at him and smile, and he just barely laughs at my eager smile.
We play this game for a while, with me bobbing up and down on his cock. He never gets close, never ever grinds, just enjoys as I immediately perk up, bouncing down onto his cock. There are moments of turbulence when I can't be certain that the vibrator is on, but consider it more important to stay on his cock. The last time I come up for air there is a thin string of drool dragging down from my lips to the head, which I immediately wipe away.
I kiss his chest softly as I see the flight attendant at the end of the aisle. He turns, seeing her approach with another round of drinks, and turns to look down at me.
"You'll make me cum before she gets to me, and I'll get you a Gingerale. Ok, baby?"
I nod, taking a deep breath, readying myself. The vibrator goes on and it's like a gunshot inside me. I am immediately on his cock, bobbing, knowing that people are waking up around us. He turns slightly and pulls the blanket over me, just enough to give me coverage while I suck. I swallow, my throat tensing around the head of his cock, squeezing.
The vibrator inside me is on high and I can barely focus as it is. My hand is between my legs, pressing on my clit through my skirt. Because I am not allowed to wear panties, I know there is a wet spot forming on the fabric. I don't care who sees or knows, I simply want to stop the ache which has been building in my clit for hours now.
There is a moment of more turbulence and I bounce on his cock, shoving it deeper into my mouth and throat. I choke a bit and pull back, but the hand on the back of my head pushes me back down. He wants to cum as badly as I want him to.
I prop up just slightly on my knees and my hand goes to the shaft of his cock, pumping it into my mouth. I can taste drops of pre cum on the back of my tongue just as they are already gone into my throat.
My hips buck forward against my hand and I can feel his breath change as his body presses against my face. I can hear the drink cart and I move furiously, pumping his cock in ragged jerks. My hand slides up and down, his cock covered in my spit already.
The cart approaches and his hand gets tighter, pushing my head down and then letting me up just to breath in deep gasps which I keep silent. He pushes me down again, even longer. I am struggling to breathe. My hands begin to tremble as I ache for oxygen. And I am let up. My eyes well with tears more and more each time as I struggle not to gag. He pushes me down one more time, his hand so tight on the back of my neck that I don't even bother to struggle, and he cums, shooting his load straight into my throat. I swallow wave after wave of his hot, sticky, thick cum, letting it wash over my tongue and down.
When I am sure he has no more, I pull back, trying to compose myself as I lift my head. The flight attendant is only a row or two behind us and it is just enough time to smooth my hair just slightly. I close his pants quickly and when she finally makes it to our row, I am wiping the mascara-thickened tears from my eyes.
I smile at the waitress. I know I must look like a mess, as she takes pity on me.
He orders me a Gingerale.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Girls Will Be Girls
We are in the bathroom before she really begins to get nervous. We are in a small bathroom together with poor lighting in the back of a bar before she realizes how much this moment was unanticipated, and inspired by her drinking and her need to prove that she was sexual.
"Take down your pants and panties." I tell her.
She hesitates. We have simply come for a drink, to reminisce, and catch up on all the general life which we haven't been present for in the last six months. She is still seeing her boyfriend, but received a promotion at work. I have begun my second year of grad school and am about to begin my thesis.
"You're either in or you're out, take your pants down."
She nods and begins to undo her belt. Her hands tremble as she pulls open her belt, sliding it out of the loops one by one. The slower she goes, the more she is afraid, so I like that she is driving herself mad over her own actions.
"Are you nervous?" She immediately nods slightly, and tries to follow it with a laugh.
I do not change the faint smile on my lips. I'm sure this makes her no less than queasy.
I simply wait until the task is done. I wait as she unbuttons her jeans, brushing a single lock of light brown hair out of her face. I watch as she lowers the zipper. Her jeans and orange briefs come down in a slow sweep, brushing down her thighs to her knees.
She stands, waiting, getting embarrassed and then annoyed with my patience.
I see her start to fret and I look her in the eye, silent and steely.
"Rub your clit."
She is startled and stares at me, frozen in place.
"What's the problem? Do you not know where it is?"
She opens her mouth and pauses again.
"Rub your fucking clit."
She hesitates, looking down, but nods and places her hand tentatively between her legs.
It's not as if she had questions on what would happen in here. After a few drinks, the conversation had descended into the details of her sex life. The details were murky at first, but not hard to disentangle. She was dissatisfied by sex and lived with a notable lack of masturbation. I, on the other hand, cum constantly. I think if I came half as much as I did I could be fluent in another language in six months. But alas, I would rather fuck an Italian than speak to him.
Her fingers find her clit and begin to rub. She is painfully shy, her hand covering her pussy as she began to rub. I watch her. She watches me watch her. And I smile, looking again into her eyes before letting my eyes find her cunt again.
"Good girl. Now use two fingers to rub your clit. Up and down." She runs her fingers up and down her clit. "Slower." She nods. I wait for her eyes to shut but they never do. Her mouth simply opens just enough for me to begin hearing her breath. She is exposing herself for me in this tiny, bar bathroom, standing directly in front of the toilet, pants down around her knees.
"Now rub it in circles. Keep it slow." She nods, remaining focused on my face as I watch her hand start to circle, and her hips start to move. Her other hand clenches slightly into a tighter fist and relaxes.
Her hips move against her fingers as she begins to grind. I watch her fingers start to rub a little harder, a little faster.
"No. Slower. Press as hard as you like but keep it slow."
She nods, her fingers pressing harder and harder onto her poor clit.
"Ease off of it." She looks up at me, frustrated, but lets her fingers relax slightly. "Put two fingers into your pussy, slide them in slowly."
"Two?" She looks hesitant, but I nod, encouraging her with only the slightest movements.
With a breath she closes her eyes and slides in her fingers. Her mouth cracks open and she breaths in heavily as she starts to thrust. It is slow, but she can't angle herself well enough to get them in deep. Her other hand keeps moving on her clit.
"Harder. You're allowed to go as fast as you like."
She nods, taking the opportunity and pushing into her clit. Her eyes open and she pauses as she recognizes the stare I have on her. She tenses slightly, but then immediately begins working her fingers in rough circles over and over. She has never been watched before.
Her eyes do not waver as she fucks herself harder.
I step closer, slowly, shark-walking her in slow motion. I step within inches of her. Her eyes are rigid but her fingers keep moving faster and faster. When I am close enough to feel her heated breath, I slowly squat down, lowering myself until my face is right at her cunt. She is staring, waiting to see if I will do anything but I simply watch, coldly. Her breath catches a little more easily.
I watch her fingers slide in and out of her cunt. I watch her grow wetter. I watch her pump harder. I hear her juices squeezing her fingers, making those tell tale signs of a sloppy wet cunt.
I stand, watching her eyes move and her ignoring her fingers.
"Turn, face the wall."
She hobbled a bit, pants controlling the movement in her legs and making her less graceful than she wants. I am amazed that her only noises have been panting and a deep, uncareful breath.
As she faces the wall her push her into it and she makes the first vocal "ugh" noise as I do. I waste no time and take two fingers, shoving them in her cunt right along side her own. She is stretched and lets out a pained cry which dissolves into a whimper. I slide them in once, twice, three times to get them nice and damp before pulling them out and sliding one long finger into her ass, slowly.
She gasps, freezes, and it takes a breath in her ear of "keep going" to get her to relax, and let me fuck her where her boyfriend never will. Her ass tenses around my finger as she struggles to get used to the new feeling. Well, all of the new feelings.
"Fuck harder." I tell her, my tits pressed against her back, hers pressed into the wall.
She nods.
"Have you ever been fucked by a girl before?"
She shakes her head, eyes closed.
"Are you going to cum for me?"
She nods again, beginning to push her ass back into my finger, in time with her own thrusting. I can tell she's dripping into her pants. Juices are running down her thigh, pooling in her panties and soaking the folds of her jeans.
"Then make me proud."
"Take down your pants and panties." I tell her.
She hesitates. We have simply come for a drink, to reminisce, and catch up on all the general life which we haven't been present for in the last six months. She is still seeing her boyfriend, but received a promotion at work. I have begun my second year of grad school and am about to begin my thesis.
"You're either in or you're out, take your pants down."
She nods and begins to undo her belt. Her hands tremble as she pulls open her belt, sliding it out of the loops one by one. The slower she goes, the more she is afraid, so I like that she is driving herself mad over her own actions.
"Are you nervous?" She immediately nods slightly, and tries to follow it with a laugh.
I do not change the faint smile on my lips. I'm sure this makes her no less than queasy.
I simply wait until the task is done. I wait as she unbuttons her jeans, brushing a single lock of light brown hair out of her face. I watch as she lowers the zipper. Her jeans and orange briefs come down in a slow sweep, brushing down her thighs to her knees.
She stands, waiting, getting embarrassed and then annoyed with my patience.
I see her start to fret and I look her in the eye, silent and steely.
"Rub your clit."
She is startled and stares at me, frozen in place.
"What's the problem? Do you not know where it is?"
She opens her mouth and pauses again.
"Rub your fucking clit."
She hesitates, looking down, but nods and places her hand tentatively between her legs.
It's not as if she had questions on what would happen in here. After a few drinks, the conversation had descended into the details of her sex life. The details were murky at first, but not hard to disentangle. She was dissatisfied by sex and lived with a notable lack of masturbation. I, on the other hand, cum constantly. I think if I came half as much as I did I could be fluent in another language in six months. But alas, I would rather fuck an Italian than speak to him.
Her fingers find her clit and begin to rub. She is painfully shy, her hand covering her pussy as she began to rub. I watch her. She watches me watch her. And I smile, looking again into her eyes before letting my eyes find her cunt again.
"Good girl. Now use two fingers to rub your clit. Up and down." She runs her fingers up and down her clit. "Slower." She nods. I wait for her eyes to shut but they never do. Her mouth simply opens just enough for me to begin hearing her breath. She is exposing herself for me in this tiny, bar bathroom, standing directly in front of the toilet, pants down around her knees.
"Now rub it in circles. Keep it slow." She nods, remaining focused on my face as I watch her hand start to circle, and her hips start to move. Her other hand clenches slightly into a tighter fist and relaxes.
Her hips move against her fingers as she begins to grind. I watch her fingers start to rub a little harder, a little faster.
"No. Slower. Press as hard as you like but keep it slow."
She nods, her fingers pressing harder and harder onto her poor clit.
"Ease off of it." She looks up at me, frustrated, but lets her fingers relax slightly. "Put two fingers into your pussy, slide them in slowly."
"Two?" She looks hesitant, but I nod, encouraging her with only the slightest movements.
With a breath she closes her eyes and slides in her fingers. Her mouth cracks open and she breaths in heavily as she starts to thrust. It is slow, but she can't angle herself well enough to get them in deep. Her other hand keeps moving on her clit.
"Harder. You're allowed to go as fast as you like."
She nods, taking the opportunity and pushing into her clit. Her eyes open and she pauses as she recognizes the stare I have on her. She tenses slightly, but then immediately begins working her fingers in rough circles over and over. She has never been watched before.
Her eyes do not waver as she fucks herself harder.
I step closer, slowly, shark-walking her in slow motion. I step within inches of her. Her eyes are rigid but her fingers keep moving faster and faster. When I am close enough to feel her heated breath, I slowly squat down, lowering myself until my face is right at her cunt. She is staring, waiting to see if I will do anything but I simply watch, coldly. Her breath catches a little more easily.
I watch her fingers slide in and out of her cunt. I watch her grow wetter. I watch her pump harder. I hear her juices squeezing her fingers, making those tell tale signs of a sloppy wet cunt.
I stand, watching her eyes move and her ignoring her fingers.
"Turn, face the wall."
She hobbled a bit, pants controlling the movement in her legs and making her less graceful than she wants. I am amazed that her only noises have been panting and a deep, uncareful breath.
As she faces the wall her push her into it and she makes the first vocal "ugh" noise as I do. I waste no time and take two fingers, shoving them in her cunt right along side her own. She is stretched and lets out a pained cry which dissolves into a whimper. I slide them in once, twice, three times to get them nice and damp before pulling them out and sliding one long finger into her ass, slowly.
She gasps, freezes, and it takes a breath in her ear of "keep going" to get her to relax, and let me fuck her where her boyfriend never will. Her ass tenses around my finger as she struggles to get used to the new feeling. Well, all of the new feelings.
"Fuck harder." I tell her, my tits pressed against her back, hers pressed into the wall.
She nods.
"Have you ever been fucked by a girl before?"
She shakes her head, eyes closed.
"Are you going to cum for me?"
She nods again, beginning to push her ass back into my finger, in time with her own thrusting. I can tell she's dripping into her pants. Juices are running down her thigh, pooling in her panties and soaking the folds of her jeans.
"Then make me proud."
Thursday, September 1, 2011
It's 3AM. Do you know where your children are?
When I am asleep, I still belong to him. My body is still in service, though my mind has been put to rest. The gift of sleep he gives me is only at his whim, and I accept this fact, and appreciate his generosity.
I sleep with my head on his chest, curled around the right side of his body. I sleep tucked between his arm and his torso, with my lips slightly open and my breath cascading out over his collarbones. I sleep with my leg hitched up and thrown over his. I sleep with his arm curling around me, his fingers gracing my hip and lower back. I sleep in scant panties - I don't know why, to be perfectly honest. I think it's just safer not to have my cunt directly on his thigh.
I have been asleep for what feels like days - so lost in a REM cycle that if I never return, I would simply hope people ransacked my house and took what they wanted.
And in that sleep I nuzzle closer.
Rousing just slightly, I turn over and he moves to spoon me. I tuck back into the space he has created with the curl of his body, and we fit spectacularly well. His chest and arms fit around me and melt, and my ass sides into the crux of his hips. Sleep finds me again.
I am lost so deeply that I barely feel his cock stir. I almost don't register its twitch against my ass.
My body does, though, and I push back against him, feeling more of his cock hardening against my ass, feeling it tease the split. It twitches again, growing harder as I push back and he pulls me closer.
He actively starts to run his cock up and down over my ass. I rouse slightly more, and my pussy starts to drip. When in his bed, I remain wet. It is a mixed of sheer will power, positive association, and the feeling of his skin against mine that keeps me in this state perpetually. I wake up each morning with my own dried cum on my thighs, often with fingers unconsciously buried in my slit.
He pushes again, sliding down a bit to slide his cock against the ridge where my thighs meet my ass. I stir slightly more, pushing closer to him and pulling him arm further around me.
I barely notice his cock stiffen and rise. The sounds of him pulling out a condom barely rouse me. I don't notice him sliding it on and pulling back and before I can adjust to pull his arm around me again, his hand is on my hip and he is sliding into my cunt from behind.
I gasp, pushing back. He grabs my hip, steadying my waking body and forces his cock all the way inside. My pussy spasms to adjust.
By the second full thrust I am startled. By the third I am awake. By the fourth I am fucking him back, pushing against his cock, shifting my hips to make it easier for him. Neither he nor I know it yet, but I will cum to this feeling for several days.
I can barely remember the dream I had or where I am, but I do know for all certainty that my cunt belongs to him. He continues to fuck me, pushing my hips down, pounding my aching cunt.
I squirm back against him, trying to get more of his cock inside me, trying to get my soaked pussy filled by his cock, but this isn't about me.
This hand slides under my body, finding my wet clit swollen and pulsing. He fucks me harder. He fucks me to his liking.
His fingers move up and down, side to side of my clit. It is so rough that I am assured that this is not for me, but simply enough to keep me wet, to keep my pussy pulsing around his cock.
I groan loudly, my first noise.
"Shut up" he mumbles, his hips unrelenting.
I moan again, louder.
"Shut up." He is louder, and his free hand covers me mouth and nose, pressing hard. I struggle to breathe but his hand is tight over my mouth.
I try and relax, try and take smaller breaths, but this fails quickly. When I begin to struggle, he moved one of his fingers, and I fill my lungs. He continued to thrust and I continue to push back harder against him.
He moves the finger back into place and I fight to breath again, his cock working my tightening cunt. His other fingers continue to move over my clit, pushing in painfully, and then teasing my sensitive clit. I fight to get more and more of him inside of me. I fight to ache from the force of his cock.
I sleep with my head on his chest, curled around the right side of his body. I sleep tucked between his arm and his torso, with my lips slightly open and my breath cascading out over his collarbones. I sleep with my leg hitched up and thrown over his. I sleep with his arm curling around me, his fingers gracing my hip and lower back. I sleep in scant panties - I don't know why, to be perfectly honest. I think it's just safer not to have my cunt directly on his thigh.
I have been asleep for what feels like days - so lost in a REM cycle that if I never return, I would simply hope people ransacked my house and took what they wanted.
And in that sleep I nuzzle closer.
Rousing just slightly, I turn over and he moves to spoon me. I tuck back into the space he has created with the curl of his body, and we fit spectacularly well. His chest and arms fit around me and melt, and my ass sides into the crux of his hips. Sleep finds me again.
I am lost so deeply that I barely feel his cock stir. I almost don't register its twitch against my ass.
My body does, though, and I push back against him, feeling more of his cock hardening against my ass, feeling it tease the split. It twitches again, growing harder as I push back and he pulls me closer.
He actively starts to run his cock up and down over my ass. I rouse slightly more, and my pussy starts to drip. When in his bed, I remain wet. It is a mixed of sheer will power, positive association, and the feeling of his skin against mine that keeps me in this state perpetually. I wake up each morning with my own dried cum on my thighs, often with fingers unconsciously buried in my slit.
He pushes again, sliding down a bit to slide his cock against the ridge where my thighs meet my ass. I stir slightly more, pushing closer to him and pulling him arm further around me.
I barely notice his cock stiffen and rise. The sounds of him pulling out a condom barely rouse me. I don't notice him sliding it on and pulling back and before I can adjust to pull his arm around me again, his hand is on my hip and he is sliding into my cunt from behind.
I gasp, pushing back. He grabs my hip, steadying my waking body and forces his cock all the way inside. My pussy spasms to adjust.
By the second full thrust I am startled. By the third I am awake. By the fourth I am fucking him back, pushing against his cock, shifting my hips to make it easier for him. Neither he nor I know it yet, but I will cum to this feeling for several days.
I can barely remember the dream I had or where I am, but I do know for all certainty that my cunt belongs to him. He continues to fuck me, pushing my hips down, pounding my aching cunt.
I squirm back against him, trying to get more of his cock inside me, trying to get my soaked pussy filled by his cock, but this isn't about me.
This hand slides under my body, finding my wet clit swollen and pulsing. He fucks me harder. He fucks me to his liking.
His fingers move up and down, side to side of my clit. It is so rough that I am assured that this is not for me, but simply enough to keep me wet, to keep my pussy pulsing around his cock.
I groan loudly, my first noise.
"Shut up" he mumbles, his hips unrelenting.
I moan again, louder.
"Shut up." He is louder, and his free hand covers me mouth and nose, pressing hard. I struggle to breathe but his hand is tight over my mouth.
I try and relax, try and take smaller breaths, but this fails quickly. When I begin to struggle, he moved one of his fingers, and I fill my lungs. He continued to thrust and I continue to push back harder against him.
He moves the finger back into place and I fight to breath again, his cock working my tightening cunt. His other fingers continue to move over my clit, pushing in painfully, and then teasing my sensitive clit. I fight to get more and more of him inside of me. I fight to ache from the force of his cock.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Flight 868 to LGA
One of my favorite things in the world is making men hard. I love a hard, swollen, red cock. I love when I sit on a guy's lap and his cock presses against his pants, and into my soft ass. When he presses against me, makes me breathe harder as his cock runs pushes into the small of my back. It gets me wet, makes my clit swell. It makes me want to fuck immediately.
The other day when I was flying back from California there was a guy sitting across the aisle from me. He was slight with glasses, and a face which just blared out "submissive" to anyone who would read it.
I love tease and denial. I love the power of making someone want something so singularly that they can't focus, and then refusing to allow them to return to their lives. Making them strain without release, to want without receiving.
We had hours on the plane just feet apart, but he noticed me before I even got on the plane. When I see someone struggling so hard not to notice me, I make sure to entertain them. I make sure that I'm the only thing they will see.
I was wearing a short green dress, soft material which fell well with buttons up the front. She hem line, long neck line. And, of course, boots. When I saw him sitting there, nervous and excited as I approached, I was practically gleeful. I knew exactly how I was going to pass the time.
Getting to my seat I bent and twisted to stow my bag. I bent over, my ass just barely grazing his arm. I apologized for bumping him, and he nodded in warm reception.
When seated, I undid the top button of my dress, letting the pink and white of my bra skim over the top of my dress. I leaned over, fore arm pressing the soft flesh of my tits up, to get a better view out of his side of the plane.
I watched as he shifted in his seat, and imagined his cock starting to swell. I imagined it pushing against the zipper in his khakis - pants which are never so kind as to hide a cock. I imagined his shifting to hide it from me, feeling his humiliation swell right along with the head.
I sat back to give him a break, and when I put my head back against the seat, out of the corner of my eye I saw the tell-tale sign of his excitement. He reached down and grabbed the crotch of his pants, moving it back and forth into a comfortable position.
I smiled.
I nodded off for a time, letting him be, letting his cock relax and soften once again. It isn't much fun to just turn someone on and be done. It takes patience, and we had the next five hours to play, whether he liked it or not.
When I awoke I noticed my dress had slipped down a bit further, a full inch or so of the bright cotton pink cup exposed, and then shoulder having slipped down just enough to reveal a strap.
I shifted as I woke, clearing my throat, and rustling enough for him to know I was up. He immediately perked to attention, and openly turned his head to look.
I caught his eye just as I was shifting my clothes back into place, giving him another flash of cleavage and bra along with a long, full smile.
He notices, and immediately turns a soft shade of warm pink. I adjust my dress, and watch him shift again, sensing his frustration with his own body.
As he shifts in his seat, so do I, in slow serpentine rolls and subtle stretches. When someone asks to get by me and use the bathroom, I stand impossibly close to him, my ass right at eye level. When she leaves, I adjust the bag which is under the seat in front of me and bend over, letting him stare at my ass, letting him imagine grabbing it in his hands and fucking me right there on the plane. Pulling my dress up, panties down, and shoving his swollen cock into my pussy and ass.
But instead, I sit back down, unfucked.
I watch him shift his cock again, and place a tell-tale magazine over the bulge. He keeps shifting in his seat, and I take the opportunity to move more, to lean towards him to reach for something, to squirm in my seat, to smile at him more. He is blushing every now and then - I imagine when it twitches. He shifts more often, when it strains.
I finally make the move which I hope will move to him to action. I pull my foot up to my ass, leaning it against the arm rest and opening my legs. It's incredibly comfortable, and lets my dress slide back further and further so he can see my tanned thighs all the way to my ass. The inside of my thighs is, despite years of slaps and paddles, tender and vulnerable.
He's watching. I can feel his eyes caress my skin. I can sense his gaze as it moves over my inner thighs, and opens them further. His sight pulls back my dress and explores the inner folds of my panties, my cunt.
I watch it all happen in slow motion, as does he. He does not hide his erection any longer and shifts, lacking in both subtlety and dignity. I finally smile at him, a knowing smile which says "Thanks, you made my day."
He blushes red to purple, and adjusts one more time. He stares straight ahead, and I lose myself in a book, counting the long minutes before I get exactly what I want.
It takes three and a half minutes of internal debating and turning to see the bathroom line before he can't wait any longer.
He stands abruptly, taking advantage of the lack of line, and the long since absence of a drink cart to move to the bathroom, and I know exactly what happens once inside.
I imagine him pulling out his cock, and stroking it once, hard, just to relieve some of the built up pain and tension. From then it is a slower experience. He can take his time once his balls no longer squeeze themselves in want. He strokes his shaft slowly, teasingly, knowing that it can't go on for very long.
His other hand lowers to tighten around his balls, and he grunts he slightly in the back of his throat. He tugs them, rolling them just slightly in a flexing palm as his other hand squeezes the head of his swollen cock. Precum oozes out over his fingers as he squeezes. He pulls the shaft slowly, finishing with a final squeeze on the head. He can feel his own cock pulse in time with the heartbeat which rings on in his ears.
He continues to pump, remembering my thighs opening, blossoming like a flower shrouded in green cotton. He remembers girls he fucked in college, in high school, girls he wanted to fuck in middle school as he draws out his orgasm. It is a long flight, he has time to kill. He leans back against the sink and starts to stroke faster.
The seat belt sign pings on, and the captain gives mumbled announcements about possible turbulence ahead. I smile, knowing he is in there. I look back, making sure he is not returning, but he has time.
He thinks about pulling that green dress up farther, imagines the black lace panties I have underneath coming down, down to reveal a moist slit and wanton hole. He imagines plunging into that hole, and strokes faster, his precum spilling out to lacquer his hard cock, shiny and swollen in his hand.
He pumps harder as the plane trembles. As his feet become unsteady, he struggles to pump harder. He fights his own patience and jerks harder. He imagines fucking faster, slipping his cock into a dripping cunt. He fist grips and cum begins to swell higher in his balls.
He pumps faster as the plane jerks and he jerks forward with it, pulsing into his hand. He groans louder, pumping it faster. His cock gets harder in his hard, straining upward as he strokes faster. He strokes with the veracity he hasn't remembered having since his teen years. There is the urgency he hasn't needed since there were time limits to jerking off alone.
The seat belt sign rings again, and the turbulence gets more aggressive. He pumps harder, feeling himself swelling, growing warmer, harder, needing to cum all over this little fucking bathroom.
He groans again, louder, biting his lip as to not make anymore noise and arouse the suspicions of the flight attendants. He jerks forward again.
He steadiest himself one more time, biting his lip and drags his hand long and hard over his shaft, once, twice, three more time before he finally explodes, shooting him cum in jerks and waves over the wall of the tiny bathroom. It spills over his hand. It runs down, dripping slow and fast.
He zips up, breathing heavy, adjusting his glasses one more time before exiting the bathroom. He rejoins me in the seat across the aisle. I smile at him as he returns and the plane shakes once more, violently.
"Just in time."
He grunts in response.
The other day when I was flying back from California there was a guy sitting across the aisle from me. He was slight with glasses, and a face which just blared out "submissive" to anyone who would read it.
I love tease and denial. I love the power of making someone want something so singularly that they can't focus, and then refusing to allow them to return to their lives. Making them strain without release, to want without receiving.
We had hours on the plane just feet apart, but he noticed me before I even got on the plane. When I see someone struggling so hard not to notice me, I make sure to entertain them. I make sure that I'm the only thing they will see.
I was wearing a short green dress, soft material which fell well with buttons up the front. She hem line, long neck line. And, of course, boots. When I saw him sitting there, nervous and excited as I approached, I was practically gleeful. I knew exactly how I was going to pass the time.
Getting to my seat I bent and twisted to stow my bag. I bent over, my ass just barely grazing his arm. I apologized for bumping him, and he nodded in warm reception.
When seated, I undid the top button of my dress, letting the pink and white of my bra skim over the top of my dress. I leaned over, fore arm pressing the soft flesh of my tits up, to get a better view out of his side of the plane.
I watched as he shifted in his seat, and imagined his cock starting to swell. I imagined it pushing against the zipper in his khakis - pants which are never so kind as to hide a cock. I imagined his shifting to hide it from me, feeling his humiliation swell right along with the head.
I sat back to give him a break, and when I put my head back against the seat, out of the corner of my eye I saw the tell-tale sign of his excitement. He reached down and grabbed the crotch of his pants, moving it back and forth into a comfortable position.
I smiled.
I nodded off for a time, letting him be, letting his cock relax and soften once again. It isn't much fun to just turn someone on and be done. It takes patience, and we had the next five hours to play, whether he liked it or not.
When I awoke I noticed my dress had slipped down a bit further, a full inch or so of the bright cotton pink cup exposed, and then shoulder having slipped down just enough to reveal a strap.
I shifted as I woke, clearing my throat, and rustling enough for him to know I was up. He immediately perked to attention, and openly turned his head to look.
I caught his eye just as I was shifting my clothes back into place, giving him another flash of cleavage and bra along with a long, full smile.
He notices, and immediately turns a soft shade of warm pink. I adjust my dress, and watch him shift again, sensing his frustration with his own body.
As he shifts in his seat, so do I, in slow serpentine rolls and subtle stretches. When someone asks to get by me and use the bathroom, I stand impossibly close to him, my ass right at eye level. When she leaves, I adjust the bag which is under the seat in front of me and bend over, letting him stare at my ass, letting him imagine grabbing it in his hands and fucking me right there on the plane. Pulling my dress up, panties down, and shoving his swollen cock into my pussy and ass.
But instead, I sit back down, unfucked.
I watch him shift his cock again, and place a tell-tale magazine over the bulge. He keeps shifting in his seat, and I take the opportunity to move more, to lean towards him to reach for something, to squirm in my seat, to smile at him more. He is blushing every now and then - I imagine when it twitches. He shifts more often, when it strains.
I finally make the move which I hope will move to him to action. I pull my foot up to my ass, leaning it against the arm rest and opening my legs. It's incredibly comfortable, and lets my dress slide back further and further so he can see my tanned thighs all the way to my ass. The inside of my thighs is, despite years of slaps and paddles, tender and vulnerable.
He's watching. I can feel his eyes caress my skin. I can sense his gaze as it moves over my inner thighs, and opens them further. His sight pulls back my dress and explores the inner folds of my panties, my cunt.
I watch it all happen in slow motion, as does he. He does not hide his erection any longer and shifts, lacking in both subtlety and dignity. I finally smile at him, a knowing smile which says "Thanks, you made my day."
He blushes red to purple, and adjusts one more time. He stares straight ahead, and I lose myself in a book, counting the long minutes before I get exactly what I want.
It takes three and a half minutes of internal debating and turning to see the bathroom line before he can't wait any longer.
He stands abruptly, taking advantage of the lack of line, and the long since absence of a drink cart to move to the bathroom, and I know exactly what happens once inside.
I imagine him pulling out his cock, and stroking it once, hard, just to relieve some of the built up pain and tension. From then it is a slower experience. He can take his time once his balls no longer squeeze themselves in want. He strokes his shaft slowly, teasingly, knowing that it can't go on for very long.
His other hand lowers to tighten around his balls, and he grunts he slightly in the back of his throat. He tugs them, rolling them just slightly in a flexing palm as his other hand squeezes the head of his swollen cock. Precum oozes out over his fingers as he squeezes. He pulls the shaft slowly, finishing with a final squeeze on the head. He can feel his own cock pulse in time with the heartbeat which rings on in his ears.
He continues to pump, remembering my thighs opening, blossoming like a flower shrouded in green cotton. He remembers girls he fucked in college, in high school, girls he wanted to fuck in middle school as he draws out his orgasm. It is a long flight, he has time to kill. He leans back against the sink and starts to stroke faster.
The seat belt sign pings on, and the captain gives mumbled announcements about possible turbulence ahead. I smile, knowing he is in there. I look back, making sure he is not returning, but he has time.
He thinks about pulling that green dress up farther, imagines the black lace panties I have underneath coming down, down to reveal a moist slit and wanton hole. He imagines plunging into that hole, and strokes faster, his precum spilling out to lacquer his hard cock, shiny and swollen in his hand.
He pumps harder as the plane trembles. As his feet become unsteady, he struggles to pump harder. He fights his own patience and jerks harder. He imagines fucking faster, slipping his cock into a dripping cunt. He fist grips and cum begins to swell higher in his balls.
He pumps faster as the plane jerks and he jerks forward with it, pulsing into his hand. He groans louder, pumping it faster. His cock gets harder in his hard, straining upward as he strokes faster. He strokes with the veracity he hasn't remembered having since his teen years. There is the urgency he hasn't needed since there were time limits to jerking off alone.
The seat belt sign rings again, and the turbulence gets more aggressive. He pumps harder, feeling himself swelling, growing warmer, harder, needing to cum all over this little fucking bathroom.
He groans again, louder, biting his lip as to not make anymore noise and arouse the suspicions of the flight attendants. He jerks forward again.
He steadiest himself one more time, biting his lip and drags his hand long and hard over his shaft, once, twice, three more time before he finally explodes, shooting him cum in jerks and waves over the wall of the tiny bathroom. It spills over his hand. It runs down, dripping slow and fast.
He zips up, breathing heavy, adjusting his glasses one more time before exiting the bathroom. He rejoins me in the seat across the aisle. I smile at him as he returns and the plane shakes once more, violently.
"Just in time."
He grunts in response.
Monday, August 15, 2011
The New Girls Fucks Up
I sit in his car, coat on and ready. I wait in the passenger seat as the time ticks by, and the cars slowly pull away. A few people have noticed me, alone in a car in the parking garage, in the passenger seat, staring forward.
I arrived at 5:12, long enough to put on my coat at 5 sharp, walk to the elevator, wait, stand, and then remember where he parked this morning. I wait.
I wait as the car beside me pulls away and the woman tries to smile, recognizing me from my time in the office but not knowing enough to know that I will not turn and smile back.
I wait as I begin to get tired, minutes ticking on in a slow haul. I wait as it becomes 15 minutes, 30 minutes, an hour, two hours, and then two hours and thirty-four minutes that I have been waiting.
I begin to get bored. I play with the lighter, running my finger over the ridges that make up the circle. I run those fingers over my lips, dry from a day of lipstick and careless biting and nibbling.
Everything I touch in the car makes me think of his hands, stroking and touching them as he needs to. I run my hand over the steering wheel, thinking of how he carelessly and casually maneuvers around curves. I squeeze the top of the gearshift, imagining him revving an engine. While my fingers lay over the leather, his hand is large and consumes it.
I think of his hand cupping my pussy, how his long fingers curl all the way down and his palm presses against me. Even over my jeans it makes me feel possessed by him. I can feel myself getting wet just by the thought of it. And when his fingers enter me, I could be mindless I am so taken.
I begin to squirm in my seat after two hours and thirty-four minutes of being such a good girl. I press my legs together to ease some of the pressure.
I sit in the car and look around, trying my best to not look conspicuous. I want to find anything that will take my mind off of what is slowing becoming a throb between my legs. I am so, so wet, and my clit is achingly swollen.
I am not proud but I simply wait, sit for him in the car, silent and attentive.
And then it happens. I look around. there is no one in the garage, save a few cars. I look again at the time and only a few minutes have ticked by. It will be hours before I find any relief, and even then I will never be sated. I am an aching cunt - desperate and constantly in need of fingers, a tongue, a vibrator, a hairbrush handle, a fist, a swollen, stunning, thick cock.
I have already crossed a divide between good and absolutely fucking useless. I have already come too far. I have checked around to see if there was anyone and when I saw that I was blissfully alone, I let my hand find itself underneath my skirt in the front seat of the car.
But of course this cannot end here. This simply cannot be the end of my relief, and I rub myself. My underwear still sit in his office, so it is immediately skin on skin. Immediately, I feel my fingers rubbing my clit to the point of pain - matching ache for ache the need I have to touch myself, to cum, to find relief.
I am so wet, I have already begun to pool between my legs and drip onto the back of my skirt. Before my hand even came close to my hem, I was already a foregone conclusion.
As soon as they are there, I have been lost entirely. I begin to rub my clit, hard and then soft to lengthen my enjoyment. I rub in circles, dainty circles which roll my clit back and forth. I slide them up and down, one finger on either side of my clit, feeling how much it begs to be touched and loved and kissed.
And then they are inside me. I slide my hand down and push them inside my cunt. My entire hand is slicked with my juices, and as soon as two fingers are all the way inside me, I pull them out and lick my hand clean. Once every drop has been tasted, I slide my hand back down and push those two fingers back inside, shoving them deep into my cunt. I curl them inside me and push my hips forward, watching more. I am greedy.
I spread my legs, feeling more and more reckless. I pull my skirt back and open my legs wide, leaning back a little. My other hand fingers my clit and proceeds to rub slowly, and then furiously, as I meet my own hips thrust for thrust. Each time I bury them deeper I begin to whimper. There seems nothing I won't do to let myself explode right now.
My fingers scrape back and forth over my clit - finger pad to one side and nail as it moves back. I have no problem scraping myself raw right now. I continue to rub as I fuck myself faster. I angle downward and plant one heeled foot onto the dashboard, spreading myself wider for another finger.
My eyes slide shut as I push harder against my cunt. I can want nothing but more and more and more. As I squeeze my eyes shut I scream, cumming against my own hand. I feel buckets of cum pour out of me, onto my hands, fingers, and the seat below me. I am spent. I am exhausted.
I struggle to clean myself up - to calm down, pull my skirt back down, and furtively look around against to see what I most fear. He is walking towards the car. I breathe faster, hating myself for my own debauchery. I pull everything back into place, and try and calm my heart slowly.
He opens the car door and I startle just slightly. He sits down, pulling his briefcase in the back seat. He pauses, and I know he knows. He looks at me very slowly, his blue eyes steeled.
"Were you a good girl for me?"
My bottom lip trembles and I open my mouth to answer.
It is only those brief seconds of the heaviest pause before I begin to cry, and shake my head.
"Give me your hand, baby."
I do and he slowly, patiently licks my fingers. His tongue rolls over the pads, the nail, the knuckle and I stir again, and am all the more angry at myself for it.
"Did you think I would be mean and not let you cum again?"
"No, Sir, I just couldn't help myself."
He sighs, his disappointment is potent. I am nothing short of terrified. I am terrified that he will inflict irreparable damage on my flesh and ego. I fear more that he will simply tell me to get out of the car, and never look back as he finds a more suitable candidate for his tutelage.
He silently steps from the car and my breath catches, holding painfully in my tightened chest. I feel as if I am falling. He walks around the car and opens my door, extending a hand which I take. I step from the car as well and he removes my jacket, placing it on the passenger seat before closing the door.
He guides me to the back of the car and leans me over the trunk. I tremble. I notice droplets of water falling in soft springs onto the trunk and it is only then that I realize that I am crying.
He pulls my skirt up, leaning on the small of my back, his arm pulling my hips against his chest. And then I feel his hand. He is showing ruthless pleasure in his lack of mercy. His hand, fist, full arm crash down over and over and over on my ass. He strikes me ten times solidly, and I am thankful for the car to hold me up.
He pauses and I weep, arms folded underneath my wet face. He steps back and I know it will only get worse before it gets better. I hear fabric barely breaking behind my own gasps and whimpers.
I feel it, breaking over my ass, and curling around my hip in a tight line which burns my flesh. He has taken off his belt. I stiffen after the first one, trying to lock my knees. It hit so firmly, cracked over my flesh so loudly, that it now echoes through the parking garage. Only a few cars remain, and there is no one to come with concern.
"Take off your skirt and blouse."
I nod, removing them slowly, precisely. I stand in only heels and bend, once again, over the back of the car. He comes down again, hard, his belt licking my lower back and making my cry out. He comes down again, right on the crest of my ass, and again even lower.
Every time he strikes me, it feels as if I've been cut, sliced apart. My legs become shakier and my cries before more and more drowned in my tears. I shift my head to the side and see that he is working himself out of breath he is beating me so hard. I have forgotten bruises, and simply wish to be able to stand again.
And yet, every time he strikes me, I feel myself growing more and more into his good girl. I will not forget such a beating.
My legs begin to move from trembling to shaking. Every slap sends me squirming. I have lost count at how many have come down and am only in my own fog.
"Sir..." I choke out quietly. He does not stop. "Please, Sir..." He continues, leaving my skin raised in red welts and cracking in places where it can no longer hold together. "Please, Daddy, no more." I finally say loud enough for him to hear and he stops. He does not freeze, but calmly regains his posture and walks over to his broken, remorseful girl.
He leans over my crippled body, and it is the only thing preventing me from crumpling on the ground. "You're not going to fuck yourself when you know I don't allow it anymore, are you?"
I shake my head and sniffle.
"You're my good girl, aren't you?"
I nod and begin to collapse a bit, my legs finally giving out. He catches me.
He opens the back door and I lay inside, caked in blood and sweat, wet with tears. He covers me with his suit jacket, softly stroking the skin of my ankle with his long fingers. "You're a good girl. You made me proud today."
I touch the lashes as we drive, feeling where I am bleeding, learning where I will bruise, and each spike of pain sends a shiver down my spine.
I arrived at 5:12, long enough to put on my coat at 5 sharp, walk to the elevator, wait, stand, and then remember where he parked this morning. I wait.
I wait as the car beside me pulls away and the woman tries to smile, recognizing me from my time in the office but not knowing enough to know that I will not turn and smile back.
I wait as I begin to get tired, minutes ticking on in a slow haul. I wait as it becomes 15 minutes, 30 minutes, an hour, two hours, and then two hours and thirty-four minutes that I have been waiting.
I begin to get bored. I play with the lighter, running my finger over the ridges that make up the circle. I run those fingers over my lips, dry from a day of lipstick and careless biting and nibbling.
Everything I touch in the car makes me think of his hands, stroking and touching them as he needs to. I run my hand over the steering wheel, thinking of how he carelessly and casually maneuvers around curves. I squeeze the top of the gearshift, imagining him revving an engine. While my fingers lay over the leather, his hand is large and consumes it.
I think of his hand cupping my pussy, how his long fingers curl all the way down and his palm presses against me. Even over my jeans it makes me feel possessed by him. I can feel myself getting wet just by the thought of it. And when his fingers enter me, I could be mindless I am so taken.
I begin to squirm in my seat after two hours and thirty-four minutes of being such a good girl. I press my legs together to ease some of the pressure.
I sit in the car and look around, trying my best to not look conspicuous. I want to find anything that will take my mind off of what is slowing becoming a throb between my legs. I am so, so wet, and my clit is achingly swollen.
I am not proud but I simply wait, sit for him in the car, silent and attentive.
And then it happens. I look around. there is no one in the garage, save a few cars. I look again at the time and only a few minutes have ticked by. It will be hours before I find any relief, and even then I will never be sated. I am an aching cunt - desperate and constantly in need of fingers, a tongue, a vibrator, a hairbrush handle, a fist, a swollen, stunning, thick cock.
I have already crossed a divide between good and absolutely fucking useless. I have already come too far. I have checked around to see if there was anyone and when I saw that I was blissfully alone, I let my hand find itself underneath my skirt in the front seat of the car.
But of course this cannot end here. This simply cannot be the end of my relief, and I rub myself. My underwear still sit in his office, so it is immediately skin on skin. Immediately, I feel my fingers rubbing my clit to the point of pain - matching ache for ache the need I have to touch myself, to cum, to find relief.
I am so wet, I have already begun to pool between my legs and drip onto the back of my skirt. Before my hand even came close to my hem, I was already a foregone conclusion.
As soon as they are there, I have been lost entirely. I begin to rub my clit, hard and then soft to lengthen my enjoyment. I rub in circles, dainty circles which roll my clit back and forth. I slide them up and down, one finger on either side of my clit, feeling how much it begs to be touched and loved and kissed.
And then they are inside me. I slide my hand down and push them inside my cunt. My entire hand is slicked with my juices, and as soon as two fingers are all the way inside me, I pull them out and lick my hand clean. Once every drop has been tasted, I slide my hand back down and push those two fingers back inside, shoving them deep into my cunt. I curl them inside me and push my hips forward, watching more. I am greedy.
I spread my legs, feeling more and more reckless. I pull my skirt back and open my legs wide, leaning back a little. My other hand fingers my clit and proceeds to rub slowly, and then furiously, as I meet my own hips thrust for thrust. Each time I bury them deeper I begin to whimper. There seems nothing I won't do to let myself explode right now.
My fingers scrape back and forth over my clit - finger pad to one side and nail as it moves back. I have no problem scraping myself raw right now. I continue to rub as I fuck myself faster. I angle downward and plant one heeled foot onto the dashboard, spreading myself wider for another finger.
My eyes slide shut as I push harder against my cunt. I can want nothing but more and more and more. As I squeeze my eyes shut I scream, cumming against my own hand. I feel buckets of cum pour out of me, onto my hands, fingers, and the seat below me. I am spent. I am exhausted.
I struggle to clean myself up - to calm down, pull my skirt back down, and furtively look around against to see what I most fear. He is walking towards the car. I breathe faster, hating myself for my own debauchery. I pull everything back into place, and try and calm my heart slowly.
He opens the car door and I startle just slightly. He sits down, pulling his briefcase in the back seat. He pauses, and I know he knows. He looks at me very slowly, his blue eyes steeled.
"Were you a good girl for me?"
My bottom lip trembles and I open my mouth to answer.
It is only those brief seconds of the heaviest pause before I begin to cry, and shake my head.
"Give me your hand, baby."
I do and he slowly, patiently licks my fingers. His tongue rolls over the pads, the nail, the knuckle and I stir again, and am all the more angry at myself for it.
"Did you think I would be mean and not let you cum again?"
"No, Sir, I just couldn't help myself."
He sighs, his disappointment is potent. I am nothing short of terrified. I am terrified that he will inflict irreparable damage on my flesh and ego. I fear more that he will simply tell me to get out of the car, and never look back as he finds a more suitable candidate for his tutelage.
He silently steps from the car and my breath catches, holding painfully in my tightened chest. I feel as if I am falling. He walks around the car and opens my door, extending a hand which I take. I step from the car as well and he removes my jacket, placing it on the passenger seat before closing the door.
He guides me to the back of the car and leans me over the trunk. I tremble. I notice droplets of water falling in soft springs onto the trunk and it is only then that I realize that I am crying.
He pulls my skirt up, leaning on the small of my back, his arm pulling my hips against his chest. And then I feel his hand. He is showing ruthless pleasure in his lack of mercy. His hand, fist, full arm crash down over and over and over on my ass. He strikes me ten times solidly, and I am thankful for the car to hold me up.
He pauses and I weep, arms folded underneath my wet face. He steps back and I know it will only get worse before it gets better. I hear fabric barely breaking behind my own gasps and whimpers.
I feel it, breaking over my ass, and curling around my hip in a tight line which burns my flesh. He has taken off his belt. I stiffen after the first one, trying to lock my knees. It hit so firmly, cracked over my flesh so loudly, that it now echoes through the parking garage. Only a few cars remain, and there is no one to come with concern.
"Take off your skirt and blouse."
I nod, removing them slowly, precisely. I stand in only heels and bend, once again, over the back of the car. He comes down again, hard, his belt licking my lower back and making my cry out. He comes down again, right on the crest of my ass, and again even lower.
Every time he strikes me, it feels as if I've been cut, sliced apart. My legs become shakier and my cries before more and more drowned in my tears. I shift my head to the side and see that he is working himself out of breath he is beating me so hard. I have forgotten bruises, and simply wish to be able to stand again.
And yet, every time he strikes me, I feel myself growing more and more into his good girl. I will not forget such a beating.
My legs begin to move from trembling to shaking. Every slap sends me squirming. I have lost count at how many have come down and am only in my own fog.
"Sir..." I choke out quietly. He does not stop. "Please, Sir..." He continues, leaving my skin raised in red welts and cracking in places where it can no longer hold together. "Please, Daddy, no more." I finally say loud enough for him to hear and he stops. He does not freeze, but calmly regains his posture and walks over to his broken, remorseful girl.
He leans over my crippled body, and it is the only thing preventing me from crumpling on the ground. "You're not going to fuck yourself when you know I don't allow it anymore, are you?"
I shake my head and sniffle.
"You're my good girl, aren't you?"
I nod and begin to collapse a bit, my legs finally giving out. He catches me.
He opens the back door and I lay inside, caked in blood and sweat, wet with tears. He covers me with his suit jacket, softly stroking the skin of my ankle with his long fingers. "You're a good girl. You made me proud today."
I touch the lashes as we drive, feeling where I am bleeding, learning where I will bruise, and each spike of pain sends a shiver down my spine.
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