Oct 222014
 

She was barefoot. The busty brunette thrashed at her handlers. Her sandals flew off her feet when she kicked. She was through the back of a strip-mall office and into an empty warehouse.

They pushed her against a dark, dusty van and frisked her thoroughly. A man’s hands wove around her. They dove beneath her clothes. He handed off her keyring, cellphone, and sunglasses. She had a small change purse that held $13.67, Sunshine Kissed lip gloss, and her driver’s license. They took that, too.

She was Lucy. Lucy Bernard.

She screeched in protest. Pressure on points of Lucy’s body and odd holds on appendages competed with her adrenalin. She succumbed to them physically, after they conquered her fight or flight mode. She was a mess of herself. Lucy was on her knees, her arms pulled up behind her back. Her head bent forward like a P.O.W. She cried, her hair stuck to her face and her nose ran. She promised she’d be still.

The men who wrangled her kept a tight hold. They pulled her up into an awkward walking position. Her wet face streaked it’s way down the dusty van. They shoved her in the back, releasing her into the dark body of the dirty cab.

They made stops. They picked up more girls. Most of the women were drugged, unconscious, or barely lucid. The vehicle came to a halt. The women inside rolled towards the cab of the vehicle. Lucy was the first one in. She’d wedged herself between the hump in the back of the van, and the back of the cab. She tucked her knees under her chin. With every stop, the number of women grew. She pulled her arms inside her shirt and curled up, full of dread and fear. The bodies piled in.

The back of the van doors opened. Lucy was momentarily blinded by the harsh florescents. Some of the girls exited the filthy vehicle on their own. They wobbled and stumbled out, their mind’s muddied. Some women fell out and onto each other. They all cried out, either in fear or pain. Some had to be pulled into their new hell. A bald man dove in by the waist to drag out the terrified women.

The bald man was short and wide. His fat was hard. It was thick. His thin comb-over was a joke. He smelled of cigars and piss. Hair easily found every part of him except the top of his head. His entire body was covered with thick, hairy sweat. A gritty filth.

Lucy scooted out of her hole with the intention of exiting on her own. The circulation in her legs disagreed with her. The familiar feeling of pins and needles ran up her legs. Just as her ass lifted, it fell. Her ankle became prey to the fat man’s onslaught. The wife-beater he wore was rolled-up over his big belly. He drug her down the length of the van. He juiced Lucy’s bare leg with his thick, hairy sweat. It left a sheen of stink to set into her already dirty skin.

The scrambling and falling of bodies kicked up the dirt on the ground. When her ankle was free, Lucy fell, too. She landed hard, on her hip. Before she could get off a reactionary rub, a metal cuff came to a grinding lock across her wrist. A fog of men in dirty workman’s uniforms pulled the women up and cuffed their wrists over a long horizontal pole made of thick metal. It ran the length of the warehouse.

Every few feet were sectioned off with three walls of wet concrete and drains in the bottom. The men cut off their clothes. Protests fell on deaf ears. There were women who cried. There were women who begged not to be touched.

The women were sent down the line. The warehouse men had different responsibilities. There were two in front of the line, and two behind. Four of them cut away clothing. Women were sent further on to be hosed down. Each of them were sudded-up. Their hair, inside their ass cheeks, cunts, feet, in between their toes. The men took no sexual liberties with the women. They might as well have been putting together cars. It was a job. The women were all rinsed clean. The men unlocked their cuffs. A warehouse man allowed Lucy and the others to towel dry at gunpoint.

The women were given clean grey sweatpants, sweatshirts, and flip-flops. As they dried off and changed into the clothes, the bald man read a list of all their names. Like roll call in school, each woman answered “here” or raised their hand when their name was called.

“Lucy Bernard!” The bald man yelled out over the mumbling.

Lucy tentatively raised her hand.

Once he was finished with the list, the bald man grinned.

“Ok, ladies… listen up. In about 15 minutes, a few SUV’s are going to arrive to take you to your new owners. I don’t get the rest of my money until all orders have been delivered! So you bitches sit down and shut-up,” he announced.

Lucy was on the third knot of the sweatpants, trying to keep them on her hips. She paused momentarily, listening.

Owners…

We were ordered?

Oct 212014
 

TMI Tuesday: Oct. 21, 2014

What’s In Your Car?

whats in ur car art tmi
Answer these questions as they pertain to your personal mode of transportation.

1. What CD is in your Cd player?

I don’t usually listen to my CD player. Most of the time I bluetooth music from my phone through the car. If I had to guess, I’d say Buckcherry.

2. Turn on your car radio, what station is it tuned to?

Whatever song is on my phone.

3. What is in your glove box?

The manual for my car and a knife. Not a big knife, not a small knife. Just a knife. Nobody panic.

4. Are there any stickers on your bumper? What? (You can post photos too).

Not a one.

5. What stickers or car magnets are on your car? (You can post photos too).

None. I put them on my computer.

6. When you drive do you have a favorite beverage? What?

Yes, Usually Mt. Dew.

7. What is the most unique thing about your car?

It’s completely white. Ghosted out. Looks great at night.
8. Have you modified or decorated or enhanced your steering wheel?

Nope. It has racing paddles, but it was ordered that way.

9. If your normal mode of transportation is a bicycle or a motorcycle, what have you done to personalize it?

N/A

10. If your regular mode of transportation is public transport–bus or subway–what do you do to pass the time on your rides?

N/A

Bonus: What is the sexiest thing in your car?

Me

Bonus, Bonus: What does your choice of personal or regular mode of transportation say about you?

I drive a 2013 Challenger. I drive fast. I like muscle cars. I have a lot of room in the trunk. Don’t ask why. ;)

TMI Tuesday blog
Oct 202014
 

“So we got money comin’ in from that thing in Philly. We’re in our room, the four of us. It was me, Tony, Big Tony, and Rocka’.”

“Rocker? What kind of name is that?” Summer giggled, innocent little whore she was supposed to be.

“Ehhh… We call ‘em Rocka’ on account of how he rocks in his seat. Yanno… he leans on the back two legs of the chair and rocks. Like a rocking chair. So we, uhh… we call him ‘em Rocker. Anyway, yeah… right there, baby. Daddy likes that. Anyway, yeah…yeah….we were waiting for ….a friend, to show up.”

“Uh huuuuhhh” Summer had Paulie’s trousers and briefs down around his ankles, and his mind turning circles. He leaned back on the cheap hotel bed. Summer licked and kissed her way down to Paulie’s cock. She didn’t want to give him what he wanted until she got what she wanted. Paulie was on the drunk side, so she didn’t expect any trouble.

“So what happened to the rest of the story?” Summer’s eyes were wide, curious. She went deep on him twice, slowly. She gagged just a little. Paulie loved that sound.

“Ohhhhh baby, ohhh that’s a goood girl.” That girl and her tricky tricky mouth. She drew back and sat up beside him, her thick, tight nipples luring his attention upwards.

“Was it scary, Daddy?” Summer left whined and lowered her tone. She sounded horny. Her fingers rubbed his ears, his neck, down his shoulders.

You weren’t scared were you?” Summer drew back from Paulie. Her nipple popped from his mouth. She squealed and shook. He loved watching her breasts bounce.

“Daddy’s never scared.” Paulie reached down and stroked his own cock with one hand and twirled her hair with the other.

“So everything was good, right?” Paulie was animated, going back to the story.

Summer’s eyes went wide and she nodded along with his words.

“And then him and Rocka had an issue. And Rocka BOOM BOOM BOOM. Shot the guy in the belly. Three times.”

Paulie stuck three wiggling fingers into Summer’s belly each time he said the word “Boom.”

“Daddyyy! That tickles” Summer squealed and squirmed onto his lap.

“Daddy! That’s a scary story! I’m gonna have to sit in your lap so no one can get me. Please, Daddy?” She whined. Summer teased him with her little girl words and erotic actions. She moved to straddle his dick. Summer sank down on top of him with a pretty little purr and a pout. She was already feeding his cock into her. Her hips tipped from side to side.

“Ohhhh, don’t worry, baby, Daddy’s got you” All he could do was nod, vigorously. Paulie’s hands pulled her hips down on his cock.

Paulie liked to talk. Summer fucked him while she played an excited little girl. Paulie was her Big-Bad-Daddy. She played to his stories and he played right back. Summer sucked and fucked until they were both happy with what they got. She dressed and was dismissed.

Her driver delivered Summer to her apartment. She went upstairs and turned on the living room lights and the television. She waited exactly 15 minutes. Her cell phone rang.

“Anything for me?” The voice on the other end was familiar, and deep.

“Yes, Sir. It was Rocker. Three shots to the belly. He and Rocker had some kind of issue. Paulie was there. So was Tony, Big Tony, and Rocker. But Rocker shot him.” Summer did not like delivering bad news. The messenger could easily be shot, just for knowing the message. But she was valuable to a lot of people. Summer sold information out the backdoor to those who were willing to pay for it and act discreetly with it.
“Anything else?”

“Paulie said something about some money coming in from Philly, and that’s why your guy was coming to meet them.” The voice on the other end of the phone chuckled darkly when Summer mentioned Philly. She knew better than to question. That laugh gave her chill bumps.

“It’s in your fridge.” He hung up the phone.

Summer’s phone went black. She had ten grand in a shipping envelope behind her orange juice. Pretty as she was, her betrayal was so thick you couldn’t wipe it off. She knew that someday, someone was going to start calling for the truth.

Wicked Wednesday

Oct 162014
 

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Photo courtesy of A to sub Bee

Welcome to Elust #63 -

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #64? Start with the rules, come back November1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

I am Sexy at Every Size
Censored? Never By My Hand #DarkErotica #BDSM
Hovering

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Show Me, Daddy
The pride of being a dom

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
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All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

 

Erotic Non-Fiction

Two Hours of Bliss
Save the Sheets
All He Could Do Was Moan.
I’ll Have What She’s Having
Attitude on the Autobahn
Go get a toy so you can fuck yourself.
Cumslut

Thoughts and Advice on Kink and Fetish

Why I love my Packer
Tools of the trade
On being a feminist and a dirty little slut
Stapled
Getting Acquainted
Not Your Fetish
Why Kinky Women Are All Gold-Digging Trash*
Schoolgirls a Lasting Obsession
Kink-Blocked by Burners

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

We Still Have To Work At It
Sex and Motherhood – Part 1
Tips for using sex toys & avoiding infections
How to Have Sex Naked
Bipolar Sex

Erotic Fiction

Oopps Wrong Number
Pour
Minister & Mistress
Surprises: A Threesome Story
Door Frame

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Sex, lies, videotape & being a decent person
Two Women One Topic

Events

Rubber Band Brilliance

Blogging

Stripping away the Shadows

Poetry

Sweat Slick – An Erotic Sonnet
The Poem Challenge, Day 6: “Owned”
Sixty Years On – A Lusty Limerick
Poetry: I Am….

Writing About Writing

On Writing Daddy Porn
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Oct 152014
 

Who keeps a playlist on their phone that makes them horny? The playlist you can fuck to. The dirty fucking. That rhythmic, ass-riding fucking. I do. Thumbed the screen three times before I found it. I wouldn’t have put any more time into it. I was horny.

I had no shame in unzipping, stepping out of, or unhooking anything. I left my clothes where they fell. I didn’t care if he watched or not. He didn’t come for a strip show. But I knew he wanted every thick bit of me. He was tripping over his shoes. Mine were all I wore.

I knew it was a bad idea. I thought about it when I grabbed fist fulls of that stiff hotel comforter and slung it off the bed. I bent over the bed. When I felt the vast amount of white sheets against my chest, I didn’t care. I spread my legs. My heels lifted my pussy. I just needed him to climb in and drive.

He stepped between my legs and slid his cock along my pussy. He was surprised at how wet I was. My outer lips were puffed open. He gently pinched one, but didn’t pull. I liked that very much.

“Yeeess, pleasee. Like that.” I swayed my ass back towards him. I lifted it up for him. I think he got the message. The length of his dick teased the outside of my pussy until my ass danced.

“Next time, I’ma fuck them titties.” He lined up the tip of his dick with my hole. He slid in nice and deep. I didn’t care what he said. He was inside. I’d deal with his mouth later. He held my hips. I bounced up and down the length of him. We kept a nice rhythm.

When he got on my nipples…

I was needy on his cock. I begged for my tits, sucking, biting, harder, harder. I could see his nervousness. Once he knew how hard, he was sloppy and chewy. I loved it. He bounced from tit to tit. I rode his cock, hard, and happily, right into Squirty Land.

I walked around for a day or two afterwards. My nipples and breasts were sore from his mouth and his hands. I wondered why I had him go that crazy with my nipples.

It was the dick.

It’s always the dick.

Oct 142014
 
Another smashing TMI Tuesday idea from Virtual Sin.

Color is everywhere–nature, food, clothing, skin, animals. Different colors symbolize or mean different things in different cultures. Finally, color affects mood.

Rainbowtmi

From your life, tell us about an object, experience or idea related to each of the colors of the spectrum:

1. Red

I have a pair of red thongs with a bow on the back, right at the top of the ass. Pussy – a gift. ;)

2. Orange

Ugh – A few of my NCAA football rivals wear this color. We’re big time Alabama fans. I don’t let The Socialites or The Husband wear orange (not to mention myself.) This makes decorating for fall a bit on the tough side, but we ride out Halloween in different colors of dark purple and black. I’ve been working on creame colored pumpkins for fall. I know, just work with me.

3. Yellow

Lemon trees and antique baby paraphernalia. I love a lemon tree. I love lemonade with tequila. <3

4. Green

A color that will never look good on me, no matter how many times I try it on. Beautiful to decorate with in spring. Nature makes a background for naked.

5. Blue

TH looks good in blue. His eyes are blue. I love the teal side. I use it to decorate with it in the summer. Our pool. 15’s basketball colors. Our dog, Mookie… he looks good in blue sweaters.

6. Violet

I don’t ever really use this color. Sometimes I’m drawn to it when making jewelry.

Bonus: What is the color of sex? – Depends on who your fucking.

TMI Tuesday blog
Oct 122014
 

I usually write erotica for Wicked Wednesday. When the words “Bad Sex” popped up on the screen, I shook my fist at the Gods of Honesty and gave into the fact that I was about to bust out the truth on a drunk Englishman. I’ve been dying to tell this story to someone, anyway. It might as well be the pervy people who read my blog.

1. I don’t judge. I don’t count your drinks. You do you.

Here’s the quick and dirty:

The bathroom was dark. The first room I walked into was barely even lit. I couldn’t tell that he was hammered. He used scarf-like ties to secure my wrists to either side of the towel stand in the bathroom. That was a disappointment. He was known to be a heavy player. I’m a heavy player. So the fucking scarf ties were all sensual and 50 Shades. Not my thing. I didn’t think it was his thing.

I wore heels. I’m 5’5, so almost 5’9. So here I am, strapped to this towel thing, above the toilet, and he comes at me with an Hitachi. Ohhh, I’m thinking I might get something out of this after all. The Drunk Englishman proceeds to tease me with it – between my left pussy lip and my inner thigh. Hmm. This is a new technique. Maybe this is just something he likes to do. It’s not really working on me, but, Ok.

Then he gets a little grind to it. And I realize… This drunk Englishman thinks he’s in my pussy.  I don’t care how drunk you are, there is no clit on my leg. You can’t wish it. You can’t smoke anything that makes you think that it’s there.

Back to it.

So I’m trying not to laugh. And at that point, I still don’t know that’s he’s piss drunk. He’s holding his own quite well. I’m just wondering if this guy is really as bad at getting the sexy and kinky on. And he’s still grinding. What do I do? He’s NOT stopping. He’s determined to drill an orgasm out of leg. I’m trying to pull back and then squirm my pussy around ONTO the toy. NOPE, He wasn’t having it.

The ties are a joke. I’m holding on to the towel stand, hoping the ties don’t fall off. As a rule, I don’t fake orgasms, but I was debating using it as an exit strategy, considering the chafing.

2. Here’s my lesson (and thank GOD I learned it through humor and not horror.) – It’s your decision who you play with. The condition of people you play with is extremely important.

Wicked Wednesday

Oct 072014
 

A is for Aftercare:

I never felt comfortable asking for aftercare. I was of the thought that if the D-type that I played with offered aftercare, then I would gladly accept it. I never wanted to tell anyone that I needed it. I experienced the patting of arms on backs in an insincere, sideways hug. No actual comfort exchanged. A show for those who no longer noticed.

The thought of someone counting the minutes as they offered disingenuous support made me throw up a little in my mouth. Hence, I wasn’t going to ask anyone for anything. Besides, I didn’t know any aftercare etiquette. Was there aftercare etiquette? With a little research during conversations, the answer continued to remain relative to each person’s needs, and the situation.

Sometimes a fucking amazing scene can clean me out. I’ve seen myself in a mirror. My make-up is always exactly 3 inches to the right of where I originally applied it. I don’t drink water like a normal person. It dribbles down one side of my chin or another. I don’t need to sit down. I need to lay down. Hair up, off my neck. On my belly, spread out. I’m a hot mess. I didn’t need aftercare then. I needed Jesus.

Once, I stayed in suspension for almost an hour while friends were inside, partying. When I was earthbound, I couldn’t have been any more chill had I smoked the rope. The only aftercare I needed was a seat on the couch and my friends to entertain me.

That’s not to say that I’ve worked past “how to do aftercare.” I have 352 unanswered questions about aftercare. Here’s what I do know. Pre-scene, I never know if I’ll want it or not. Sorry, that’s no help. Doms that expect me to be up and off to get the cleaning materials, water for him, cleaning the furniture, we probably can’t play. Nothing against those D-types, but I want to enjoy what ever space that I’m in. That’s hard to do when you’re swallowing it, walking in one shoe towards the water table.