Raven hair and ruby lips
Sparks fly from her finger tips
Echoed voices in the night
She’s a restless spirit on an endless flight
Wooo Hooo witchy woman, see how high she flies
Click the kiss for more sin on Sunday. XO
I lost my virginity when I was in my mid-teens. SGirl and I had a lot of friends. We traveled from one group to another. Different groups, different schools, different ages, we were in it. We were there. We did a significant amount of socializing, drinking, and hot-boxing in bathrooms. We were stupid teenagers. Best friends, but fuck, were we stupid.
We both decided that our virginity was not a gift. It was a pain in the ass. We had ignorant discussions about thoughts that terrified us. Most of what we knew about sex came from high school gossip.
“My fucking hymen is going rip, and I’d bleed everywhere. He’s gonna be disgusted and tell all of his friends. Blood will be all over his dick, and me, and wherever we’re fucking. I mean, I think it’s heavy period blood. “
“How long till you stop bleeding?”
“I don’t know.”
“You think that’s disgusting, he’ll never want to see you again.”
“We’ve got to find somebody to fuck.”
“But don’t tell them we’re virgins.”
“That’s the plan.”
We stole a box of rainbow condoms and Rice Krispy Treats from a grocery store. We were ready.
We decided that we’d pick a random guy and have sex with him. Do the “one night stand” thing and never have to see the guy again. That would do away with any messy business when we found someone we wanted to date and start fucking. We’d be knowledgeable and experienced by then.
I lost my virginity to Vince. He was a friend of a guy that we started hanging with. The guy looked like he was carved from stone. But his head was full of rocks. I’m fairly positive he was over 21, considering he purchased alcohol with no problem. Alcohol wasn’t the problem the night that SGirl and I decided to go ahead with the plan and get our fucks out of the way. I wanted to be sober. I needed to maneuver through the best I could. Probably, it would have been a better experience had I been passed out cold.
After a full make-out session, and trying multiple times to line it up and go in for the kill, we both had to sit back and have a come-to-Jesus meeting about how his cock is just NOT fitting inside me. No wonder, it was the size of a soda can. At that age, I didn’t know they were made that thick. He would not fit inside of me. Although we tried another dozen times, with no lube. We basically tortured my virginity out of me. Mostly, because I didn’t understand my own vagina. Thanks Mom!
Note to all you virgins out there, who are just trying to kick one out, don’t do it with a guy whose dick is that big. Losing my maidenhood landed me in the emergency room, hemorrhaging. Although my best friend and I still laugh about it today. It was the most embarrassing thing in the word, then.
Yesterday I was on my Fetlife account. I was scrolling through someone’s pictures. One popped up with the caption “Daddy’s new prize for me!” Her new prize was a bit. It was covered in some type of yellowed, plastic-ish thing. What… wha… o.O. So it’s brand new, and it’s yellow-ing-ish. I wish I had the picture, but I wasn’t just going to take it off her page. I shook that one off and continued to peruse.
The next one was j…j…jelly.
There was no condom.
She was sucking on it.
Grabs my pearls.
And then she put it in her vagina.
All the jelly. In the vagina.
Suck up those phthalates, Darling, suck ‘em up.
Then I realized, there are a ton of kinksters that have no idea what they’re getting into when they buy sex toys. We can tell how well a flogger is made. We examine the falls and the leather. Feel the deer, or bull it might be made of. Even the weight of the thing. We can examine a spanking bench, a single tail, and a bull whip.But some of these same people will yank out a jelly dong because it feel good. Maybe they don’t care. Maybe they don’t know.
I have the most ridiculous thoughts sometimes. Why can’t Lilly make a tiny sex toy gun that I could keep in my pocket. I could shoot the taser at all the toys. The gun would leave the good ones and the bad ones would disappear up in smoke. Seriously, the uneducated need the quick and dirty about what they should and should not be putting in their bodies.
I’ve seen a lot of players who want to use their sex toys on someone else during a scene. Not on me, Sugar. I suggest kinksters begin bringing their own safe, sex toys to be used only on themselves during play. Now I carry every kinky toy that I own, plus any sex toys I might need. I know what I have is safe. It’s clean. Any partner I have can work with what I bring. If they can’t find something in that big box of sin, then God love ‘em.
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.
We were ordered?
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?
10. If your regular mode of transportation is public transport–bus or subway–what do you do to pass the time on your rides?
Bonus: What is the sexiest thing in your car?
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.
“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.
“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.
Photo courtesy of A to sub Bee
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Why I love my Packer
Tools of the trade
On being a feminist and a dirty little slut
Not Your Fetish
Why Kinky Women Are All Gold-Digging Trash*
Schoolgirls a Lasting Obsession
Kink-Blocked by Burners
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.