Dec 172014
 

I’ve never been a fan of body hair. I would prefer to snap my fingers and be soft and smooth. Unfortunately, that doesn’t work for me. I have a pale body and more black hair than any person on earth. It feels that way, at least. It started when  The Socialites and The Husband began checking on me while I was in the shower.

“Hey, you ok?”

“Uh… yeah. I’m taking a shower. Why?”

“Just checking. You’ve been in here for about an hour.”

An hour?  What the hell was I doing that was taking me an hour? I was shaving.

 

I’ve been shaving my legs since I was in the 5th grade. I begged my mother to let me do it when school started so I could wear shorts with pride. She made me wait until Christmas break. When I was in 6th grade, I think I shaved off a bug bite. There was some skin missing and a lot of blood. Other than that, no mishaps. I have to shave every day to have smooth legs.

I don’t remember when I started shaving my armpits. Probably, it was before my legs. But by the time I was 15 or 16 I was shaving my pussy. I tried little designs and cute shit. Always something small. I quickly moved to hairless. It was smooth and soft. And it moved to slippery really easily. Maybe that’s what’s so captivating, there’s no hair to interfere with seamless exchange of texture.

I’ve never used a mirror to shave my girl stuff. One hand always led the other.

I like a bikini wax, but it hurts like fuck. And so far I’ve found a few pieces of that blue wax  stuck in questionable places. Thanks, Natalya. But the place I go is fancy and the girl is quick about it. Those usually last about two weeks. For me, that means a week, solid.

I shave my arms in the summer. That started when I was a teenager. I was at a pool party and met my very first swimmer. He was slick. I’ll leave it at that.

 

Would I Like My Partner Shaved?

Honestly, I’d love for them to be as bare as I am.

I’ll take a nice, tight trim.

There’s no way I’m going down on a sweater.

 

Dec 092014
 

We worked at a bar filled with people who kept eyes on the door, and did their business at night. I was too young to work there. A pretty girl who just hit her twenties was fresh meat in a place like that. I was vetted, but my ability to do the job was another thing. The place was a seedy layer of rough.

Thomas was intimidating. He had thirteen years on me. I had no intention of causing Thomas any problems. Brian made me an issue for Thomas.

All of our secrets chased up the sun.

I knew Thomas felt some sort of way about me in the beginning.

I didn’t care.

We were fucking in the end.

***

 

“I don’t have any Kool-Aid or orange juice. How about a beer? I think you deserve it.” Thomas chuckled darkly and pulled his head from the fridge. Thomas liked the sharp parts of honesty.

“So….. why hasn’t he said anything to me?” I popped my ass up on the counter top. I hissed when the peeling laminate scraped against the back of my thigh. I spread my legs, cradling an ankle in my hand while my other one gingerly ran across the abrasion. There wasn’t any blood, but it hurt like a beast.

“You know that I can see almost all of your vagina?” Thomas was blunt as a fucking butter-knife.

I pulled my legs back down and rolled my eyes. I had on a flimsy tee and a pair of faded, red cotton panties. I’ve never been modest. Besides, I was fucking Brian. I never gave a second thought to Thomas seeing my body. Thomas and Brian were friends. I liked to think that Thomas and I had a slight friendship. I wasn’t going to pretend Thomas’ proclamation had anything to do with his alliance to me as much as it was a way to get rid of me.

“I’m being serious,” I was young.

“So am I,” he finished off his sandwich.

Thomas turned his beer up and finished it off. He ducked in for another.

“What was I supposed to do? Brian stashes you here for the weekend so he can fuck and go as he pleases? Look… somebody had to tell you. You were going to figure it out one way or another. This little set-up wasn’t going to last forever.”

Thomas was right. It was a life lesson. Brian stashed me with Thomas so I was always accessible. I was the whore. And I got played. Flickers of people I’d let him meet and places I’d taken him to, family, all in my head. Inexperience shook around my head in big boulders, then plummeted  down my gut until I fully understood.

“Was there anything else?” I asked.

“That Sherri bitch, tried to get a job over there where you used to work?” Thomas motioned in the air with his bottle.

I nodded slowly, placing the girl in my head.

“Brian fucked her in the ass. He said she almost wore him out.” Thomas nodded factually.

My brows lifted.

“Lovely,” I said.

“So, does Brian’s girlfriend and her kids live with him? Or is it the other way around?” I was curious.

Thomas grinned, shaking his head, “after six years, does it matter?”

Nov 182014
 

We rode in the backseat. Brian’s friend drove the van. There was plenty of room on the floor. Brian’s dick needed sucking. He was aggressive about pushing it down the back of my throat. His cock was so big, he rarely did that. I knew he didn’t want a regular blowjob. He wanted my mouth to warm his cock up, quick. He wanted me to gag on it.

He made a fist in my hair to control my head. He bucked his cock into my face. I gagged, long and hard, multiple times. He used to say that ‘the sound of a girl gagging on a cock was like ringing the erection dinner bell’. He pulled me up and started jerking at my belt and button on my jeans. I tried to catch my breath. There was saliva dripping from my bottom lip.

I stripped my shirt off and used it to wipe off the remnants of my gagging. I tossed it somewhere in the darkness of the van. My tits drew his attention away from ripping my jeans off. I unclasped my bra. My tits were fully unleashed into his big, rough hands.

“You want to suck…. aannnhh,” I said.

He had a huge mouthful of my right tit in his mouth. He bit at my nipples and I hissed like a snake, still trying to slither out of my pants. He liked my panties on, stretched to the side.

He pulled me up onto his lap, facing him. He grinned while he slid me down. He wanted me to the hilt on his cock. He slowly pulled me, determined, and stared at my face, muttering under his breath, nodding.

“…yeah, …yeah, all the way, ….all the way, ….take it, ….ahhh, good girl,”

At the same time he pulled me down, my own whine matched his animalistic mutterings. I was slippery. When I heard him call me a ‘good girl,’ my pussy was too needy to argue with him. All I could do was open up and sink down on him.

“…unnhhh…unnnhh…Babeeeee, my pussy.”

I bounced on his dick. The car lights behind and beside us were never so bright. I saw our fucking in the shadows that danced across the inside of the vehicle. We fucked past the point that I knew I’d be sore the next day.

We were sloppy and nasty. We were tired from cumming. The van smelled like sex. It was too cold to roll the windows down to air it out for too long. So the three of us rode home, talking as normal friends would. We laughed about Brian and I fucking. We teased about what his friend saw. They are both older than I am. Some jokes I didn’t get.

I was a happy slut, but Brian only knew his half of the story. My kinky side was creeping up on me. It was pushing me to try new things. I wanted his rough fucking. But I also wanted to be held down, and experiment with the painful side of pleasure. That’s why I was fucking his friend.

Wicked Wednesday

Nov 172014
 

Another Monday, another week, another TMI Tuesday posted. Enjoy Night Time is the Right Time.

night_tmi
Fill in the blank

1. When I can’t sleep I - usually take something to knock my ass out.

2. My dream bedroom would be full of – Is it too odd to answer with “shoes and clothes?” It’s the truth. I’d totally load up.

3. If I could wake up anywhere tomorrow it would be – here, at home. Anywhere else and I’d be wondering…. “what the fuck?” 

4. I need to know my dog is safe in bed with me  at night.

5. My Grandmother dying would truly be a nightmare.

6. Night time is the right time to have sex. I like doing the nasty at night.

Bonus:  Briefly tell us about your last dream–erotic or not.

I have night terrors. No one wants a glimpse of that.

Oct 262014
 

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.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“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.

Wicked Wednesday

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.

Oct 022014
 

He told her to grab the sides of the door frame.

The floggers came in different types and materials. Her body moved with the rhythms of the strikes. It was enticing. It was meditative. It was painfully seductive. The material and weight of the implements were changed or used in unison. He noted her gentle sway.

He approached her from behind and ran a finger down her naked, warm back. She used the door-frame to support her weight when she arched. She reminded him of a cat, stretching in the sun.

He stepped back and continued to hit her. She moaned. She panted. He went to her again and pressed tightly against her. He pulled her head back by her hair. She could feel his breath from her clavicle to her earlobe. The back of her bare legs rubbed against the roughness of his bluejeans. Her ass lifted and bumped against his cock, teasing it.

He slid his hand down the front of her shorts and panties. Two of his fingers slipped just inside her pussy lips. She felt his guttural moan.

Goddamn, girl.” His fingers dipped in juices that he didn’t expect to be there. He turned her around, giving her a good look over.

Do you need to stop?” He grinned.

She smiled back at him, “I’ll tell you when I want to stop.”

She was going to need the door-frame.