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.

Jul 192013
 

Once Upon A Time a “Domly Dom” – who was really just a big talker with a drinking problem – made a trip down down to Alabama for the weekend for us to play. It was supposed to be a weekend filled with new experiences, some hardcore play, and boundary pushing. Instead, in the moment there was a wave of overwhelming sadness and disappointment that rolled over me when I realized I wasn’t going to get that. He couldn’t give it to me.

I left our session completely dissatisfied. It was late. Very late. On a hunch, I called a guy who was more of a flirt than a friend. More of a business partner than a flirt. But we were mixing that shit up. Although it wasn’t a good idea, it kept me horny. Kept me wet. Kept me nasty. He answered. We met.

I wanted to fuck, but there wasn’t really room in the backseat and we were both in a hurry. He had to get home and I had quite a drive before reaching mine. He told me to spread my legs and fuck myself. I got out my Mimi and rubbed it up and down my entire cunt. He slapped at my thighs. His hands are huge. He likes getting big handfuls of my flesh, especially my ass or thighs, giving a squeeze and letting go only to slap down a massive hand in the same spot.

I had just pulled down my pants around my ankles, so the positioning was awkward, but I spread my legs wide for him while he asked me if I was a whore. Was I a slut? Was I going to do what whores do? He liked to slide his thick fingers inside my cunt. He’d do two, then three, then four. He’d move them around and pant while he watched my face, then watch his fingers while they fucked me. Mimi was running wild all over my pussy, too. She can even reach my extremely shallow G-spot, so I was just teasing myself before exploding. He had pulled out his cock and was stroking that big, black fucker with his free hand.  His fingers rotated from fucking my pussy, to my mouth so I could suck off my juice, and then to slapping on my thighs. I was ready to soak his seats. He asked me if I wanted to cum. I told him I did. He pulled on my nipple rings a few times and then shoved what felt like his -entire- hand inside my snatch.

I had an amazing orgasm. I sucked his hand clean, and he wiped the rest on my thighs so that I’d stink of cunt juice. He told me to suck his cock. Just the tip.

I did.

Just the tip.

Jun 172013
 

going outTen years ago she received a necklace and a pair of heels from a wish list that she’d seen no harm in making public. Since then he’d followed her on various social networks. She didn’t know who he was. From what she’d caught about him on the internet, he was into some intense kink. That didn’t interest her. It enthralled her.

For all these years that he’d “been with her,” he’d never tried to do anything but let her know that he was watching. For as long as she’d “been with him,” she’d never done anything but let him watch.

Sometimes it was a post-it on her front door. A text.  A drink from a bartender, the message written on a napkin. Reaching out over the internet behind one blank face or another.

You are Mine. I’m watching you.

A change in phone numbers, then locations for a job. She thought it would end.

Then the same thing.

You are mine. I’m watching.

Through relationships, fuck-and-goes, and extra-friendly sleepovers.

You are Mine. I am watching.

Sometimes she’d wonder if her actions angered him. If she was in danger. If she should call the police. If he’d ever produce himself and expect something. Or if he’d ever become more obsessive.

She’d wonder.

And then she’d get wet.
Because she knew he was watching.


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