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Before A Midsummer Night's Dream
Before A Midsummer Night's Dream · Interracial Love · Memories are important to me, specifically the good ones. I would concur that it's the small things one does during their lifetime that are going to be the most impactful on them when they go back to cherish. In my 25 years, I've tried to make as many of these little moments for myself as possible. I hope to continue doing so.
As I circumvent the cobwebs and flip the grimy pages in the convolution that is my brain, I still recall a balmy Friday afternoon during the summer of '14. There have been many days around here where the climate could make it feel exactly like so. Though reiterating: The minutiae of details which were taking place during that day are what I think a person can treasure the most. Even if specifics become lost, they may blend and be a larger whole after a time. Speaking for myself, I now see the sun shining on that day more than I'd cared to notice then.
I turned 19 that May. My self-confidence had been improving along with what amount was already there from the time I'd graduated from high school. I did so with the Class of 2012. I was on a tight leash that was loosened by my parents for the remaining year of my minority. They removed the leash when I became an adult by law the year later. I had finally escaped the austerity enforced in my orthodox household during my upbringing, and in lieu, set out with the intention to experience and to make myself happy. To think less of what was expected of me by those who play God, and more of my perennial passions. I'd recognized my flaws. I've never stated to anyone that I'm a good person. Never. But I felt that helping other people would be helping me; what else can we do?
I pondered on a medical field or social work — and a steady source of income, of course. I knew this was going to be a tremendous undertaking, but I was adamant when I set my mind to something important to me. I'd been told so by teachers — people of authority outside the homestead. A university accepted me. It required a distanced move several hours away. I would have to do this on my own without support or enthusiasm from my family. Yes, I was frightened; I don't blame myself. But this was what it took — to overcome my dread and doubt while bearing in mind my goals, which I purposely left petty and superfluous so they would be feasible to complete and not damage me from unexpected failure to fulfill them.
By my pragmatic, if not sardonic philosophies by default, expecting good things to happen in this world's rocky landscape leads to disappointment in many cases. Maybe then I wasn't aware of this factuality, but I am now. I recognize. I stop to think about those without. The body I am in, the innocent lusts I have, the blessings bestowed to me by God are all good things, so long as I humble myself and take heed to what I know to be right. They will not be denied by me, rejected by me, or taken for granted, as often as I can remind myself.
As contradictory and ironic as the following account will seem, I'm only human, none of which is perfect, all of which is pardoned.
II
I always knew what the passions and lusts aforementioned were. They seemed like untapped and beautiful things that escaped my domineering nature of cynicism and restraint. Even early on in my childhood, I was inquisitive; whatever was there had always been a part of me. I could not, or rather, was forbidden to act on any carnal urges — rightfully so, since I was only a child. Yet, with all the boundaries and restrictions and doctrines of what is “Right” and what is “Wrong” firmly implanted, there was exposure to so many sexual contexts and innuendos, nonetheless — not only that but other discretions that a young girl should not be allowed to eavesdrop on. I was being informed well before my sanctioned time by three older siblings and made fully aware of how things plied.
My brothers had no capacity for complex emotions such as concepts of morality or guilt — a typical encounter for me then. They did not care. They brought their rambunctious peers for visits while Dad would work around the clock, Mom would drink her gin and tonic, and I'd impinge on their misdeeds. Why did my dad ignore me? It bothered me more than he knew and would affect me down the trail. Why did my mom harbor such an indefensible hatred towards me? Was there something in me that she saw in herself, or was it merely me, having been the “accidental” fourth? The two live-in grandparents, who were Dad's parents, just made everything that much more awkward and unbearable. Why go into it? No more time should be wasted dwelling on any of them; the less, the better. I could not breathe in that household.
In any case, it wasn't much different around my contemporaries. Only, I'd be the one to refute classmates' naive banter and false notions by having known it all in advance when sat down in sex-ed, courtesy of three dick-headed and repugnant siblings with age and primacy on their side. It was a stark contrast when compared to the ridicule I would languish in the home, having not known jack shit when gunned down by a belligerent firstborn, ten years older than me. Sex is so ubiquitous that it's just impossible to avoid anymore — if it ever was possible to avoid it — especially with my level of drive. In one way or another, everything will pertain to it unless a prude, which I am certainly not. I was innately fascinated by it. I asked harmless questions. Why did my bros have to be so mean about it?
I'm not having any self-pity here; this is only an explanation of what life was like during my childhood and growing up in my family — a veritable psychiatric field day. My clusterfuck of a house demanded a 1955 mindset, regardless of whatever was going on behind closed doors. Mommy and Daddy never sat me down for a tête-à-tête about birds and the bees, or anything else for that matter. My parents and grandparents would force their lectures on love but never practiced it themselves or set an example. And I mean the sum of what love's supposed to be like, what I understood it should be like, not just the sexual elements that intrigued me the most.
This hypocrisy angered me. What the fuck was this? Love — it is all I wanted to feel but was unable to receive it by any means there.
After all that the abstinence had cost me through puberty, I planned to change things for myself by finding love elsewhere, and I would demand nothing in return for it.
III
Work was almost out on that sunny day sometime in June. I'd been interning in several hospitals and facilities while I studied for a planned degree in pharmacology. As the end of my stint approached, I thought more of my plans for that nightfall and how to pull them off to perfection. These non-sequitur thoughts were unsuited for any run-of-the-mill and holier-than-thou work ethic. They flew around with the rest of the hustle and bustle incessantly going on up there that I would do anything, short of opting out, to mitigate. They made me fidget in my seat, causing my muscles to tense and my breathing to fluctuate.
To only exacerbate my uneasiness and anxiety, an inbound text message had arrived from my newfound friend, Naomi. I don't recall precise words, but I'd guess something along the fringes of, “Are you going out for scalps later?” Over the years I've known her, she'd often refer to my newly acquired boons as “scalps,” or in another form of acrimony which — coming from how endearing and friendly she was — would still put it lighter than I was in my behavior towards most of those poor kids. I was coming out from an inferno of juvenile years that were indeed affecting both me and my surroundings. I regret it now; I do. I've hurt; yes, I have.
Naomi's perspectives and definitions of propriety were different from mine — ones I frequently envied. I'd met her for the first time in January of that year. She'd been a neighbor when I decided to get out of the dorm and rent something instead. I was still 18 then, and she had six years on me at her 24. From my first impression, she did not seem to carry any hint of whatever constitutes a Child left in her at all. She was self-governing, incorrigible in her mold, and who she distinguished herself as — no one would be changing her mind. I admired those aspects and sensed genuine wisdom in this chick.
Naomi quickly became a close friend to me, as I'd moved hours from my home and knew no one in this sprawling and daunting megalopolis beforehand. She saw my electrons and only confuted them with her more overbearing protons. I learned that it was only futility to be anything other than happy and amiable around her. I grew up with antonyms of joy. She had an overwhelming ardor I'd not spent ample time with before.
I eventually opened up to her about my past. My kitsch is considered old-school, old-fashioned, and I have no problem with that. In an age of social media, I may have — or I may not have — a different definition than bulks do of what a friend is and who gets placed on the 'Friends List.' It's a close circle, and in effect, a small list that is pretty damn important to me. I consider Naomi to be one of the people on said list. I mention her extensively because she became a pillar that supported my happiness. Her impeccable judgment regarding getting the most out of what this life had to reward me was never questioned or depreciated. I was indebted to her.
By that point, I had possessed what the forms of those rewards were continually able to come in, allusive pun intended. I was already being made aware of the effortless perfection in which my soul resided. I made efforts anyhow — if only to maintain my temple. I went out of the way to run miles every day during the week. I was only continuing what I'd been doing as a form of escapism since junior high. I had myself conditioned to the point of feeling like I could keep on figuratively running away from my troubles in perpetuity. I loved it like an addiction — “Runner's High,” they call it. It made me feel sexy.
People — suspected to be in the same frame of mind as me, e.g., 'on the hunt' — would look at me as I went past them in my own made world, where the cosmos centered around the area where the middle of my foot would connect to the asphalt. I caught many gotten glances from the corners of my eyes, which I consider dark and intimidating. If I did lock my formidable gaze with the odd pedestrian on my cool-down period, nine out of ten times, I'd cause them to glance off in another direction as swiftly as they could. Any place that didn't involve the prerequisite set of balls it takes to meet my peep, continue inwards, and break my barriers. However, the tenth time consisted of those sure enough of themselves to take a plunge and brave a journey into my complex irides intent to burn away any veil in theirs. Destinations varied.
I would arrive home to my leased residence in a cold sweat and dampened clothes to undress for a hot shower in a ritualistic manner. The release from the confinements of my sports bra only made me feel like I could breathe the more so. As I poured out of the nylon stitching, my breasts would instantaneously settle back into their rightful perky place and be permitted to jut from my chest in freedom, just as God had intended for Eve's to do so before the Fall.
I shimmied myself out of what thin fabrics remained on the lower portion of my framework — hips and all that is divine between my legs were revealed to me, reminding me of my luck again. I knew what I saw in the mirror's reflection; I was not blind to a familiar sight. I eyed my curves and contours and the landing strip I regularly like to rock on my mound. It was abundantly clear what I was beholding: I was the quintessential woman who could have anything she fancied. It was entirely my choice to ditch the conviction and despair I suffered through adolescence and enjoy being in my niche instead. What a hedonist I was.
I would undo the knotted bun resting atop my head to let my blackened hair fall past my shoulders and onto my skin. I could detect a familiar and intoxicating fragrance in each of the strands. The moisture and scent from having pounded on the pavement not long before would also be in the air. It would mix with lingering aromas from whatever perfumes I'd sprayed in it from that morn. They joined with the traces of shampoo and conditioner from the previous night. The amalgamation became a tang of raw Sexual Energy that cannot be withstood or further described without the risk of raving. A lot can happen in a bathroom before a shower.
In times like 'in front of the mirror after a run,' I feel an aura surrounding me. I see myself in my purest and most vulnerable form as my damp and weighted tresses brushed against tender bits. Naked and battling with an abiding lust, found in spiritual sectors that cannot be labeled by anatomy, I would do things to myself in front of these mirrors — I'd been doing so in secrecy for quite a while. I would explore places, touch parts, and imagine my empty spaces made occupied by things I was, in my infancy, only able to catch glimpses and then lose sight of, left to have them in my dreams. Later on, I would see them but never be allowed to feel them in my presence. These dreams became increasingly vivid.
But by that summer in '14, the need for imagination and improvisation was no longer necessary. I had felt the sensation of a cock pressing into my flesh and was able to say so. Even if a phantom in my time of solitude, I oft feel nerves on zones inside me where I want the head to bear the brunt of its punishment most of all and induce the climacteric point of no return. In these moments, I cast aside whatever piety and temperance I have over myself and realize how bad I need fucked.
My cock craving would arrive in times as such — the times that were so commonly encountered during weeks consisting of long days with nil opportunity to sate my needs and cause the build-up and frustration to become that much more acute. These times called for me to do something about it. They bring me back to the Friday reminisced on, the reply to my friend's question, and whatever lucky guy — the emblematic scalp — would get his chance to serve as this completion for me as the five days of absence waned, and the weekend drew nearer.
IV
I replied to Naomi; asked her if she knew where I could go to make this happen. She had lived in the City all her life and was a social animal. It amazed me how she could throw names and addresses at me at the drop of a hat — any place where something was going down. It wasn't long after that when she told me, “Go here,” gave me the deets and coordinates, and wished me well. I planned to brave it alone that night since I was working some distance from home.
More and more routinely, I found myself still out, waking up in strangers' beds and being gone even well into the next day. It was becoming a custom for me to be prepared for this to happen. I would keep clothes in my car, influenced by whatever vogue was going on; lots of clothes. I kept stocked on survival essentials, too, i.e., food and drink — mainly trail mixes and bottled water. I had plenty of cosmetic and hygienic supplies to maintain my beauty and preserve my health. I could do work while sitting in the car if obligated. If I needed sleep, it was trivial enough to recline the seat. I was able to be out and about more by these means. Staying or fleeing a scene was all contingent upon how it was and the vibes I was feeling.
After I got out of the job, I went to find the park I'd been using to run laps during that week. Though, today, I would run only to a point where I'd not work up so much fatigue and make a sweaty mess of myself — which, with my stamina, took some work. From what I remember, it was supposed to be an open house slated for six o'clock or so — a later part of the evening. It would be no more than a fifteen-minute drive from where I was. I had plenty of time. Also, I liked to show up late at these things. Exercising was not only delightful to me but my way of cleansing the deed through its health benefits. It was my absolution from whatever substances and sordid activities I would undoubtedly be indulging in.
During those years, I spent time playing dress-up in my vehicle. I'd strip out of my work attire and into sports gear for my runs. Then I would return and swap back into something suitable for whatever I'd be doing after that. In many instances, I would be within plain view as I was changing in the car. In retrospect, I'm surprised I don't need neck surgery as a result of how much surveying I was doing while I switched outfits to see if I was being ogled at by some perv. I told myself nobody saw me making a nouveau riche bimbo out of herself, but maybe I was, in my subconscious, wishing someone had. Perhaps someone did see me once or twice, but that's another story.
My black Honda Accord was like a home for me, pillow in the back and all. If push came to shove, I kenned I could always go to my car and nap there in safety. Unless close, there was no reason for me to drive back home. I could be spending that time doing something productive or heading towards something that made me feel good instead. I was being taught different things now; to love myself and cease in the denial of loving it. I wasted none of what coupled youth and adulthood instigated. At 19, I was milking these advocations for everything they were worth, although I never wavered from my own beliefs; my Faith. Love is at the center of it; the rest is redundant to me.
With that in mind, I arrived back after I had concluded my jog. I always felt carefree and sensuous after the fact, being glad it was done and feeling much healthier. I threw something on and freshened up. I wanted myself as flaunted and sultry as possible, sparing no expense or giving any pretense as to what I would be looking for at this shindig. I made sure not to hold back on Chanel and L'Oréal and make my hair as liberated, salacious, and untamed as possible. I swallowed whatever lurking fret there was and brushed aside whatever bullshit second thoughts I had, then ignited the engine to hear the radio blasting A Sky Full of Stars by Coldplay. I remember it.
V
It was dusk when I got there. I parked a reasonable distance away on the curb and walked to the address Naomi gave me. A driveway went up for a bit that led me to a two-story home that looked to be an upper-middle-class sort of place. There was activity going on. Lots of people were there; I was not counting. The age group appeared anywhere between their teens like me, into their early thirties. I could walk right in and assimilate myself without anyone noticing, and I was all right with that. I figured most of it was going on in the backyard. There was a lot of landscaping around the front and a fence, so I had to go through the front door to get there, which was wide open.
It seemed warm and stuffy when I stepped in, especially for the intermingling Latin blood running hot in my veins. The lights were down; I recall candlelight. I remember the usual smells of food and spirits. The familiar odor of marijuana was also in the air. I was 19 and very much underage, doing something I knew was not allowed, as if I was going to let that deter me. A blond-haired mistress I did not know walked up and hugged me. She said some indistinct things I don't remember now. She might have been the owner of the house since she was a bit older. Whoever she was, she looked to be well on her way, like she had taken something. I wasn't sure what was going on yet. I could not hear her, either. It was loud in there, enough to make a girl go deaf with the proper soundtrack going.
People were yelling over each other as the typical EDM and pop music blasted on a stereo system. Music is at the epicenter of a good party. There have to be good tunes to have a good party, in my opinion. Of course, I did not expect to hear anything underground, abrasive, or hardcore, like a gabber at their rave or mosher in their pit. But the night was young, and so was I. At 19, a bit of what I knew was passed vicariously through the older folks I was becoming acquainted with — my friend Naomi was one of them. And her being 24, a sophisticated and diverse individual, they only got older from there. She was regularly around people in their thirties and upwards, back to when parties were happening in the '00s, '90s, and '80s.
I hear they were tumultuous times, and Naomi had been exposing me to those capable of saying they were there. The only way to be there was to be there. They carried no smartphones back then, nor did they need them. Technology did not matter since it did not exist. It was the memory and the moment, nothing more. Whatever knowledge was in my academics and studies did nada for me while I was subject to those circumstances. What many of them attained was my definition of wisdom — having lived on Earth longer than me. Which is to say, they had witnessed more of what reality is and felt more pain than I had. The years they'd spent listening and partaking, as I was doing, had paid off.
I could not compete with any of it, but she let me in on their private jokes, notwithstanding, and involved me in their antics as often as we were around each other. When I went to events with Nomi and whoever else she had along, there was no question about how confident I was. It meant a great deal to have her as a friend and to be able to call her one. As all this was happening, she confided with me just as much as I was confiding in her. With all that emotion and proximity, not to mention her talents in temptation, she began touching me and welcomed me to touch her, too. Lots of frivolous hugs were going on, but then they became more compelling.
I did not know if she was manipulating me into something — if she was, it was working. She had the advantage of seniority and being the Cooler Cucumber than me, not to mention having a charisma that I lacked. She deadlocked me in my eyes all the time — a powerful thing to me. It reached the point when she trapped me on my lonesome one day, got me to open my mouth, and let her stick her tongue in it. It ended with her leading me by the hand and both of us on her bed, fucking one another. She pulled this off even amid my sobriety and having had considered myself a very straight female before then. Wow. Kudos to me, more power to her.
Naomi became the first woman I was intimate with — she opened that gateway for me, broke that boundary and taboo. She was breaking lots of those not long after that. Things I never imagined myself doing began taking place, and I was doing them; things were taking me, more ambiguous puns intended. As time went on, she felt more like companionship and someone I could place my trust in and lower my guard around. It has remained as such to this day.
VI
Since I was alone at this particular event on that night, I wanted to be cautious. I was being analyzed head to toe by strangers left and right. I felt their eyes already peeling my duds off. During a warm night in June, there was not much clothing on me, to begin with — all my prominent features were out on display for them. I had done this on my own before and was discovering what worked for me, albeit tentatively.
I needed to find a spot to settle in to get my bearings, with a drink in my hand that would put me on the path to enough of a buzz of courage to make a move on someone — or allow them to make theirs. A year farther down the highway, I might have done something insane and not thought twice, but I did not want to overdo anything here this evening. I was on my own, which is already taking a risk — too serious of one for my better part of judgment then.
I found an unoccupied piece of patio furniture outside in the backyard. It was more spacious and less constricting than being inside the sweltering domicile. More air and fewer clusters of crowds brushing into my Safe Zone allowed me to relax and contemplate. People were in their groups and cliques and saturated in their confidences for reasons obvious to anyone. In that sort of environment, being ingratiated within a group makes a state of mind different from when unescorted. I felt withdrawn and homesick at this function that night, to be sure, drinking alcohol in my teens and prone to rash decisions. I had to remain vigilant and keep my wits about me.
This garden party had been carrying on for a while now. I saw people dancing, fornicating, and rambling incoherently across the yard from what looked to be drug use, alleged to be ecstasy. I saw a surreptitious group of males, the type known all too well to me by then. I assumed they were selling — my assumption proved correct after time spent sitting with my drink and policing them.
Club drugs were still out of my depth then, and taking something like MDMA — or taking any substance for that matter — without someone to trust nearby leads to bad decision-making and potential catastrophe. It's a wonderful way to wreck your entire life in an instant — and be left with the sickening hindsight of, “Why did I have to do it? I could have Just Said No. Everything would be fine right now if I had.” Thoughts such as those make me think of what is taken for granted, not to mention my health. With what I was doing for a better amount of six years, it is a miracle I am even alive and not in a coma or dead. Which is worse, the former or the latter?
There would be no fucking way I would be taking anything on that night, let alone pay anything out of pocket for whatever insalubrious garbage it may have been cut with. I was searching around for someone who appeared to be in a comparable situation as me: they were at this festivity to get laid and bust their nut — no cons, illegalities, or ODs attached. Nothing wrong with a little lovin'.
I had been there for at least half an hour now. I recall having a Dark and Stormy — a drink I have thoroughly enjoyed over the years. I doubt the rum was anything from a top shelf, but volume is volume. Speaking of volume, since the time I'd strolled through the home, the music was getting better. Maybe they'd replaced whoever was doing the DJing with someone who knew their shit — a connoisseur who viewed music as an art form, as I did. It sounded to be deep-cuts of minimal techno, vocal trance, et cetera. Echoes of numerous, unknown artists and tracks that someone could quite easily only ever lay ears on once during a lifespan and then never hear again.
Hearing the unheard has always been a big deal to me. I thrive for a moment where I will hear something to fall in love with — or take offense from. As cruel as it seems to say to anybody sober, genres such as techno and trance will only sound better while rolling on uppers or while bombed out of their gourds on herb — or, in my case, that eve, floating on alcohol.
But please permit me to be a hoity-toity, high and mighty, la-di-da ball-buster by repudiating what was literally just said: Don't do drugs; don't even drink hard liquor. It's the smart thing to do.
VII
I remember attempting a conversation with a couple of passersby if you could call it a conversation. Most of what they were mumbling to me about was idiosyncratic gibberish. Obviously Zonked. I told them, delivered as a fait accompli, what I was here for — my thirst needed to be quenched by some sort of personified punch after the stressors of my existence throughout that week, hither. While I continued to sip my beverage and soak in the sounds, I looked for a suitable other to aid me in accomplishing this feat. It would be an extreme responsibility for them.
Most of the guys I saw there thought themselves larger than life, and justly so, I guess. They had girls with them already. It's possible actual relationships were going on, e.g., boyfriend and girlfriend. Most looked thunderous and hyper. Always something to say. They frolicked in their esteem.
Were I to walk up to these characters or them to me, dictation would be on their terms. They could easily cast me aside and find someone looking nearly as good as I was that night, and I was looking severely good at 19; it would be untenable to deny or just plain mean to tell a Missy otherwise. I was getting tons of inspections, lonely and abandoned as I was. Time was running out for me to choose, and the alcohol was in effect.
VIII
I saw one of the smaller assemblages that looked to be more phlegmatic than the norm. They casually conversed and gave no evidence of having any terminal impairment. From a stone's throw away from my location, they looked like respectable working-class — blasé and hospitable; no flamboyance. One guy was the odd man out. He had no Lady on his arm, as the other two Gentlemen did. He looked to be a real Somebody.
I would say he was in his upper twenties. His physique looked active, rugged, and undemanding — a type I loved to tempt. His hair was dark, dense, and wavy — enough of it to run my fingers through to feel good about myself. He had maintained facial hair, but not too maintained. He seemed rough around the edges, with nothing tapered or outstanding. His clothing — a distinctly recollected dark and drab T-shirt and tarnished denim jeans — fit loosely enough for comfort and snug enough to show off his sculpt — one that looked lean with a fatally underestimated power behind it. Hell yeah, I'd tap that!
I was eyeing him up and down, gorgeous as I was, and he saw me doing it. He was participating in a chat with his buddies and their dates while he was more and more glancing over at me, sitting on my own, trying to pretend like he was not affected. I wondered if they were talking about me — it looked like they were touching on something. From what I was observing, he seemed to have a reserved opinion of himself. His friends appeared that way, too. There was no complacency or delusion present.
I was stricken to carry myself with the same decorum in ordinary cases, but I was horny and infatuated with myself at the minute, not to mention Sloshed. I thought the man was looking at me and assuming right away that there would be no bet in hell of scoring a nasty summit of a number like me on that night. Too modest for his own good. Or was I wrong? Was I too conceited and haughty for my own good? I wondered what kind of beast of a Cock was skulking behind the excess seen in his weathered jeans like it was some predator waiting in ambush. Each seam and tear in those pants he bore so eloquently were more than likely earned by his merit at whatever tedious daily grind he had, rather than been pre-installed at purchase merely to resemble liveliness.
As I continued studying him, I felt my mouth salivate. My breath began to elevate. My muscles were contracting, and I was fidgeting in my chair like I'd been doing at work earlier. What charm lay bare and void betwixt my thighs was going from moist to damp, damp to wet, and throbbing with each heartbeat. Steamy thoughts were going on in my fucked up and dirty head. I queried how much I could get away with here — Niña Loca, arguing with the Voices. The hand that did not contain a plastic cup involuntarily traveled down to paw at the soft Hill found in my shorts. I oftentimes do this with the knuckles bearing inward — really, there is no control over it. Then I felt my face begin to tingle and my mouth abruptly dry. I took another swig of 40 as if that would alleviate the dryness in the long run.
My chest became tight, and my heart began to pulsate with even greater intensity — so much more that I felt it shocking my body from root to stem. My adrenaline was kicking in — something I still needed to get used to feeling. I wanted this dude to put his brawny hands all over me and force me to moan for him as he fucks me to climax. Oh, God, how I needed it. I wasn't going to wait around for it to happen. I got up and took concealed, stumbled strides athwart the grass and over to him.
IX
He grew taller as I neared — at least a head's higher than my 5'5''. Oh yeah, this fella was interested, so was I. Definitely a Smash. Something was trying to click here. His eyes lit up a bit, deep and complex as they were, like mine. Still, he did not turn them away from me to stare at his feet or act like he didn't know what was happening. I sensed he had assurance in himself, whether he cared to concede to it or not.
As I landed my sights on the more intricate of his features, it became clear why he did. He was indeed much older than I, more into his early thirties. This was not some boy as green as the ground I stood on; it was a full-fledged Man. With the age comes the experience, as I was going to find out about later on. A man's age advantage over me also stirs my more discreet and frailer of psychological quirks — the lack of a Father Figure. Where I was invisible to my dad, I had found an adjacent alternative, who did appreciate me and lavished me in sensuality, furthermore.
I'm a believer in Occam's razor — that the Quickest Avenue is probably going to be the right one to go down. Short and sweet; no meandering BS or trying out new techniques. I asked him if he was with someone. He took my meaning, shook his dear head in a neutral expression, and told me No. We shared the same policy, apparently — candid, concise, and straight to business; this is not like the movies. I asked if I could be with him. He said Yes — just like that. I went up to meet his chest, albeit hesitant from the slight jolted shock to my nervous system when I realized he was more seasoned than I had anticipated. But he extended a sinewy arm to give me signs I had nothing to fear from him.
An indefinable surge of warmth went over me. Feelings of Happiness and Acceptance flooded inside as I hugged my body closer.
I was on his left; I remember it. He put his arm around me. He was a rock-solid Bull. I wanted to put my arm around him, too. When I did, it felt like trying to hug a bronze statue out of Ancient Rome. I felt out of my body so often during these escapades. It was something surreal like a déjà vu or feeling like I'd reached the pinnacle of a precipice, one where reality only existed inside my mind and falling off the ledge would turn it into a black nihility, like before being born into a soul.
I wished to rest my head on him and shut my eyes, then open them to see if I'd wake up someplace else — I didn't want to wake up; I wanted to go nowhere else but 'Here' and 'Now.' He had a scent of cologne that merged with a nostalgic hint of tobacco that I grew up around in a family of smokers; casual, and chain. His conferees were, as I inferred: Around their late twenties and precisely the kinds of laid-back folks that I could correlate to and mellow out with. One might even label it esoteric — no conformity, only themselves.
There was an introduction. We exchanged our names — of which now I cannot recall. Mine was Melanie, and it is appalling that I cannot remember the name of my new boyfriend as I write in the present tense. His pals seemed tranquil and only spoke about as much as need be. They continued having a conversation about something that I draw blanks on now. I think it was work-related. I gathered they were co-workers.
What was running through my mind was who I had my arm around. My hand and its fingers lightly traced the finer details and digits of his spine. They went up to the lower parts of his neck to brush his hairline. I was touching him with greater zeal and affection at an alarming rate of attrition. He was considering it, and I could see it. Who knew I had it in me? I had to raise my head to meet his height. My eyes were looking up and to his. Even if he turned away for a moment to those he was already familiar with, as if to equivocate my presence, I did not falter — my sight remained on him. This technique was not just for him to enjoy but also was a means for me to read him — to try my damnedest to discern what kind of man this was. What kind of secrets did I need to know about, hmm? Eye contact. It's important to me.
I wanted to trust this stranger enough to give him Carte Blanche and let him have total Dominion over me and all that could be his. Capriciousness had nothing to do with the decision I had made — and despite my inebriation, while crossing over the lawn, I knew what I was doing here. It was the End Game in mind — for me to have my brains Fucked out in earnest and their gray matter suspended in Orgasmic Euphoria. Such has always been my Vice. The rest is impertinent; diversions or tactics to lead me to it.
When they met my soft skin, I recalled the grain of his hands calloused and stalwart, like a man's hands should feel. As I expected, this was an active human being with a firm grip on a very clingy gal who coveted to get a lot more of her parts gripped on before the roosters had a chance to crow at sun-up. What I did not expect was how much this buckaroo knew what he was doing. It leads me to believe that this is why I still retain the night, even over six blurry years later, where I would find myself in similar predicaments during every week's end.
X
I finished my Juice and nonchalantly tossed the obligatory Red Solo Cup elsewhere, scattering the condensed ice cubes and soggy rum-soaked lime wedge amongst the turf. A Party will be a Party, and this one was not mine. A proper Fucking Mess — “Fucking” in verb form — for the host/hostess to clean up after all's said and done is, in consolidated fact, a Given. I now had both of my lovely hands vacant and available to touch him, as my inborn omnipotence concerning these libidinous affairs deemed fit.
I edged myself from his side and into his front, though not all the way. Of course, this rose his attention; why would it not? No dialogue was going on between us, and I was quite all right with that. The Music played. The Multitudes in the yard carried on hooping and hollering like not a thing was transpiring between He and Me. My hands were running up and down along his sides and anywhere else stimulating they could conquer. I have been told countless times in so many ways about what it is like to feel my reception and bona fide sentiment via my touch.
I did not grab the Bulge I wanted so desperately to have in my clutches, quite yet. It's crucial not to overstep bounds, initially. I needed to wait for that moment, a critical one. I had a Good Vibe going on here; high hopes; this was most certainly a Catch. He “wasn't most guys,” and for once in a blue-fucking-moon in the Sky, this Truth was held to be self-evident. I wanted him to have it, this luscious body in its entirety. He did not have to prove a thing to a girl endeavoring to cultivate herself. I finally got him to focus on Me, Me, Me, and fuck all else — the narcissistic wench that I was.
In that instant, I banked on the Accolade to take place — the bit where this man took over for me and granted me something in return; quid pro quo. And he did.
First Base! He had been a downplayed professional, touching me in all the right places with all the right amounts of pressure applied. His friends were very polite, and I don't even remember when they shifted elsewhere to give us our privacy. The only thing I remember was how fast I was being pulled into his body from a forceful tug on my Butt and my lips meeting his. I felt my boobs flattened on his torso in their usual somatic fashion — always a treat. My eyes closed, and what was subtlety on both our parts quickly turned to passion. I had no choice in this anymore. I was being manhandled and forced to submission by this Tank, made to feel like a Woman.
My forearms went around his Hull and my fingers through his hair — any place I could nudge and turn on. All the while, he is doing the same things to me. Inside, I am growing aroused beyond words — driven to moan and whisper indiscretions and Freudian slips I would only utter from my authentic pleasure. My emotional state, psyche, and soul were being taken back to childhood — dismissal then, embrace now. They should be signals to this man — to any man — of how much I was getting into this. I was 'F4M/DTF/NSA,' unequivocally.
He had taken his Big Bat and hit the Baseball well into the outfield, if not a home run, so he rounded to Second Base without the obligation to halt on the first plate. The heat and waves from his approval and endorsement enveloped me. I was standing on tippy-toes and then felt a drag in the small of my back by a stern and assertive hand. I was as closely knit to his body as allowable with our clothes still on. My kisses grew more adventurous and liberal, of which happy campers have told me are as great as my touch. My tongue was doing its handiwork; he impressed me with his. He was pulling up my leg to rest against his midsection as if to lift me from the ground and spare me my encumbrance. I'll admit, it was tough being Me sometimes.
He had his other hand grabbing into my tight Ass in the interim — a lot of Ass to grab into. Courtesy of a South-American heritage, the Brazilian Butt Lift came with the Package. As he did this, it caused everything so tender and bewitching to the commonfolk to stretch apart and shoot waves of exhilaration through me, from the top of my pointy hat, to where I sit on a broomstick, to the tips of my toes. I like it when my backside is played with and violated by a stronger counterpart, 'tis true.
I emphasize: With all that is Corporeal, simultaneously existing with all that is Conceptual, the pleasure I feel from this is Incommunicable. I felt another brutish hand betwixt my pregnable legs and its fingers pressing into fertile valleys below the pubic bone. He knew precisely where my Clit was, even with my dungarees obstructing it. We — being me and Her — were assuredly in trouble. Giving this Paragon of Masculinity no sign of refusal and every incentive to take this to another level, I immediately placed my hand on the Bump of unmentionables in his slacks. I was, dying then and there to have it rammed inside me — through any choice of an entrance — to placate my yearning.
I felt how hard it was and only wondered of its potential size when I had it out to put my hands on it. It felt disconcertingly Huge. Too huge for captivity. I aimed to be the girl to release it for good.
XI
I do not know how long we were making out. What could have been minutes seemed like hours to me? Or is it the other way around? My guy and I were standing out in public, and this shit was getting Real. He was going under my skimpy little summertime top and touching my bare, prohibited flesh by that point. I wanted him to take it off. I didn't stand a possibility to surmount to this; he would just triumph in one way or another. He could put me over a desk, stick his Dick in my Ass and fuck the reading glasses off me, and there would not be a goddamned thing I could do to prevent it. I knew it. Despite all that Respect I had for myself, I was ready to accept being got and fucked back into my place on the Hierarchy — fucked out of the Feminist Mindset that liked to creep up on me. And him being a Hunk and having it all rock-hard in his pants because of me only validated my Role and gave me that much more esteem — I accorded him his hard-on.
He was digging me. On the Ortho-Novum, or whatever I was taking at the time, there was no cause for us to be concerned about unplanned cherubs should things come to that. We were ready for this to happen.
My areolae diminished, nipples coagulated. I felt numb from the cocktail in my system. What a lousy feeling sometimes. Contrary to what's said about alcohol warming the blood, the opposite is true — it reduces body temperature. I was getting cold. Finally, my boo gave me an interval to be able to tell him that I “really wanted to be alone with him” — more than likely in those selfsame words, or fewer — implying that I needed him to fuck me. He understood. This guy was exceptional, incredible. Most talk too much, but he was of few words. He explained to me, in brevity, that he lived only a five-minute stroll from the house party and asked me if I wanted to go there with him. I answered, “Yes," with as much sincerity and solemnity as I could muster from my drunken state. He put his arm around me, said some hazy farewells and valedictions to his associates, and lead me from the property.
XII
The eve had turned late, at least according to whatever Pecksniffian condescender declared that 'when the sun is down, then it should be deemed by us as such.' I didn't know the exact time, but as long as I'd lived with Time, it had to have been at least after 23:00. It was a peaceful walk, lit by the scattered lamps on the road and the city's glow and hum. Not a lot was spoken between him and me, though I remember trading compliments and informing him of how much I was looking forward to this.
We were enchanted by each other in the ambiance of the midnight that warded off the distant sounds of commerce, transit, and day-in-day-out hustle-bustle.
My other half had a sturdy arm around my curvy waistline, and a steady palm on my belly — my more supple touch sought to rouse him on his back while he did so. I was on his left side; I reckon it's the instinctive side of an alpha male for me to choose. It made me feel great; these fluttery butterflies in my head with his hold down there. I strived to stay as flirty and lewd as I could with my hookup. But mayhaps a more magical side of me gave a more devoted sort of touch to him, as plausible while in motion, as we neared wherever he lived. Maybe my caring touch hoped to sustain the comfort and warmth we had already shared at the gathering together. Perhaps it hoped to obtain more.
I can get a bit melancholy while on the sauce; it is a depressant, after all. I remember my touch carrying a gravity. Was my fling feeling it like it was? Nah, probably not. Regardless, my swooning and blushing from this tall and mysterious drifter, leading me to be fucked, may have evoked some facepalming drama. He had his arm around my waist. His hand pressed into my womb; it possibly jerked a tear in the corner of my eye or two. Maybe a little one. I can become very emotional when my guard is down like it was there; is that so bad?
I get this fucking longing to gratify another entity and receive something in return from it. It is kind of difficult to explain. Most of my frequented types did not give me this in return. I wanted to exploit some form of compromise — a chunk that was taken out of their armor by means I would hope to overhear during pillow talk, highs, trips, or something. I aspire to get a hard-ass such as this one with my arm wrapped around to open themselves up to me; make me feel meaningful, if not indispensable to them. Maybe then I would repay them by letting them see me open up — let them have a taste of what really flows through my heart.
Though I would find myself in similar situations shortly in the future, most of the liquor was subsiding by then; I only downed the one cup at the gala — granted, a large cup. The temperature had fallen, and I was freezing. I remember shivering and trembling, my teeth gritting, but this could have been from the looming plans. I will confess, I was slightly anxious since I knew what was coming. I was in this sexy rascal's grasp and heading with him towards the fabricated and murk unventured. It did not matter; it was a beneficial kind of worry, more of a therapeutic dilemma, or being in labor before childbirth — the kind that made me feel like a lady. I had to have been looking good — my heavy eyeliner to lose himself in; my myriad of long sable hair abound for him to stir and sway. He was treating me well. He had respect for me, and I knew he would not hurt me. I was fucking ready for this.
XIII
We'd reached our destination. I had deduced — all while keeping up with the tradition of oohing and awing over the immaterial and mundane on our way over — that the structure was a lesser idyllic sight, fixed closer to the street. It was more of a bungalow, with less of a yard in front — a bit of a far cry from the dazzling, bourgeois casa we'd trekked from in the minutes that felt like ages ago. But if it's Moolah I'm after, then they don't know me at all.
He took me around to the rear of the dwelling to unlock a door. The backyard was more spacious, only as I recall from the low level of visibility, it being past my bedtime. No moment was wasted going inside.
He closed the doorway. I heard the keys clank as they hit the kitchen counter. It was dim, save for a small tinted light seen in his living room — he had left it as such for us: dark. The curtains were closed. I heard a radio on low; 88.1, a jazz station — maybe to dissuade intruders? Or had he been planning something here all along? What space was there appeared to be well-kept, as if he wasn't home a lot — or when he was, he had a needy bombshell clinging to him as he did on this night. It had this atmosphere of order and neatness — that of an industrial and regulated one — a well-disciplined fellow. Though, it felt like a cozy and homey place to me, too.
I was only judging all of this in a brief instance because he turned to confront me. I gawked at him with a minor trace of hesitancy, as if I could not believe this was happening to me right now. He took me in his arms, and I melted into a fervent kiss.
XIV
You get out of me what you put into me. Most of the plights that I braved with men were pseudo and superficial. There was no real thought of affection from them. But this seemed offbeat. I was feeling it — the vibe and the passion. He was giving me everything he had while still being vertical with clothes on his person, and he was fucking good at it.
I don't know how long we were fondling one another or how we were veering towards the living room floor. As we did so, I understood that pieces of our clothing no longer wanted to be a part of the equation. I had my Beau's shirt off before we hit the rug. An effortless quintessence of a man was on top of me, giving it up to me, and I back to him. My top was still on, likely thinly sown and suggestive.
I must confess I had not been wearing a bra since that eventide when I left work. It is my habit to ditch a bra from my soma at any opportune respite I can get. I have claustrophobia, and they are so fucking choking and uncomfortable. And, yeah, what was underneath the required conduct and expectation for people to have raiment on their persona in Society was probably blatantly visible to the public, too — i.e., my voluptuous 30Ds. But why should I have to wear a bra on such a nefarious night? He already knew it, of course. His hands were well up into my shirt and directly applied to all that is magnificent back at the party. He had not seen them unfiltered yet, however. We were still kissing; necking; feeling each other up — making love with each other. Does this not seem like it could want to go on for an eternity?
My toned legs were wrapping around his back and pulling him in. I hugged him as close to me as I could. He touched me all over, was rubbing his hand on my shorts, right where I like it. Arousing noises were being born by me through concupiscence and pleasure. He stopped a moment, said nothing, only looked at me — my mood dazed and bewildered; my hair a scintillating and frantic mess, as he edged my top over my boobs. He paused another sec, and his eyes went wide. Nevertheless, he did not comment, and neither did I. Our facial expressions were our conversation. Maybe I would be getting another kind of 'facial' pretty soon. I looked at him and gave half a smirk with a feigned exhalation through my nose. He seized the meaning that I wanted this to proceed.
He smooched me all over my upstairs and became enraptured by the visage of my exquisite knockers handcrafted by God. I closed my eyes and felt hot inside as he did so, never ceasing to convey my profound affections to him. He was traveling further downstairs in his affections towards me. My scantily sported top, a fluorescent orange insert brand name as I hark back to, had been discarded — flung across the pad. Both of us still had our pants on, obscuring the most sacred and sought-after regions. His was all I was musing about; what kind of monstrosity would I have to tussle with here? I could only feel it confined to his pants — what I felt scared me and shortened my breath, made me bite a lip or two. I was so fucking aroused.
He was past my navel at this point; his tongue had been in there. My pants, still being equipped, did neither of us any good. It was time. He knew it, and so did I. He slid them down my legs and past my bare feet that draped over his shoulders. I have cute feet and toes, probably painted then. He saw them — before glimpsing at the shaven grandeur farther up, clearly conspicuous behind a decadent thong — and was not opposed to putting any part of me into his trap.
He did something like stick me in his mouth, and I did something such as stroke the excess of his penis in his jeans with my other foot if only to entice him — as is my intuition when an apex has my toes at his mercy. His blue jeans were indeed still present, and I would be giving him prompts to take them off in succession with my waxed legs spread for him. He did not succumb. He took his time and it was turning me the fuck on in the meantime.
My darling had skipped down several floors. He was now operating from bottom to top, inevitably leading to my delectable vulva and all points between — within and without; protruded and retracted. Would whatever animal that lay hungry in the foliage cause a prolapse when it sprung out to attack me? We — me and my pussy — had to wonder how bad this was going to be. What had we gotten ourselves into this time?
It was no tricky task for this specialist to maneuver around my slutty looking band of string and put his mouth on areas and orifices that need no introduction to Mankind. There was no excuse not to know the female anatomy in 2014. Like the rest of his touch, it was an intrinsic gift to him — the right amounts of oscillated pressure applied under my little canopy. All I could think to do was just lay there and deal with it, play with my boobies, bite my lip, look down in amazement and reverence and savor it.
This was a man who was not afraid or ashamed to go down on a woman. Evidently, this was about my pleasure, not his. I felt like a queen. He tapped his tongue right into my spot with my hand on his head whilst I was gasping in total awe of this hottie and pleading with him for it to continue and never desist. What more could a girl want? Everything was dripping in secretion, famished to have this panther make a meal out of us. His tongue in my box and on Dr. Grafenberg's spot was positively Awesome — I never use this word lightly.
XV
At this point, we had me moaning in agony for him, my legs trembling, and nerve endings bestowing euphoric bolts of lightning through my body. I was so fucking close, and yet, he paused. He brought my legs together and ditched the sad excuse of synthetic material that remained on me, leaving me in the nude. I do remember faintly saying to him, in helpless and perplexed excitement, “Let me see it, Daddy,” as if I had to tell this guy how to do his job. I could not help it; I needed it so fucking badly!
He took the sides of my arms in both his hands and elevated me from the floor. He didn't have to tell me twice when he stood to his feet. I got on my knees and put my hands on his legs, never forgetting eye contact — laborious as it was, to focus on anything but my prize. My mate had already trod well past the third base by now, and I hadn't even seen it yet — I would not malinger here. It was time for him to head for the home plate — the final sprint. He undid the button and saved the zipper for me. I'd waste no time keeping his briefs on, either. I wanted the shock from this to strike me — though slowly, steadily, and in all profundity, I gripped the tops to slide them down.
In exact, shuddered words of, “Oh my God,” as it lept out from behind the final barrier of cloth and fell from its weight, oxygen had been displaced in my lungs and replaced by another wave of an electrical current that detonated in my chest. I could not believe what I was bearing witness to here. Before then, I'd seen in propria persona what constitutes Perfect and Large dicks — these are not terrible items at all. But I had not seen a cock as colossal as his, staring me right in the face as tangible. This dude was Hung. How in Fuck's name was I going to manage this! He put the 'Well' in 'Well Endowed' in every literal and iterated sense.
My breath quivered, and all I could think to do next was to put my hands on it — yes, it required them both. I'm on my knees, naked and flushed, before this monument of a man looking down at me. He was petting my head and pampering my brown-black hair, encouraging and inspiring me. Fuck, I was hot. It just behooved me, instinctively, to begin the process of engulfing it. Need I go into copious detail here? I was a prodigy of oral sex — of any sex. The simple translation: I love fucking.
I heard his breathing go up and felt his grip begin to tighten. He didn't do anything brutish or obnoxious to me, only tilted his head to the ceiling to enjoy it. This delighted and satisfied me as I proceeded to go down on it further. I couldn't fit its entirety into the back of my throat, as diligent and persevered as I was, so I ran along its sides instead. I glanced up at him and sought his trust in me to put his nuts in my mouth — gently so as not to hurt them. One hand remained to stroke on his cock, the other wrapped around his leg. I closed my eyes and listened to his stifled groans from the fabulous head he was receiving. The erotic redolence of sex was in the air and affecting my anima. I felt both of our raised pulses; my own was crippling me. My heart could not beat any faster than it was; my body was ready to explode like a volcano.
I rose from my knees a bit to play with myself. I doubt he noticed me reaching down to rub my pussy and press a finger or two onto my asshole. I continued to suck his dick off and allow as much of it to slide down into my throat as I could. I was so fucking ready for this guy to vanquish us. How were we going to fit this? I trusted him to be helpful and patient; he seemed like such a nice and handsome gent.
We were communicating with each other only through our expression; it went without saying. Both of us knew what to do before the moment had arrived. My sweetheart saw me dawdling and hesitating with his circumference still in my yap and gently withdrew. He had his hand brushing the side of my adorable mug and went to a bended knee to lay on the soft carpet. He didn't have to signal me; tell me two times — we had already agreed upon it. It was beautiful and organic.
On my way back down to meet him, I gave fellatio for a moment longer, simply to show how much I cared and also to prep it for penetration. Then I settled my hands on his warm and naked hide and laid atop him, my comely profile facing his. My body was swollen in its arousal as I lay pressed against him, everything so sensitive in the slightest movement. My lover put arms around me; I was no longer cold. I was like china, but he was gentle, caring only for my comfort. I wanted to kiss him again for it, and now free in the nude with the thought of his lush cock eagerly waiting in the middle of my titillating legs.
My choice. An inexpressible joy that can only be comprehended while feeling the phenomena; two conglomerate bodies becoming a better and fuller whole. I felt like a part of this person. We laced hands, sought fidelity while entwined, and committed ourselves to one another. We withheld nothing. I felt safe; he would not harm me. I only go by my nature when I feel this fierce of a connection with my partner.
XVI
I don't recall any other specifics of our lovemaking prior to insertion. What I do remember about this night were the length and girth. We were going to have to take this slow; it went without saying as he caressed me, and I gave him whimpers and hints of how nervous I was. I was as ready for it as I would ever be; burning, drenched, and relaxed. His very erect Johnson was still loitering around the entrance to my pussy. No condom was involved — always a gamble, but he seemed like a well-kept enough chap to me. I took his hand in mine and guided it down my back to display my wish. I placed mine on his shaft and carefully prodded its head through my labia and onto my slit to squeeze it in.
Yeah, he was enjoying himself. I did not remove my cajoling gaze from him, either. It entailed some parted mouths, some blood-and-tears, some concentrated squints, and mixed cries of anguish and relief, but we slipped the tip in. Every part of my vaginal cavity was screaming, “No, don't do this to me, Mel! It's too big!” But despite her quandaries, this was working out for us. Notwithstanding her bitching and vanity, we'd managed it, hand in hand, side by side; we were in this together now. I began to acclimate to my man's ferocious size and take his cock like it was put on Earth, designed, and tent for my insides.
I did my utmost to have as every much of a blazing inch stretching me apart as possible. I dug my fingers into his chest and arched my back, going down on this fucking fire-breathing leviathan as much as I could stomach. Its master and ruler — its Neptune — only laid there with his eyes closed and head on the carpet. He had stopped touching me at that point. Was he just relishing in my depravity and my desperation to make this work? Various “oh gods” and “oh fucks” were forcibly ousted from my vernacular amidst each heavier land onto his column. My tits bounced up and down for his entertainment and viewing pleasure. How great does that sound?
Still, he lay there, hands behind his head like nothing was happening, and my determination to win over his heart didn't mean fuck all to him. I felt it striking withering blows to my cervix at that point, and a substantial number of fiery inches remained outdoors. I could not, for the life of me, adjoin his ball sack to my filled gape. I leaned back like I love to do and could not sit down on it all the way. It forced me to remain aloft, quite literally. This man was fucking huge — a cock to contend with a giant's. Enough said.
XVII
The challenging amount of size was negligible after some minutes of nurtured friction, slower plummets, and repeated grindings. This job was not without its complications. It's not kids' stuff; it's strenuous and taxing — this was not easy work, and Pussy and I were having our work cut out for us. There were pings of discomfort and pleasure, but eventually, I was landing on it in enough of a meticulous rhythm to begin to feel an orgasm in the making of such immense depth and explosive magnitude as I had never felt.
Its surface texture just felt so damn fine inside; words cannot tell. My membrane encompassed every pulsing vein and intricacy. Its foreign heat melded with my familiar — it accommodated the ache on the spot where I kept liking it to hit. I was getting comfortable, slicker from the continual reams in and out of my hole. It was getting a lot easier to endure, very rapidly.
The explosion, and my trip to it, would not be canceled. His cock was hitting the home plate, and then some. If any pain persisted as it broke through the gates during the relentless siege into my pink, I was ignoring it. It was too good to stop. I had no jurisdiction over myself at this point; it had all switched over to mental. Nothing else was relevant. God, can I get into it. I was getting ready to come all over Daddy's cock, and I was telling him so. He did not need to be apprised by me; he saw me getting close. He no longer just lay dormant but reciprocated with affection, put his hands all over me, and gave me the time of night.
The feeling of his acknowledgment, on its own, was enough to send me over the edge, then and there. I tried to hold out for as long as I could. Why? I do not know. Perhaps it was my pride. Maybe I didn't want him seeing how easy I was; or how much I was fancying him. I didn't trust myself enough to let go. It would not matter; he would force the orgasm out of me eventually, by my will or not.
Things were getting more vocal on my part; nothing said was being moderated. I have something of a terrible fucking lip, nihilistic as I tend to be. He began to pound into my body as I met with his — a synchronized love dance that has been going on between Man and his woman for quite some ti
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BDSM Method To Make Her Cum Everytime!
BDSM Method To Make Her Cum Everytime! · General · Dudes are always trying to pick my head for sex and relationship advice for the women they love. One dude couldn't even get his lady to have an orgasm and I just laughed. He was like, "What's so funny?" I replied, "She probably doesn't want an orgasm because most chicks think it's pee. I'm dead serious. Some chicks are even stupid enough to pee on you because of that belief". So dude was like, "Then what do I do?" I told him to make sure she pees first, then I gave him a special BDSM method and I'm going to share that method here with TUSC! First is TOOLS: you're going to need 200' of strong nylon rope or paracord (in case she brings friends and preferably the latter), a bed for her to do the "Cat Pose" on, and a gag ball. If your woman loves bondage, she shouldn't ask questions because she probably wants whatever you're going to do to her. If she asks, just tell her "it's a surprise". Second is PREPARATION: Gag ball in her mouth, good! Have her assume the "Cat Pose" with her feet over the edge of the bed. What is the "Cat Pose"? It's basically a modified version of doggie style, but instead of knees and hands, it's knees and elbows. Got it? Good! Now you want to tie her hands together, then run a line of rope from her hands to the head of the bed. This will keep her from pulling her arms back. Got it? Good! Now you want to tie her arms down, so she can't lift them. You do that by putting a loop of rope around her elbows, but just right above them. Make sure those elbows are touching, so she can't wiggle out. Got it? Good! Now run a line of rope under the bed and bring it up, so that it's tied snugly to the bed right under her midsection. Then run a loop of rope between her arms above where her elbows are tied and make a really tight not. Tight as in pulling a little, but not creating excessive discomfort. Got it? Good! Next, run a line of rope just above her knees, then take your fist and have her spread her legs the length of your fist. Now tie those babies snugly. Got it? Good! Now run a line of rope as a slip knot around the rope you just tied above her knees. This will keep her from loosening the rope you tied above her knees because with the other end of that rope, you're going to tie it snugly to the rope that's tied to the bed. Got it? Good! LAST ROPE! This rope is to be used to literally tie her to the foot of the bed. You do this by going under the foot of the bed about a foot from the end and bring it up and over her ankles. This will prevent her from lifting her feet and sliding out. Got it? Good! Third is METHOD: Kneel down behind her like you're going to eat out her pussy, but instead, get the fingertips of your right hand as wet as you possibly can with your saliva, reach up to her pussy hole and rub on that sucker with your fingertips aggressively. When I say aggressively, I mean, you push in on her pussy firmly, and rub up and down rapidly. She'll squirm like crazy and may even scream like a manic against her gag ball, but you're waiting for that magical shower, so just ignore her and keep on going. If she's stupid, she'll say that she peed on you, which you know isn't true because you made her piss before you even got started. If she's smart, she'll realise that all the times she thought she was pissing on men were actually orgasms. Anyway, this method will give your lady a mind-blowing orgasm in one minute or less. I guarantee. ✌️
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damien blacks
Male · United Kingdom. This is the member profile for damien blacks
Shower
Shower · One on One · In the evening‚ while I wait for my lover to arrive‚ I take a shower. It's not that I'm uncomfortable with my own bodily smells. Rather‚ I practice a ritual of deepening nakedness that opens me to the nightfall that awaits‚ so that I can greet him‚ untouched and unadorned.
First‚ I unzip my skirt. Unbutton my blouse. Shimmy out of my panties. Unhook my bra. I kick my clothing into a pile and stand before the mirror in the glare of the bathroom light.
I remove my jewelry. The hoops from my ears. The bangles from my wrist. The chain from my ankle. I run a comb through my long hair‚ over and over‚ until every snarl and tangle has been freed.
I run the tap until the room is steaming‚ then step under the spray. I close my eyes and let the water pulse in my open mouth‚ then run down my chin‚ my neck‚ my back. I sponge off the odor of the day. The grime of the office. The sweat from the checkout line. Liner on my eyes. Plum gloss‚ now faded‚ on my lips. Lotions and potions I applied when I felt fresh that morning.
My shampoo leaves a slight lavender scent in my hair‚ my body wash a mild peppermint aftertaste on my belly. I rub my skin with a harsh loofah until it turns red. I massage myself with a plush towel until even the folds between my toes are dry‚ and I dress in baggy pants‚ a sheer camisole.
After I greet my lover with a feathery kiss but before our tongues exploring each other's mouths make it difficult to remain standing‚ I ask him to shower‚ too. I don't want to shower with him‚ not yet. I prefer bathing each other between fucking‚ after the candles have grown cold but before light pokes from behind the curtains. Now‚ I want my lover to come to me clean as a newborn‚ the way I come to him.
I sit on the toilet and watch him‚ shower curtain parted‚ wash himself as if no one is looking. He‚ too‚ I notice‚ opens his mouth and lets the water fill it. He reaches his hands above his head until‚ vertebrae by vertebrae‚ he has stretched the tension out of his back. The water hits his shoulders and runs in torrents down his ass and thighs.
My lover chooses a soft washcloth. He rubs it with unscented soap until it foams with bubbles. He massages tiny circles‚ methodically‚ between his fingers‚ upon his palm‚ along his wrist and forearm and upper arm‚ across his shoulders‚ then down the other side. As he reaches the fingers of the other hand the soap runs out and my hand slides down my pants‚ so I can circle my clit to the rhythm of his bathing.
By the time my lover finishes I have undressed. I unfold a towel and offer to dry him‚ inch by inch. This way I can examine the muscles of his arms‚ the curve of his ass‚ the place where the hair runs out on his chest‚ where it begins beyond his thigh. I ask him to lift first one arm‚ then the other‚ so I can collect the drops of water hanging from his underarm hairs on my tongue. I lick and rub until his skin is dry and taut.
Then I ask my lover to bend over. This is not because I want to dominate him. No. I want to bury my nose in his ass and inhale deeply. I want to circle his asshole with my tongue‚ slowly‚ so I can taste every inch. I want to run my tongue along that now hard place between his ass and his balls. I want to take each ball in my mouth‚ gently‚ and lick and squeeze it.
As I breathe him in and taste him I think perhaps I can give him a fraction of the pleasure he has already given me. I want this quiet‚ almost contemplative moment before he forces his now throbbing cock against the back of my throat‚ before he leads me into the bedroom and fucks me until my head slams the headboard.
I like to taste and smell my lover apart from me‚ on his own terms‚ before his cum mixes with my cunt juice. Before our sweat and spit intermingle. Before our rubbing and stroking alter each other's body chemistry.
I start with a shower so that‚ as the hours take us from the bed to the table to the chair to the floor‚ with my nose and mouth‚ I can begin to discern the way my lover changes me‚ comprehend the way I change him‚ understand the subtle ways we lovers change each other.
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Help Meat (A Dystopian Tale Part 2)
Help Meat (A Dystopian Tale Part 2) · Fetish · Author's Note: I strongly suggest you read part 1 first so this makes more sense!
I am splashing over the rocks, my hands outstretched as I try to catch a fish. I have been on my own for two weeks, hiding during the day under clumps of ferns or blackberry bushes. My mother would not recognize me now with my tangled filthy hair and clothing torn to ribbons. I hiss as the river’s grainy water stings the cuts on my arms. With a lunge, I catch the fish, crouching to devour it as it squirms in my hands.
Men’s voices rise behind me as heavy boots crash through the brush. I drop my fish and dash for the forest, zigzagging through the trees. The dog is howling as it catches my scent. Sprinting for a tree with low enough boughs, I grab for a branch, dragging myself up as my legs kick the air.
Sudden teeth sink into my ankle. I scream as the dog yanks at me, its weight dragging me down. I land on my chest, air exploding from my lungs.
Hands grab at me as the yipping dog is kicked back. A knife is sawing at the remains of my shirt, ripping the fabric from my body. My bra is cut and flung to one side. The hands flip me onto my back and again the knife flashes. My jeans are pulled off, and then my panties.
Naked now, I lay sobbing on the ground. My ankle is bleeding. There is a sharp stab of pain when I try to move my foot. The man above me accepts a cloth from a larger man, pours water onto the fabric, and then bends to dab at my face.
“What do you think, John?” the bald man in the shadows asks. “Do we sell her for meat?”
Straddling me, the man tilts my head into the dappled sunlight. “Pretty,” he says at last. “I say we keep her. Bring me the tape, Brian.”
I writhe as my wrists and ankles are bound with duct tape. The men find a branch and run it between my arms and legs, each of them holding one end as I swing back and forth between them. Dangling chest up, I see a glimpse of red between the thick ferns, the men reaching a clearing where their pickup is parked. My captors yank out the branch and toss me unceremoniously in the back. I am manacled by one ankle, secured by a chain to the scratched bed of the older Ford. Then I grunt with every jolt as the vehicle dodges the road’s many potholes. The men have the radio’s volume cranked, raucously singing a song I’ve never heard.
I close my eyes, fighting for calm. I had watched from behind a rock as they had emerged unexpectantly from the trees to attack our camp. They had slitted my mother’s throat first thing, hanging her head down like a deer to open her up and gut her. My traumatized little sister had been taken away in the red truck by the sandy haired man—while the bald one remained behind to carefully skin and behead my mother. Then taking up his ax, he dismembered her casually as though he was chopping wood. By the time the smaller man returned alone in the truck, my mother’s torso was roasted crisp, suspended on a spit about a foot above a fire. The two men had seated themselves close to the dripping meat, carving with their knives the flesh from my mother’s limbs.
I lingered nearby, hating to leave the last place I had seen my mother. The men had busied themselves the following day with wrapping up the meat. Then one of them spied my footprints on his way to the river.
For two weeks they hunt me—two whole weeks that I managed to avoid capture. But then they bought a dog.
The men stop the truck beside a ramshackle building. It is a hunter’s shack, yet these men are not poor, I realize, spying the fine-looking vehicles beside the cabin. Instead they are doing what was now a favorite past-time for men; scouring the forests in search of fleeing women and girls.
I hold my breath as the men disappear through the doorway of the shack. If I fight them, I die, I think.
The men pass the truck and stop beside what looks like a picnic table. I see them lay out a plastic sheet over the top, weighing it down with rocks on the ground around it. Gravel crunches as the shorter man approaches me. His taller companion is leaning an ax against the picnic table, along with a large tub and a bucket of what appears to be tools. A chill of dread touches my spine as the man named John frees me from the truck, then drags me down from its bed. Unsteadily I sway on my feet as John crouches, his knife sawing through the tape binding my ankles.
John gestures me to raise my bound hands above my head. As I do so he pushes at my thighs, spreading my legs. Without a word, he wets a rag in a bucket of cold soapy water, and then goes to work. As I stand there shivering, he washes every crevice of my body, not once but twice, returning with a second bucket of fresh water after the first darkens to brown. “You are a help-meet,” he grates into my ear. He empties a third bucket over my head, and then soaps up my hair. “That means you were made to please men. Got it?”
I nod, shivering. The sun is behind the trees now. Their hound dog’s icy nose snuffles at my anus.
“Why did you run?” Brian asks as he joins his friend. He is a bear of a man with a bald head and laughing brown eyes, his hands and body built like a lumberjack’s. I look away and stare at my feet.
“You killed my mother,” I whisper dryly.
“I am a man so that is my right,” Brian says. “Your mother was too old to take to the butcher. But not so old to waste. She was actually tender for her age. Her breasts, too, were very nice—too lovely to resist. Care to see what I make with them?”
I begin to shake my head, then catching his frown, I nod, fighting back tears.
The man grins as he unhooks a little bag from his belt and shows it to me. It is a small leather pouch, round with a protrusion at one end. “They’re easy to make,” he says. “You cut around the base first, then slide your blade just under the skin and up, keeping the tip inside. Then you ease it all the way around at that angle, all the while pulling hard at the nipple. The skin slides off all in one piece. I flip it over my thumb to scrape away the blood vessels and stuff. And look, it has no seams!” He turns the bag over. “I sell these at the club.”
John catches my chin and forces my eyes to his. “He could do that to you, you know. Your tits are certainly big enough. But it seems to me we could do more useful things with them; what do you think, Brian?”
The bald man barely glances up. “I agree that she’d make a good dairy prospect. But she’s not old enough yet. Besides, you’d have to breed her first.”
“Oh, such a chore!” John rolls his eyes. “No, I’m talking about keeping her for us. Wouldn’t it be nice to have milk on hand without going to town? Drawn straight from the tit is always best. Why not this one? With those glands of hers she’d be a natural. Here, let me check.”
He feels between my legs, his calloused fingers inserting themselves. He takes a sniff, rubbing his fingertips together to check the texture. “Could be she’s ripe. We’ll fuck her hard for the next little while and see what comes of it. If we can get her pregnant, that’ll bring on her milk once the offspring is born.”
“Whatever.” Brian rolls his eyes and snorts derisively, his attention on the picnic table nearby, and assembled tools. “You know this act of yours really gets old.”
“It’s never an act. Every single time we go through this I tell you the same thing. Only with this girl . . . I mean look at her. She could produce enough milk to get us through the day. For our cereal. Or cheese if we want to make cheese. Butter, pudding . . . Don’t tell me this doesn’t appeal to you.”
Brian stares at the sky. “Like we ever make cheese.” He pauses with a snort. “And what would we do with her later, hmm? You know, when it’s time to go home?”
“We’d cross that bridge when we get to it.” John shrugs and kicks at the dirt.
Shivering, I close my eyes.
“Well girl, in case you’re wondering, my name is Brian,” the big man addresses me. “Brian Dunahee, and this little dreamer here is John Scott, my best friend. We are your masters now—got it? You do what we tell you, and maybe we’ll let you live through the night. If not, I’ll stretch you on that table and gut you, too. What are you called, girl?”
“Amy.” Trembling, I nod stupidly as the two men half-carry me into the cabin. John takes a towel and dries me off. Then I’m stretched onto my stomach on the kitchen table, the men sliding me forward over the edge until my breasts hang down. Brian supports my shoulders as John crouches to measure each breast from stem to stern, then checks the circumference, with Brian scribbling his findings on a pad.
I tense as something hard and cold slips between my legs and into my body—stopping with a jerk several times as it’s positioned within me. More numbers are recorded, Brian’s expression intense while John scoots a chair close to the table. Sitting beside my shoulder, the sandy haired man raises my nearest breast into the light.
“Finely grained skin. Good heft, too. Heavy and dense, with a good plump nipple.” He kneads my breast hard, feeling the bumps and texture of the flesh. My captors carry me to the mattress and set me on my back. Spreading my legs, they raise them high over my head and secure them with ropes to hooks in the wall.
They stare unhappily down at my raised pussy. “I’ll get on it,” Brian says, hurrying into the tiny bathroom to grab shaving supplies and a roll of paper towels. He kneels in front of my cunt, sawing the hairs short with his knife, then lathering me up to shave me smooth. He pauses briefly to consider his work, then, spreading my folds widely back with one hand, he dries them off carefully with a paper towel.
John hands him strips of duct-tape to hold my pussy open.
“There.” Brian stands at last, his fingers stroking my exposed girlhood. “It’s just so much easier this way. I don’t like it when your body hides your cunt from my sight. I hate all that loose skin.”
Teary eyed and shaking, I toss my head, my face going hot as John shoulders Brian aside and kneels between my legs. The smaller man explores me closely, tracing the edges of my opening. He sinks a finger into me slowly, pressing upward against the roof of my cunt, then moistening my opened folds, moving languidly around the shape of my vagina. “If we keep this girl, Brian, we could do whatever we want. No brothers to interfere, or put it to a vote.”
“I know.” Brian crouches beside the bed to grip and pull on my breasts. “It would be cool if we could, that’s for sure.”
“Hey, you’re the one that started that club.” John catches my look. “We have a barn up on the hill,” he explains. “Started a gentleman’s group up there maybe a year before the laws were finalized.”
“Nine months prior,” Brian manages. Grinning, he releases my nipple with a slurp.
John shrugs. “Fine, nine months then. There are men like Brian here who just happen to love gore, who get off on destroying female bodies. Men like this serve a valuable purpose. They do the clean-up work that no one else wants to do. Eliminating the girls who refuse to fit in. You know, like runaways and such. Girls like you, for example. I bet if I asked you right now what is most important in life, you would not give me the right answer. You don’t even know what the right answer is.”
“Damn these tits!” exclaims Brian. He presses into my breast, kneading hard. “How big do you think they are? Double D’s?”
“At least. I told you they were nice for her age. She’d make a great milker.” John is prodding my exposed opening, poking in his fingers repeatedly to keep me wet around my pussy. “We have her bra; we can always check.” He inserts his fingers fully, stirring the moist flesh. “She’ll carry a lot of milk if we can get a kid out of her. Damn. That’s it.” He stands abruptly to unfasten his belt, his jeans dropping to the floor as he falls on me. I stiffen in shock, gasping in pain as his cock drives in. Screaming, I grasp for my bonds to free my tied ankles. Brian seizes my wrists and yanks them down. He leans heavily into the squirming tissue of my breasts, releasing his hold to press hard against me, his sausage fingers working my flesh like dough. John is thrusting vigorously now, his shaft inside me plunging deeper with every stroke. I shriek and claw at the mattress. Then abruptly John stiffens; grunting, he wilts above me, his upper body sagging as fluid spills from my cunt.
Brian releases me and climbs to his feet. He shoves John off me, then jerks up my buttocks with his hands. Smiling, he nuzzles my opened entrance, his tongue sliding deep into my cunt, moving lazily in a circle. He takes his time eating me out, sucking on my clit and pulling with his teeth. His fingers sink in; he bends to thrust his tongue between them; like a bee pulling pollen from a flower, he licks greedily, his fingers drawing more of my juice to the surface. “Not all girls taste good, but my god! I can’t get enough of this one!”
“Maybe it’s me you taste,” John says with a laugh. “You know I just fucked her, right?”
“No, this is girl, one hundred percent pure.” Brian runs his finger up and down over my pussy, playfully stretching my tight opening.
The men trade off, John mounting me a second time to lower himself into me, pushing in fully, then easing out.
“This is choice meat,” Brian says as he prods my buttocks. “She’s what, about sixteen? She won’t be worth a damn if we don’t harvest her soon. Aged girl is hard to sell.”
John is moaning, pumping slowly as he braces his arms, controlling his thrusts enough to watch his cock move in and out. Trembling under the abuse, a huge part of me outraged by this violation, I glare at the ceiling.
John stiffens mid-thrust, howling as he drives in hard, the volcano of his shaft erupting and going soft, throbbing gently within me.
“I’ll tell you what,” he manages at last. “We go through this every time, and every single time you get your way. I never get to win these little contests. You destroy the girl, butcher her for meat, and what do you end up with? You’re happy for a day or two, but then what? You’re always hungry for more.
“This girl has the finest breasts I’ve seen, and that’s without the drug. I look at her and I see months or maybe even a year of always having cream for my coffee, or milk for my cereal. But it’s more than that. Did you see how deep she goes? Did you look at the numbers you scribbled down? We can learn from her body, don’t you see? Practice on her. You say you can’t fist, well I’m betting you’re wrong. With this girl, I could teach you.”
“My hands are too big.” Brian growls. There is a pause as he stares between my legs. “Do you really think I could?”
“If you follow my instructions.” John moves to the kitchen to wash his hands. “She’s got the depth. All we have to do is get some width out of her. We have all the time in the world, Bri—many weeks or months to stretch her out. She’s ours now. You can practice on her all you want.”
Licking his lips, Brian crouches between my legs. His big hands press against my pelvis. He is tilting my hips toward the little lamp nearby, his fingers entering me tentatively, hooking at the sides and spreading my tissue. Grinning then he leans down, his mouth fixing itself around the rim of my vagina, his hungry tongue scooping inside me, drawing out my fluids. He sucks hard against my cunt, extending his tongue as far as it will go. I close my eyes, moaning despite myself at the sensations flooding through me. When I open them again, I see John standing behind him.
“I take it you’re hungry?” John asks. Brian grunts in his throat and lifts his head, creamy tendrils of fluid running down his chin. He inserts his fingers to spread me again, delight broadening his face.
“Look at that. She’s so wet!” Brian stirs my fluids with his fingers, the wet sounds filling the quiet room. Once more he dips down, his tongue swirling in circles as I raise up my hips. Smiling at John, he smacks his lips.
“Fine.” Laughing, John returns to the kitchen. “Get familiar with her body. That’s the one thing we must do. In the meantime, I’m hungry. Want a sandwich?”
Brian closes his eyes, his mouth open as his fingers dig into my cunt, the hands separating and turning. He hovers above my pelvis, stretching my opening wide at different angles. He pulls me toward him until my legs stretch taut against their fetters. Once more he buries his face, straining for reach with his tongue.
“You know,” John calls to him. “When you fist, your hand gets to go a lot farther than your fingers. You can reach down past your wrist—maybe even deeper with this girl. If her juices are what you like, there’s no better way than a good fisting to coax them out.”
“I’m too big to fist,” Brian repeats sadly. Nevertheless, he pulls over a chair and sits between my legs. I squirm, embarrassed and strangely aroused by the look on his face as he gapes me gently.
“That’s it,” John urges. “Explore her out. Feel inside until you know the terrain. If you want to gape her, use the top wall of her cunt as leverage, then slide in deep with fingers from your other hand and pull down. It takes some muscle but it’s worth it. It’s the quickest way to work large objects in.”
I try to relax as the big man makes the attempt, my body yearning for penetration as I stare at the wall. The fingers sink deep, the hand separating as Brian grunts with effort. “The top part’s hard,” he exclaims. “It doesn’t—”
“That’s what I mean; you use it for leverage,” John says. “The bottom part should yield readily when you stretch it. Did you feel that?” Brian nods, scrutinizing my pussy around his hands. “Good, that’s what you want. When you insert your hand to fist, you always want to angle it down, utilize that yielding lower wall. Same thing if you’re trying to insert something big like a bottle.”
John walks suddenly to the bed and sits down beside me. Flustered, I look away, staring at the wall. “Now you,” he begins, reaching to massage my loose breasts, “listen up. Enough with this hostility, please. In case you haven’t noticed, you can’t run down the streets screaming ‘rape’ anymore because nobody cares. The very concept of rape has ceased to exist. So what must you do to survive, I wonder? According to the bible, the most important thing in life for a girl is to please men. It’s in the book of Genesis, right at the very start. A girl is made to be a man’s help-meet. To be useful to men in every way she can.”
I am gritting my teeth, my nostrils flaring. “You killed my mother.”
“So we did; so what? Brian found it enjoyable. He found the butchering part enjoyable, the skinning part enjoyable, because that’s Brian’s thing. It’s not just pussy juice that turns him on. It’s internal stuff like blood and guts, and making his little purses. Your mother served her purpose well. Her meat fed me and Brian, plus five other men at a homeless shelter. What meaning have you found in your life, Amy? Here you have this opportunity tossed in your lap, and you stick your nose in the air. If you think you’re above us, think again. This is what I mean. Girls like you don’t belong. Girls like you end up . . .”
“Very bloody,” Brian says darkly. “Which is a shame, because damn, you taste good.”
I chew my lip, forcing myself to meet John’s glare. “Isn’t that something, though? I taste good. So don’t I have a purpose?”
The two men stare at me. “Yes,” John says quickly. “Absolutely—of course you do. But how can you please Brian using this skill? That’s what girls need to ask themselves constantly; how do I take this situation and use it wisely.”
I gaze into John’s blue eyes. “I’ll try; I promise. Please don’t kill me.”
John thinks for a moment. “Ok, for now you’re on probation. Brian wants to fist you, and I want to see you do everything you can to help him. We’ll untie your legs so you can get your circulation back. But then I want to see an active involvement into making this work.”
I cry out in pain as my legs are lowered, hastily massaging my thighs and ankles. John brings plates into the room and a pitcher of milk. I wipe my face and sit up, swinging my legs to the side of the bed as I reach to accept my plate. I avoid the jerky, remembering my mother. But the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are good, and the milk rich and frothy.
“That’s not your mother,” Brian says suddenly around a mouthful. “Not sure why, but this batch of jerky came out lighter.”
“More fat in the meat, perhaps?” suggested John.
Brian shrugged. “Could be, though if I recall, she wasn’t fat.”
“That’s girl milk,” John informs me as I wipe the foam from my lips. “You’re going to have to get used to these alternative foods. How long has it been since you’ve had milk?”
I think for a moment. “I don’t remember. I never really drank cow’s milk. My mom was into the healthy stuff like Almond or Hemp milk.”
I finish my meal and wait the men out. “So how can I help? I don’t know anything about fisting.”
“You don’t fight him, that’s how,” John replies. “You relax and enjoy yourself, or act like you do. By tensing up you make the process so much harder. You are now at the age of usefulness for girls. Be useful! This is a new world now.”
I stare at Brian’s big hands. “I’ve never had anything inside me before today,” I lie. “Now I have to fit that much in? It’s going to hurt.”
“Virgin to fisting in one day,” Brian says around his food. “It is a bit of a leap, John.”
The sandy haired man studies me briefly. “Ok, since you’re trying to be so good, I’ll start you out for him—get you ready for his hands. Sound fair?”
“Can you explain something to me first?” I ask in a quavering voice. “Why did this happen? Why are women suddenly slaves now?”
John chokes on his mouthful. “Not slaves. You were made from the rib of man, by men, for men to use, and to make men happy. Or at least the pretty girls were. Men are made by God and in his image. Girls were made by men. See the difference? Now, shall we get started?”
I sigh, moving the pillow to a centralized location on the mattress. Then I sit at the foot of the bed, lying back shakily, my head resting on the pillow. “Smart thinking,” John remarks. He pulls a chair up close and seizes my ankles. With one pull he yanks me slightly off the bed, then places my left ankle on his shoulder. Behind me Brian catches up my right leg and bends it toward my chest. “Hold that for us,” will you” he asks, and I comply, wrapping my arms around my raised knee.
“You see how she’s positioned, Brian? IF you want the lower wall of her pussy to stretch, you’ll need to get her ass off the bed first to give yourself the room. A pillow under her hips works too.”
Leaning over, John massages the muscles of my groin and pelvic area. He kneads my hard thighs and presses out the stressful knots. Then bending forward, his hand parallel to the floor, he tilts his hand palm up and slides his fingers in.
“Lie back,” he tells me. “And don’t think too much about what I’m doing. Brian, bring that flashlight and pull up a chair. You need to watch if you’re going to learn.”
Closing my eyes, I grip my knee and breathe in through my nose, exhaling slowly through my mouth. I am exhilarated by this attention—the sight of the two men staring between my legs as they sit side by side. John’s tenor voice speaks softly to his friend, explaining as he works.
“Down like this,” John is saying, “into the opening like you’re diving into a pool, and then slightly up . . .” A look of strain crosses his face. “There, see that? I had to lean into my wrist, didn’t I? Press downward, like this . . . see what I’m doing? Stretching that wall between her pussy and anus. Bear down and rotate in. Angle in, pressing against her here. Except I can’t go in yet because I’m only using fingers. But if I funnel my fingers like this—and tuck my thumb between them. Now see what we do.”
I draw a deep breath at the sudden tightness, the fingers rotating, rocking side to side and stretching my taut tissue. Knuckles grind against my cunt. “Amy, you’re trying too hard,” John admonishes. “Relax if you can. Visualize yourself opening.”
I nod quickly and turn my head, setting my gaze on a spot on the wall. The stain has a tree shape, reminding me of the branch with the one little bulb in the Charlie Brown Christmas special I used to watch. I close my eyes, my full belly making me sleepy. When have I last had a good night’s rest? I am . . .
My eyes flare wide. The weight of the hand breaks through and into my body. My cunt is wide around John’s wrist, fluids dribbling down my skin as John glides straight to my core, then drags back in reverse. John pulls out all the way and I see his fingers dripping, the smaller man curling them to show his friend.
“Watch again as I go in,” John says. “Down, twisting, lean to stretch, then angle. Right here. See that little give before I’m in? That’s the real bitch right there. Not the entrance to the pussy so much. It’s this second threshold here. Bypass this and you’ve mastered her body. But to get past you’ll want to utilize that lower wall. There’s a hollow just beneath with lots of room; see how much I can move my hand? That’s how you get around those tight muscles. Angle down, twist into the hollow, slide in. There! Level out and push! See how far I can go? She’s very deep.
“Okay, once you’re in, draw immediately back, “John continues. “Not all the way—don’t come out of her. You want to stop beneath those muscles that just gave you so much trouble. Now you take your time and press them out; make them soft. Cock your arm and press with your knuckles. Just enough pressure and twisting to . . . There, did you see that! The muscles just relaxed. Now watch as I slide right in.”
I lick my lips as the hand goes to town. John is fisting with vigor as he stands above me, his arm rotating as he reaches my cervix, then pulling out hard with a loud wet sound. “See how I angle my elbow as I work, changing speeds when those muscles start to tighten? Never hold in one place for too long. Keep moving. See, again toward the surface we find those very tight muscles. So we work them, pumping fast with lots of lube. Pressing those knots all soft again. There!”
He sits back in his chair, cocking his arms behind his back to stretch himself. “This is how we can pump her all night. We feel what her muscles are doing and keep adjusting our tactics. See . . .?” Seating himself, he glides in effortlessly, rocking in his chair as he thrusts in and out. “Like putty in my hands.”
I am trembling, groaning, my pelvis straining toward him as he exits, grunting as he thrusts.
There is a pause in the motion. Then larger fingers are rotating in. My pussy stretches wider, more fingers delving into my vagina, stretching me back as the thumb joins the rest. “Good,” John says. “You got this. Now lean as I showed you.”
I grunt involuntarily, my tissues straining. I try to relax, to find the tree shaped splotch on the wall beside me again. The big hand is yawning my pussy’s mouth, grinding hard into the tensing muscles.
“Dive in quick before she tightens back up and you unravel all my work. Good! Level out. Now push!”
“Oh!” The word passes my lips. I raise up my hips, my head flopped back against the pillow. The big hand forces me wide inside as it pushes in fully. Brian’s eyes are filled with wonder as he slowly draws out.
“I’m doing it!” he cries. “Oh my God, that feels good.”
“Yes, now keep going!” Facing me, John straddles my lower torso, his weight on his knees as he leans forward on the mattress. Pressing his weight into his hands he slowly and deeply massages my breasts. “You see?” he tells me as I writhe beneath him. “Being a girl has its perks.”
I am moaning as the big hand pumps me, filling me up and pulling me back. Fluids pour down my thigh, soaking the fitted sheet beneath my pussy. Brian pauses and bends to gape me with his fingers, his soothing tongue cleansing me out, gliding from cunt to anus. Then he’s fisting me, his big hand changing angles as he works, the force of his entry raising my pelvis off the bed. I cry out as I struggle, as John, pressing my breasts together, sucks my nipples into his mouth.
Bucking, I spurt from my cunt, my body quaking on the bed. Brian is wiping his face – licking his fingers.
“Keep at it!” John orders him. “The longer we go, the better.”
I scream fiercely and wild as the big hand stretches my pulsing flesh. Now Brian is pulling aside my opening on one side with his fingers, stretching me wide as his hand sinks deep. He stands and lifts me by one leg, forcing John to scramble from my body as I am hauled from my pillow. Vertically I hang with my right leg dangling, my upper body resting on the bed. Brian is grinning like a happy kid at Christmas, with John reaching in to gape me while Brian fists. I undulate madly as John sucks my clit, spraying both of the men again as my body falls limp. I am exhausted, fatigue dragging me down into a kind of fuzzy stupor. And still the two men work tirelessly on, the rhythm of the hands fisting endlessly.
I wake in the night to a darkened room, with light between my legs and the hulking silhouette of Brian’s shoulders. My folds are loose, freed at last from the painful tape. Brian is exploring at his leisure, swabbing me with his tongue. I grunt as he slides his hand into my aching cunt, his large fist forming a hard knot inside my opening. Rapidly he pumps just inches from the surface, leaning hard left and then right as he softens me. He pulls out with a squelch and cool air rushes in, my slackened flesh opened, relaxed. With two hands he spreads my cunt deeply from inside, then leans in to lick me out.
John is snoring from the bed beside me. I raise my hips, mashing my pussy against Brian’s face. He grabs my buttocks to support them, his head tilting back and forth to guide his tongue.
At last he sets me down and wipes his face. I groan and wish for more, my fingers playing with my clit.
“Tell me,” he says conversationally, flicking the flashlight on my face. “What made you decide to behave? Could you sense how we were planning to kill you? You are exactly the right age to butcher. I was going to carry your out to the picnic table after—to do to you what I did to your mother. We had the tools out there and everything. But then you had a change of heart. So what happened? We do this all the time. No other girl has done a one-eighty on us like this.”
I stop playing with myself to look at him. “You won’t believe me if I tell the truth.”
“Try me.” Brian is silent, the unwavering light on my face.
I lick my lips. “I wasn’t exactly a virgin, you know. My mom took us away because . . . she was religious and I embarrassed her. I like being penetrated more than anything. My mom called me a nympho, but really what’s the harm if it’s what I love? This though—I wanted to hate you for killing my mother, but you made me feel so good! All I know is I want this day and night, for as long as you let me live. I don’t want you to ever stop.”
Leaning between my legs, Brian squeezes my right breast gently. “John always says a girl’s body is meant for this. I guess he’s right.”
I am nodding. My laugh sounds silly in my ears, almost childish. “Definitely!”
“Well then, I shall indulge you.” Brian sits back in his chair, opening my folds with one big hand. He raises an oily-looking bottle, squirting lube directly in. Smiling, I lay back and raise my hips, feeling my muscles surrender as he eases in. The lube makes him slippery inside me, sliding like a fat eel in and out. He grips my thigh, the motion of his big hand effortless as he works.
“If you do stay,” he pants, “There’ll be days when we bring home a girl to butcher. You’ll have to get used to that.”
I groan between my teeth, my hips rising to meet his thrusts. “I’ll do anything to stay,” I tell him. “I’ll even make those little purses for you if you show me how. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do anyway? Help men?”
Surprised, he jerks up his head. Then he grins.
End of Part 2
Photography Hobby
Photography Hobby · Incest And Taboo · This story is a work of fiction.
There are many advantages of being very wealthy as you might imagine but for me the best part is the ability to follow your lusts to any degree you want.
I have always found young girls and boys to be a secret desire for me, so at one point I opened a photography studio and fully equipped it with the latest cameras and computers just to take pictures of a particular girl. That project went well for a few months before it ran its course and mom wouldn’t let her little girl do any more modeling, and quite honestly I had forgotten about the studio, until my phone rang.
I had posted some ads months’ earlier about child modeling and part of the ad read that you could make 1000’s a week for the right person. The mom calling me sounded a little strung out and really desperate to know how she could get the big payday, so I gave her the basic rundown of how the modeling world runs. We could meet and I would take some photos of her daughter in various scenarios and different outfits – all of which I would provide – then I would send some out to my list of clients and see if they were interested. I usually send 25 photographs for an introduction and if they like them I will sell the 25 photos for $10-$25 per picture. This would make the Mom $500-$750 each set – minus my 20 % commission. (I had to take something for all my “work” or she would be suspicious of my motives) Mom eagerly agreed to this and we made an appointment for the very next day at 10am to meet for the first shoot.
After I hung up with her I went to my studio and started getting everything ready. It had been almost a year since my last model and I had to get familiar with the set up all over again. Satisfied that the video cameras were working and all the hard drives were empty I left for the night with great expectations for the morning. I was not disappointed in the morning as mom and her daughter showed up early for our appointment. I was spot on with my analysis of mom – she looked like a meth head and had erratic body movements which were most of the time a total alarm for being around them, unless she is in possession of a beautiful 9-10 year old girl that wants to become a payday model for mom. We introduced ourselves and I had to struggle to keep calm when looking at her daughter, Lisa. She was nothing like her mom almost to the point that I wondered if they were even related. I explained again how this would work and took a chance with Mom (I don’t remember her name at all) and told her that it was usually best if she wasn’t in the studio during shoots. She seemed almost relieved and as soon as she had signed the parental release form she left without even saying bye to Lisa. With just the 2 of us there I was surprised to find that Lisa was very comfortable and was excited about modeling. We went to the back dressing room where I had racks of different outfits ranging from Tennis clothes to lingerie and we started going through them looking for the right fit. She was a natural and loved the clothes so I let he pick out 5 outfits herself, all of which were very modest, and I picked out a shorts and halter top and a bikini that was just a little too small. I told her I would wait outside for her to change into the first outfit and then we could begin the shoot on the set that I had set up last night. I went back up front and check my computer that was hooked up to the PTZ high definition camera in the changing room and watched Lisa as she changed into the first outfit. I noticed she was wearing baggy white granny panties and made a mental not to change that as soon as I could. The photo shoot went great and after 2 hours Mom came back and I told her that I had 100’s of G-rated photos that I would go through and “edit” for my clients (Little did she know that I was my only client) and I would let he know what they thought of Lisa in 2 days. She seemed a little put off that it would take 2 whole days to find something out and her lack of patience made me even happier.
For the next 2 days I did create a portfolio of 50 pictures just in case Mom wanted to see what we had done – but as it turned out she never even asked. I also watched the changing room footage at least 50 times. Lisa absolutely loved all the clothes. She would run into the room to change into the next outfit and as she would dress she would stand in the mirror and turn at every angle to see how she looked in each piece. The bikini was her favorite, or at least that was the outfit she spent the longest in front of the mirror. As I suspected it was about 1 size too small for her and it made her ass pop in the back and showed off her plump pussy to perfection. This girl was my whole package: bubble butt, flat chest with barley budding nipples, and a fat camel toe. She noticed the camel toe too as she stood in front of the mirror and pulled her bathing suit bottoms in every direction to see if it would change. After realizing it didn’t matter how she pulled, it was still a pronounced bulge she tried pushing down on the front of her pubis to see if she could flatten it out. Watching her do this to herself for about 4 minutes was the highlight of the film and I couldn’t wait to get her back in the studio. So I called mom back and told her I had “sold” 3 sets to my clients and we should go ahead and do another shoot. She was as you can suspect very excited and we agreed to meet later that day at the studio. I took $1500 cash with me in an envelope and when she got there I made a production about paying her share to her and then asking her for the $300 commission for me. She quickly handed me the money and I asked Lisa if she was ready for another shoot. She smiled and said sure and this time I told Mom that we would need 4 hours and she was off in a flash with her cash in hand.
I looked at Lisa and she looked a little tousled and her hair was uncombed so I told her that today we would start with makeup and hair and for her to follow me to the back. I spent a good 45 minutes brushing her hair and talking to her about how makeup would make her look older and more sophisticated and she confided in me that she had never worn makeup before and was excited to try it but didn’t know how. I am not a makeup artist by any means but I did my best and showed her how to apply and blend and when enough is enough. We then went back to the dressing room where I had laid out 4 sets of new underwear, bikini cut, low cut, sheer, and a thong and showed them to her. I told her today we would be taking pictures for underwear ads and we would start with these. She asked about what top to wear and I casually told her that a top wasn’t needed for the shoot as I was only taking shots of the underwear and a top could get in the way, and that I would wait for her on the set. I couldn’t believe it was that easy and I rushed to my computer to watch the show about to go on in the dressing room. When I turned it on she was still dressed standing in front of the counter holding up the thong, and then I started to get nervous. What if she wasn’t going to do it? What if she asked for her Mom to come back? As these scenarios were running through my head she started stripping down and picked up the bikini underwear and pulled them on. These were a perfect fit and you could see a bulge in front but not a full camel toe and she spun around in front of the mirror for a good 5 minutes before walking out of the dressing room wearing only the light yellow panties. My throat was dry and I took a sip of water as she entered the studio and told her she was beautiful. Lisa was a natural and slightly blushed as she made her way to the set. I had put a sofa there this morning and made a show of getting her arranged for the first shoot. Positioning her sitting and looking back over her shoulder and having her long hair come down and cover her nipples. I told her that in the pictures she couldn’t be “nude” but the goal was to seem as though she was nude. She seemed to get it and was incredibly comfortable with me helping pose her. I went back to the camera and started taking pics and started asking her to move and sit in different positions. She was truly a natural so I decided to push it a little and asked her to get on her hands and knees and look back over her shoulder so I could get a picture of her behind. She looked and little puzzled and asked why I would want a picture of her behind, so I told her that my clients thought she was very pretty and enjoyed looking at her, especially her bottom. I’m not sure she understood my explanation but she assumed the position and as she looked back at me I thought the amount of precum oozing out of my cock would have a wet spot the size of a softball on the front of my shorts. I told her that was enough for this pair of panties to go and put on another and off she bounced to the dressing room. She saved the sheer pair for the last and was a little self-conscious when she came back to the set with her hands in front of her nearly naked pussy. She sheepishly told me that you could see right through this pair of underwear and she didn’t know if she should have them on. I acted concerned and went over to her and asked her to show me. I knelt down and she slowly removed her hands from in front of her and the most beautiful bald pussy was on full display to me. I knew I would have trouble standing up so I stayed there for a minute and reassured her that she was beautiful and that my clients were going to love her in these panties. I had one hand on her shoulder and she had gotten accustomed to bringing her hair down her front to cover her nipples and I casually brushed one of the sides of hair back and brushed her cheek lovingly and told her again how pretty she was. She smiled and slowly went over to the couch to do this final shoot. She had all the poses down from memory and I loved the view as she went from pose to pose – and then she asked the question that I wasn’t ready for: “Why do your clients like to see me without clothes on?” Don’t get me wrong I knew this was inevitable but still wasn’t sure how to play this out. I decided to be honest and told her I was going to treat her like an adult and tell her the truth. I asked her if she ever played with herself, you know rub yourself down there. She was posing at this time sitting on the couch with both legs pulled up and chin resting on her knees, and when I asked that she turned beet red instantly and looked away. I didn’t give her time to reply and continued with my response. I told her that my clients thought she was very beautiful, sexy even, and when they looked at her in the poses it made them excited and they would masturbate to the pictures. Trying to keep the photo shoot moving forward I asked her to assume another position which she quietly did, and then she asked me if I got excited looking at her. I thought about it for a second and told her yes, I thought she was very sexy and really enjoyed taking her pictures. She wasn’t satisfied with my answer and told me that wasn’t what she asked; she wanted to know if I masturbated to her pictures. This was it – this was the line I had never crossed. As much as I enjoyed the visualization of young girls and boys, I never played it out in reality. It had always just been a fantasy for me and I was comfortable with that. Now I was confronted with both lying to Lisa and being somewhat safe, or telling her the truth and see if she ran and told mom. Once again I appealed to her youthful desire to be a grown up and told her that I would always treat her as an adult and tell he the truth: Yes I would masturbate while looking at her pictures. She smiled and looked way as I asked her for the next position and she complied. Nothing else sexual was discussed that day and as she was getting dressed Mom came back in the studio, obviously high as a kite and very touchy-feely with me. I did my best to fend her off but Lisa came into the room while Mom was grabbing my crotch and me trying to politely push her away. I was embarrassed for Lisa but Mom quickly said she had seen more than that before and grabbed her and started walking out. Mom looked back at me as said: “2 days until payday?” I replied that I should hear back from my clients by tomorrow so 2 days would be perfect.
After they left I once again made a portfolio of 50 pics that were suitable to show Mom should she ask – but only after rubbing out an amazing orgasm looking at the pics of Lisa in the sheer panties. I thought back to Lisa’s questions and how she reacted to my answers and I felt as though Lisa viewed me as a trusted confidant and that Mom viewed me as a payday for drugs. I actually felt good about both.
Mom and Lisa came back to the studio in 2 days and I had decided to up the game and this time I told Mom that I had 7 clients that would pay me $500 for the sets – and I thought she was going to jump over the counter and rape me. I gave her an envelope with $3500 in it and asked her for my 20% - which after way too much figuring in her head I told her it would be $700 and she reluctantly counted it out to me. I have to admit it as amusing for her to “pay me” with my own money, but the game was afoot and the less she knew the better. I asked Lisa if she was ready for another shoot and she smiled and said sure, but since it was already after lunch time I asked if we could schedule for the next day at 10:00 and told mom that we would need until 5:00 to get the next set competed. Mom was already daydreaming about the drugs she could go buy and just said yeah and walked out the door before Lisa did. I put my hand on Lisa’s shoulder and walked with her to the door and told her that she looked beautiful and I couldn’t wait to see her tomorrow. When we go to the door Lisa turned and gave me a full hug and just said goodbye and walked out. The real reason I didn’t want to shoot a set that day was that I was waiting on some lingerie to be delivered. It’s not all that easy to find sexy lingerie that will fit a 10 year old so I had to order some online and it wouldn’t be there until later today. I spent the next few hours setting up the set for tomorrows shoot and then FedEx delivered. I was like a kid at Christmas as I unwrapped the boxes that contained 6 different lingerie ensembles that included fishnet stockings, garters, fishnet body suit, and see through baby doll teddies. All in all every secret fetish I had was all laid out for Lisa to model the next day.
I was at the studio at 8:30 in anticipation of Lisa coming in and the clock was moving slower than ever in my anticipation of her 10:00 appointment. 10:00 came and went with no Lisa. I was nervous and thought again about if I had properly hidden all of the hard drives with the non PG rated pics I had and if there was anything incriminating here if angry mom of the police showed up – the answer was I was good. It was now 10:30 and no Lisa. I was pacing back and forth and thinking about gathering all of my drives from the safe and leaving with in walks Lisa without Mom. Lisa looked awful; wrinkled dirty clothes, wild hair, and puffy eyes like she had been crying. I came over to her and dropped down on one knee and took he head in my hands and asked her what was wrong? Was she OK? She started sniffing like holding back a cry and said that her mom had left her at her boyfriend’s house and they had gone out to buy drugs and never came back. She took enough change from the boyfriends counter to catch a bus over here and that she was sorry she was late. I told her to come to the back and she was going to take a shower, pick out an outfit, and we were going out for lunch – anywhere she wanted. She seemed a little relieved and said she was hungry, but she asked if we were still going to take pictures today. She said her mom would be mad if she didn’t sell more pictures and she didn’t want her to be mad at her. After leaving her daughter at a druggies house overnight with no food – Lisa was still concerned about her mom’s feelings. She was a better person than me. I went back to my computer and watched Lisa take a shower and wash her hair. She was beautiful and innocent in her movements and I followed her from the shower to the changing room on camera and watched her go through the clothes rack while wrapped in a towel. She picked out a cute tennis skirt and top then went over to the bureau and opened the drawer we had all of her underwear in. I almost passed out when I watched her pull out the sheer pair of panties and pull them on. She stood in front of the mirror admiring herself for a moment then continued to dress and come up front. She looked amazing even with wet hair and especially since I knew what she had on underneath. I asked her where she what she would like to eat and she said Pizza – so I picked the place and off we went. As we were sitting in the booth across from each other, she on her third piece of pizza and me on my first, I asked her how she liked being a model and she said it was the best job in the entire world and she hoped to do this forever. She then asked me about my clients and how did I know them, how did I know what they did while looking at her pictures. I explained that there were a lot of grown men that found young girls attractive and since society said it was wrong for them to do so they were willing to pay money to see pictures without anyone knowing who they were. I told her that it should make her feel very special that these clients would pay money to see her – and she smiled and said it made her feel very special and especially special since I liked masturbating to her pictures her too. I almost choked as she said this and looked around to make sure nobody overheard her and thankfully no one had. She laughed at my reaction and not to worry she had made sure that there was nobody close enough to hear her. This little girl was amazing and had me twisted up like a pretzel. One part of me wanted to devour her like a piece of decadent chocolate cake and another part of me wanted to run and hide. The hard on in my pants was winning at the moment and I paid the bill and we headed back to the studio.
When we got back Lisa was all business and went straight to the changing room to get into today's outfit. I was extremely nervous when I opened a drawer and started laying out the different sets of lingerie with all of the components for each outfit in the same piles. I told her that today we would be doing adult sleepwear and lingerie and showed her each stack saying that all of these parts were to be worn together for the full effect, and then asked her if she had any questions or needed any help. She was holding up the fishnet body suit and had a puzzled look on her face, but she shook her head no, so I told her I would wait outside on the set for her. Back at my cameras I watched Lisa go through all the outfits one by one and inspecting each set very closely. I think my saving grace with Lisa was that the tags were still on the outfits and each one had a picture of an adult model wearing it, so Lisa had a visual image to follow. After a few minutes she chose the black fishnet stocking with the garters and matching panties and bra. This was by far the most complicated outfit I had – but it was also the most covering of all. It took Lisa about 15 minutes to finally come out of the changing room and I had enjoyed every minute watching her on camera trying to figure it all out – and she did finally succeed. When she came to the set and walked over to the white velour chaise lounge I had set up I just stood and stared with my mouth open, and finally my senses came to me and I told her that she was absolutely beautiful and I didn’t think I had ever seen such beauty before. This was not a lie – she was stunning and had an air of sophistication many adults would be jealous of. She sat down on the chaise and I went over to her and told her that with these outfits she was going to pretend to be inviting her boyfriend over to join her on the lounge chair. I went on to remind her that she was fully clothed but looked very sexy and that was what we wanted to capture on the camera. She smiled and nodded her head without saying a word so I went back to my camera and started the shoot giving her step by step directions on how to sit, where to look, mouth open or closed, every detail I could think of to give her innocent young self a look of sophisticated slutty that would carry through to the pictures. When she got to the sheer baby doll teddy outfit she stuck her head out of the changing room and yelled to me that there weren’t any panties for that outfit. I yelled back that it was ok – she wouldn’t be nude but would give the appearance of being nude and I would be careful with my camera directions. Yes I would be very careful with where I pointed that camera and my first shot was here walking to the set in that light pink sheer teddy that displayed all of her young exquisite body to perfection. She didn’t seem too shy about her appearance and started going through all the same poses we had done before with a little encouragement from me. After about 10 minutes I told her that I wanted to focus on just her face for a set of photos and wanted her to make a face like she was all alone in her room and was thinking about her boyfriend and was playing with herself. She just looked at me in bewilderment for a few seconds and told me that she didn’t have a boyfriend – and that she didn’t know what her face looked like when she did that. I realized that she didn’t deny masturbating and my heart skipped a beat – but now I had to figure out a way for her to replicate her facial expressions during that very private moment so I could capture it for prosperity on camera. I asked her if she had ever seen a video of a woman – I made sure to use the word woman – masturbate before and she shook her head no. I set my camera down and went over to my computer on the counter and within 45 seconds I had a video of a beautiful blonde model masturbating on a white bed. This was a very artistic piece of porn that I knew very well and when it was cued up I asked Lisa to come over and let me show her something. She walked over to the camera, still in her sheer teddy and looked at the screen where you could see the paused video of this model's face and shoulders. She had her eyes closed and her mouth was slightly open with her tongue running across her upper lip. I told Lisa that this was the look that we were shooting for and then casually asked her if she wanted to watch the video to get some modeling pointers for this photo shoot we were doing. While never looking away from the computer screen she nodded yes and I hit play. I knew this specific video by heart – all 13 minutes of it so as Lisa stood beside me as I was sitting in my chair I watched her reactions more than I did the video, but still made an attempt to make “professional” comments from time to time on how she would move and look. I never touched her or offered her to sit on my lap – I was too nervous to do so – so she stood there all 13 minutes watching intently on this beautiful woman make herself have a very apparent and wet orgasm. I was hard as a rock and had a small wet spot on the front of my pants from watching Lisa stare at the show in front of her and switch her weight from foot to foot from what I could only guess (hope) was arousal from the video. When the woman ran her fingers through her dripping pussy after her orgasm and brought them to her mouth to suck clean, Lisa made a little gasp and leaned in slightly to get a better view. When the video finished I tried to be “professional” again and asked Lisa if she could mimic what the woman did in the video she sheepishly said yes and walked back to the chaise lounge. I straightened out my cock and went back and got my camera and walked to the end of the chaise to start the set when Lisa asked me if that was what men liked, did they enjoy watching women do that? I thought about it longer than I really needed to and told her yes, men enjoyed looking at beautiful girls and especially beautiful girls enjoying themselves as much as that model had been doing. Lisa thought about it for a minute while still laying there with her hands in her lap and asked me if I had masturbated watching that girl in the video before? I smiled and told her yes, but that was our secret and not to tell anyone. She seemed to like that answer and asked me how she should start. I told her to lay down with just her head propped up on the pillow, arch her head back some and close her eyes. She started arranging herself as I had requested then I thought time had stopped – or at least my breathing did. Lisa had her right hand between her legs slowly rubbing her clit in a circular motion with both legs slightly bent at the knees. From the end of the chaise I had the perfect vantage point for this and for a few seconds I forgot to take any pictures. She had forgotten that I wanted head shots of this intimate act and instead after watching the video she assumed (correctly so by the way) that I wanted her to masturbate, so here she was. She had watched the video very closely as she mimicked the blonde model very well. She was spreading her pussy lips wide and licking her fingers to get wet, then slowly pushing one finger in and out of her hairless pussy then rubbing her swollen little clit, then back to the insertion. I got into the scene and started taking pictures frantically thinking how much I needed to cum and how I would be able to look at these whenever I wanted and jerk until my arm was too sore to do it anymore. She was really enjoying this – not acting - and her expressions were perfect, but after about 10 minutes she stopped and told me that it felt good when she did that but the girl on the video made it look like it felt so much better. I quickly surmised that Lisa had never had an orgasm, but had only had the enjoyment of stimulation, so I set my camera down and sat down on the end of the chaise. Lisa scooted up so she was upright leaning back on the arm with her legs stretched out and crossed in front of her and I started explaining an orgasm to her. I explained that it was something that would build and build until it felt like she was going to burst or pee and then it would wash over her like a big wave of pleasure. She told me that she could feel it building up but it never got to the level of exploding, and then asked if it was the same way for men? I told her it was exactly the same feeling but when a man had an orgasm he would shoot cream from his penis – yes I was still trying to be professional. She kind of giggled and told me she wanted to watch me masturbate as it was only fair, and that I had already told her I would masturbate to pics of her and the video of the blonde girl. I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do but in my state of extreme horniness I agreed to masturbate and told her to watch closely and I would let her know when I was going to have an orgasm and shoot my cream out. She was giddy with anticipation and sat up on her knees at the end of the chaise while I stood and dropped my pants to the floor. When I pulled my underwear down she gasped and had both hands over her mouth and both eyes wide open on my cock which was dripping a long stream of precum. She pointed and asked what that liquid was so I explained precum as a tasty lubricant to help intercourse between a man and a woman more fun. I don’t know if she understood any of that but I sat back down and wrapped my hand around my cock and slowly started moving it up and down. I could look over to my left and see all of Lisa in her nude teddy staring at me pumping my cock and I knew I wasn’t going to last long, so I told her I was about to have an orgasm. Lisa leaned a little closer to get a good view and the first shot of cum flew up and hit my neck (I was extremely excited and hadn’t cum like that in years) and the second then third shot covered my hand and crotch. I was breathless and swore that was the best orgasm I had ever had – then I remembers the video of the blonde girl licking her fingers clean, so I brought my hand to my mouth and slowly licked all the cum off, then wiped the cum off my neck and cleaned my fingers again. All this time Lisa hadn’t said a word but just watched me intently with a flushed face and neck as I sat there breathing heavily enjoying the post orgasm experience. I then told her that was what it was like for a man to have an orgasm and asked her what she thought? She said that was the most awesome thing she had ever seen and asked me if I would do it again. I laughed and told her that unlike women, men needed a little time between orgasms so they could recover and I pointed to my now deflated cock and told her see? It was down for the count for a while. She was good with that answer and I noticed much to my dismay that her mom should be there in 30 minutes so I told her that we were done shooting for the day to go get changed and ready for her mom to pick her up. I got dressed myself and started downloading all the pictures for the day onto my hard drive when Lisa came out fully dressed in the outfit she wore to lunch. She quietly asked me if she could wear this outfit home since her other clothes were dirty and she promised to bring it back. I laughed and told her that she could keep those clothes because they would never look as good on anyone else. We sat there until almost 6:00 waiting for her mom with no sign of her, so I asked Lisa if I should take her home and after trying to call her mom a few times she agreed. Before we left I got the release form that her mom had filled out complete with a photocopy of her driver’s license and cell phone number and stuffed it in my pocket.
When we got to Lisa’s apartment complex it was about what I had imagined. Nothing fancy at all and a little run down but somewhat clean with a mixture of all races – mostly young – in the parking areas. I pulled up to her apartment and asked her if she wanted me to walk her to the door and she said no – but then I asked her for her cell number in case she needed anything and she seemed happy to give it to me. I instantly sent her a text so she had my number too, and I watched her go up the stairs to the second floor and into the third door on the left. I sat there for a moment wondering if I was doing the right thing by leaving and if Lisa’s mom was there – or at least would be there soon. I reconciled that I was and pulled out of the complex, while at the same time texting Lisa to make sure. I asked if her mom was there yet and she told me no but that wasn’t unusual, so I asked her to let me know when she did come home and told Lisa again how much I enjoyed being with her today. After I got off the text thread with Lisa I looked up a number in my phone for one of my special clients, who happened to be a chief of police in the next town over, and gave him a call. I told him the story of Lisa’s mom not showing up to pick her up and that I thought she was into drugs and asked if he would do a quick search for any arrests or accidents and let me know. He told me no problem then asked if I had done any more shoots with Lisa to which I replied that the next set I did would be on the house for his work for me. He was happy with that when we ended the call and I made it home before my phone rang. It was my police chief friend and he told me that he had some bad news. Carole, Lisa’s mom (I never could remember her name) and her “friend” were in a car wreck the night before and the person they hit head on was killed. It looked as though both her and her friend were going to make it but when the police go to the wreck they found large amounts of methamphetamines and their toxicology reports showed that they were both high as a kite at the time of the wreck, so once they were out of the hospital they were both going to jail on charges of vehicular homicide and possession of a controlled substance with intent to distribute. He told me that they would be lucky to get out of jail in 30 years at the earliest. I hung up the phone with him and was walking around my home in a fog. I couldn’t believe my bad luck. I had finally found exactly what I loved and the relationship was going better than I could have ever dreamed, and now the dumbass druggie mother had ruined it all. I poured myself a drink and went out to my back porch that overlooked the Gulf of Mexico and pondered my options. I had to tell Lisa but when I did what would she do and where would she go? Did she have relatives here? After my drink was finished I knew I had to do the right thing so I got in my car and drove back to Lisa’s apartment. When I got there I called from the parking lot and told her I needed to talk to her and asked if I could come up. She opened her door with the phone still in her hand and waved me up. I know I shouldn’t have been noticing things like this but I noted she was still wearing that cute short tennis skirt and it made me happy – just for a moment. When I got inside and looked around I instantly was depressed. A futon, a folding camp chair and a 1990’s era tube TV were the only furnishings in the living room. I sat on the futon and told Lisa to come and sit beside me, and then I recounted the story my police friend had told me earlier. As expected Lisa started crying and we held each other for a good 10 minutes while she cried and processed the information I had given her, and when she had stopped crying I asked her about any family in the area. She told me that her grandmother had died a few years earlier and that it was only her and her mom now, and she asked if she could go and see her mom in the hospital. I was pretty sure we could arrange something but I told her it might take a few days and I wanted her to come and stay at my home while we worked everything out. She nodded her head in agreement and we went around packing what few things she had and set off for my home. As I mentioned in the beginning of the story there are many advantages of being wealthy, and another is to be able to have a 3 story, 8 bedroom home on the beach. When we pulled up to my home the look of amazement in Lisa’s eyes was enough to make her momentarily forget about the problems her mother was facing. She got out of my car and I grabbed her bag and inside we went. I took her to the bedroom that was across the hall from mine and gave her a tour. It had a spa tub, walk-in rain shower, and a private balcony overlooking the beach – and was able to look onto my adjoining balcony. I told her to unpack, relax, take a shower or watch TV and I was going to go and make us something to eat and she could come down when she was ready.
I made simple chicken Alfredo pasta and she ate like she was starving. I had a couple glasses of wine and I had a bottle of sparkling grape juice that Lisa enjoyed from a wine glass like mine, and we had a nice but quiet dinner. After dinner we cleaned up the kitchen together and then we both went to our separate bedrooms after agreeing that first thing in the morning we would look into visiting her mom in the hospital. I lay in bed thinking back to watching Lisa masturbate, then Lisa watching me masturbate, and I wished I had brought a copy of that video home with me. The memory was more than enough for that night as I quickly shot a load all over my stomach and went peacefully asleep. About 3:00 I was startled awake with Lisa slightly shaking my shoulder. I woke up and could tell that she had been crying and she told me that she couldn’t sleep and was scared and wanted to know if she could sleep with me. I told her of course and she climbed in beside me and I wrapped her in my arms holding her tightly until I could hear her breathing even out and I knew she was asleep. I was proud of myself for not taking this moment as a sexual moment – could have helped that I had jerked off a couple hours earlier – but just wanted Lisa to feel safe, and then I fell asleep too. I woke in the morning with Lisa still in my arms, but she had spun around and now had her back to me with my rock hard morning wood nestled on her panties, which just so happened to be the sheer pair she had put on the day before. I was scared to move as I was enjoying the look and feel of what I woke up to, but I had to pee, so I carefully rolled out the other side of my bed and took care of my needs quietly and went downstairs. I called my police friend and inquired about how to get her daughter in to see her in the hospital and that proved to be harder than I thought due to the homicide charges, but as it turned out a lawyer could get in. I then called another client of my photography studio who was a lawyer. Even though he specialized in real estate law I gave him an overview of what I wanted and agreed to pay his fees in full. I was on my second cup of coffee feeling pretty good about what I was planning when Lisa came down to the kitchen. I explained that the only person allowed to see her mom right now was her lawyer and I had hired one that morning that was going to go see her today and give us an update on her condition. What I didn’t tell Lisa was the main reason he was going to see her – I would wait until I found out how she took the offer before telling her. I then told Lisa we would have breakfast then go shopping for new clothes and she had to have a couple of different swim suits if she was going to stay with me here for a while on the beach. She instantly lit up and went upstairs to shower and change. We spent the entire day shopping and bought 3 swim suits and 12 outfits complete with 8 pairs of pretty little girl panties – nothing sexy but cute Cinderella, princess panties befitting a girl her age. After we got back home that evening I pooped and suggested we order out and Lisa ran upstairs to put away all of her new clothes. She came downstairs a bit dressed in a cute pair of short shorts and a halter top we had purchased earlier and we ate Chinese and watched cartoons on the couch. She asked if I had heard anything from my lawyer friend and I told her I hadn’t yet but not to worry, this might take a day or two and she seemed happy with that answer and went back to watching TV. A few minutes later she quietly asked if she was still going to be able to be a model. I leaned over and gave her a one arm hug and told her that she could be a model as long as she wanted to and I loved taking pictures of her. Lisa asked when we could do another shoot and I suggested we do her swimsuits she just bought first thing in the morning. She smiled and said great, and then we snuggled together and finished watching the movie. When I told her it was time to go to bed we both went upstairs to our own rooms. I had just finished brushing my teeth and was dressed as I usually was in my boxers for bed when there was a knock at my door. I told Lisa to come in and when she saw me standing at the foot of my bed only in my boxers she paused for a moment then came on over to the bed right in front of me. While looking down at the floor and pulling the hem of her nightshirt she sheepishly asked if she could sleep with me again, she was too afraid to be in this big house all by herself. I of course instantly agreed and we snuggled up to each other with her spooning me from behind. She had her arm around my chest with her hand resting on my nipple and it slowly became hard as a diamond – then my cock followed suit. There was nothing overtly sexual but the feeling of her holding me from behind was sensual and electric. She fell asleep much more quickly than I did but I finally managed to doze off. When I woke up that morning I was still rock hard but my cock was now sticking out of my boxers and I was lying on my back with Lisa’s hand on my stomach and the covers at the end of the bed. As I would take a breath in it would make the tip of my cock slightly brush her wrist and I realized it must have been doing this for a while because there was a string of precum from her wrist to the tip of my cock and pooling on my stomach. I wanted so bad to cum it almost hurt but I didn’t know how to move without waking Lisa. As I was trying to figure out a solution Lisa moved her hand and lightly ran her fingers down the shaft of my cock sending shivers all over me and making me hold my breath for a second. She got to my balls and gingerly rolled them around feeling their weight in her hand then she wrapped her hand around my cock – a little too tightly but I wasn’t going to complain – and slowly started jacking me off. At this point neither of us had said a word and she quietly asked me if she was doing this the right way, the way she had watched me do it at the studio. I moaned a yes, and don't stop, then erupted all over my chest and her hand. She smiled big and continued to slowly jack my cock milking all of the cum out until it went limp, then to my amazement she brought her hand to her mouth and cautiously licked her finger that was covered in my cum. Then when she decided it wasn’t icky, she licked her wrist and fingers clean, then wiped my chest with her fingers and cleaned them again. Watching her do this almost made me hard again and I rolled on my side and gave her a chaste kiss on her lips and told her how beautiful she was and how wonderful that made me feel. She just smiled and while still holding my now limp cock leaned in and kissed me again, but this time a little more passionately. I opened my lips slightly and flicked my tongue across her lips and she quickly picked up on this new game and in no time we were passionately French kissing. I broke the kiss after a few minutes and asked her if she would like me to give her an orgasm like she had done for me and she breathlessly said yes. I resumed kissing her and pulled her nightshirt up to the point we had to break apart and she finished pulling it off her body showing me her fabulous little nipples and completely flat chest. I lowered my head and kissed her neck and trailed down to her nipples and lightly kissed and licked them as they became rock hard. She was moaning at this point and writhing on the bed, and I hadn’t touched her pussy yet. I think she had a small orgasm from just my kissing of her tits but I wasn’t 100% sure. I slowly worked my kisses down her stomach and her navel sending her into another level of writhing and giggling as I reached up on both sides of her panties and slowly pulled them down. These were My Little Pony panties and as they cleared the bottom of her gorgeous bald pussy I could see a faint wet spot on the crotch, and since my nose was only inches away I could smell a very sweet but faint scent of pussy. I was enthralled and for probably a minute or two I just sat there looking at this beautiful sight, until Lisa had enough of me waiting and removed her panties herself. I returned to kissing her navel and moved down to her pubis, then her thighs as I spread her legs a little to see my prize. Her little bald pussy slowly opened up and I could see the little nub of her clit already swollen and red poking out. She was slightly wet already but when I ran my tongue from the bottom of her slit to the top and slightly sucked on her clit her juices flooded into my mouth as she clenched my head with her legs and arched her back. She shuddered and gasped and she experienced her first orgasm and I let her slowly start to come down from the feeling when I started in on her clit again. This time it took a few minutes but she was soon bucking and moaning as she grabbed my head with her hands and pulled me deeper into her crotch. I continued to work on her sweet beautiful pussy until she had enjoyed 4 orgasms and was breathing like she had just ran 5 miles, and then I crawled back up to her and took her in my arms and kissed her deeply. Her tongue was swirling around mine, tasting her sweet nectar, greedily licking my face clean. I was rock hard again at this point and wanted to fuck her so badly but I knew I shouldn’t push my luck so I suggested I go make us breakfast and she could shower and try on one of her new swim suits for a photo shoot at the beach. She agreed and bounced out of the bed into my bathroom and I heard the shower start. I thought I would take this opportunity to relieve my aching balls so I closed my eyes and lingered on the look and taste of Lisa’s beautiful pussy and started jerking my hard cock. I had no sooner started when I heard Lisa say “Hey that’s my job now!” She came over and stood at the side of the bed and removed my hand from my cock and replaced it with hers. Standing there completely nude with me watching her jack my cock was a visual I will never get out of my head – but in true fashion of never being satisfied I told her to kiss it like I kissed her and it would feel even better. She stopped jerking and just held my cock straight up and kissed the tip that was leaking precum. She licked her lips and then licked the head of my cock. I moaned with pleasure and told her to suck on the head like it was a lollipop – and she took off like a pro. As she was sucking the head I placed my hand over hers and started jacking my cock again and she picked up on that – and the pace – quickly. I thought I mumbled I was going to cum but to be honest I wanted to cum in her mouth so badly I might not have, and I shot my first load into her mouth prompting her to pull back in surprise, and timing the second shot to fly out and hit her on her nose. The rest of my orgasm just dribbled down her hand and she slowly regained her senses as to what was going on and wiped the cum from her nose and face then licked her hand and fingers clean. She giggled and said that she wasn’t expecting that to happen but she sure did enjoy it – and I kissed her again and told her how much I did too and off she ran to her shower that had been running this entire time.
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